A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 5

The hall was shrouded in darkness, with the moonlight tracing Li Zhen’s silhouette like a silver-edged shadow against the wall.

“What did you dream about?” Li Zhen asked.

Zhu Qinghou pulled the scattered quilts around himself, wrapping his body into a cocoon. He spun a lie on the spot. “I dreamed of you,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of lingering fear that sounded genuine. “I dreamed that you were kissing me with one breath and plunging a sword into my heart with the next.”

Though he had made it up, he couldn’t help but feel that the current Li Zhen was entirely capable of such a thing.

The brush in Li Zhen’s hand slipped slightly, the hidden needle within the bristles nearly pricking his fingertip. He let out a low, soft laugh. “You certainly have the gift of foresight.”

Pretending not to notice the eerie undertone in his words, Zhu Qinghou sat up and shamelessly peered at Li Zhen’s handwriting. The silk scroll was covered in dense, punctured patterns. He reached out, tracing the marks with his fingertips. He looked at them from every angle but couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so he asked bluntly, “What is the tax rate for Yongzhou this season?”

Li Zhen simply said, “Withdraw your hand.”

The tip of his suspended brush flickered. Before the needle-laden bristles could sweep across his skin, Zhu Qinghou pulled back with practiced speed. “I used to be a Secretary in the Department of State Affairs. I’ve helped manage taxes and tributes before.”

He had made his offer clear, but Li Zhen remained silent.

In all his years, Zhu Qinghou had never experienced the indignity of offering help only to be ignored. He lost interest in dealing with Li Zhen, turned back toward the bed curtains, and promptly went back to sleep.

The sound of long, steady breathing soon filled the room again. It seemed Zhu Qinghou had grown very fond of sleep. In his youth, he had spent his nights drinking and listening to music, “viewing all the flowers of Chang’an in a single day,” but now he was a changed man.

Li Zhen traced the undulations of the punctured silk, lost in thought. These records contained more than just the tributes of Yongzhou; there was also a letter from the Cui clan of Qinghe. They wanted him to collect the taxes, execute Zhu Qinghou, and appease the public’s rage.

It was a perfectly sound, stable plan. If only the breathing of the man behind the curtains wasn’t so loud enough to stop the hall from feeling like a tomb he might have agreed to it.

The wind carried soft sounds, and birds chirped in the long courtyard.

When Zhu Qinghou woke, he lay lazily on a rattan chair in the courtyard, draped in a black fox-fur cloak. A sliver of his purple robes peeked from beneath the fur, and his snowy-white toes rested on a footstool. He looked the picture of disheveled indulgence, his eyes half-closed and dreamy.

Not far away, the princely guards and servants watched him from a distance, their gazes complex.

This was Zhu Qinghou. At seventeen, his reputation had swept through the capital, earning him the appraisal: “Noble lineage, unrivaled elegance.” They had once assumed the description was an exaggeration, but seeing him in the flesh, they realized those eight words were far too meager.

The Zhu family had embezzled funds, leaving the treasury empty. Emperor Shun had no choice but to raise taxes, layer upon layer, until Yongzhou was gasping for air. They should have hated him, yet for some reason, they found they couldn’t.

“Come here.”

Zhu Qinghou had opened his eyes at some point and was beckoning them over.

No one dared speak to him, let alone approach. One by one, they hurriedly averted their eyes, pretending to be statues of wood and clay.

Zhu Qinghou stood up lazily and walked over to them. “Why won’t any of you look at me? Am I that ugly?”

You’re not ugly a young servant whispered instinctively. The moment the words left his mouth, his face went pale, realizing he had made a mistake.

“Does Xianpu forbid you from speaking to me?” Zhu Qinghou’s tone was gentle, causing the servant to hang his head like a frightened quail, not daring to look up again.

Zhu Qinghou seemed to be in high spirits, pestering them with questions. The group remained silent, dodging his gaze.

Uncle Cui stood beneath the eaves, watching the young man in purple with a suspicious eye. After Zhu Qinghou left, he walked over and asked, “What did he say just now?”

The servants bowed and replied, “He asked about the local wines and delicacies of Yongzhou, the local crafts and toys… Oh, and he also asked if there were any crucian carp.”

Uncle Cui frowned. A mere criminal slave, and he truly treated his exile like a pleasure trip? Crucian carp were mostly found in the Huai River region. One would have to wait for spring for the ice to melt, report to His Highness, and send a boat to Sizhou to buy them.

That night, Zhu Qinghou pestered Li Zhen for crucian carp. Li Zhen pushed him away. “Wait until spring.”

Why? Has the Huai River not thawed yet? Zhu Qinghou asked, his tone seemingly casual.

He was confined to the Su Manor, his every word and action monitored. To find out if the river ice had melted, he had to take a long, winding path, hiding his true question within a trivial request.

It has not, Li Zhen said softly. The boats from Sizhou cannot get through.

Zhu Qinghou rolled over and hugged him. When spring comes, you’ll buy some for me, won’t you?

Do you really want to eat carp? Li Zhen turned over as well. Or are you waiting for people from Sizhou to come for you?

The hall fell silent for a heartbeat.

Sizhou? Zhu Qinghou asked, sounding confused as his grip on Li Zhen’s waist instinctively loosened. “Do I know someone in Sizhou?”

Li Zhen smiled but said nothing.

Zhu Qinghou let go completely and turned his back on him. “Fine, if you don’t want to buy them, I won’t force you.” He sounded disappointed, but his palms beneath the silk undergarments were damp with sweat.

How did Li Zhen know?

During the Zhu family’s embezzlement case, every family that had dealings with them had either severed ties to save themselves or been dragged down. On the surface, the Zhu family’s influence in the court had been completely annihilated. Only a few confidants hidden in the shadows had survived. Inspector Feng of Sizhou was one of his father’s closest friends.

If even the Justice Ministry in the capital hadn’t discovered this, how did Li Zhen know? Did he truly know, or was he just testing him?

Zhu Qinghou’s thoughts raced, only to return to a state of calm a moment later. When in doubt, go to sleep.

While Zhu Qinghou slept soundly without a care in the world, someone else in the Su Manor was losing sleep. Uncle Cui stared at the letter from the Cui clan, his fingers tightening.

Killing Zhu Qinghou would bring a hundred benefits and not a single harm. Yet, the Prince refused to act. He had even allowed the man into his bedchamber, sharing a bed every night. It was impossible to tell if they were enemies or lovers.

Left with no choice, the Cui clan had ordered Uncle Cui to find a way to eliminate Zhu Qinghou, fearing the Prince would be harmed by him again. He couldn’t risk provoking the Prince’s wrath just to kill a prisoner, so he had to find another way and wait for the right moment.

Zhu Qinghou was also waiting for someone to lose their patience and surface.

“You’re a criminal slave, walk faster! Do you think the Prince’s courtyard is a place for us to loiter?” an older servant barked. A young servant murmured a response, clutching his broom and not daring to speak.

The snow had begun to melt over the last few days, and the steward had arranged for the new servants to sweep the paths. Seeing the boy moving slowly, the older servant gave him a shove that nearly sent him sprawling.

“What was that noise?”

On the other side of the wall, Zhu Qinghou opened his eyes while resting on his rattan chair. The guards were there to watch him; they weren’t about to let him step out to investigate. Having been ordered not to speak to him, no one answered.

Zhu Qinghou stood up, clutching his fox fur, and looked toward the gate. Through the ornate archway, he caught a glimpse of a sleeve that felt strangely familiar. He called out, “Stop right there.”

The person instinctively turned around, keeping his head down timidly. “Look up,” Zhu Qinghou commanded. The boy slowly raised his head, revealing the vivid red brand on his forehead.

Zhu Qinghou had seen this boy before, at the elegant gatherings of the Lanting pavilion. This was a younger member of a branch of the Zhu clan, Zhu Xueting, who had once been famous for his extraordinary talent.

Though called a “branch” member, there was actually no blood relation. When the Zhu family was at the height of its power, many distant relatives with no real connection came forward to claim kinship. To expand his influence, Zhu’s father had selected those who were useful and acknowledged them with a smile.

“Zhu Xueting?” Zhu Qinghou recognized him. Xueting looked embarrassed and panicked. The older servant turned back to scold him: “What are you standing there for?” The servant glanced at Zhu Qinghou, his breath catching in his throat. He said nothing, but grabbed Xueting to drag him away.

“Hold on,” Zhu Qinghou said, leaning against the gate and calling out past the guards. “Leave him here.”

The servant stopped, looking wary. A few days ago, some servants who had gossiped about Zhu Qinghou were summoned to the Prince’s room and came out covered in blood. If he offended Zhu Qinghou… He let go of the boy and hurried away.

“Xueting,” Zhu Qinghou called, “come inside.”

Zhu Xueting hesitated, looking at Zhu Qinghou with caution. He saw a man in purple robes and a black fox-fur cloak, his expression lazy and relaxed. He didn’t look like a prisoner; he looked exactly like the decadent young noble who had once captivated the capital.

Clutching his broom, Xueting followed Zhu Qinghou through the gate. The guards were conflicted. The Prince had told them to watch Zhu Qinghou and not let him leave, but he hadn’t said anything about forbidding guests. They hesitated, but ultimately stood by and watched the seventeen-year-old slave enter.

Zhu Qinghou asked Xueting how he ended up here. For some reason, Xueting didn’t speak. He used his hands to gesture, explaining that after the parade through the streets, he had been sent to the government office to be processed as a slave. He was bought and sold twice before finally being sent to the Su Manor.

After hearing the story, Zhu Qinghou patted his head. He didn’t press the boy on why he wouldn’t speak. He said gently, “From now on, you stay here.” Since those people had sent Xueting to him, he couldn’t let the boy fall back into his previous misery.

When Li Zhen returned and heard that Zhu Qinghou had taken a slave a delicate, refined boy from the Zhu clan, to stay by his side, he sought him out.

“You seem quite at home here,” Li Zhen remarked.

He had confined Zhu Qinghou to the hall, yet the man had no awareness of being a prisoner. He spent his days in idle luxury, demanding delicacies and servants. Even exile and branding hadn’t managed to strip the arrogance from his bones.

“Xianpu,” Zhu Qinghou soothed him calmly, “I am only happy when I’m by your side. As for these trifles, since you have them, what harm is there in giving me a few?”

He spoke with a confidence that ignored his lack of standing, making Li Zhen want to laugh. He wished he could open his eyes just to see Zhu Qinghou’s expression—was it a sly smile or a look of arrogant triumph?

“Come here,” Li Zhen said softly.

Zhu Qinghou moved over obediently. The tally charm around his neck clinked against his jade collar. Li Zhen heard the sound, grabbed the chain, and slowly tightened it. He didn’t stop until he heard Zhu Qinghou gasping for air.

It was torture. He was intentionally tormenting Zhu Qinghou to capture more of his essence within the endless darkness.

Zhu Qinghou clutched his throat and cursed silently. Damn this moody Li Zhen. On the surface, he seemed normal, but then he would suddenly turn into a dog and take a bite out of him for no reason.

He glared at Li Zhen. Knowing the man couldn’t see him, Zhu Qinghou silently mouthed the most horrible insults he could think of.

Are you cursing me?  Even through the white silk, Li Zhen acted as if he had eyes, softly reading the words as they were formed.