His Highness Wants to Become a Widower Every Day - Chapter 1.2

“You see, the time has arrived, so I won’t be returning at the end of the year. It has been twelve years; they have lived so comfortably, it makes one’s heart feel so stifled.” His eyebrows and eyes were cast amidst the shadows of the lamp, sinister and mocking, yet when he drew back his hand, his voice remained exceptionally gentle, “On what grounds?”

No one provided an answer. The fire in the basin went out.

Shen Quebai stood for a long while before turning to walk to the cupboard rack against the wall. He raised his hand and knocked three times at a certain spot. Instantly, the cupboard rack swung aside, and a secret door behind it opened. The secret passage was dark and silent, as though a ferocious beast crouching in the dead of night had opened its massive maw. He walked in without turning his head.

The rain poured down in sheets. The cassia tree in the courtyard held up its branches; at this hour, if some small bird from a certain household lacked a nest to hide in, it could offer a bit of shelter.

The secret passage connected to a mountain valley outside the northern suburbs. When Shen Quebai emerged, the sky was just on the verge of dawning, looking as though it were wrapped in gray smoke. A carriage was parked not far away. Upon seeing him, a black-clothed guard immediately held up an umbrella to welcome him, “Master.”

Shen Quebai gathered his outer robe, the rims of his eyes still red, “Where is the person?”

The guard did not dare to look too much, shielding him as he boarded the carriage, saying, “Miss Huawu brought him back to Zuiyun Pavilion. She is waiting for you to return and interrogate him.”

An hour later, at Zuiyun Pavilion.

Beside the red railing on the third floor, several green peach blossoms branched out, propping themselves up in mid-air like a peach-fan fragrant screen, obstructing the view looking up toward the fourth floor from below. Peonies paired with herbaceous peonies, white and vermilion, surrounded the four sides of the red railing on the fourth floor; they were all pleasing, top-grade specimens. The fourth floor belonged exclusively to the owner of Zuiyun Pavilion and did not welcome outside guests.

Inside the elegant room, Huawu sat by the pearwood round table reading a storybook. The Nuo-masked ghost knelt nearby, his two arms hanging distortedly against the ground—they were already broken.

Shen Quebai pushed open the room door, sat down beside her, and remarked casually, “What book are you reading?”

Huawu was Shen Quebai’s close guard. The two had known each other for ten years, and their bond was different from ordinary masters and servants; they did not observe too many rules in private. She spat out a melon seed shell and said, “The Tale of the Spring Hairpin (Chunchai Ji).”

Having not slept all night coupled with the alcohol rushing to his head, Shen Quebai was so fatigued that he let out a yawn. He had never read nor heard of The Tale of the Spring Hairpin. He cast a casual glance over, only to see that an illustration was pasted beneath the passage of the book. It depicted an improperly dressed man and woman, presently embracing each other in a passionate entanglement, their faces pressed together and tongues hooked, with even the vital parts drawn in precise, vivid detail.

Shen Quebai was stunned, “Isn’t this an erotic spring painting?”

“Correct, I waited for three months for it to arrive.” Huawu watched with relish. “The artwork is vivid and the story is touching; it didn’t waste my ten taels of silver.”

Shen Quebai stared at her, his eyes looking as though lightning had drilled into them, “Has your age arrived? Are you longing for spring (feeling amorous)?”

“Longing for a ghost.” Huawu used a tone that indicated she had seen through it all, “How can talking about love and affection be as interesting as the wind, flowers, snow, and moon in books?”

Seeing the two of them chatting away, the Nuo-masked ghost’s eyes rolled, wanting to stand up. However, his lateral neck suddenly grew heavy as he was stomped down by Shen Quebai’s foot. His entire side profile was instantly ground into the floor, turning a terrifying purplish-red due to the force applied, and his neck emitted a seeping, blunt sound.

Shen Quebai cast his eyes down, “Kneel a bit better.”

The Nuo-masked ghost’s knees trembled, unable to speak.

“Here, the brocade pouch he stuffed into the bed curtains earlier.” Huawu fished out a peacock jade pendant from within. “This grade of white jade cannot be bought even with money; I fear it has a significant background.”

Shen Quebai scrutinized it for two glances, slightly relaxing the force beneath his foot, granting the Nuo-masked ghost a chance to breathe, “Are you working for a master, or doing a job for an employer?”

The Nuo-masked ghost’s chest heaved erratically as he rasped, “…Is there a difference?”

“If it’s the latter, we still have something to talk about. If it’s the former,” Shen Quebai used the tip of his toe to hook up the Nuo-masked ghost’s chin, flashing a smile at him, “I will send you to the Reincarnation Platform right now to collect a number plaque.”

The Nuo-masked ghost was forced to lift his head, seeing that those pair of drowsy phoenix eyes were truly high and mighty, their emotions ordinary, bearing not the slightest hint of a joke or a threat—the owner of Zuiyun Pavilion, whom everyone within Chaotian City from high officials and noble eminences to wealthy merchants and grand magnates addressed respectfully as “Ninth Master,” was a figure who dabbled in both the black and white worlds. Very few people knew his true countenance and appearance, yet his reputation for counting every penny and being difficult to get along with was well-known.

Laid out on the table was the dagger Huawu had confiscated from the Nuo-masked ghost’s hand. Shen Quebai hooked it up, his fingers nimbly playing around with it. The Nuo-masked ghost could not ignore Shen Quebai’s movements, only feeling that the hand was like jade on a high shelf—exquisite and beautiful, yet crashing down on one’s head, it would cause a person to bleed.

He secretly bit his teeth and told a lie, “…We can talk.”

“Last night you drove straight in, as though you were certain the Pure Garden was unoccupied.” Shen Quebai narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

The Nuo-masked ghost replied, “Because the employer said before that the Pure Garden was a masterless land.”

What!

Huawu abruptly whipped her gaze over, looking toward Shen Quebai.

Shen Quebai stopped spinning the knife, his gaze freezing for a brief moment, until a ringing bell sounded from downstairs, only then appearing to wake up from a dream. He stared at the Nuo-masked ghost, his fatigued eyebrows and eyes completely smoothing out—that was a genuine, heartfelt delight. After a short while, he spoke in an exceptionally gentle tone, “Let us also make a mutually beneficial deal, shall we?”

The Nuo-masked ghost scented “excitement” from this sentence. It was abnormal, carrying a dense bloodiness. He looked up at Shen Quebai, not opening his mouth immediately.

Shen Quebai’s face still floated with a drunken sheen. The crimson hue hooked out a decadent, gorgeous thin line from the corners of those upturned eyes, rubbing a redness into his eyes once more—that was the trace left behind from him weeping face-down on the tablecloth during the pitch-black rainy night, the proof of his crime of still being timid and weak. Yet in the eyes of others, it was pretty and coquettish, like a spring herbaceous peony.

Uncontrollably, the Nuo-masked ghost’s Adam’s apple rolled once. He said, “…What deal?”

“If you speak up a bit, I will act as though you never appeared last night. Otherwise,” Shen Quebai stated, “I will return you to your employer.”

If the mission failed, going back meant a fate worse than death!

The Nuo-masked ghost threw a shiver, that bit of ill-timed, inappropriate amorous heart that had just floated up shattering instantly into pieces. His gaze flickered as he said suspiciously, “You won’t hand me over to the government?”

The Nuo-masked ghost did not know that the Ninth Master before his eyes was the owner of the Pure Garden, Shen Quebai, nor did he dare to easily test the other party’s objective. He could only surmise that the Ninth Master and this yellow-skirted woman had squatted in wait within the Pure Garden’s main house at midnight because they wanted to wait for a helpless target. They wanted to capture him and hand him over to the Governor’s Manor, using this to retaliate for the merchant wildly spouting enchanting words at Zuiyun Pavilion and tossing dirty water onto Zuiyun Pavilion.

“Rather than letting your employer learn that his framing attempt failed and letting him make another move, I prefer to beat him at his own game, dragging this rat out from the dark ditch…” Shen Quebai stroked the surface of the knife, pausing slightly as the blade sliced through his flesh, revealing a bright crimson. He let out a tsk sound, a smile still lingering in his eyes as he spoke syllable by syllable, “…And skin him alive, pulling out his tendons.”

The Nuo-masked ghost felt a chilling frost within his gentle tone.

Shen Quebai stared at the constantly welling blood droplets, his expression disgusted, yet his tone remained normal, “I do not fondle coercion. You may consider it.”

The Nuo-masked ghost asked, “On what grounds should I trust you?”

Huawu fetched the medicine box at the very first instance. Shen Quebai’s hand was supported upward by her. Hearing the question, he could not help but find it funny, saying, “The one kneeling right now is you. It should be you begging me to trust that you still possess value, kowtowing to accept the chance at survival I grant you, is it not?”

The Nuo-masked ghost could not refute it. Currently laid out before him, apart from a dead end, there was only this single path. After a moment of hesitation, he chose to open his mouth, “The employer constantly wears a mask; his appearance is unknown. His eyes are very dark, he loves to wear blue robes, and his stature is roughly seven feet tall. I have seen his handwriting—it is very delicate and beautiful.”

Having finished speaking, he saw Shen Quebai’s brow arch slightly, bearing a look of scrutiny and deliberation. He could not help but anxiously testify, “I truly only know this much!”

Shen Quebai bent forward slightly, “Then you can go ahead and die.”

“You said before” The Nuo-masked ghost’s astonishment froze entirely within his throat, severed by the edge of the blade.

A cold light flashed, and blood splashed across the white Nuo mask, turning it red.

“I said before: only if you are doing a job for an employer do we have something to talk about.” Shen Quebai tossed the blood-stained dagger onto the Nuo-masked ghost’s body, his tone not particularly pleased. “But for this kind of errand, how could your master casually hire an outsider to do it? Are you treating me like a child to coax?”

Huawu finished applying the medicine for him, standing up to clap her hands.

A guard opened the door and entered, dragging the corpse out. He replaced the floor mat with a clean one featuring a bamboo pattern and lit incense inside the carved burner, saying, “The brother who was killed has already been buried. His family only has a sixteen-year-old younger brother left.”

Shen Quebai said softly, “Take two hundred taels of silver over there. From now on, you guys keep an eye out and look after him.”

The guard complied and departed.

Shen Quebai bypassed the screen, walked to the writing desk, spread out paper, and lifted his brush, rapidly penning two letters. At this time, the managing mistress of Zuiyun Pavilion, Yurui, pushed open the door and entered. She placed two bowls of hot noodles—one spicy and one clear onto the table, opening the window to let in some air. Shen Quebai walked out of the inner chamber, handed the letters to her, and said, “These are urgent letters. Be careful, don’t let anyone discover them.”

Yurui took the letters and stepped out with light footfalls.

Snow-white fish shreds were spread over the surface of the soup, with spicy vegetables lining the bottom, the scallions green and the oil red. Shen Quebai sat back down, burying his head to take a sniff. His intoxication cleared, his soul returned, and the whole person came back to life.

He loved the spicy flavor!

Huawu did not eat spicy food. Stirring her clear-soup vegetarian noodles, she remarked, “The Nuo-masked ghost hasn’t returned; his master will bound to become suspicious.”

“He himself thought so too, which is why he dared to open his mouth.” Shen Quebai mixed his noodles. “But since they dared to come to Chaotian City to stir up trouble, they must have already prepared themselves to pay the price.”

Huawu said, “This matter concerns the Son of Heaven. Li Shou, a mere Prefectural Governor, cannot investigate it. I wonder who will come to take over this hot potato?”

“I, however, have a favorite candidate in mind Zhu Hexing. If it is him,” Shen Quebai picked up a piece of fish shred, his gaze full of longing, “I will be very excited.”

His Highness Mingxuan, Zhu Hexing, currently serving as the Envoy of the Xuanyi Guard—a true close minister of the Emperor. If Emperor Jing’an wanted to dispatch someone to take charge of this case, Zhu Hexing was clearly at the forefront of the list.

Apart from this, Xuandu possessed ten thousand beauties, yet this Prince suppressed all the fragrant crowds, being hailed as the “Number One Beauty of Xuandu.” Rumor had it that his countenance was supreme like the moon and like the pine, his eyebrows and eyes gave birth to spring, and his demeanor was unmatched in his generation… In short, the daughters of Xuandu, and even some of the sons, wished they could piece together and pile up all the beautiful words into a nine-fold floral crown to crash onto his head.

Shen Quebai was addicted to beauty, so Huawu naturally misunderstood his meaning, “Good heavens, you aren’t very old, but your amorous heart isn’t small! However, this Prince is no benevolent sort.”

Shen Quebai listened with respect.

“Let’s not mention the corrupt officials and wicked underlings he slaughtered under imperial orders—they deserved to be killed in the first place. But I heard that he once slaughtered imperial concubines within the palace, killed his eldest uncle, eldest aunt, and paternal cousin right in front of the Zhu clan’s ancestral tablets, and three years ago, even whipped the nanny who had raised him since childhood to death.” Huawu was highly worried. “This Prince refuses to recognize his own kin, possessing a vulture’s heart and a falcon’s claws. I fear you will find him hard to enjoy (endure).”

Shen Quebai took a massive gulp of the rich soup. It was so spicy that he continuously hissed out air, hurriedly using his hand to fan his mouth. Only after a while did he recover, stating structural dissatisfaction, “What do you mean enjoy or not enjoy? You make it sound like I’m a lecher! I merely,” he deliberated before saying, “want to try how hard he is.”

Huawu’s mind was not clean, saying coquettishly, “What do you mean hard?”

Shen Quebai used a look reserved for looking at a female rogue to look at her, stating, “His life.”