Jinbao opened the carriage curtain for Jun Huailang.
Xue Yan’s carriage was quite spacious. There was a couch inside along with a table and chairs, making it look almost like a small room. Xue Yan was sitting on the couch at the moment, holding a copy of Guiguzi in one hand. When he saw Jun Huailang enter, he raised his hand and pointed to the spot beside him, indicating that Jun Huailang should sit there.
Jinbao climbed into the carriage, poured Jun Huailang a cup of tea, and then withdrew.
A faint sandalwood fragrance lingered inside the carriage. It was almost imperceptible, deep yet ethereal, and somehow calmed the mind the moment one breathed it in.
Jun Huailang sat down beside him. When he saw Xue Yan look up at him, he smiled and nodded.
“I’m troubling you again, Prince.”
It was still early. Pale morning light filtered through the curtain that had been lifted at the carriage window, streaming in in thin strands. A beam of sunlight happened to fall across Jun Huailang’s face, illuminating his long eyelashes and casting crow-feather-like shadows across his features.
When he smiled, his eyes seemed to hold light within them, as though another golden crow were hidden deep in his gaze.
Xue Yan’s heart skipped a beat, and he awkwardly shifted his gaze away.
“It’s nothing.”
His voice had acquired a faint huskiness.
He lowered his eyes. The book in his hands was discussing the strategies of forming alliances and playing one faction against another, but he couldn’t absorb a single word.
There was only one question in his mind.
How could anyone possibly be this beautiful?
Such a thought appearing in Xue Yan’s mind was extraordinarily rare.
After all, before Jun Huailang, he had never even cared whether other people were attractive or ugly.
Before long, the convoy began moving.
The carriage swayed gently as it started down the road. Seeing that Xue Yan was quietly reading, Jun Huailang didn’t disturb him.
A small cabinet made of ebony stood against the carriage wall, with several books resting on top of it. Jun Huailang casually pulled one out and was just about to open it when several sheets of paper rustled and fell out.
At the faint sound, Xue Yan’s gaze was drawn over.
A dozen or so sheets of paper were scattered across the floor, covered in sweeping, vigorous handwriting. Jun Huailang bent down to pick them up. He had no intention of looking closely, but two lines of particularly familiar verse caught his eye.
They were Buddhist verses from the Sutra for Deliverance from Calamity.
Jun Huailang’s hand paused, and his gaze fell upon the stack of papers.
The characters were written with sharp, forceful strokes, carrying a distinctly martial air. Yet what those characters copied was a Buddhist scripture meant to save souls from suffering and sin.
For a moment, the murderous aura and Zen serenity intertwined, strangely forming a kind of harmony.
Jun Huailang was stunned.
Before he could recover, Xue Yan suddenly leaned down beside him and gathered up the scattered scriptures.
“Does your hand hurt?” he asked, casually placing the stack of papers to one side. “Let me see.”
Jun Huailang came back to himself, realizing that Xue Yan thought he had accidentally touched his injury. He quickly shook his head.
“No. It’s just…”
His gaze fell once more on the small stack of scriptures.
“Did you copy these?”
There was actually no need to ask. From the handwriting alone, Jun Huailang already knew they had been copied by Xue Yan.
He had simply remembered that after he had fallen into the water a year ago, his mother had told him that Xue Yan had copied the Sutra for Deliverance from Calamity to save him.
Jun Huailang naturally knew that the idea that copying scriptures could suppress the baleful energy around him and save his life was pure nonsense. Xue Yan must have used some other method at the time and merely used the copying of scriptures as a cover.
But a whole year had passed…
Why was he still copying them?
There were even copies of the scriptures in the carriage he used whenever he traveled.
Jun Huailang looked up at Xue Yan.
Xue Yan’s gaze swept lightly over the stack of scriptures.
At first, he had naturally started copying them because of Emperor Qingping.
He had been born under the Seven Killings star, and Emperor Qingping feared him and disliked him. But after Xue Yan casually copied a few volumes of Buddhist scripture, it seemed to somehow change the situation. Emperor Qingping relaxed and began treating him with greater affection.
Xue Yan naturally didn’t believe that those worthless scriptures could suppress the baleful energy within him. But since Emperor Qingping was willing to deceive himself in this way, Xue Yan was perfectly happy to copy them for him.
And as time passed, it became a habit.
He knew the scriptures by heart and could write them out from memory without thinking. Whenever he was thinking about something, he would casually copy a few pages. His hand would write Buddhist scripture while his mind was occupied with something entirely different.
His actions had greatly pleased Emperor Qingping.
The emperor had even specifically asked the monks at Baoguo Temple to obtain the sandalwood incense they offered before the Buddha and had it specially supplied for Xue Yan’s use.
In the eyes of others, this was an extraordinary mark of favor from the Son of Heaven.
And in Emperor Qingping’s eyes, Xue Yan had become a safe, devout Buddhist.
Xue Yan had gained quite a few benefits from it. So although he thought Emperor Qingping was somewhat foolish, he was still willing to patiently play along.
Hearing Jun Huailang’s question, he gave a faint hum.
“I copy them when I have nothing else to do. Just for fun.”
Jun Huailang looked at him. Seeing that Xue Yan didn’t seem to be pretending, he relaxed.
“If His Majesty likes seeing you copy them, then just copy them casually,” he said. “But copying these has never really been useful.”
Xue Yan hummed in agreement.
Of course he knew they were useless.
The baleful energy within him had been brought down from the Seven Killings star in the heavens. If it could be suppressed simply by copying a few scriptures, wouldn’t that be ridiculous?
But then Jun Huailang continued,
“After all, the whole idea of a baleful star is nothing but nonsense.”
At those words, Xue Yan turned his eyes toward him.
His gaze was deep, and it was impossible to tell what emotion lay beneath it.
Even now, he couldn’t understand why Jun Huailang had trusted him so firmly from the very beginning.
The claim that the Seven Killings star had descended into the mortal world had been deduced from his birth chart.
If only Lingtailang had made such a calculation, even Xue Yan himself wouldn’t have believed it.
But whether it was wandering fortune-tellers in Yan Commandery or the other astrologers of the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, they had all reached exactly the same conclusion.
And everything Xue Yan had experienced throughout his childhood and youth seemed to confirm it as well.
So why was Jun Huailang the only one who didn’t believe it?
Their eyes met.
Jun Huailang could read the hesitation and confusion in Xue Yan’s gaze.
As though he had suddenly realized something, Xue Yan abruptly looked away, casually returning his attention to the book in his hands.
He forced himself to concentrate on it.
From childhood onward, he had believed in this fate so deeply that it had become carved into his very bones and blood.
Usually, he never mentioned it, as though he had forgotten about it altogether. Yet whenever it was useful, he would casually place it on the table and speak of it openly.
It looked as though he simply didn’t care.
In truth, he had merely given up resisting.
Xue Yan’s gaze darkened.
But at that moment, Jun Huailang spoke first.
“I know that there are such things as birth destinies,” he said slowly, “but I’ve never believed in fate.”
Xue Yan’s eyes remained fixed on the book in his hands, but he couldn’t take in a single word.
He listened as Jun Huailang continued.
“I only believe that what people call destiny is ultimately created by people themselves. If you believe that you are a baleful star, then the Seven Killings will indeed be impossible to escape. But if you don’t believe it, no one can make you into something called a baleful star.”
As he spoke, he raised a hand and lightly tapped the book in Xue Yan’s hands, indicating that he should look up at him.
Xue Yan obediently lifted his eyes.
Jun Huailang sat beside him, his face warm with a gentle smile.
“Would you like to try believing what I say?”
Xue Yan didn’t know whether he should believe him.
At that moment, his mind was completely blank.
He only knew one thing.
He wanted to kiss him.
Hard.
——
Jun Huailang could see Xue Yan’s gaze darken slightly, emotions churning within it that even he couldn’t understand.
But perhaps there was too much aggression in that gaze, making him instinctively uneasy.
Even so, he forcibly suppressed his unease and continued looking at Xue Yan patiently.
Xue Yan seemed rooted to the spot. The hand holding the book had tightened until the pages were wrinkled.
“…Prince?”
Jun Huailang tentatively called out to him.
Xue Yan hummed but didn’t speak.
His voice was terribly hoarse.
For some reason, Jun Huailang felt as though the sound had vibrated against his eardrums, leaving the roots of his ears tingling. He couldn’t help wanting to move a little farther toward the other side of the carriage.
It seemed like a kind of aggression that was on the verge of becoming impossible to suppress.
Just then—
Whoosh!
A large swath of sunlight suddenly streamed through the window and spilled into the carriage.
Jun Huailang, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the carriage’s soft light, squinted against the brightness.
Then he heard Shen Liufeng’s voice.
“Huailang! I heard from my uncle that you were coming too. I didn’t expect you to really be here!”
His voice was full of energy, with an unmistakable hint of boyish foolishness. Yet he happened to have a pair of upturned fox eyes, giving him an especially flirtatious appearance.
Xue Yan’s brows furrowed slightly, and he looked out.
Sure enough, that annoying idiot son of Prefect Shen was riding a horse right beside the carriage. He had one hand lifting the curtain and was squinting at Jun Huailang with an especially flirtatious smile.
Jun Huailang was momentarily stunned before smiling back.
“Liufeng?” he said. “Why are you here too?”
Shen Liufeng pulled a face.
“My uncle heard that I was going to Yangzhou too, so he insisted that I come along and said I should take the opportunity to learn something. But luckily, I didn’t expect you to come too. At least I won’t be alone on the road.”
Beside him, Xue Yan listened as the two of them called each other “Liufeng” and “Huailang” so familiarly.
Yet Jun Huailang had never once called him by his name.
Xue Yan irritably closed his eyes for a moment.
Shen Liufeng, meanwhile, continued riding alongside the carriage, holding up the curtain as he spoke.
“Huailang, I can’t believe you wouldn’t come out with me for an outing, but you’re willing to go on an inspection tour with my uncle! Isn’t it boring for them to travel around on official business? You’d be much better off coming out to have fun with me.”
Jun Huailang was amused into a soft laugh.
“It was my father’s order. I couldn’t refuse.”
He smiled as he brushed the matter aside.
Shen Liufeng naturally couldn’t tell whether he was being sincere.
“By some twist of fate, I finally managed to catch you this time. You can’t refuse me this time. Later, you have to come with me and take a look around the mountains!”
Jun Huailang could only smile and nod.
Beside him, Xue Yan had been sitting with his eyes closed without saying a word.
But now his eyes suddenly opened, and he frowned at Shen Liufeng.
How was this man like a piece of dog-skin plaster that wouldn’t come off?
Back in the palace, even Xue Yunhuan had never been this irritating.
Yet Shen Liufeng, riding beside the carriage, leaned his head in again with a cheerful grin.
“The sunshine outside is so nice! Come out and ride with me, Huailang!”
Xue Yan pressed his lips together.
The next moment, he raised his leg and kicked Jinbao squarely in the butt through the carriage curtain.
Jinbao staggered from the impact, forcibly swallowing the cry of surprise that almost escaped him.
He turned around and saw a handsome young man riding alongside the carriage, currently lifting the curtain and chatting intimately with the Heir.
He also heard the Heir politely declining.
“I didn’t bring a horse with me today, so I’m afraid I can’t ride…”
But the young master didn’t mind in the slightest.
“That’s fine! I specifically brought a spare horse. You can ride mine!”
Good heavens.
Someone was actually trying to spirit the Heir away right in front of the Prince?
Jinbao discreetly rubbed his bruised backside, then turned around and cleared his throat. He arranged his face into an arrogant, icy expression.
“Young Master, this is the carriage of the Prince of Guangling,” he said haughtily. “Please keep your distance and refrain from disturbing the Prince’s peace and quiet.”
His master was jealous, so naturally he had to help chase the rival away.
Jinbao couldn’t help grumbling inwardly.
What a wonderful job this was.