Li Jianheng smashed the things in front of him, then covered his face and began to choke back sobs.
Xiao Chiye avoided the shattered debris and knelt down. After a long while, Li Jianheng’s emotions finally steadied somewhat, and only then did he say, “Get up! There’s no need for you to kneel like this. You and I are brothers—doing this just makes us distant.”
Xiao Chiye rose and said, “The Grand Secretary is merely forthright by nature.”
Li Jianheng remained gloomy. He kept his face covered for a long time before saying, “…They come every few days demanding payment. I’ve agreed to all of it. Silver flows out like water, and I’ve never complained. These past days, I’ve been on edge all the time, unable to eat or sleep properly—I’ve been living in misery. Now Hua Siqian is dead, and Ji Lei is about to be executed. Can’t I even beg for a few days’ delay? Ce’an, you don’t understand. I sit here, and they’re all dissatisfied with me. If there were any other choice left in this world, they would never have chosen me.”
At this point, he grew sorrowful again.
“But did I ever want to be emperor? They were the ones who pushed me up here, and now they’re the ones scolding me! The censors from the Censorate stare at me every day. I go out to admire some flowers, and they submit memorials full of flowery words just to berate me! A eunuch—if he deserved killing, then kill him. But when Hai Renshi did it, why couldn’t he leave me a shred of dignity? I am, at the very least, the emperor of Great Zhou!”
Li Jianheng grew angrier the more he spoke, but with nothing left on the table to smash, he angrily pounded his own thigh.
“He called Mu Ru a vulgar person. And what lofty, virtuous people are they? Back when we drank on Donglong Street, which one of them didn’t look upright and dignified? But once their pants came off, they were all filthy scoundrels! Mu Ru was someone I personally chose from a respectable family. If it hadn’t been that bastard Xiao Fuzi interfering, would she have fallen into the hands of that thief Pan? My heart aches so badly it’s about to shatter!”
Li Jianheng poured out all his grievances. Xiao Chiye listened without speaking. By the time Li Jianheng stopped, much of his anger had already dissipated.
“If they truly treated me as their emperor and showed me some respect, I would also be willing to study diligently and work hard. My imperial brother entrusted this vast realm to me—I, too, want to be a ruler of a flourishing age,” Li Jianheng said aggrievedly. “…Hai Renshi simply looks down on me.”
Only then did Xiao Chiye speak. “On the contrary, it is precisely because the Grand Secretary has high expectations of Your Majesty that he dares to speak so frankly. Your Majesty must not harbor resentment. You should know that when Hai the Grand Secretary dealt with Yao Wenyu—the ‘unpolished jade yet to be carved’—he was just as strict and demanding.”
Li Jianheng was half convinced. “Is that really so?”
Xiao Chiye said, “If that were not the case, why would the Grand Secretary insist on killing Shuanglu today?”
Li Jianheng pondered this for a moment and said, “…That does make sense.”
If Hai Liangyi did not value him, why would he consult him on everything?
Li Jianheng recalled the first days after his ascension, when the Empress Dowager had sent him pastries. After learning of it, Hai Liangyi had specially instructed him in private to replace all the spoons and chopsticks with silver ones.
Hai Liangyi was rigid by nature and never smiled casually. But unlike Hua Siqian, he had no faction and no disciples—only a single student, Yao Wenyu. To avoid suspicion, despite Yao Wenyu’s extraordinary talent, he had yet to enter official service. Within the Grand Secretariat, Hai Liangyi never formed cliques. At the Nanlin Hunting Grounds, when danger struck, the only one who charged out alone to save Emperor Xiande was him.
He was the lone minister described in books—aloof and upright, a sheer cliff rising thousands of feet with no branches to cling to.
As Li Jianheng reminisced, Xiao Chiye was also deep in thought.
Li Jianheng had spoken plainly: if there were any other choice in this world, the one sitting on the dragon throne today would not be Li Jianheng. Yet even Emperor Xiande had had no alternative. Perhaps Li Jianheng truly was the only possible choice under heaven.
Since they had supported him, they had to teach and guide him. Great Zhou was now in dire straits. Du City might look calm on the surface, but in truth, fresh storms were already gathering.
The loyal ministers led by Hai Liangyi were all watching Li Jianheng. In their eyes, he might well be nothing more than rotten wood, yet Hai Liangyi had raised his hands, using his aged back to support Li Jianheng—forcing him to endure, to return to the right path, to become an emperor whose name could be remembered.
Xiao Chiye had never gotten along with civil officials, because Du City’s central authorities feared the military power of the border regions. These people were both the invisible cage that constrained him and the hard bones that still allowed Great Zhou to stagger forward.
Military generals were not afraid of death, because they could not be.
Civil officials were not afraid of death, because they would not compromise.
Li Jianheng had grown accustomed to obsequious flattery; what he needed most was precisely a teacher like Hai Liangyi, someone who dared to lance festering sores.
“Madam Mu ultimately has no official status. If Your Majesty truly has sincere intentions, it would be better to have a heart-to-heart talk with the Grand Secretary. Great Zhou is in urgent need of the imperial line to continue. As long as Your Majesty is candid, the Grand Secretary will certainly not brush you off,” Xiao Chiye said at last. “As for Ji Lei and Pan Rugui, I hear the Court of Judicial Review has yet to pass judgment?”
Li Jianheng was now fully occupied with thoughts of Hai Liangyi’s virtues. Distracted, he nodded and said, “The accounts don’t add up—they need further interrogation…”
The Dongzhu pearl was hollow. When Shen Zechuan hooked out the narrow strip of cloth, the writing had already been blurred beyond recognition by water. He burned the strip.
Every move Xiao Chiye had made the previous night had been before his eyes. That man might have felt the Dongzhu pearl, but it was impossible for him to have seen what was written inside. Even so, Xiao Chiye must have grown suspicious. On Feng Mountain, Shen Zechuan had answered one question incorrectly. Xiao Chiye had even told him the origin of the Forbidden Army’s accounts—he had been waiting for Shen Zechuan to confess honestly. Yet Shen Zechuan had denied it with such certainty.
Shen Zechuan brewed his medicine and drank it down in one gulp. The bitterness spread through his mouth and teeth. He endured it, like the pain he revisited day after day, night after night. In the end, he let out a mocking smile, wiped his mouth, and lay down to sleep.
He dreamed again.
In the dream, the Tea Stone Heavenly Pit was still howling with frigid wind. He was no longer lying at the bottom, but standing alone at the edge, looking down upon the forty thousand soldiers struggling like ants for survival.
The Border Sand cavalry encircled the pit, like a black tide in the pitch-dark night. They swallowed up the last traces of life of the Zhongbo garrison, turning the place into a slaughterhouse.
From the wave-like piles of withered bones, a hand stretched out. Ji Mu, puppet-like, pushed up his upper body riddled with long arrows and choked out to Shen Zechuan, “Brother, it hurts so much…”
Shen Zechuan was like a clay statue or wooden carving—unable to move, unable to shout. His breathing was ragged, cold sweat pouring down as his teeth clenched tightly together.
The leading Border Sand cavalryman wore a helmet. The hair fluttering in the wind had long since turned crimson in Shen Zechuan’s recurring nightmares. He raised an arm and lightly pointed toward the pit. The arrows on his back poured down like locusts, densely piercing human bodies, ripping through flesh, splashing hot blood.
The sky-filling snow also turned red. Shen Zechuan watched Ji Mu sink into the bloody mire, swallowed by the viscous crimson tide.
His hands were cold. The blood was cold too.
Shen Zechuan woke up.
As if nothing had happened, he sat up. With the bright light filling the window behind him, he lowered his head and sat quietly for a moment, then got out of bed and dressed.
The guards hidden within the residence watched as Shen Zechuan left his room, ate his meal, and went to the bathhouse.
Half an hour later, one guard, who had not taken his eyes off the place, frowned and asked the person beside him, “Why hasn’t he come out yet?”
The two exchanged a look, both sensing trouble. When the guards rushed into the bathhouse, all they saw were neatly folded clothes—Shen Zechuan was already nowhere to be found.
Xi Hongxuan had reserved the entire Bu’er Tower to host people for tea. Needing to relieve himself, he stood up to go to the latrine. He had barely taken a few steps into the corridor when someone patted him.
Xi Hongxuan turned around, nearly stumbling back several steps. “How—how do you keep appearing and disappearing like a ghost?!”
“There’s been a lot going on lately,” Shen Zechuan said, casually splashing cold tea aside. “Three rounds of interrogation at the Court of Judicial Review, yet Ji Lei and Pan Rugui are still not sentenced—it’s because neither Hai Liangyi nor Xue Xiuzhuo has managed to pry out what they want from them, isn’t it?”
Xi Hongxuan glanced around nervously and lowered his voice. “You want to kill Ji Lei, but with so many eyes watching, what can you do? The Hua faction case involves far too many people. There are too many who fear being implicated by those two. Hai Liangyi specifically ordered strict guarding to prevent them from dying mysteriously. You can’t make a move.”
“I won’t make a move,” Shen Zechuan said, a mocking smile curling on his lips. “But I have a way to make Ji Lei talk.”
Xi Hongxuan looked at him for a long time, then personally lifted the teapot to pour him tea. “…What way?”
Shen Zechuan took a sip and said, “Let me see Ji Lei.”
After days of torture, Ji Lei was disheveled and barefoot, shackled in his cell. Hearing someone approach, then the cell door opening, a hood was thrown over his head and he was dragged out.
Ji Lei was pushed onto a carriage. After some time, he was dragged down again and tossed onto the ground. The surroundings were silent, broken only by the dripping of water from a corner.
Ji Lei scrambled to his feet and asked from beneath the hood, “Who is it?”
Water droplets splashed and shattered. No one answered.
A chill ran down Ji Lei’s spine. Propping himself up on his arms, he tentatively said, “…Grand Secretary Hai?”
Still, no one replied.
Ji Lei swallowed hard, crawling forward on his knees until he bumped into iron bars. Feeling his way, he steadied himself and shouted, “If it’s not Grand Secretary Hai, then it must be Xue Xiuzhuo! What method are you planning to use to torment me today? Go ahead!”
“…Speak! Why won’t you speak?!”
“Who is it—who exactly is it? What do you want to do… You think I’ll be afraid if you stay silent? I’m not afraid… I’m not afraid!”
Ji Lei lowered his head and rubbed the hood off against his arm. His eyes shifted, and he saw Shen Zechuan seated on a chair directly ahead.
Shen Zechuan, dressed in moon-white, rested an arm on the chair’s armrest, propping his head as he stared at Ji Lei without expression.
A laugh spilled from Ji Lei’s throat. He clung to the bars, squeezing his face close, and said in a sinister voice, “So it’s you… the bereaved dog of Zhongbo. What is a wretch like you looking for your martial uncle for? Revenge for Ji Gang, or revenge for yourself?”
Shen Zechuan said nothing. The smile faded from those affectionate eyes, leaving behind only a heavy, pitch-black gaze.
Ji Lei could not even find “hatred” within it. He felt that what sat there was not a living, breathing human being, but a beast—one that had been starved to madness and had already begun to feast on human flesh.
Ji Lei lowered his gaze, speaking with hatred. “The Ji family has no heirs left. The one who severed Ji Gang’s lifeline was you. Why are you staring at me? Shen Zechuan, the one who killed Ji Mu was your Shen clan, and the one who violated Hua Pingtíng was also your Shen clan. You’ve lived this long—how do you face yourself? You’re an evil ghost beneath tens of thousands of wronged souls. You’re the continuation of Shen Wei’s wretched survival. You deserve to be cut into a thousand pieces…”
Ji Lei laughed softly, tinged with madness.
“You think I’d be afraid of you? A bastard no one wanted. Just strip off your pants and follow Xiao Er, and you can get ahead in life? Hahaha!”
Shen Zechuan laughed too.
Ji Lei’s laughter slowly stopped. Coldly, he said, “Is it funny? My situation today will be your situation tomorrow.”
Shen Zechuan lowered his legs and leaned back against the chair, as if pondering. “I’m so scared.”
When he spoke, his voice carried a light, floating sarcasm.
“Evil ghost, bastard, wild dog, wretch,” Shen Zechuan said, rising to his feet and crouching outside the bars. His smile gradually broke into laughter as he spoke with a madness both unrestrained and controlled. “You’re right—that’s all me. I am the evil ghost that crawled out of the Tea Stone Heavenly Pit, the bastard left behind after Shen Wei burned himself, the homeless wild dog, the wretch cursed by thousands. You understand me so well, Martial Uncle—I’m overjoyed.”
Ji Lei began to tremble uncontrollably.
Shen Zechuan looked down at him. His gaze was far more sinister than it had been back then, as though beneath that stunning exterior, a person had already died, leaving behind a nameless beast.
“Five years ago,” Shen Zechuan leaned closer to the bars, studying Ji Lei’s fear as he spoke softly, “the one kneeling here was me. On the day you sent me into the Temple of Atonement, what did you say to me?”
Ji Lei’s throat tightened. He wanted to answer, but no words would come.
“I have properly remembered all of your kindness,” Shen Zechuan said devoutly. “Every single day. Every single night.”