Inside the courtyard, Cui Ye still held Meng Xizhao’s wrist.
“Why are you running?”
Meng Xizhao, flustered, pointed toward the courtyard: “My elder brother—”
Then he paused.
Why was he running at all?
It was all because Meng Xiang had been keeping such close watch on him lately. He was rapidly overtaking Meng Xizhao’s old fear of that balding class president from school, now becoming the person Meng Xizhao feared the most.
Meng Xizhao was like that—he could skip class and copy homework, but he dared not defy the class president face-to-face. After all, the president had the students’ best interests at heart, and even he understood basic propriety.
Blinking, Meng Xizhao relaxed slightly, lowering his gaze to where Cui Ye’s hand still lingered.
Cui Ye, similarly, looked down for a moment, then loosened his grip, leaving only a finger-width of contact around Meng Xizhao’s wrist.
It felt strange to Meng Xizhao, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. He withdrew his hand and, seeking conversation, said, “Your hand is cold.”
Cui Ye retracted his hand into his sleeve but smiled as usual. “Second Brother’s hand is warm.”
Meng Xizhao blushed, touching his wrist. “Men, you know… tend to have more fire in them.”
Then, realizing, he added quickly, “Mine is superficial, like your Highness, you keep it all inside. Calm, composed—I admire it, but can’t imitate it.”
Cui Ye chuckled softly.
Meanwhile, outside the courtyard, Meng Xiang was standing not far off.
Jin Zhu advised him to leave, saying Meng Xizhao was busy inside, but Meng Xiang waved her off, determined not to move.
He eyed Zhang Shuogong warily, who in turn glared at him, tense.
When the gate opened, Meng Xizhao stepped out. Zhang Shuogong reluctantly made way, then closed the gate behind him with a firm shove.
Meng Xiang quickly approached, frowning. “Second Brother, who is that inside?”
Meng Xizhao’s eyes darted to Jin Zhu, who stood behind him, shaking her head frantically.
“…A friend. Caught a cold, so he’s staying here to recover while practicing.”
He said Cui Ye had a cold, hoping Meng Xiang would be satisfied and not insist on going inside. But Meng Xiang’s attention was elsewhere.
He thought: You came to see someone with a cold? Aren’t you afraid of catching it?!
And even further—What exactly is going on between you two?!
Meng Xiang couldn’t help but overthink—it wasn’t entirely his fault. His younger brother’s infatuation was infamous, and the past few months had been unusually quiet, with even the only scandal stirred up solely because of His Majesty. Meng Xiang had been waiting, certain that sooner or later, his brother would reveal his true colors.
It seemed that day had come.
But the way it was revealed… the way it made him break out in a cold sweat…
Meng Xiang’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the gate, and once again, that long, powerful, unnaturally pale hand came into view.
He was momentarily dazed. It’s really that big…
Meng Xizhao watched his elder brother’s expression grow increasingly blank, as if he were about to perform an out-of-body act. Bewildered, Meng Xizhao waved his hand in front of Meng Xiang’s face. “Big Brother? Big Brother?? What’s wrong? Did you catch a cold too?”
With a shudder, Meng Xiang snapped out of it. He glared at Meng Xizhao, opening his mouth to scold him, but quickly remembered this was a sacred Buddhist site, broad daylight, and in front of someone else’s residence…
He shut his mouth, looking like he’d been choked, though a moment later, his anger returned. “Come back with me! Mother’s been looking for you, and Master Mingyuan is busy. He won’t wait around for you!”
Meng Xizhao had originally planned to follow him down, but stopped short. “Master Mingyuan? Isn’t this just a visit for offerings? Why is there suddenly a ‘Master’?”
Meng Xiang, having completely forgotten his mother’s instructions to keep Meng Xizhao unaware of the visit to Master Mingyuan, blurted out: “Who else could it be? The master who cast your birth verdict when you were a child. You even saw him three years ago. Every few years, Mother brings you to see him, but he’s stubborn—never says anything flattering…”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
So that’s why—Mother had him come along for incense offerings, yet he was being dragged to a fortune teller.
No, absolutely not. He had no idea whether this master was a con artist or genuinely skilled. If the former, he would not contribute to a swindle fund; if the latter, even more reason not to go—he couldn’t risk being found out as a reborn soul.
He looked at Meng Xiang with a blank expression, then forcefully pounded his palm, his face written with agony and regret: “Big Brother, it’s not that I don’t want to go. I truly can’t leave right now. You don’t know—my friend comes from a poor family, and this cold hit him hard. I’ll stay to care for him until the doctor comes. You can tell Mother and the master that I’ll personally apologize when I have time. That’s settled. Now, go back, please.”
He pushed Meng Xiang a few steps away, then quickly turned back, rushing into the courtyard. The gate inside was unlocked, and with a push, Meng Xizhao slipped in, slamming the gate shut behind him.
Outside, Meng Xiang: “…………”
He wanted to smash the gate in anger but, inheriting more of their father than mother, he lacked the impulsive boldness to act. Besides, he was a proper scholar, not a man of brute force.
He spun toward Jin Zhu, pointing at the gate in frustration. “He… he—”
Jin Zhu paused, then curtsied: “Young Master, please calm yourself. The Young Master enjoys helping others, as you know. Please explain things to Madam when you return, so she doesn’t get upset.”
She sidestepped like a crab, adding, “Please forgive me, Young Master. Since the Young Master has no experience caring for the sick, it’s better for me to handle it…”
Before she could reach the door, an arm shot out, pulling her inside. Meng Xiang clearly saw the sleeve’s material and color—identical to what their dear mother had worn today.
Meng Xiang: “……”
He wandered outside like a headless chicken, finally looked up at the closed gate, and silently turned to leave.
Jin Zhu, watching from the gate, reported back: “Young Master, the elder has left.”
Meng Xizhao, relieved, muttered, “Good, good.”
Jin Zhu stayed in the courtyard. Zhang Shuogong, gripping a one-foot-long hand blade, scowled at her.
But Jin Zhu, ever loyal, gave him a humble glance, maintained her position outside the main house, and occasionally smiled at him sincerely, “You are truly formidable.”
Zhang Shuogong: “……”
Inside, Meng Xizhao sat at the table, pouring himself a cup of tea.
Cui Ye sat opposite, observing his low energy.
Despite being highly patient and rarely showing his emotions, if Cui Ye appeared even slightly worn, it meant he was enduring a lot.
Meng Xizhao handed the cup across, “Shouldn’t you lie down and rest?”
Cui Ye: “No matter. I want to sit here with you.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Three months had passed. Meng Xizhao had evolved from a notorious playboy to a notorious official, but Cui Ye remained the same—clingy and unyielding.
He traced the cup’s rim, feeling the temperature drop enough to drink, and pushed it toward Cui Ye.
“You’ll think I’m disturbing you, making it hard for you to rest.”
Cui Ye placed his hand over the cup, feeling the rising steam, and smiled: “It’s alright.”
Meng Xizhao showed a look of confusion.
Cui Ye said, “Whether you sit or lie down, it’s all the same. There’s no difference.”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him.
Then he lowered his head and said nothing.
Mainly because he did not know what he could say. He could not reveal that he knew Cui Ye had been poisoned, nor could he ask Cui Ye what exactly had happened. They were not that familiar yet.
Cui Ye carried a pile of secrets. Even Meng Xizhao, who had read the book, could only understand them vaguely. Meng Xizhao himself also carried a pile of secrets—secrets so enormous that Cui Ye could never guess them. And even if he somehow did, he probably would not dare believe it.
Ever since discovering that he had transmigrated to ancient times, Meng Xizhao had automatically given up on the idea of finding a soulmate or a friend bound by life and death. With such different beliefs, how could they share a bed? With such different horizons, how could they bare their hearts?
He fell into silence, unaware that sometimes silence was also a response—and often a louder one.
Cui Ye looked at the white jade crown on his head. The crown moved with the man; when a person’s mind was restless, even that flawless little crown seemed to shift bit by bit, looking somewhat unsettled.
Meng Xizhao had his concerns, and Cui Ye had his as well. Yet seeing Meng Xizhao’s perceptive and considerate manner only made Cui Ye feel somewhat uncomfortable inside.
He did not know why the world held such deep misunderstandings about Meng Xizhao. He only knew that the Second Young Master Meng he had come to know was absolutely not some foolish and sordid person. On the contrary, he lived with great clarity. Perhaps it was precisely because he saw too clearly that he was always exhausting his mind, unable to reveal his true nature.
After some time, Cui Ye’s voice suddenly broke the quiet room.
“The last time in the palace, I treated you as though you did not exist. Were you angry?”
Meng Xizhao looked up, somewhat blank.
It had been almost a month. Why bring this up now?
Blinking, Meng Xizhao naturally shook his head. “Not at all. How could I be angry with Your Highness?”
Hearing this, Cui Ye’s lips curved slightly, like a cat watching a fish swim foolishly toward it. “So you were angry.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
He had no idea how Cui Ye reached that conclusion and quickly defended himself. “Truly, I was not. I know Your Highness must have had your reasons.”
Cui Ye nodded and sighed. “Then it seems you have been angry for quite some time.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
“No, truly not.”
Cui Ye gave him a sympathetic look, as if to say, I already know—there is no need to keep lying.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Not wanting Cui Ye to misunderstand him, he had no choice but to tell the truth. “At the time, I did feel a tiny bit disappointed… but only a tiny bit. I have heard something of Your Highness’s circumstances. I truly was not angry with you.”
Cui Ye tilted his head. “Really?”
Meng Xizhao nodded quickly, practically ready to swear to heaven. “Really. Absolutely.”
Instead of looking reassured, Cui Ye seemed a little disappointed. “Actually, I was hoping Second Young Master would be angry with me.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Has the poison already reached your brain? Why is it that ever since you fell ill, I cannot understand the way your mind works anymore?
Just as he was puzzling over what that meant, someone suddenly entered from outside.
The newcomer stood eight chi tall, yet his steps were light and silent. If he had not spoken, Meng Xizhao might not even have noticed that someone had entered the courtyard.
“Your Highness!”
After coming in and seeing Meng Xizhao sitting on a stool, he paused for a moment. Then his expression returned to normal, and he cupped his hands toward him. “Vice Minister Meng.”
Meng Xizhao was unsure whether he recognized this man.
Cui Ye, however, thoughtfully introduced him. “This is Yu Fulan, Captain Yu. He serves by my side.”
Understanding dawned on Meng Xizhao. So he was a trusted confidant of the Crown Prince. Then he certainly did not know him. He had already asked his family about it indirectly before—he had met the Crown Prince before, but only in the sense that the Crown Prince sat high on the stage while he sat among the crowd below, kneeling in the ranks. If he had only ever glimpsed the Crown Prince from afar, then there was no way he would know the Crown Prince’s confidant.
Meng Xizhao stood up and returned the salute. Yu Fulan nodded, then walked to Cui Ye’s side, looking at him with some urgency.
Cui Ye glanced at him. Receiving the signal, Yu Fulan bent down and whispered a few words into his ear.
After listening, Cui Ye said quietly, “Understood. You may go.”
Yu Fulan obeyed and left. But just before stepping out, he glanced once more at Meng Xizhao, who was sitting obediently on the stool, before striding away.
After he left, Cui Ye looked up and smiled at Meng Xizhao.
“The results of this year’s metropolitan examination have been posted. The top candidate, the Huiyuan, is a twenty-two-year-old young gentleman from Xingren Prefecture. Such a rare talent—he will certainly be among the first rank.”
Meng Xizhao blinked.
Although Cui Ye had not shown it, he somehow felt that Cui Ye was not in a very good mood right now.
“What is his name?”
Cui Ye replied, “Zang He.”
Meng Xizhao… had no reaction.
He had never seen this name in the book. He did not know whether his own butterfly effect had caused this man to suddenly rise to prominence, or whether the man simply lacked ability and had failed to make any mark at all in the new dynasty founded by Zhan Buxiu.
The spring imperial examination was conducted in two stages. The first was the metropolitan examination—the one that had just concluded. After that came the palace examination. Only after the palace examination would it be determined who would become the Zhuangyuan and who would be the Bangyan.
However, no matter what, the Zhuangyuan would be chosen from the three hundred names on the Apricot List. Although the title of Huiyuan carried extremely high prestige, a Huiyuan was not guaranteed to become the Zhuangyuan. Whether one could become the Zhuangyuan still depended on whether the Emperor liked him.
After all, the palace examination was personally overseen by the Emperor. Whoever he favored could become first place. There was no real logic to it.
Meng Xizhao had just been about to say a few words of comfort when Cui Ye suddenly smiled and changed the subject.
“Why does Second Young Master refuse to meet Master Mingyuan?”
Meng Xizhao said, “Your Highness already knows. I do not believe in gods or Buddhas.”
Cui Ye replied, “Whether you believe or not does not affect whether you go to see him.”
Meng Xizhao said, “…That’s true, but I do not like him.”
Cui Ye was taken aback.
Meng Xizhao snorted, looking as if he had been holding a grudge for ages. “Just because of one fortune he told, everyone thinks I am a useless fellow who will not live long. Your Highness, do I look like a useless man to you?”
Cui Ye smiled and shook his head. “You do not.”
Only then did Meng Xizhao grin with satisfaction. “Exactly. His fortune-telling is not accurate at all, and it harms people. A so-called grand master like that—better not to meet him. If I saw him, I might get angry and end up fighting him on the spot.”
Cui Ye looked Meng Xizhao up and down. “Master Mingyuan swings his staff several hundred times every day. I am afraid you would not be able to defeat him.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
All the more reason not to meet him. If that man discovered where he truly came from and smashed a staff down on the spot, he was not some Bone Spirit Demon who could simply be reborn again.
While they were talking, the sun had already begun to slant westward. Meng Xizhao rose to take his leave. Then, remembering something, he asked, “Your Highness, are you returning to the palace today?”
Cui Ye shook his head. “On the first day of every month, I come to Jiming Temple and stay for three days—fasting and bathing in purification—before returning to the palace on the fourth. On the fifteenth of every month, I go to Da Bao’en Temple to burn incense. From the time I was ten until now—nine years—I have never missed a single month. The palace attendants all know about it, and they are used to it.”
Meng Xizhao recalled their second meeting. That day had been the fifteenth. No wonder he had encountered Cui Ye in the outer city—he had been out burning incense that day as well.
And the first time they met… that had seemed to be the fourth. Which meant Cui Ye had just returned from Jiming Temple.
Then how had he ended up alone, looking so miserable?
Meng Xizhao found it strange, but he asked nothing.
A crown prince who constantly claimed he did not believe in gods or Buddhas had nevertheless worshiped devoutly for nine straight years. If Meng Xizhao did not even have the discernment to notice something like that, he might as well resign from office and go home.
After saying goodbye to Cui Ye, Meng Xizhao left. He did not go to wander around the front halls of Jiming Temple, but instead followed that secluded path straight down the mountain again.
Madam Meng had been angered by him earlier and had already returned home at noon with Meng Xi’ang and Meng Jiaojiao. Fortunately, she had left Meng Xizhao a carriage; otherwise, it would have been difficult to hire one at the foot of the mountain.
On the way back, Meng Xizhao kept his eyes lowered and said nothing. Jin Zhu sat beside him and did not dare disturb him.
Suddenly, Meng Xizhao spoke. “Jin Zhu, do not return to the residence yet. Go to the Gongyuan. I want to see who passed the imperial examination this year.”
Jin Zhu acknowledged the order, then asked, “Young Master, would you like someone to copy the list?”
Meng Xizhao thought for a moment and nodded. “Have someone copy it after we return to the residence.”
The return trip was faster than when they had come. Earlier there had been many people and the road had been slow, but now, at Meng Xizhao’s instruction, the carriage sped along almost as if it were galloping like a horse. Before long, they entered the inner city.
When they arrived at the Ministry of Rites’ Gongyuan, there were still several dozen people scattered around the gate, though nowhere near as many as in the morning. Earlier it had been a sea of people—so crowded that the Yingtian Prefecture office had even sent constables to maintain order. Now only two officers remained standing there, looking utterly bored. By this point, anyone who needed to know the results already knew them, so there was no fear of anyone coming to make trouble.
Meng Xizhao stepped down from the carriage and walked toward the apricot-colored results list. Beside the list, a household servant who was reading it caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. The servant immediately tugged at his master’s sleeve.
The master turned his head. When he saw Meng Xizhao, his eyes widened in shock. He quickly lowered his head and, while urging his servant along, hurried back to his carriage.
Before he had even finished reading the list, the servant cracked the whip and drove the carriage away at top speed, as if someone were chasing them.
Meng Xizhao paid the scene no attention at all. Jin Zhu, however, watched the departing carriage with a complicated expression before turning to remind him, “Young Master, that carriage just now seemed to belong to the Prince of Liang’s residence.”
Whenever Jin Zhu said “seemed,” it never really meant “seemed”—it meant it absolutely was.
Meng Xizhao paused and turned in surprise. “Where?”
Jin Zhu replied, “…It has already gone. The owner saw you and immediately returned to the carriage. From what I saw, that person appeared to be the Prince himself.”
Ah—then it must have been the Prince of Liang. Jin Zhu’s eyesight was unmatched, sharper than even a dung beetle’s.
If Jin Zhu ever found out that this was how Meng Xizhao praised her in his mind, she would probably go straight to Madam Meng the next day and request to be reassigned to serve the young lady instead.
…
The Prince of Liang was the emperor’s cousin. His father, the Prince of Liang, had been the younger brother of the previous emperor—the one who had spent his entire life trying to be a benevolent ruler. Both of them were sons of the Empress Dowager.
Originally, after his father died, the Prince of Liang could have retained the rank of prince. But he was far too timid. He actually submitted a memorial himself, claiming he lacked virtue and talent and was unworthy of the princely title, and that it would be better for him to be merely a commandery prince.
At that time, the emperor was still young and full of ambitions. He had not been pleased at all, because he felt this cousin was quite good—no threat to the throne and extremely obedient. Keeping him as a full prince would have been a perfect way to demonstrate imperial magnanimity.
But the Prince of Liang submitted request after request, even entering the palace to weep and insist that he truly did not want to be a prince. In the end, the emperor had no choice but to reduce his rank.
Although his rank was lowered, his fiefdom remained the same. The annual income was enormous.
It was precisely because he had requested the demotion that their family could form a marriage alliance with the Prince of Liang’s household. If his rank had not been lowered, the prince’s daughter would have been a commandery princess. Seven years ago, when the engagement was arranged, Meng Jiuyu had not yet become Vice Chancellor, and Meng Xi’ang had not yet passed the provincial examination—they would never have been worthy of marrying a commandery princess.
Now things were much better. His daughter Cui Yongning was only a county lady. If Meng Xizhao’s elder brother worked hard, he would still be a suitable match.
Speaking of Cui Yongning…
Meng Xizhao could not help recalling her title.
—County Lady Shouguang.
It sounded… lively and fresh… as if it were especially nutritious and healthy.
When Meng Xizhao had read the book, he had always felt that the Prince of Liang was actually quite clever. Pretending to be timid was simply his strategy. After all, in the Great Qi dynasty, being a princess was a high-risk occupation. One never knew when one might be sent away in a political marriage. Commandery princesses were not much better—if a princess suddenly died or if there were not enough of them, then the commandery princesses would be brought in to fill the gap.
Meng Xizhao had always rather admired the Prince of Liang, thinking him a rare good father. Only after this brief passing encounter today did he realize that the Prince of Liang might actually be genuinely timid…
Otherwise there was no way to explain why he had fled so quickly upon seeing Meng Xizhao. He had only come to look at the apricot list of successful candidates—yet he had acted so furtive about it. Could it be that he thought if the Meng family saw him here, they might assume he still favored scholars who had passed the examinations and feel uneasy about it?
Shaking his head, Meng Xizhao stopped paying attention to the Prince of Liang, who had already escaped without a trace. He stepped forward, squeezed into an open spot, and began reading the names on the list one by one.
By now, reading characters was no longer difficult for him. Yet as he stared at the three hundred names on the list, he still felt as if he were illiterate.
…Who were all these people? Why had he never heard of a single one?
The book had revolved around Zhan Buxiu’s new dynasty for a full 1.2 million words! And not one of you people ended up serving the new regime?!
That could not be right. Scholars of this era were not so rigid and stubborn. Dynasties rose and fell all the time, and turning around to serve a new ruler was hardly some unbearable burden.
Then there was only one explanation.
All three hundred of these people were simply mediocre. When the new dynasty arose and everything needed rebuilding, they had still managed to fade into complete obscurity…
Meng Xizhao was about to leave when he heard two scholars dressed in the robes of xiucai quietly discussing something beside him.
“The top candidate of the metropolitan examination is actually Zang He. Among the people everyone was betting on before, Zang He was ranked nearly outside the top ten. Who would have thought he would seize first place in one stroke?”
“That is nothing. Look who I bet on—Xie Yuan! I swore to the people at Qiguang Academy that Xie Yuan would certainly take first place. But he… he has disappointed me too much! Even if he performed poorly, how could he fall all the way beyond the two-hundredth place? If I knew where he lived, I would go find someone to beat him up!”
“Hahaha, Brother Ye’s temper is still so straightforward.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
Losing a gambling bet and wanting to beat up the person you bet on—that was called straightforward?
Frowning, Meng Xizhao began searching the list for the name Xie Yuan.
Jin Zhu quietly raised a hand and pointed for him. “Young Master, over there.”
Meng Xizhao looked where she indicated. Sure enough, there it was—beyond the two-hundredth place. Two hundred and twenty-first.
With that ranking, the First Class was completely out of the question, and even the Second Class was extremely uncertain.
Meng Xizhao stared at the name for a long time without moving his gaze.
He felt that the name sounded very familiar, yet he could not recall where he had heard it before. Was it from the book?
Even if it was, then Xie Yuan must not have been an important character—probably someone mentioned only in passing. Otherwise he would have remembered more clearly.
Unable to recall anything, Meng Xizhao finally gave up and turned back toward home.
After arriving, he first went to see Madam Meng. There followed another round of kneading her shoulders, massaging her waist, and pouring out basketfuls of sweet words before he finally coaxed her into forgiving him. Madam Meng said that after some time she would take him to see the master again, and Meng Xizhao nodded enthusiastically, assuring her that he would certainly go.
Meanwhile, in his heart, he was thinking that even if he had to pretend to suffer from menstrual cramps that day, he still absolutely would not go.
…
After dinner, Meng Xizhao returned to his room. He picked up a copybook and prepared to practice his dreadful chicken-scratch handwriting again. Yet after writing only two characters, he suddenly set down the brush and muttered, “I really feel like I have heard the name Xie Yuan somewhere before.”
Qingfu was watching him practice writing from the side. Hearing this, he said, “Young Master, you have heard it before. Xie Yuan’s name is on the VIP registration list at Bu Xun Tian.”
Meng Xizhao froze and turned to him. “Huh? Is it?”
Qingfu nodded. “Yes. Xie Yuan’s younger brother, Xie Yun—he is the son of Xie You, the Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Earlier this month he came to Bu Xun Tian to register. At first Sister Jin Zhu wanted to reject him because he did not seem particularly capable, but later we heard his father was the Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Since that office has some connections with us, we let him in. When he registered his companions, one name he wrote down was his elder brother Xie Yuan. The other was his lover, a courtesan leader named Cen Cuicui.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
“I do not even remember this, but you remember it so clearly?”
Qingfu scratched his head sheepishly. “Young Master is usually too busy to remember such small matters. Lately I have been working hard to share your burdens, so I know a little about the big and small affairs of Yingtian Prefecture.”
Meng Xizhao could not help laughing. “Impressive. You even know a little about the entire Yingtian Prefecture.”
After a pause, he showed a bit of puzzlement again. “Xie You… that name sounds familiar too.”
Qingfu grinned. “Of course it does. Xie You is quite famous in Yingtian Prefecture. His reputation is only just a tiny bit behind yours, Young Master.”
As he spoke, he even held up his fingers to show how small that difference was.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
This was not an advantage he wanted.
He pushed aside the half-written sheet of paper and sat down instead, picking up a plate of pastries beside him. Instantly he sank into a state of curious excitement, ready to enjoy some juicy gossip.
“Come on, tell me. How is this Xie You famous? Is it like my uncle?”
Meng Xizhao’s uncle—the heir of the Duke of Wu’s residence—had been a notorious playboy in his youth, even more infamous than Meng Xizhao himself. He had not behaved like a playboy for twenty years now, yet his reputation still circulated throughout the Great Qi dynasty.
Qingfu shook his head. “It seems Madam was right—Young Master really does have a poor memory.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
“If you are going to gossip, then gossip properly! No slandering your Young Master!”
Qingfu gave a flattering smile. “Your servant obeys. Actually it is not such a big matter. Xie You used to be the imperial uncle of Great Qi. Back then he enjoyed great prominence. But after the Empress passed away, the Xie family’s household fell into decline. The Empress’s father, the Duke of Fangling, resigned from office and returned home. Xie You continued serving as an official, but he has never been able to rise any higher. He is already over forty, yet still only a Vice Minister at the Court of Judicial Review. Just like you, Young Master, he will probably end up retiring from that post.”
Meng Xizhao froze.
Seeing his strange reaction, Qingfu thought he had told the gossip incorrectly and quickly adjusted himself, lowering his voice in a more mysterious tone.
“Although no one says it openly, everyone spreads it privately: the Xie family is finished. From now on, things will only stay like this. When Xie Yuan took the examinations, only those who did not know the inside story believed his learning was excellent and that he would surely place highly. But people who truly understand the situation knew his ranking would not be good. Some even thought he would fail the examination entirely.”
Now Meng Xizhao finally understood why the names Xie Yuan and Xie You had sounded familiar.
It must have been about one-third of the way through the story. When the rebels from Jiangzhou marched on Ezhou, the Prefect of Ezhou fled with his gold, silver, and valuables. The Assistant Prefect did not run. He stayed behind in the city with the people of Ezhou.
When the rebel army broke through the city gates, they burned, killed, and looted throughout the city. The Assistant Prefect of Ezhou was the highest-ranking official left there, so the rebels dragged him out and boiled him alive in public.
That Assistant Prefect’s name had been Xie Yuan.
Just as Meng Xizhao had guessed, the name appeared only in passing—just that single sentence. His entire role in the story was simply this: when Zhan Buxiu later led his army to Ezhou and heard about what had happened, he became furious. In a burst of rage, he captured the city in one stroke. He then had the rebel general who had been guarding Ezhou executed by slow slicing. When the people of Ezhou witnessed it, they were so moved that tears streamed down their faces as they shouted, “Long live Zhan Buxiu!”
As for Xie You, he appeared only near the end of the story.
By that time Cui Ye was already dead, and Zhan Buxiu had become emperor. He held a grand funeral for Cui Ye. After it was over, a white-haired old man came to request an audience, saying he wished to guard Cui Ye’s tomb.
At the time, Zhan Buxiu even tried to persuade him to stay—probably because he knew Cui Ye had not actually died. But the old man insisted, so Zhan Buxiu had no choice but to agree.
Afterward, when he returned to the harem, he sighed to his empress that although Cui Ye had died, there were still family members who remembered him. Yet he himself, though still alive, no longer had a single family member who could stand before him.
The empress felt extremely conflicted when she heard that.
Because she suddenly realized that Zhan Buxiu did not consider her family at all. She did not count, the other women of the harem did not count, and even the children they had borne did not count.
Her heart turned cold, but she dared not say anything. After all, no one dared offend the emperor.
From there, the author focused on the interactions and power struggles between the emperor and empress. The old man named Xie You never appeared again.
The conquest of the empire had taken four years. Governing it afterward took another six.
Which meant Cui Ye died ten years later.
But ten years later, Xie You would only have been in his early fifties. There was no reason he should already have been described as white-haired and ancient.
So… what had he experienced during those years?
Meng Xizhao realized that the parts the book had never explained—the story and secrets of Crown Prince Cui Ye—he might already know a small piece of them.
The feeling left him strangely unsettled.
That night he slept poorly. Reading about people struggling desperately in a book was one thing; seeing and hearing things in real life was entirely different.
The next morning he got up with two dark circles under his eyes, startling everyone in the household.
Madam Meng cautiously asked whether something was troubling him. Meng Xizhao, with his panda eyes, gave her a weary smile.
“No, Mother. I am fine. I am going to work.”
Madam Meng: “……”
Now she was worried again.
And once she became worried, Li Huai came knocking at the door again.
When Meng Xizhao returned home that afternoon and saw Li Huai standing there with an ingratiating grin, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Jin Zhu! Throw him out!”
Jin Zhu immediately sprang into action. With a wave of her hand she summoned six guards, preparing to drag Li Huai out by force.
Li Huai hurriedly begged for mercy. “Cousin! This time I really came to tell you something good, Cousin!”
Watching Li Huai flailing his arms in panic, terrified that he would not be believed, Meng Xizhao began seriously considering the feasibility of finding a Xiongnu slave trader and selling Li Huai off to the lands of Kievan Rus.