After thoroughly startling Sang Fanyu into pale distress, Meng Xizhao left her place.
He had originally planned to return home and get some proper sleep, but by chance, on Baihua Street, he ran into Lu Fengqiu, who had come out to relax. The two immediately hit it off and headed excitedly to Wangjiang Tower. Under the strange gaze of the waiter, they proceeded to order twelve dishes—all vegetarian and vividly green.
Back when Meng Xizhao had once eaten a vegetarian banquet treated by Cui Ye, he had secretly complained that the Crown Prince was stingy.
Now…
In youth, one does not appreciate the goodness of vegetables, mistaking meat for treasure.
Amitabha.
…
Lu Fengqiu had also become a hot topic lately. Even without anyone deliberately guiding public opinion, the common people all knew that among those sent to the Xiongnu for the marriage alliance, there was an official named Lu Fengqiu. Facing the overbearing Xiongnu, he had stood his ground with reason and brought honor to Great Qi.
Lu Fengqiu himself cared little for the praise. What he wanted most to know now was what reward the emperor would grant him at court the day after tomorrow.
After hearing this, Meng Xizhao thought for a moment and said, “Lord Lu will probably be promoted one or two ranks.”
Lu Fengqiu’s breathing grew heavy, yet he waved his hand with a strained smile. “How could that be? Lord Meng, you must be joking.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
“I’m not joking. Assistant Director Zang is already a fifth-rank official now. Lord Lu’s achievements on this trip surpass his—His Majesty will certainly promote you. Have you heard? My superior, Minister Han of the Court of Diplomatic Reception, has unfortunately fallen ill and has been recuperating at home. Given your performance before the Xiongnu, once Minister Han steps down, that position may very well be yours.”
Lu Fengqiu: “…………”
The Minister of the Court of Diplomatic Reception was a fourth-rank official. He was not yet thirty-five—if he could reach the fourth rank at this age, then even by simply enduring, he could one day rise into the top three ranks.
Great fortune lay right ahead, yet while Lu Fengqiu felt excitement, he also felt a trace of dread.
After this trip to the Xiongnu, he had developed something like a shadow over foreign lands. He had heard that whenever there was a marriage alliance, the Minister of Diplomatic Reception had to accompany the procession. Next time, he could not guarantee he would come back alive.
Lu Fengqiu was simply the pessimistic type. In all the years of Central Plains sending princesses for marriage alliances, had this kind of thing happened more than once? The ruler dying was already a rare occurrence—how could it happen again?
While in Xiongnu territory, Lu Fengqiu had listened closely to Meng Xizhao. But in truth, they were not particularly close. Their relationship was not that deep.
At this moment, he felt too embarrassed to voice his concerns to Meng Xizhao, afraid of being seen as cowardly.
What a pity he did not ask—because if he had, Meng Xizhao would have reassured him immediately.
After all, there would never be another marriage alliance again.
＊
After finishing their meal, Lu Fengqiu soon left to visit his friends and mentors, informing them of his safe return. Meng Xizhao, having no such social obligations, stepped out of the private room and found a corner table in the main hall. He had Jin Zhu order a pot of tea and two plates of pastries, then sat there, listening to the lively chatter filling the hall.
Wangjiang Tower was the most famous and largest restaurant in Ying Tian Prefecture. More impressively, its prices catered to all classes—there were delicacies worth hundreds of taels, and also snacks that cost only a few copper coins.
Because of this, all sorts of people gathered there, making it the perfect place to observe a slice of the capital—and through that slice, glimpse the whole.
In an ancient world with little entertainment, once a major event occurred, it would be discussed for an entire month. Meng Xizhao did not even need to wait—just by listening, he found that everyone was talking about the Xiongnu affair.
Diner One: “I just don’t understand—why did the Xiongnu send the princess back?”
Diner Two: “They got angry.”
Diner One: “When the Xiongnu get angry, don’t they usually start killing people? But the envoy returned safely—it doesn’t look like anger.”
Diner Three: “I think they were scared. They believed the Princess of Chu brings bad luck to her husband, afraid she would kill the new Chanyu too.”
Diner Two burst out laughing. “Then what a pity! They should have married her off again!”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
Suppressing a twitch at the corner of his mouth, he turned to listen elsewhere.
Diner Four: “What should have been a good thing turned out like this. The princess was even sent back—what a shame. She really failed to measure up.”
Diner Five quickly covered his mouth. “Brother Liang, watch your words!”
Seeing the other man realize his mistake, he released him and lowered his voice. “It’s already good enough that the Xiongnu don’t hold a grudge! Sixty years ago, when the previous dynasty was collapsing, they nearly marched into Ying Tian Prefecture! If not for the strong city walls and the brilliance of the founding emperor leading troops to repel them, we might all be wearing barbarian clothes and speaking their language today.”
Diner Four nodded, still shaken. “You’re right. I say we should quickly send another princess—an extra safeguard, in case the Xiongnu suddenly attack.”
And just like that, the two began whispering about sending another princess—debating which one would be suitable. Soon they ran through all the princesses, then moved on to noble ladies, and finally began discussing the courtesans of Baihua Street.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
No matter the era, certain men always made one feel… like removing them from the category of human entirely.
His ability to express himself was far stronger than Zang He’s. The very same events, when told by Meng Xizhao, stirred the Emperor Tianshou to excitement, making him feel as though he were witnessing them firsthand. After laughing heartily for a while, the emperor suddenly came back to his senses and asked, “This hand grenade—does it really have that much power?”
Meng Xizhao nodded without hesitation. “It does. The Xiongnu palace gates were blown to pieces. Later, I even teased the Right Worthy King, saying that when I returned to Great Qi, I’d send them a new gate. His face turned the color of pig liver.”
Hearing this, the emperor burst into laughter again.
Qin Feimang looked at Meng Xizhao with admiration. He had thought that after being gone for two months, the emperor—who was known for his poor memory—would hardly remember him. Who would have expected that Meng Xizhao would return laden with achievements, not only regaining imperial favor in one stroke but even entertaining the emperor like a fool?
…
The emperor loved gossip, but given his lofty status, he disliked mundane domestic squabbles and jealous rivalries in the inner quarters. What he enjoyed were the unusual, the sensational—stories involving powerful figures, or tales of intense, tragic romance.
It was not that no officials had noticed this preference. The problem was, even if they had, they could not easily exploit it. They all served under high-ranking superiors; they could hardly expose their own bosses’ scandals to curry favor with the emperor—unless they wanted to ruin their own careers.
As for sensational stories, one either had to invent them or go out and find them. The former required wit, the latter effort. Neither was easy.
Thus, those who realized this tendency mostly resorted to telling love stories to attract the emperor’s interest.
The first person to do so gained quite a reward. The second did well too. But by the third, fourth, even fifth and sixth, the emperor had heard too many. His standards kept rising, and the threshold for moving him grew higher. Hardly anyone could tell a story that truly pleased him anymore.
And now, Meng Xizhao was like that very first storyteller all over again.
Foreign gossip! Intrigues of succession among the Xiongnu! It involved nearly all their prominent figures—men and women, young and old—people who usually stood aloof and arrogant, looking down on others. Now, all of them had been dragged down from their pedestals.
Moreover, Meng Xizhao spoke without restraint. Every few sentences, he would interject his own sarcastic commentary, showing not the slightest respect for the Xiongnu. Yet this irreverence hit exactly the notes the emperor longed to hear—voicing thoughts the emperor himself could not openly express.
From time to time, Meng Xizhao also slipped in a bit of praise—mentioning how the Crown Prince had carried himself admirably before the Xiongnu, displaying the dignity of a great nation, far surpassing their princes. He would also remark that General Ding was exceptionally skilled at commanding troops, and that the young officer he had promoted was more capable than many seasoned veterans—the so-called greatest warrior of the Xiongnu had not even lasted a single exchange before being defeated.
The bridal convoy had entered Yingtiandu just before noon. Meng Xizhao only arrived at the palace at a quarter past noon. By now, the sun had already set, and he had only just reached the part where he asked Commander Jin for help.
At such a gripping moment, the emperor could not even be bothered to eat. It was only after Qin Feimang reminded him—pointing out that even if he could go without food, Meng Xizhao surely could not—that he finally ordered a meal to be served, instructing Meng Xizhao to continue his story while eating.
…Which, of course, made it impossible for Meng Xizhao to eat. So in the end, it was mostly the emperor dining while Meng Xizhao continued speaking beside him.
Such a thrilling and dramatic tale—full of twists and dangers—was likely the only one of its kind the emperor would ever hear in his lifetime. As for the poisoning he had been curious about at the beginning, he had nearly forgotten it altogether. When Meng Xizhao brought it up again, the emperor even paused in confusion.
Meng Xizhao did not conceal the truth. He stated plainly that it was a sterilizing drug, capable of preventing livestock from breeding. He also openly admitted his malicious intent: to sterilize the Xiongnu herds while buying up their livestock, leaving them with neither meat to eat nor wealth to gain.
As for his motive, Meng Xizhao simply phrased it differently.
He claimed he did it because the Xiongnu had long profited through unscrupulous means, and he wanted to teach them a lesson—to let them taste the bitterness of loss.
At first, as the emperor listened, his expression had already begun to change.
He wanted capable ministers—but not overly capable ones. Otherwise, it would only highlight his own inadequacy, and worse, make him uneasy. If a man was this formidable, could he truly be controlled?
The fact that Meng Xizhao had thought of targeting livestock to undermine the Xiongnu’s lifeline made the emperor instinctively wary. But before that suspicion could fully take root, Meng Xizhao revealed a different side of himself—reckless, shortsighted, driven by impulse. That eased half of the emperor’s concerns.
The other half faded when Meng Xizhao mentioned the Jurchens.
Of course—how could a mere youth possess such ruthless cunning? It must have been an idea borrowed from the Jurchens.
Watching the emperor’s expression return to normal, Meng Xizhao quietly let out a breath.
Truthfully, he had not wanted to tell the emperor about this at all.
But he had no choice.
The emperor was the final decision-maker. If he refused to purchase livestock and insisted on some alternative, then all of Yu Fulan’s suffering over those days—and all of Teng Kangning’s efforts along the journey—would have been for nothing.
So he had to explain it, to make the emperor understand that this strategy could weaken the Xiongnu. Only then would he reluctantly support it.
As he spoke, Meng Xizhao stole a glance at the emperor.
He could not keep going to such lengths every time. Not only would it exhaust him, but the emperor would not always be willing to listen. What if one day the emperor suddenly acted irrationally—adopting some absurd “ignore the facts” policy and deliberately opposing him? Where would that leave him?
He needed someone who could speak directly to the emperor—someone to handle these tedious matters on his behalf.
His first instinct was to look at Qin Feimang.
But after a moment’s thought, he dismissed the idea.
Wearing a heavy, troubled expression, Meng Jiuyu called Meng Xi’ang over and had him sit down.
That look alone made Meng Xi’ang’s heart leap into his throat. In an instant, all kinds of terrible possibilities flashed through his mind. He could not help asking, “Father… did something happen to Erlang?”
Meng Jiuyu let out a sigh. “Dalang, there is something I need to tell you. You must not get too agitated, and you absolutely cannot let anyone else know.”
Meng Xi’ang froze for a moment, his heart lifting high in his chest. Pressing his lips together, he nodded solemnly.
Meng Jiuyu nodded as well, then slowly spoke, “Your younger brother… has actually known the Crown Prince for a long time.”
After saying it, Meng Jiuyu looked at Meng Xi’ang with concern. His eldest son had been poisoned before, and afterward his body had never fully recovered—he always seemed somewhat frail. Back then, even he himself had fainted from shock. He feared his eldest son might react even more strongly.
But after waiting a while, he was stunned to find that Meng Xi’ang showed no reaction at all.
He just looked at him silently, as if waiting for him to continue.
Meng Jiuyu blinked slowly, then seemed to understand. “…You already knew about this?”
Meng Xi’ang hesitated, then finally gave a faint, mosquito-like “Mm.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
A metallic sweetness rose in his throat, and in the next second, he fainted on the spot.
…
The entire Censorate residence was thrown into chaos. When word spread that the master had fainted, even Madam Meng rushed back from her natal home. Upon learning that no one else had been present at the time—only Meng Xi’ang—she immediately turned her fire on her eldest son, scolding him thoroughly without asking any questions first.
Meng Xizhao stood to the side, his face practically spelling out the word “innocent.”
It was only around midnight that Meng Jiuyu finally woke up. By then, everyone else had gone back to sleep—including his two rebellious sons and one rebellious daughter. Only Madam Meng remained by his side. Seeing him awake, she leaned closer with concern. “Husband, how do you feel?”
Turning his head and seeing the deep worry on his wife’s face, Meng Jiuyu’s heart—bleak all day—finally warmed.
Then he suddenly sat up, pulled her into his arms, and burst into loud sobs.
“Xinniang, our married life has been so bitter!—”
Madam Meng: “……”
＊
The next day, Meng Jiuyu did not go to court. He stayed in bed, resting. His behavior made the two prime ministers think he was deliberately playing pitiful to build momentum for Meng Xizhao. In truth, even without this, Meng Xizhao was guaranteed to receive a reward.
Completely unnecessary.
As a result, Meng Jiuyu earned two silent eye-rolls behind his back.
…
Meng Xizhao went to his parents’ courtyard to pay his respects. After confirming that Meng Jiuyu was fine, he had no intention of staying cooped up in the residence all day. Instead, he went out to relax.
As for where—naturally, it was Buxun Tian, the establishment he had personally built.
When he first created Buxun Tian, it was to attract the attention of the Emperor of Tianshou, allowing himself to bypass the Imperial Academy and directly enter officialdom—and not at a low rank, either. After achieving that goal, he continued operating Buxun Tian to gather information: the interpersonal networks and behavioral tendencies of officials throughout Ying Tian Prefecture.
By now, nearly everyone who could come had already visited. As for those who could not—there were not many left. The most powerful figures, like the grand chancellors and privy councilors, held themselves too highly to ever set foot in Baihua Street.
So Meng Xizhao felt it was time to hand Buxun Tian over.
Not that he wanted to sell it off—after all, he had built it from the ground up. He simply did not want to keep investing so much energy into the restaurant, nor did he want to keep his second assistant, Yinliu, tied down here.
It would be best to entrust it to someone he trusted. Occasionally, he would still need to check the records, and besides, the Emperor of Tianshou might not be done with the place forever. Who knew—someday, on a whim, he might remember Sang Fanyu of Baihua Street and decide to come back for another visit.
Holding the account books, Meng Xizhao shared his thoughts with Jinzhu and Yinliu. Both women looked thoughtful.
Jinzhu said, “Why not let Madam manage it? She oversees no fewer than a hundred shops, and every one of them is run excellently. She is your mother—who could be more trustworthy?”
But Meng Xizhao shook his head. “My mother is already so busy. How would she have time to look after this place? Even if it goes to her, she would likely appoint a trusted manager to handle it. Then if something happens, the information would have to pass through three hands before reaching me. If anything urgent came up, it would already be too late.”
What urgent matters could there be…
Jinzhu did not quite agree, but she knew Meng Xizhao was always cautious—he liked to block every possible loophole in advance. Even a one-in-ten-thousand chance had to be accounted for.
So letting Madam handle it was out.
At that moment, Yinliu suggested, “Young Master, what about entrusting it to Eldest Young Master Li?”
Meng Xizhao turned to her. “Who’s Eldest Young Master Li?”
Yinliu: “……”
Jinzhu pressed a hand to her forehead. The young master always said his poor memory was because he had been beaten too badly by the Marquis of Ningyuan’s heir back then—but now that the man was gone, his memory was still just as bad.
Helplessly, she explained, “Young Master, your eldest cousin—heir to the Duke’s residence, the eldest son of the crown heir, older brother of Second Young Master Li, Li Ping. Do you remember now?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He had already remembered at “eldest cousin,” but Jinzhu kept going with that long explanation, sounding as if he were still six years old.
After a pause, he gave a soft “Oh.” “Eldest cousin… but if I remember correctly, he holds a post at the Office of Drum Appeals. How could he possibly come manage a restaurant for me?”
Yinliu did not think so. “Young Master, after you went to the Xiongnu, Eldest Young Master Li came to Buxun Tian several times with our own Eldest Young Master. I was serving nearby and heard him ask more than once how much silver the place earns in a month and how it operates day to day. He seemed very interested.”
Only then did Meng Xizhao make an effort to recall who Li Ping was.
Greedy for money, low-key. As the heir’s heir, he would one day inherit the title, so he was steady and cautious in how he handled things. He had a good relationship with Meng Xi’ang, and the two of them often exchanged ideas on how to discipline their younger siblings.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
The heir’s household was nothing like Meng Jiuyu’s simple one. Besides his wife, the heir had taken four concubines. There were only two legitimate sons and no legitimate daughters, but the illegitimate sons and daughters could line up in a row—seven of them in total.
Fortunately, the heir still had a clear head. The household authority was entirely in the hands of his wife, and the concubines’ status was only slightly higher than that of maids. If not for the heir’s wife having a gentle temperament, they would probably have been made to stand by the rules every day.
Madam Meng herself never had to deal with concubines, so although she looked down a little on her younger brother for taking them, she never said much. At most, she reminded him: if anything unfortunate ever happened to his wife, he must protect her two sons well. If, at that time, he dared to follow their father’s example—taking a new wife and neglecting the children born of his first wife—then she would break his legs so he could never stand again, and then have her husband petition the emperor to pass the heir’s title directly to Li Ping.
…
The heir’s wife was actually rather soft-hearted, quick to tears, and doted heavily on her two sons. If not for her formidable husband—and an even more formidable sister-in-law—her life in the Duke’s residence might have turned out very differently.
After Li Ping grew up, he took it upon himself to oversee the upbringing of his younger siblings. On one hand, it eased his mother’s burden; on the other, it kept them in line. As long as they did not entertain improper ambitions, he was a good older brother. But if they developed other intentions, then he would have no choice but to strike first.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
What kind of absurd luck did Li Huai have, to end up with such a reliable older brother? And then looking at his own situation—aside from lecturing him with lofty principles and giving him those strange looks, Meng Xi’ang was basically useless.
…In fact, he often made things worse. Even now, he probably had not given up the idea of becoming a corrupt official.
Li Ping had grown up alongside the Meng brothers. Though he did not have much in common with Meng Xizhao, he was close to Meng Xi’ang. And because Li Huai was especially close to Meng Xizhao, even if Li Ping did not get along with him conversationally, he would never harm him.
The more he thought about it, the more suitable Li Ping seemed. Meng Xizhao quickly asked Yinliu about what position Li Ping currently held.
After hearing the answer, Meng Xizhao realized—while Li Ping was highly capable when it came to managing a household, his ability as an official was about on the same level as Li Huai’s.
His post in the Office of Drum Appeals had been obtained through hereditary privilege. It was essentially a sinecure—he did not even have to show up most days.
Which made him perfect for this.
What he thought would take days of consideration was resolved in an instant. In a good mood, Meng Xizhao went to the Longevity Pavilion on the first floor to check on the two pythons that had been brought in as mascots.
The Longevity Pavilion was located on the east side of the first floor, some distance from the main entrance. To keep the two “immortals” from slithering out, Jinzhu had specially commissioned a wooden fence—though no matter how one looked at it, it resembled a luxury prison.
Back then, Meng Xizhao had insisted on getting light-colored pythons, but that aesthetic was not in fashion, so most people only glanced once before leaving. Very few stayed to admire them.
Meng Xizhao thought to himself: that is because you people do not understand true beauty.
During winter, the underfloor heating at Buxun Tian never stopped. The two “immortals” did not hibernate, though their movements had slowed. When Meng Xizhao walked over and saw them, he raised his brows in surprise. “Xiao Qing, you have gotten fatter again.”
Then he looked at the white snake beside it. “Sujin still has the better figure.”
Jinzhu: “…………”
To this day, she still could not understand why her young master had so solemnly given names to these two snakes.
And such strange names, too—the white one called Bai Suzhen, with a full proper name, while the green one was treated so casually, just called Xiao Qing.
Turning and seeing Jinzhu’s expression, Meng Xizhao knew exactly what she was thinking. He sighed. “Sigh. There is no talking to people like you who have never heard the tragic love story of the White Snake.”
Jinzhu: “……”
She felt a bit unconvinced and was just about to ask what “Legend of the White Snake” was when a teasing voice sounded behind them:
“I wonder if I might have the honor of hearing this tragic tale as well?”
Meng Xizhao turned around and saw a man dressed in white, rather flamboyantly styled, standing before him.
Afraid he might forget again, Jinzhu quickly leaned in and whispered, “This is—”
Meng Xizhao cut her off, blurting out, “Xie Yun.”
Holding a folding fan, Xie Yun smiled warmly. “You may call me Second Young Master Xie, Lord Meng.”
Meng Xizhao smiled as well—but did not respond to that.
He might forget others, but the culprit who had left him with both aquaphobia and a lingering case of lovesick delusion? Even after ten years, he probably would not forget him.
Seeing his expression, Xie Yun paused, then simply closed his fan and apologized. “When we first met, I was indeed presumptuous. I have long wanted to find a chance to apologize to you, Lord Meng, but… hehe, the opportunity never quite presented itself. Since fate has brought us together today, allow me to treat you to a drink as an apology—what do you say?”
Meng Xizhao looked at him with a strange expression.
No opportunity?
He used to come to Buxun Tian all the time. If Xie Yun wanted to “run into” him, it would have been easy. More likely, after that incident, the Crown Prince had forbidden him from approaching.
Then why had he come today? On the Crown Prince’s orders?
That did not seem likely. They had not even received their rewards yet—why would the Crown Prince make a move now?
After sizing him up, Meng Xizhao asked only one question:
“This time… is it on a painted boat again?”
Xie Yun smiled awkwardly. “No. Right here, at Buxun Tian.”
Good. This was his territory—and he knew exactly which dishes were the most expensive.
With the intention of fleecing him properly, Meng Xizhao smiled faintly and agreed to the invitation.
They entered an ordinary private room. Meng Xizhao ordered eight dishes in one breath. Xie Yun silently mourned his soon-to-be-empty purse before picking up the wine pot and pouring for him.
“Lord Meng has just returned from the Xiongnu. You must have missed the flavors of home.”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “I missed vegetarian dishes from home.”
Xie Yun did not quite understand. He blinked, set down the wine pot, and raised his cup. “This cup is my apology to you, Lord Meng. I behaved improperly. I hope you will be magnanimous.”
He downed it in one go. Meng Xizhao held his chopsticks without picking up any food, merely giving them a light shake.
“Second Young Master Xie, what exactly is your purpose today?”
Xie Yun wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth, seemingly unaccustomed to Meng Xizhao’s bluntness.
Meng Xizhao sighed. “If you were anyone else, I would have already thrown you out. We both know that last time you tricked me out under false pretenses—you had ulterior motives. I, Meng Xizhao, have never been known for a good temper. Why would I sit here drinking with you again? It is only because you have some familial ties with His Highness that I am unwilling to disregard your face.”
Xie Yun held his cup, silently looking at him. After a long moment, he set it down.
“Lord Meng speaks frankly. I admire that.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
What, was he still going to go through polite formalities?
Fortunately, Xie Yun understood. Since Meng Xizhao had already pointed out his connection with the Crown Prince, there was no need to circle around the topic anymore.
“Last time, I caused Lord Meng to fall into the water. His Highness has already punished me. But that incident was my own decision—my father and elder brother knew nothing about it. After I returned, when they learned what had happened, they scolded me harshly. It does not matter if His Highness is angry at me, but I do not want him to be angry at my father and brother. So I would like to ask Lord Meng for a favor—please speak on our behalf and persuade His Highness to let go of his anger.”
After speaking, Xie Yun looked at Meng Xizhao with some unease. Meng Xizhao looked back at him, his expression blank.
The reason for that expression was simple—he suddenly felt that Xie Yun might be an idiot.
…
The relationship between the Xie family and the Crown Prince—was that something an outsider like him could meddle in? And what special ability did he, Meng Xizhao, possess, that a few words from him could calm the Crown Prince’s anger? Had Xie Yun not noticed that even he himself only dared to act wildly within a clearly defined boundary when dealing with the Crown Prince? If he stepped beyond that boundary, even he would suffer for it.
Meng Xizhao thought this—and said as much. Of course, his spoken version was less blunt.
“Second Young Master Xie, I believe you may have misunderstood.”
Xie Yun froze.
Meng Xizhao gave him a polite smile. “I am His Highness’s friend and I do work for him, but when it comes to pleading for leniency, I truly cannot help. You understand His Highness’s temperament better than I do. If I were to rashly intervene, I fear he might become displeased with me as well.”
Xie Yun listened, somewhat dazed. “Huh?”
“But His Highness made me kneel all night because of you. He even had Guard Zhang beaten. And when you fell ill, His Highness personally tended to you without even removing his robes… Being angry at you doesn’t seem very likely, does it? Lord Meng, I know that helping is a favor and not helping is within your rights. I would not blame you, so there is no need to brush me off with such excuses.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Who is brushing you off? Everything I said was the truth!
After processing what Xie Yun had just said, he paused, then looked at him suspiciously. “His Highness punished you by making you kneel?”
“And had Guard Zhang beaten?”
Meng Xizhao’s face was full of astonishment. “When did all of this happen?”
Xie Yun: “……”
Damn it.
Meng Xizhao did not know about any of this?!
At that moment, Meng Xizhao’s gaze toward Xie Yun grew increasingly suspicious. Because he simply did not believe the Crown Prince would do something so harsh. Beatings and forced kneeling—those were things other princes liked to do. Their Crown Prince would never behave like that.
Meanwhile, Xie Yun, flustered, could not help but look guilty.
He had a bad feeling—his impulsive move today… might once again backfire.
＊
In the blink of an eye, the day of court arrived.
It was the end of the eleventh month, with the twelfth month approaching. Ying Tian Prefecture was bitterly cold, and every official wished they could wear five layers to court.
This was also Meng Xizhao’s first time at the Waiting Hall. His rank was not high enough for him to go to the front and join his father for wine and snacks, so he had to stand in the back. Fortunately, Zang He was there as well, so at least he had company.
The military officials stood on the other side. Ding Chun brought Zhan Buxiu with him. As a mere commander, Zhan Buxiu’s presence in the hall to receive rewards drew disapproval from many civil officials. However, those who had been part of the wedding escort believed it was entirely justified.
If Commander Zhan had not stepped in at the start and crushed the Xiongnu’s momentum, how could everything afterward have gone so smoothly? He had rendered great service and absolutely deserved a reward.
Before entering the Waiting Hall, vendors nearby were pushing carts, selling hot breakfast foods. Meng Xizhao bought a pastry and tucked it into his sleeve. Now, as he nibbled on it, he kept glancing toward Zhan Buxiu.
He could not help it—he was genuinely nervous.
Ten years ago, Zhan Buxiu had been seven years old. At that age, a child’s features were already somewhat formed. If anyone had seen him before, there was a chance they might recognize him.
Fortunately, those who had once been close to Zhan Shenyou had either been sent away to guard the borders, or—if they had poor relations—had already risen to high positions and would not notice someone standing at the tail end of the ranks.
Even so, Meng Xizhao worried—worried that someone might recognize Zhan Buxiu, and worried that Zhan Buxiu might lose control of himself. Even a single glance could invite unnecessary trouble.
Thankfully, at least during the waiting period, nothing happened. Soon, the palace attendants came to open the gates, and everyone filed into the palace. However, the walk to Chongzheng Hall was long, and the once orderly formation quickly loosened as they proceeded.
Meng Xizhao finally let out a breath of relief, thinking that everything today was under control.
But it didn’t take long before he realized he had relaxed too soon.
They moved forward slowly with the others. Not long after, hurried footsteps came from behind. Meng Xizhao turned his head and saw that it was the Cavalry General, Shang Xiguan. He had probably overslept and missed the lineup, and now could only hurry to catch up.
Shang Xiguan didn’t slow down at all, grumbling inwardly about how court always convened so early, making it hard for him to get up and causing him to be late again and again.
Being late on normal days was one thing, but today was the day to bestow rewards upon the escort party. The Emperor was in high spirits—he absolutely could not be the one to spoil the mood.
With that in mind, his unsteady legs moved even faster. And it was at that moment that, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a rather familiar figure.
His steps halted abruptly. He turned his head and looked toward the young man walking beside Ding Chun.