Chapter 41: What Exactly Are You Trying to Do?

Chapter 41: What Exactly Are You Trying to Do?

He knew he wouldn't get anything out of Sang Yu, so Li Zhiming planned to ask Li Ruoyao directly later.

However...

"Sang Yu." Li Zhiming gathered his courage and said seriously, "Ruoyao is still a young girl, and a young girl's reputation is very important. If she comes looking for you again..."

"What then?"

Sang Yu gave an enigmatic smile.

What then?

That was hard to answer.

Earlier, it seemed Sang Yu didn't want her to come either, but the girl insisted, and he couldn't exactly toss her out.

"It's fine, I'll have a proper talk with her. You should also keep your distance from her—she's still unmarried."

"Oh."

"..."

Alright, there was no getting through to him.

Li Zhiming swallowed his frustration, not daring to provoke him. The man had even dared to kill the emperor's son—he was completely out of his mind.

But strangely, several days passed, and nothing actually traced back to them.

The Fourth Prince had been killed in Liangzhou. The court announced his death, claiming he died while carrying out his duties, and after granting him posthumous honors, the matter was closed.

After days of fear and anxiety, it turned out to be calm and uneventful.

Though he didn't know if Sang Yu had worked behind the scenes, he was certainly involved—Li Zhiming had watched him kill the Fourth Prince.

Also, he didn't believe that line about Sang Yu having no men.

That night, so many black-clad assassins had appeared out of nowhere, clearly all taking orders from Sang Yu. They had wiped out the Fourth Prince's people. These men were highly skilled, each one a threat.

He seriously suspected that the assassins who had come after him before were Sang Yu's men—that bastard just wouldn't admit it.

Later, when Sang Yu was in a good mood, the assassination attempts fell off sharply. Now there were almost none.

Damn it.

Li Zhiming sat in the study, recording his new cycle of deaths, stroke by stroke.

The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became.

"Master, the Prime Minister wants to see you in the front hall."

"Alright."

It wasn't like he hadn't met the old man before. Li Zhiming straightened his clothes and headed to the front hall.

He froze.

"Zhiyan greets big brother."

Li Zhiming looked like he'd seen a ghost, staring at the refined young man before him, a chill ran down his spine.

Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

The Prime Minister sat in the main seat, stroking his chin, and barked: "Have you forgotten your manners?"

Li Zhiming snapped back to attention and hurried forward to pay his respects: "Your son greets Father."

"Hmph, both of you, sit down."

"Yes."

Li Zhiming and Li Zhixing each took a seat on either side below the main seat, shooting each other a look. A strange tension hung in the air between them, though the Prime Minister didn't seem to notice.

"I called you both here to discuss the royal hunt a month from now."

The royal hunt, though ostensibly just an activity, actually carried hidden tensions—especially with the overt and covert power struggles over the succession in recent years.

Additionally, various officials' sons were required to participate by imperial decree, and it was also a way for them to compete.

The Prime Minister held the highest position in court, but his legitimate son was a worthless playboy, and his talented second son was a concubine's son, always looked down upon.

The hunt had only been held once in the past three years.

Everyone's bound to take it seriously.

The Prime Minister wanted to save face. His gaze swept over them impassively, and when it landed on Li Zhixing, his brow furrowed slightly with a flicker of displeasure.

"Xing'er, you've been too careless. I told you long ago—don't get involved in messy affairs. Now you've injured yourself. How will you manage the hunt? Stay home and rest!"

"Father!" Li Zhixing protested passionately. "I can do it! I've only injured one hand—I still have the other. I can do it!"

Only then did Li Zhiming notice that the refined young man's one hand seemed off—stiff in its movements and hidden within his sleeve.

The Prime Minister's expression was complicated: "We'll see when the time comes. If it hasn't healed, you won't go."

He then turned his gaze to Li Zhiming: "Ming'er, as the legitimate son of the Prime Minister's estate, your health has always been poor. These days, train diligently in the manor—someone will be assigned to teach you."

Li Zhiming obediently nodded: "Yes, your son will heed Father's instruction."

"Hmm, you've made great progress lately, turning over a new leaf. Don't disappoint me when the time comes."

"Yes."

The Prime Minister's gaze softened considerably. He gave a few more patient reminders, along with some rules delivered with both carrot and stick, clearly quite satisfied with him lately.

Li Zhixing, left out in the cold, clenched his fist tightly, his gentle expression slowly twisting with resentment.

He moved his left hand, and a piercing pain shot through his skull, making him break out in cold sweat. He let out a pained gasp and nearly lost his footing.

The Prime Minister turned, slightly displeased: "Don't overexert yourself. Return to your room and rest. I still have matters to attend to—you two may go."

"Yes, your son takes his leave."

The two spoke in unison, paid their respects, and respectfully withdrew from the front hall.

Walking side by side, Li Zhiming was uneasy, unsure whether he had complained to the Prime Minister or twisted the facts somehow.

Especially regarding what Sang Yu had done.

Li Zhiyan spoke first, his voice no longer its usual obedient, gentle tone, but hoarse and full of resentment: "Brother, are you disappointed that I didn't die?"

Li Zhiming looked at him, his gaze briefly passing over his arm, and didn't flinch: "What do you want?"

"I don't want anything. It was Zhiyan who was at fault first, so let me make amends to you, brother. After all, we are of the same flesh and blood."

He laughed silently, but beneath that smile, his eyes were frighteningly cold.

Li Zhiming didn't believe what he said. The murderous look and stance he'd had that day when he meant to kill him weren't fake—he truly hated his brother, truly wanted him dead.

But since the other party had said so, he played along.

"No need for an apology. It's best we stay out of each other's way. Let the past stay buried."

"Naturally, brother, you're right." Li Zhiyan was uncharacteristically obedient, but just as Li Zhiming was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he shifted tack: "However, that little bastard almost killed me, yet you pamper him like a precious gem. Isn't that inappropriate?"

Li Zhiming grew wary: "This has nothing to do with him."

"That's for me to decide."

"If you dare do anything, you'll only be bringing trouble on yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you—you'd better stop now and behave. We'll mind our own business."

"And if I don't?"

"Then suit yourself."

"Heh, I thought you'd actually grown up, brother. Turns out you're still a lecher obsessed with appearances. Someone like you, holding the position of the legitimate heir and keeping a male lover in the mansion—you're the disgrace of the Prime Minister's household!"

Li Zhiyan's expression contorted slightly.

With that, he turned and headed toward his own courtyard.

"Stop!"

Li Zhiming grabbed him, his expression stern: "I warn you again—if you dare do anything, you'll face the consequences!"

"Thank you for the warning, brother. You'd better keep a close eye on that kept boy of yours."