Chapter 462 Lying

Chapter 462: Deception

He shot to his feet, so abruptly that the table rattled, sending tea sloshing across its surface.

The wound on his leg pulled, and he hissed through his teeth.

The waiter heard the commotion and hurried over, clutching a teapot: "Sir? Sir, what's—"

Cheng Ge tossed a piece of silver onto the table without looking up: "Keep it."

Before the words even died on his lips, he was already on his feet, hobbling toward the stairs.

The waiter's voice chased after him: "Hey—sir! Your change! Watch your leg—"

Cheng Ge didn't bother to answer.

He clung to the railing, easing himself down one step at a time.

His leg wound throbbed with every step, but he didn't give a damn. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead.

He burst out of the teahouse and stopped dead on the street, frozen for a second—where the hell was he supposed to look?

He'd retrace his steps.

He sucked in a breath, dropped his gaze to the ground, and started back the way he'd come.

The street was packed. He moved slowly, dragging his leg, shoving through the crowd.

He scanned the cracks between the stone slabs, the mud churned up by cart wheels, the ground at the vendors' feet—checking every inch.

No. Nothing.

His heart hammered, and a buzz filled his ears.

He couldn't move fast, but he never took his eyes off the ground, terrified of missing even a flash of red.

An old farmer with a carrying pole and baskets came at him from the other way. Cheng Ge didn't see him and plowed straight into him. Two radishes tumbled out of the basket and rolled into the street.

"Ow!" the old man yelped, pained. "Hey, watch it!"

Cheng Ge crouched, scooped up the radishes, and shoved them back into the basket, rasping, "Sorry. Sorry."

He kept looking.

The wound in his leg was screaming now—every step felt like a knife.

He clenched his jaw, sweat streaming down his face.

A hawthorn candy vendor with a straw pole brushed past him. He lurched aside and slammed into the wall.

The vendor fumbled to steady his pole and yelled at him: "Hey, you okay? With a leg like that, take it easy!"

Cheng Ge braced himself against the wall, panting. "I'm fine."

He kept looking.

Every few steps, he had to stop and lean on a wall to catch his breath. But his eyes stayed glued to the ground.

"Guy's leg's that bad and he's still running around?" someone muttered behind him.

Cheng Ge didn't hear him.

His eyes were fixed on the ground—the stone slabs, the cracks, the scattered leaves.

At the corner, he stopped short.

In the pile of dead leaves at the foot of the wall, a bit of red string poked out.

Cheng Ge squatted down, but his bad leg gave out and he nearly pitched onto his knees.

He caught himself with one hand, steadied, then swept the leaves aside and picked up the string.

It was the red cord.

But it was snapped.

Broken in two, lying still among the dead leaves. It was smeared with mud, like someone had trodden on it—a faint, smudged footprint still visible.

Cheng Ge curled his fingers around the two broken ends.

He stared down at the two broken strands in his palm for a long, long time.

Sunlight spilled over his back, over his clenched fist.

His palm was slick with sweat, soaking the broken cord.

He felt dazed.

He thought: How... how did it break?

He stood there, numb, his vision blurring as if a haze had settled over his eyes.

A buzz filled his ears, and the street noise seemed to come from miles away, muffled.

His leg still throbbed, but he couldn't feel it.

He just stared at the broken strands in his palm, frozen.

A hand suddenly clamped onto his arm.

"Cheng? Cheng!"

The voice came from a distance, drawing closer, frantic.

Cheng Ge forced his head up. The face in front of him swam a few times before sharpening.

Qiao Fangxu stood in front of him, worry etched on his face, one hand gripping his arm, the other hovering near his forehead.

"Cheng, what happened?" Qiao Fangxu kept his voice low, as if afraid to spook him. "You look awful."

Cheng Ge blinked hard and shook his head, the vertigo slowly fading.

"...I'm fine." His voice was rough, and he managed a weak smile. "Sorry for the worry, Qiao-xiong."

But Qiao Fangxu didn't let go—Cheng Ge's face was genuinely alarming.

Pale to the point of being translucent, cold sweat on his brow, his eyes unfocused—how was that the face of someone who was fine?

"You can't just stand here." Qiao Fangxu glanced around, his eyes settling on Fuyun Tower nearby. "Come on, let's go sit and catch our breath."

Cheng Ge started to say something, but Qiao Fangxu, without letting him argue, helped him toward Fuyun Tower.

He had a wound on his leg, so Qiao Fangxu slowed his pace, keeping a careful eye on him.

Cheng Ge glanced down at his clenched hand—he was still clutching the two pieces of red string tightly.

Qiao Fangxu sent for hot water and pastries to be brought up, personally soaked the cloth, and handed it to him.

"Wipe your face first." His voice was hushed, as if afraid of startling someone.

Cheng Ge took the cloth and gave his face a quick, careless wipe. The hot water hitting his face finally dispelled the dizziness completely.

He set the cloth down and looked up at Qiao Fangxu, who was watching him with concern in his eyes.

Cheng Ge's face relaxed a little, and he picked up his teacup and took a sip.

After the hot tea went down and he ate two pieces of pastry, he finally snapped out of his earlier daze.

He set down the teacup and looked up at Qiao Fangxu.

Qiao Fangxu had been watching him the whole time, the worry in his eyes hadn't fully faded. Seeing that he looked better, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Brother Cheng, long time no see. I heard you were hurt and was planning to visit you at the manor.

But Yuli said you needed to rest quietly, so I didn't dare bother you."

He paused, then smiled. "Who'd have thought we'd bump into each other on the street—what a pleasant surprise."

Cheng Ge's mouth quirked slightly at that.

He picked up his teacup and asked offhandedly, "And what brings Brother Qiao out on the street today?"

At that, Qiao Fangxu's eyes lit up.

He flicked open his folding fan with a flourish—in one fluid motion—with a branch of ink plum blossoms painted on it, quite elegant.

He was about to fan himself a couple of times when he suddenly remembered Cheng Ge was still sick. He immediately snapped the fan shut with a loud click and tapped it twice against his palm.

"It's perfect that you're here today, Brother Cheng," he leaned in and lowered his voice. "I happen to have an appointment with Jingming."

Cheng Ge looked completely lost. "Jing—Jingming?"

Qiao Fangxu nodded, smiling. "Right, you haven't forgotten, have you, Brother Cheng? Jingming, Gu Qingyan."

Seeing Cheng Ge still looked confused, he explained, "It's all thanks to you that you helped overturn his case, and he was cleared of the stigma of cheating in the imperial examination.

The Emperor, taking pity on his wrongful accusation, made an exception and let him serve in the Hanlin Academy.

He was traveling for a while recently and only got back a few days ago."

Cheng Ge racked his brain before it slowly clicked.

Jingming. Gu Qingyan.

If he remembered correctly, this was the poor bastard who'd been framed for cheating on the imperial exam by Zhang Qinghang.

The original body had been classmates with him for years, so they must have been close—but unfortunately, he wasn't the original owner, so he had no idea who the guy was.

Cheng Ge took a sip from his teacup, mentally figuring out how to handle it without slipping up.

Just as he was thinking, the waiter came upstairs, approached them, and bowed. "Young Master Qiao, a young gentleman surnamed Gu is here looking for you, saying you made an appointment."

Qiao Fangxu's eyes lit up, and he quickly gestured. "Quick, invite him up!"

The waiter acknowledged and withdrew.

Before long, footsteps sounded from the stairwell, and Cheng Ge looked up.

The man wore a frost-colored robe, walking up slowly, guided by the waiter.

His steps were steady and unhurried, the hem of his robes gently swaying as he walked, exuding an air of gentle scholarly refinement.

Cheng Ge looked up—

They locked eyes.

The air stood still for two seconds.

Cheng Ge's eyes shot wide open, his pupils constricting sharply.

The next second, he sprang up from his chair.

"Zhou Ming, you dog—!!"

The shout was shrill and loud, startling Qiao Fangxu so badly he nearly dropped his fan.

"Holy shit!!!"

The man's face went white as a sheet, and without a word, he turned and bolted!

Cheng Ge took off after him, but the moment he took a step, the wound on his leg throbbed sharply, making him hiss in a sharp breath.

He gritted his teeth and hobbled forward as fast as he could, but that bastard was faster than a rabbit, already about to tear down the stairs.

Panicking, Cheng Ge yanked off his shoe and hurled it with all his strength at that fleeing figure.

The shoe flew through the air in an arc—about to hit!

The man swerved his hips, and the shoe whizzed past the hem of his robe, hitting the stair railing, bouncing twice, and rolling down.

"Shit!" Cheng Ge hopped down the stairs on one leg, gripping the railing to chase after him.

He'd just made it to the top of the stairs—

"Thud." He ran straight into a wall of a man.

He was pretty strong, and the impact sent the other man stumbling back a step, but he steadied himself and grabbed Cheng Ge's arm firmly.

"What are you doing, Muyu?" The voice had a hint of surprise. "Did something urgent come up?"

Cheng Ge looked up.

Lin Nanshu stood before him, brows furrowed, looking at him with concern.

Cheng Ge didn't have time to explain, whipping his head around to look down the staircase—completely empty, the man was long gone.

He held onto the railing, panting heavily.

Lin Nanshu bent down and picked up the shoe he'd thrown, then crouched down, took his ankle, and slipped the shoe back on for him.

At this moment, Qiao Fangxu also hurried down, his folding fan still open, his face etched with worry:

"What happened? What happened? Brother Cheng, are you alright? Where's Qingyan?"

Cheng Ge opened his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? He couldn't exactly say he'd run into his enemy from the martial world, could he?

He gulped and forced a smile.

"It's nothing..." His voice came out a little dry. "I just got too excited seeing Brother Jingming and couldn't contain myself."

Qiao Fangxu: "……"

Lin Nanshu paused mid-motion while putting on his shoe, looked up, and glanced at him.

Cheng Ge let out a dry cough and changed the subject: "Why's Yuli here?"

The moment he finished, Qiao Fangxu jumped in eagerly: "I sent someone to get him!"

He snapped his fan shut and tapped it against his palm. "I figured since we rarely get together, I'd invite Yuli over too, so we could all enjoy some tea."

He paused, his eyes curving into crescents as he smiled, and added: "The more, the merrier."

Actually, ever since he'd found out last time that Lin Nanshu had feelings for Cheng Ge, he'd been trying to create more chances for the two of them to spend time together.

Today was perfect—Cheng Ge was here, and so was Lin Nanshu. It was practically a godsend.

He just hadn't expected things to go sideways. Looked like the tea wasn't happening after all.

The carriage rumbled over the bluestone road, the curtain swaying gently with the carriage's motion, sunlight filtering in and out, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow.

Cheng Ge leaned against the carriage wall, clutching the two broken pieces of red string, turning them over and over in his hands.

The broken ends were jagged and uneven, as if they'd been ripped apart by something—or maybe worn thin and snapped on their own.

He lowered his head, running his fingertips over the rough edges, wondering how he could fix the red string.

Tie a knot? But that wouldn't look as good.

Have someone reweave it? But Yun Xunyu had woven this with his own hands—how could anyone else's work compare?

Cheng Ge looked down. Lin Nanshu was changing the bandage on the wound on his leg.

When the medicinal powder hit the wound, Cheng Ge's leg twitched on its own.

Lin Nanshu paused, looking up at him. "Does it hurt?"

Cheng Ge shook his head. Lin Nanshu didn't say anything and went back to what he was doing.

He cleaned the wound, applied fresh medicine, and carefully wrapped it in clean cloth strips, layer by layer.

Cheng Ge stared at the jade crown on his head, then suddenly said, "Yuli."

Lin Nanshu paused, then looked up. "Hmm?"

Cheng Ge met those gentle eyes, still clutching the two broken pieces of string.

His fingertips traced the rough edges, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Over in Nanling..." He paused. "Any news lately?"

Lin Nanshu's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly, then he lowered his head and kept wrapping the cloth.

"I haven't heard any news."

Cheng Ge noticed the movement of his hand—that brief tightening, so quick it was almost invisible, but he'd caught it.

"The day Yun Xunyu went back to Nanling," he said, his voice soft, as if asking about something trivial, "did he take the water route or the main road?"

Lin Nanshu didn't look up, still wrapping the cloth. "He took the water route."

Cheng Ge's fingers scraped against the broken end of the red string, the rough texture rubbing against his fingertips.

"Then he would've passed through Yuanzhou," he said casually. "He mentioned before that he wanted to go see the qionghua flowers in Yuanzhou with me. Wonder if he still plans to."

Lin Nanshu kept his head down and replied, "Prince Yun said he'd go see them if he finds the time."

Cheng Ge didn't say anything else.

The carriage fell silent, leaving only the sound of wheels grinding over the bluestone, over and over.

Lin Nanshu's hands kept working, wrapping the cloth strip around and around.

But suddenly his hands stopped, hovering in mid-air, frozen.

Cheng Ge looked at the top of his head, the jade crown glinting softly in the sunlight.

A long moment passed.

So long that even the carriage seemed to slow down.

"Actually, he," his voice was so soft it seemed like he was talking to himself, "never went back to Nanling, did he?"

Lin Nanshu kept his head down, that hand still suspended in mid-air, silent for a long time.

It had rained heavily for days, the river had swollen, and no boats could travel the waterway at all.

And the qionghua flowers in Yuanzhou—that was just something he'd made up on the spot. Yun Xunyu had never said anything about them.

So those unfinished sentences, those hesitant pauses—it hadn't been his imagination after all.

Yun Xunyu had never gone back to Nanling. These people had all been lying to him.

He spoke, his voice hoarse and strained. "Where is he?"