Chapter 136: The Ring Prison (I)

Xiang Zhi lowered his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm, and within a few breaths, the flames of jealousy in his eyes slowly died down.

No rush, no rush.

Le Wuya had terrible judgment when it came to people; he'd only ever had eyes for the likes of Little Stutterer, who put on such affected, pitiful airs. It wasn't as if he didn't know that.

He'd been locked in this rivalry with Little Stutterer for so long that he'd already fallen behind. He absolutely couldn't afford another head-on collision.

So when he raised his eyes again, he was all innocent cheerfulness once more.

He rubbed his shoulder and straightened up: "I'm in pain, I'm green with envy—who am I supposed to blame for all that?"

Le Wuya stared at him without blinking.

The two brothers shared the same mother and looked strikingly alike; outsiders could never tell the two of them apart.

But in Le Wuya's eyes, Xiang Zhijie and Xiang Zhi had always been as different as night and day.

Xiaoliu had a nice mouth, with a clearly defined cupid's bow that, after he ran his tongue over it, looked like dew-kissed petals.

As for Xiaoqi, his eyes were his best feature.

No matter how many sly, mischievous schemes he had brewing, none of it ever showed in his eyes—when he looked at you, his eyes were always clear and bright, pure and striking.

For this reason, plenty of people genuinely believed the Seventh Prince was pure and lively, a prince with a top-notch temperament.

Xiang Zhijie, by contrast, being naturally serious and never one to crack a smile, kept his eyes hidden beneath long, fanned-out lashes, often giving people the subtle impression that he was sizing them up through his lashes, which made people hesitant to get close to him.

Caught in that look, Le Wuya couldn't help recalling that summer night a year ago beneath the Golden Terrace.

Xiaoqi, with liquid courage, had latched onto him and wouldn't let go, begging him to acknowledge that he was Le Wuya, until his voice went hoarse and his vocal cords were raw.

Since Kong Yangping had been lurking nearby at the time, Le Wuya, for all his willingness, couldn't say what he wanted.

At that memory, Le Wuya's heart softened a notch.

"Blame me—blame me for every bad thing under the sun, that work for you?" Le Wuya said. "Your humble servant is guilty of monstrous, unforgivable crimes. I owe the Seventh Prince so much that even the next life wouldn't be enough to repay it, alright?"

With just one coaxing remark, Xiang Zhi's mood improved, pathetically enough.

He pushed his luck, scrambling up onto Le Wuya's back in one bound: "If you plead guilty, you have to take the punishment. I sentence you to carry me!"

Since coming back to life, Le Wuya had dusted off the martial arts he'd let go slack.

If not for that, he'd have been sent sprawling by the sudden extra weight.

Once he'd managed to get his footing, Le Wuya was equal parts annoyed and amused: "Humor me and tell me—did I just bump your shoulder, not your legs?"

"It's not pain—it's hunger."

Xiang Zhi pressed his face against Le Wuya's shoulder; the robe was satin, cool against his skin.

He leaned there comfortably for a bit, then pressed the other cheek against it: "To squeeze into this outfit, I've gone almost a full day without eating. That bump from you made me so dizzy I can't take another step."

Le Wuya was long used to how he could change his mood as easily as flipping a page.

Because he was cut from the same cloth himself—born with a brilliantly sharp, perceptive mind, his thoughts spinning faster than most could keep up with, so people who couldn't keep up just saw them as moody and hard to read.

Le Wuya figured all this fussing was his way of trying to sweep their earlier spat under the rug.

Tsk, kid stuff.

As his teacher, Le Wuya naturally had to look out for his student and help him move past it.

He ribbed him: "I never took the Seventh Prince for such a clotheshorse."

Xiang Zhi breathed in the faint pine-and-cypress scent clinging to him, and the heart he'd just managed to settle started thumping all over the place again.

"This lousy outfit—I'm cutting it up the second I get back and never wearing it again," he covered, trying to hide it. "Just to get into this outfit, I starved myself until I couldn't think straight."

Le Wuya grumbled inwardly—what a waste, that one's a bad egg.

He hitched Xiang Zhi up a little higher: "Clothes are supposed to fit the person, not the other way around. Let it out a bit when you get home, and it'll still work."

Xiang Zhi said in a light, breezy tone: "You gonna boss me around now?"

Le Wuya: "I wouldn't dare."

Xiang Zhi saw he wasn't catching the hint, got flustered, and blurted out: "Then why don't you just boss me around, then?"

For Xiang Zhi, those words were a huge slip of composure.

Before Le Wuya could even notice, he'd already gone beet red all on his own.

He really couldn't pull off that groveling, tail-wagging act like Little Stutterer!

He pretended to be calm and gave the order: "Carry me back. Our show's about to start—if I miss so much as a second, you'll pay for it."

"Your humble servant is well past marrying age and new to these parts. If you and I are seen this close, what's to become of my good name?"

"You think you still have a reputation to protect?" Xiang Zhi pressed close to his ear and chuckled low. "In a bit, I'll kiss you in front of everyone, and we'll see what's left of your precious reputation."

"That just won't do." Le Wuya hopped up onto the porch bench in one step, facing the pond where gentle waves lapped softly, and said with a perfectly straight face, "Your humble servant's reputation matters a great deal. On second thought, I'd better just toss you in the water."

Xiang Zhi locked his legs tight around Le Wuya's waist, and slung one arm around his throat, nearly cutting off his air: "Then I'll go down with Prefect Wenren. We'll die in the same spot. Guess what people would say about the two of us, hm?"

Le Wuya roughhoused with him for a bit before calling it quits, carrying him step by step toward the music and singing.

Xiang Zhi lay on his back, his mood settled, his heart at ease.

Halfway there, Le Wuya gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow: "Hey. How'd he get sick?"

"How long have you been dying to ask?" Xiang Zhi said with a half-smile. "Why didn't you just choke on it instead?"

"Please, Seventh Prince, do enlighten your humble servant."

Le Wuya figured his own pride wasn't worth much, so he could let it go at will: "Though the Sixth Prince never sewed me clothes for all four seasons like the Seventh Prince did, nor sent me fine dishes, nor bought a whole building just so I could watch a grand fireworks show, he did still give me a leg up in my career. Now that I hear he's deathly ill, how could I not worry?"

Xiang Zhi, charmed into pure bliss, drawled, dragging out the word: "Him—"

But just then, something seemed to hit him, and his cheeks went bright red in a flash.

Le Wuya heard him cut off right after starting and figured he was leaving it half-said on purpose to bait him, almost wanting to pinch his leg.

Sure enough, after a long pause, Xiang Zhi gave a humph.

"I could say more, just to make you feel sorry for him and get you all riled up at me again?" Xiang Zhi said defiantly. "In any case, he won't die!"

It wasn't that Xiang Zhishi didn't want to speak—he couldn't, and there was no place to begin.

...

That year, snow blanketed the city.

From that afternoon on, Little Stutterer knelt before the Zhaoming Hall, begging for Le Wuya's life, arguing that since the year was ending, there was no need to take a life and bring bad luck.

If Le Wuya could survive past this year, they might hope to push the execution date to autumn.

That would buy them more than half a year to work with.

Little Stutterer dared to kneel, betting that the Emperor cared about his son's health and about "Imperial Consort Zhuang's son."

But Xiang Zhishi wasn't even allowed in on this gamble.

Because he was just the son of Consort Xi, who came from a merchant background.

As the palace gates were closing for the year-end provisions, Xiang Zhishi, leaving the palace, glanced from afar at his sixth brother.

Xiang Zhishi stood with a straight back, dusted with sparkling snow, like a tree of glass.

But if you looked closely, his knees were already starting to wobble.

Xiang Zhishi bet he wouldn't make it to midnight.

People are flesh and blood, not iron.

On this snowy Little New Year's Eve, Xiang Zhishi went to the Eastern Suburb Prison.

He stood outside the prison for a long time, snow landing on his lashes, dampening the blazing fire in his eyes.

The prison's rules forbade entry without an imperial decree.

The prison's chief jailer was named Qiu Sinian.

He had once been Le Wuya's close attendant, his skills all personally honed by Le Wuya—one could say Le Wuya had given him a new lease on life.

Le Wuya had even cut out his tongue himself.

In Le Wuya's view, the head of the prison should have no mouth and no heart, only a pair of sharp ears.

This man only ever heeded Le Wuya, strictly following the prison's rules—even when Le Wuya himself was locked up, he treated him by the book, without exception.

Xiang Zhishi had seen Qiu Sinian before.

Back then, he'd trailed after Le Wuya, both hands loaded with pastries, being bossed around to run errands.

Le Wuya was unusually warm to him, calling him "Little A'Si" left and right.

Xiang Zhishi had no idea where Le Wuya had dug up such an obedient dog. When he asked, he found out that after the Qi family came into the household, the Emperor, in his boundless generosity, had gifted the Le family fifty servants.

Qiu Sinian, being exceptionally talented, caught Le Wuya's eye and was promoted to serve by his side.

The moment Xiang Zhishi heard "the Qi family entered the household," he didn't want to hear any more.

With so little intel, Xiang Zhishi couldn't get a read on the man. When push came to shove, he just had to grit his teeth and go for it.

...He had money; that could move mountains.

Qiu Sinian's home was near the prison.

It was Little New Year's Eve, a time for families to gather. Even the prisoners, hearing the fireworks and the hubbub outside, couldn't help but get antsy.

So as the chief jailer, even though it wasn't his shift, he had to be there in person to keep those restless men in line.

Xiang Zhishi crouched by the prison gate, lying in wait, and sure enough, he caught Qiu Sinian coming to inspect the prison after his New Year's dinner.

He blocked his path, stated his business, and handed over a five-hundred-tael banknote.

He wanted to test Qiu Sinian's depth first.

If he laid all his cards on the table, he'd have no room to negotiate.

He still had another two thousand five hundred taels stashed in his sleeve, ready to whip out anytime.

To his surprise, Qiu Sinian gave the banknote a cold glance, bowed to him, and walked right past.

Xiang Zhishi had never been given such the cold shoulder. His temper flared, and he quickened his steps after him, grinding his teeth in anger. Just as he was about to curse, a thought crossed his mind, and he silently fell in step behind him.

Snow drifted in the silent sky; clouds darkened the heavens.

Wrapped in a heavy cloak, Xiang Zhishi followed Qiu Sinian straight into the prison.

At first, Xiang Zhishi figured Qiu Sinian knew he was a prince and was either trying to suck up to him or had set a trap, planning to report him to the Emperor for sneaking into the prison.

But when he saw Le Wuya in the cell, Xiang Zhishi froze in his tracks.

Not for any other reason—it was just that Le Wuya's life was hanging by a thread, with only a faint breath of warmth left in his chest.

Since he was about to die, the best thing would be if someone he knew came to keep him company and see him off.

Xiang Zhishi didn't remember walking through the prison gate. All he knew was that when he came to, he already had Le Wuya's icy hand clasped in his, pressing it to his chest.

The fingers that once drew bows and loosed arrows had long since lost their flesh, leaving only bony, withered joints.

Sensing an outsider's arrival, Le Wuya struggled to open his eyes. The whites of his eyes were tinged with a dark blue, and his usually bright purple pupils were clouded with a smoky gray: "Who's there?"

Xiang Zhishi stayed silent.

Le Wuya took a breath, the cold air hitting his lungs, and immediately burst into violent coughing.

But he'd coughed up nearly all his blood yesterday; now he was like a cook without ingredients—nothing left to work with.

His voice was full of uncontrollable wheezing: "Using such fine, warm incense—it's Little Seven."

Xiang Zhishi choked back the unbearable bitterness and swallowed it down: "Le Wuya, are you finally going to die?"

Le Wuya had been hard of hearing for days, and stared at him blankly: "What did you say?"

Xiang Zhishi reached out, covered his ears, then gave his earlobes a pinch.

His ears were thin and cold, the cartilage sharp, but the earlobes were small and delicate.

...A mark of meager luck.

Xiang Zhishi warmed his ears with his palm, but his words wouldn't let up: "Just die. Living like this is too ugly. When you're dead, I'll collect your body. I'll burn you to ashes, put you in something pretty, and take you to see the far corners of the world."

He brought his lips to his ear: "What do you want to hold your bones? You can choose."

Le Wuya didn't quite catch what he said.

His ears roared like ten thousand thunderclaps crashing at once.

In truth, he was so thin and weak that blood surging through his paper-thin eardrums amplified into a thunderous roar.

At the sight of his dazed expression, Xiang Zhi's heart ached, and he took it upon himself to decide: "Let's use peanuts then—health and longevity, many children and blessings. May your next life be..."

The words died in his throat.

Xiang Zhi murmured, "I don't wish you many children and blessings. I wish you a next life of loneliness and destitution, with no heirs, only me by your side. I will—"

At that thought, he bit his lip and retracted the curse: "No, don't be lonely and destitute. Just have no wife and no children. You must not marry another woman..."

He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper: "I'll be your *wife*."

Xiang Zhi felt he was losing his mind.

So many words came from his own mouth, yet every sentence was absurd and outrageous.

He thought: it's all Le Wuya's fault.

Who told this man he had to get married?

Though he didn't love him, if he could outdo Little Stutterer and Qi Hongzhuang to have him all to himself, then so be it—he'd be the wife.

Compared to his jumbled curses, Le Wuya's mind was clearer: "Xiao Qi... is it Xiao Qi?"

Xiang Zhi wiped his eyes with his shoulder in a rush: "Mm."

Le Wuya weakly gripped the clothes on his chest: "Xiao Qi, treat Xiaoliu well. Inside the clan, it's too cold—you're brothers, you should... support each other, keep each other warm. 'A harmonious wife, like lute and zither's sound. Brothers in accord, in joy and mirth profound'... Brother, I've memorized this one. When will you take me out to have fun..."

Xiang Zhi hugged Le Wuya and said softly, "I don't want brothers. I want a wife."

Le Wuya had drifted off-topic in his confusion, but Xiang Zhi's words snapped him back: "'Brothers are like hands and feet, wives like clothes'... who said that, was it..."

Xiang Zhi pouted: "Then I'll chop off his hands and feet and snatch his clothes."

Le Wuya let out a faint laugh: "How shameless."

Xiang Zhi wanted to coax him into talking more, but Le Wuya drifted into a daze from then on.

He didn't want to be remembered as "shameless."

But no matter how he coaxed or teased, Le Wuya said nothing more.

Qiu Sinian came to the prison gate twice, giving Xiang Zhi a silent signal that it was time to go.

Le Wuya gave no response, and Xiang Zhi couldn't linger here forever.

Xiang Zhi gritted his teeth. As the prison guards bid him a respectful farewell, he walked out of the Round Prison gate, hooded and with his mind in turmoil.

Before leaving, he slammed the five-hundred-tael banknote onto Qiu Sinian's chest—both a tip and a bribe to buy everyone's silence.

A gust of snowy wind swept past, and Xiang Zhi couldn't open his eyes against the stinging snowflakes hitting his face.

A thought crept into his mind: right now, wouldn't the teacher rather see Xiaoliu?

His eyes stung with heat, then he gritted his teeth and dashed into the snow.

Half an hour later, someone knocked on the heavy gate of the Round Prison from outside.

The visitor requested Qiu Sinian by name.

Qiu Sinian walked to the door, and before he even saw the person, the faint scent of Taoist incense drifted to his nose.

Xiang Zhi's expensive fox-fur cloak was gone.

In its place was a plain, clean Taoist robe.

...The more Qiu Sinian looked, the more it resembled the robe worn by the abbot of the City God Temple in the eastern suburbs.

Along with the returning Xiang Zhi came seven or eight young delivery boys, each carrying a food box painted with the Louwailou pattern.

Xiang Zhi's tone had become refined and gentle, as if another soul had taken up residence in his body: "Today is Little New Year's Eve, and you've all worked hard. I've come to offer you brothers a cup of New Year wine as a token of my gratitude."

Qiu Sinian stared fixedly at the newcomer.

"What are you staring at me for, Master Qiu?"

The visitor's eyes were dark and gloomy, a smile at the corner of his lips, as he slapped a two-thousand-tael banknote onto Qiu Sinian's chest and said, "The one who came isn't me—it's my sixth brother. I've got plenty of money. Is that enough to shut you up and make you push the mill twice for me?"