Chapter 175: Laying Bare the Heart (5)

While a thousand malicious thoughts whirled through Helian Che's mind like a kaleidoscope, he combed out Le Wuya's tangled hair.

Since arriving in Tongzhou, Le Wuya had never felt so at ease and carefree.

After finishing a bag of ginkgo nuts, with nothing better to do, he sidled backward, hoping to get on his imposing elder brother's good side, only to be scolded for being a nuisance.

Le Wuya flopped forward, ceasing his mischief.

By the time Helian Che caught on to Le Wuya's earlier intent, he was too embarrassed to ask him to come back and snuggle, so he stifled his frustration and kept working.

He carefully braided a beautiful little plait with a string of fine red sandalwood beads.

Since he had nothing better to do, Le Wuya picked up scissors and snipped a tableful of paper scraps.

The moment Helian Che set down the comb, Le Wuya set down his scissors in sync.

He turned around and proudly showed off his creation:

Two little figures of clearly different heights, holding hands, walking side by side.

"Think of it as payment for the flowers and ginkgo nuts..." Le Wuya paused, then added, "And for combing my hair!"

After slyly getting three meals out of one fish, he declared: "—And more than that, it's a token of my bond with my brother!"

Helian Che was speechless.

He was quite skilled in painting, so he naturally found this thing utterly childish.

But he said nothing, took it with a light heart, and tucked it into his bosom, walking out as if floating on clouds.

He was a flower peddler, and it wasn't fitting for him to linger too long at the government office.

Le Wuya simply threw on an outer robe and saw him off through the back door.

The rear office was sparsely staffed, and in broad daylight, even fewer people were about.

Helian Che's fingers itched, aching to hold his hand.

But in the end, he managed to control himself.

Although Dayu and the Jing tribe had been on good terms for years, and many Jing people had settled in the Jiangnan area, with such a foreign-looking face, openly lingering in the government office and tussling with Le Wuya—if spotted, it would inevitably arouse suspicion.

However, a moment later, Le Wuya's fingertips took the initiative to hook onto his.

Helian Che flung him off as if touching a hot coal: "What are you doing?"

Le Wuya shot back: "Holding your hand. What about it?"

Helian Che softly scolded him: "Nonsense."

Afraid of being overheard, his scolding came out like a tender whisper.

Le Wuya was very fond of him.

Maybe it was because of blood ties—Le Wuya was happy the moment he saw him, because he was tall and big, good with both pen and sword, matching every image he had of a "big brother."

His two Le brothers put together would make this man.

Even in plain short clothes, he walked with a slight swagger—mighty and impressive.

Le Wuya swung his hand back and forth with a perfectly natural expression.

"You're my brother," Le Wuya said. "If you won't hold my hand, I'll go hold someone else's, then."

Helian Che said coldly: "Go ahead and hold someone else's."

Le Wuya tried to pull his hand free but couldn't.

So he eyed Helian Che's tense profile and smiled in triumph.

Helian Che snorted.

The walk from the back door to Le Wuya's place was usually quite long, yet it passed in the blink of an eye.

There were also yamen runners on guard outside the back door, so the two naturally split apart, walking like strangers.

Helian Che gave him a long look, pressed down his straw hat, and without another pause, walked out.

He fought to control himself, resisting the urge to look back.

There were people at the gate.

No matter how outrageous or bold Yaya was, surely he wouldn't stand at the gate to see him off?

But after walking a dozen or so paces, he still couldn't resist—he turned back—

The vermilion back gate of the rear office was indeed tightly shut.

However, his younger brother was swaying as he hung over the green wall of the rear office, both hands gripping the top of the wall, poking his head out like a puppy, grinning at him with smiling eyes.

The yamen runner below, oblivious, stood guard with his back to him.

Helian Che whipped his head back around and strode off.

...If he didn't leave now, he was afraid he'd lose control and snatch him up to take home.

And after his brother left in a whirlwind, Le Wuya lightly jumped down from the wall and returned to his own courtyard.

Seeing the load of flowers still sitting peacefully in the corner, he couldn't help chuckling.

His brother still wasn't quite skilled at being a flower peddler—both times he'd ditched his bread and butter and run off.

But when he rummaged through it, he found hidden beneath the clusters of flowers a robe of bright red fox fur.

Red foxes were common, but such a brilliant, eye-catching red was rare, and to gather enough pelts to make such a robe must have taken no small amount of thought and care.

Le Wuya unceremoniously shed his outer robe, set up a bamboo lounger in a shady corner of the small courtyard, lay down on it, covered himself with the flower-scented red fox robe, and settled in for a peaceful midday nap.

...

Meanwhile, Wen Ren Yue was leading the brothers Zhi Jie and Zhi Shi on a quick survey of Tongzhou's situation.

During this time, Le Wuya hadn't been eating for free.

He had brought along the governance methods he'd put into practice in the small county of Nanting, including building latrines, tightening prison control, managing beggars, sending convicts to level roads, and clearing roadside ditches.

Given that the "chicken" he'd killed this time was bigger than the one in Nanting, none of the local gentry or village heads dared to make trouble or cause a fuss.

Moreover, Tongzhou was, after all, a wealthier and more populous place than a backwater border county like Nanting; these people were all well-off, and digging a shithouse was no big deal for them.

This kind of surface-level showmanship got the quickest results.

Soon, Tongzhou was spruced up all over.

"Not a bad base to work with," Xiang Zhi commented. "If we could solve the wokou pirate problem, that would be the best outcome."

He turned to Xiang Zhijie and asked, "Brother, what's your take?"

Xiang Zhijie just smiled faintly, glancing around, and said nothing.

It was high noon, right at mealtime.

Wenren Yue checked the sky and figured he'd treat these two honored guests to lunch.

Forget about anything pricey.

Ever since he passed the provincial exam, the Ming household had been hopping, with visitors flocking in, as if every country squire within ten miles of Nanting had suddenly discovered they were kin to the Mings.

Old Madam Ming, who'd never seen anything like it, got so spooked she slammed the door and turned everyone away.

Wenren Yue knew these squires were just sucking up to get an in with someone in office, so their family fields could dodge taxes, letting them gobble up land and rake in the dough.

With these types showing up to throw money at you, you couldn't just shoo them off, and one wrong word could offend them.

Wenren Yue, having been schooled by Le Wuya, had his own trick for dealing with it:

He slapped the old arrest warrant for Ming Xiangzhao right up on the front door.

—Back then, when Ming Xiangzhao was framed, thrown in jail, and at the end of his rope, nobody claimed him as family, and he was left to rot in his cell.

So why should these "relatives" come crawling back now to cozy up to a man on the rise?

The trumped-up treason case against Ming Xiangzhao had made a huge stink back then, and these squires couldn't play dumb even if they tried.

Once they saw the writ, they had nothing to say and slunk off, hiding their faces in shame.

So Wenren Yue's family didn't get rich just because he'd passed the exam.

A provincial graduate got a title but no salary; Old Madam Ming could draw a bit of silver and rice every month from the Nanting county yamen.

At least they could manage two solid meals a day.

But Wenren Yue himself didn't have much cash on hand.

He'd planned to treat the two of them to the knife-shaved noodle stand Le Wuya had raved about, but Xiang Zhi just shot one look at the packed stand and rolled his eyes so hard they nearly spun out of his head, and insisted on dragging them to a pricey restaurant near the county office.

Once they were settled in, nice and quiet, Xiang Zhi, eyeing the menu board on the wall, said to Wenren Yue, "Go fetch him."

Xiang Zhijie gave him a soft nod: "Much obliged."

No need to spell out who "he" was.

Wenren Yue shot a look at the two brothers.

For one thing, he knew he didn't have the standing to sit in as a mere hanger-on at their table.

But on the other hand, seeing how they played off each other in perfect sync, it was obvious they wanted to shoo him off and talk in private.

He took the hint, bowed out, and walked off.

Xiang Zhi was the one who'd sent Wenren Yue off, but once he was gone, it was Xiang Zhijie who broke the silence: "What are you doing here?"

"Old Man Yuan asked me to look in on his boy Yuan Xiao'er, deliver a letter, and pass along his regards," Xiang Zhi said, propping his chin on his hand. "I didn't want to come, but the old man's a top-rank general, a pillar of the realm, and getting on in years. A father's earnest worry for his son is hard to turn down."

Xiang Zhijie: "So just the one old man asked you?"

"Can't put anything past our all-knowing Sixth Brother, huh?" Xiang Zhi pressed his hands on the table, revealing a mischievous, lively smile. "The old man back home says your heart's gone wandering, so he sent me to keep tabs on you and find out what you're scheming with Father's Minister Wenren!"

Xiang Zhijie just looked at him, silent.

After a beat, he nodded: "Mm. Got it. Let's order."

That was all the answer he needed.

"Not gonna ask why?" Xiang Zhi jabbed him with his fan. "You've pissed off the old man, you know that?"

Xiang Zhijie said instead, "You're too hung up on the old man."

Xiang Zhi was stunned for a second, then went all prickly: "Right, our Sixth Brother's off cultivating the Dao, above it all, so of course he couldn't give a damn about the old man. Not like me—if I don't kowtow and play the good son in front of him, my mother's stuck living a cold, lonely life in the palace. How pathetic is that?"

Xiang Zhijie: "Imperial Consort Zhuang lives a cold life too."

"That was her own choice," Xiang Zhi snapped. "Mother loves fancy clothes, good food, and a bit of fun, but the family runs a tight ship, and everyone's got their set allowance. No matter how much her own family sends over, it can only come to me. The old man won't even visit her, so she's stuck living on her allowance, can't even get a decent card game going."

Mother rarely talked to him about her younger days.

But Xiang Zhijie had heard from his uncles that back when Xi Ying was still the unwed eldest Miss of the Xi family, she'd fling gold melon seeds by the fistful when she played cards with her sisters!

Xiang Zhi's heart ached thinking of his mother missing her old good life, and as a kid, he'd dressed plain for a while, afraid of reminding her of what she'd lost.

But later he found out his mother loved seeing him all done up in bright colors, dripping in gold and jewels.

The fancier he looked, the more she could tell her son was doing fine, not weighed down by her.

So he dressed flashier and flashier, even wanting his earrings shaped like little gold ingots, just so his mother would know he was living well.

He didn't expect his cold-hearted Sixth Brother to get it, but Xiang Zhijie's words were pure ice: "Imperial Consort Zhuang didn't pick that life either."

Xiang Zhi couldn't stand him taking the other side. He shot to his feet, sneering: "Oh, what a fine son Imperial Consort Zhuang raised—so dutiful, so devoted, enough to move heaven and earth."

Xiang Zhijie pressed his lips together, noncommittal, not about to get into a fight over their mothers: "When you head back, what are you going to tell him?"

Xiang Zhi felt like he'd punched a pillow, but luckily he'd had years of practice, so he didn't get riled up, washing down his whole flood of sarcasm with a gulp of hot tea.

"What, I'm supposed to tell him you two are all lovey-dovey and respectful as guests, and beg him to bless the match?" He snorted. "...Yeah, dream on."

Xiang Zhijie nodded: "Mm."

Xiang Zhi rolled his eyes: "Sixth Brother, pray tell, with all your 'mm'ing, what the hell does that 'mm' even mean?"

Xiang Zhijie said nothing.

There was affection, there was intention, but the rest still needed work.

But he didn't want that polite, guest-like respect.

That was too cold, too boring—his teacher wouldn't approve.

What the teacher wanted was a fervent, passionate favoritism.

Xiang Zhi Jie thought to himself that he had never experienced such "favoritism" growing up and wasn't quite sure what it meant, so he could only feel his way through it, giving whatever he had, as much as he had.

Xiang Zhi Shi saw that he had lowered his brows and was silent, yet a faint smile tugged at his lips. His heart stirred, and he guessed his brother must be cooking up some scheme again.

"I won't bring up his affairs. But as for you—" Xiang Zhi Shi glanced at him, "You've instigated me to not take the old man seriously, and I will definitely report this to Father."

Xiang Zhi Jie wasn't angry, knowing that Xiang Zhi Shi was always sharp-tongued but soft-hearted and wouldn't lodge a malicious complaint. So he responded with unusual gentleness: "I'm telling the truth. You care too much about Father."

Xiang Zhi Shi's brow, which had just smoothed, furrowed again: "What do you mean?"

"Because you've never received it, you still harbor hope for it." Xiang Zhi Jie couldn't bring himself to say that seeking genuine affection from their father was no different from feeding a dog, so he could only put it tactfully, "Why bother?"

This time, Xiang Zhi Shi said nothing. Instead, he abruptly rose, seized Xiang Zhi Jie by the front of his collar, and slammed him hard against the wall of the private room.

Xiang Zhi Jie made no move to resist, merely gazing quietly and tenderly at his furious seventh brother.

"What do you know?" Xiang Zhi Shi struggled to contain the surging emotions within him. "What do you know about me?"

Xiang Zhi Jie grasped his wrist, but what came out wasn't comfort—it was cold, blunt speech: "I know you. Because we're brothers. You've always been like this in everything you do—half acting, half sincerity. Seventh brother, you love watching plays, but don't turn your own life into a play. In life, you must look at sincerity, and also see whether that sincerity should be given, and whether it's worth giving at all."

He rarely spoke to Xiang Zhi Shi in such an elder-brotherly way.

Because he had seen and heard enough to know that their father was not someone who could be fobbed off with mere "sincerity."

Their father was one of the rare, greatly successful men in this world.

Accustomed to being self-important, he regarded each of his sons as playthings in his palm, gleefully kneading them one by one, testing their mettle.

Having observed coldly for years, and piecing together the experiences of his elder brothers, Xiang Zhi Jie knew that his father actually wanted an heir who was capable, obedient, and ambitious.

Though these three qualities seemed contradictory, they followed a strict order of precedence.

Capability came first.

Obedience was indispensable on top of capability.

Ambition needn't be too strong in comparison, but its absence was unacceptable.

Speaking of "capability," none of the princes could match a lively, bouncing Le Wuya.

To say something far-fetched—if Le Wuya truly were Xiang Zheng's biological son, he would have been the first he considered.

The eldest brother was capable but too opinionated, living in agony under their father's rule and meeting an untimely end.

The fifth brother was obedient but crushed by their father's oppression, unable to unleash even a fraction of his talents, being excessively docile for fear their father might suspect him of designs on the throne.

Sending Zuo Ruyi, whom their father disliked, to the manor had already been the boldest act of defiance he dared.

But when their father issued the order, Zuo Ruyi had to be killed regardless.

He truly had no more courage left.

And some time ago, Xiang Zhi Jie had quietly presented "Caressing Light."

From childhood, he had pored over ancient texts, observed the stars far and wide, sought out renowned masters, and explored the land—countless efforts and achievements all condensed into that thin volume.

Both Xiang Zhi Jie and Xiang Zhi Shi were capable men; the fact that their father had sent them on inspection tours across the realm showed at least some trust in their abilities.

However, it was likely only at this moment that he realized with surprise that his usually unassuming sixth son was actually "ambitious."

With all three elements in place, he could finally catch their father's eye and have a future ahead.

But in that "future," there was his teacher, his younger brother, his mother, and Imperial Consort Zhuang—but no father.

As an elder brother, he sincerely hoped that Xiang Zhi Shi wouldn't cling to the paltry scraps of "kindness" their father offered.

He should at least know where to direct his sincerity, so it wouldn't flow away like water poured into a drain.

As the two brothers stood locked in stalemate, Le Wuya's surprised voice came from the doorway: "Oh, what's this? Nothing better to do, so you've come to my turf to practice your fists?"

Xiang Zhi Jie immediately softened his expression, turned to Le Wuya, and smiled as he pleaded for help: "Prefect, save me."

Author's note:

Little Seven: ...There's a dog here.