Chapter 179: Free-for-All (4)

The day after watching the play, the Xiang brothers prepared to bid farewell to Tongzhou.

Before departing, Xiang Zhi clenched his teeth and mailed a letter to the Xi family, urging them to look after the Qi merchant caravan should they encounter it.

He had a ready-made excuse: County Princess Tonglu was still, in name only, his elder sister.

Now that she intended to make bold moves in commerce—and had even sought his assistance—it was only natural for him, as her younger brother, to lend his support.

The Xi family were imperial merchants who supplied cotton yarn exclusively to the royal household; they had little to do with Qi Hongzhuang’s dyeing business.

Yet merchants, by nature, seized every opportunity within reach. With a new player suddenly emerging, it was prudent to issue a heads-up—better to avoid friction between the two families. After all, if the snipe and clam fought, the fisherman would profit.

To the imperial court, the Xi family were merely ordinary suppliers.

But in Jiangnan, there was a saying: “Suzhou spices, Gao porcelain; Jiangnan white cotton, unmatched by Xi.”

For such a regional powerhouse, even if close cooperation proved impossible, offending them was entirely out of the question.

After mailing the letter, Xiang Zhi gazed up at the bright sky and let out a long sigh.

He had always striven for family harmony.

Everyone knew the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Princes had long enjoyed cordial relations.

By lavishly spending money and deliberately cultivating friendships with young officials lacking influential family ties, he appeared—to his father’s eyes—first, as a brother rallying supporters for his Fifth Brother, a sign of fraternal devotion; second, as someone courting nobodies, posing no threat whatsoever; and third, as employing clumsy methods reliant solely on wealth, thus destined to achieve little.

Maintaining this image in his father’s mind—so his father might show some leniency toward his mother out of affection for him—was enough for Xiang Zhi.

But now, with this letter sent, he knew he was irrevocably tied to Le Wuya, the court’s newly promoted Fourth-Rank Official.

This was utterly different from attending Lord Feng’s birthday banquet to back him up.

Back then, Le Wuya had just arrived, appearing as fragile as rootless duckweed.

Xiang Zhi had befriended Le Wuya while he was still a county magistrate; abandoning him simply because he’d been promoted would have been unforgivable. Stepping forward to support him then had been no great matter.

But now, Le Wuya’s talents had been revealed.

This man was no rootless duckweed—he was clearly tough, resilient wild grass.

With a breath of spring wind, he could spread exuberantly across vast expanses.

If Xiang Zhi now proactively stepped in to help, he would invite suspicion of currying favor with a rising star.

“If only you’d stay sickly and weak forever,” Xiang Zhi said, meeting Le Wuya alone before departure to inform him about the letter, openly lamenting, “…then you wouldn’t be able to make any waves.”

Le Wuya sipped his tea. He looked up and laughed: “Oh dear—that would disappoint His Highness the Seventh Prince. Even in my last life, when I was shot full of holes like a hedgehog, I still managed to raise the two of you into little hellions, didn’t I?”

Xiang Zhi knew he’d suffered grievous wounds on the frontier, and at the mention of “hedgehog,” he felt a real pang of pain deep in his flesh and organs.

He gritted his teeth and snapped, “Don’t talk nonsense!”

Le Wuya feigned surprise: “It’s the truth—why can’t I say it?”

Xiang Zhi couldn’t very well admit it was the word “hedgehog” that unsettled him, so he seized instead on the last four words: “What does that Little Stutterer—the lukewarm drip—have to do with being a hellion?”

Le Wuya said nothing—only let out a short laugh.

Xiang Zhi found himself inexplicably brimming with pent-up anger. Seeing Le Wuya treat him entirely like a child—with that insufferable smile-and-say-nothing expression—his wicked impulses surged.

Yet having secretly vowed never to harm him again, Xiang Zhi rushed forward and delivered a hard kick to Le Wuya’s chair.

Unexpectedly, Le Wuya’s chair was exceptionally sturdy, its four legs solid. The kick left the chair unmoved—but Xiang Zhi tumbled straight into Le Wuya’s arms, his face twisting in pain.

Le Wuya raised a hand and gently patted the back of his head.

He’d always thought Little Seven was a good kid.

His little schemes were, in the imperial family’s eyes, as plain as day.

The Old Emperor had once told him, “Little Six is cold-hearted; Little Seven values loyalty—these twin brothers truly balance each other out.”

Hearing such words, Le Wuya inwardly mused, *Both my students are fine specimens—what would an old fool like you know about good and bad?*

Yet outwardly, he smiled and casually flattered: “Even dragons bear nine sons, each different. In this humble official’s humble view, the Sixth Prince is steady, the Seventh Prince lively—both are excellent, top-notch talents.”

His words were praise on the surface—but he left a subtle opening, giving the Old Emperor room to continue.

Sure enough, the Old Emperor sighed deeply: “Little Seven puts on that profligate, wastrel act simply to make his mother’s life better; his hatred for his Sixth Brother stems merely from expecting too much of him.”

“Little Six… alas, he was spoiled by Lantai, learning that unworldly, otherworldly air from her—both of them are cold-hearted sorts.”

Le Wuya paused a moment before realizing “Lantai” was the given name of Imperial Consort Zhuang.

From those two appellations—“his mother” and “Lantai”—the relative weight of these two consorts in the Old Emperor’s heart was plain to see.

The Old Emperor had always been one to wish life for those he loved and death for those he hated.

He could elevate Le Wuya to First-Rank Official, just as he could raise Imperial Consort Zhuang—whose family had fallen and whose brother had been convicted—to the rank of Imperial Consort, even snatching a son from a lower-ranking consort for her to raise.

Le Wuya knew he had glimpsed a corner of palace secrets. He formed his plans inwardly while maintaining an air of innocence outwardly, continuing to charm the Old Emperor with witty banter until he had him rocking with laughter.

Snapping back from his recollections, Le Wuya found Xiang Zhi still lying in his arms, head resting on his shoulder. He was caught between amusement and exasperation: “Comfortable now, are you?”

Xiang Zhi had a ready excuse and refused to get up: “My foot hurts. What a crappy stool.”

Le Wuya teased him: “Serves you right.”

Xiang Zhi pressed his lips together in silence, meekly accepting the scolding.

Le Wuya found this very strange. He reached out, lifted Xiang Zhi’s chin, and studied his face, thinking, *The sun must be rising in the west.*

Suddenly, Xiang Zhi spoke out of the blue.

“This time, you’re not allowed to be a hedgehog,” he said. “You have to be well. You have to live a long life.”

Le Wuya scoffed: “A long life—is that up to me?”

Xiang Zhi said nothing.

The small golden peanut against his chest pressed close to him, and through this little trinket, his body heat passed to the slightly cool skin across from him.

Inside the small peanut were the ashes of his past life.

Only this way could Xiang Zhi connect his past life to his present.

Only like this, it seemed, could he feel at ease getting close to him.

Otherwise, whenever he looked at this bouncing, full-of-life Le Wuya, he felt an inexplicable sense of estrangement.

Le Wuya was just marveling at the lad's unusual behavior when, out of the corner of his eye, his scalp prickled.

The man the emperor had called "heartless" stood at the doorway, quietly watching the two of them, one sitting, one sprawled out.

Having rested fully through the night, Zhi Jie had regained his fresh, ruddy complexion.

He gave Le Wuya a look of utmost gentleness, then called out, "Seventh Brother, the carriage is ready. Time to go."

Xiang Zhi, feeling perfectly content where he was, couldn't be bothered with his insufferably quiet, closed-mouth sixth brother and grumbled in a low, muffled tone, "You go on."

Zhi Jie, far from leaving, took deliberate steps toward Le Wuya.

Le Wuya felt a sudden, inexplicable twinge of guilt, but as the man drew nearer, his nerves settled. He raised one arm, resting it on the chair back, and looked at him openly, waiting to see what he would do.

Xiang Zhi also noticed his approach and couldn't help but show a displeased expression, as if his dream had been disturbed, glaring fiercely at him.

Yet Zhi Jie advanced without hesitation, walking straight up to Le Wuya, bending down, and leaning over Xiang Zhi's shoulder to plant a light kiss on Le Wuya's cheek, as bold as you please.

Xiang Zhi, unable to dodge, witnessed this shocking, outrageous scene up close. He shot to his feet, his face turning pale and ashen, pointing at Zhi Jie: "You... you..."

Zhi Jie straightened up, his manner unchanged: "Seventh Brother, we really must go."

With that, he turned back to Le Wuya: "I truly do enjoy watching Prefect Wenren do his spear routine, but I didn't get to see it all this time. What a pity."

Le Wuya propped his chin on one hand, which happened to rest right on the spot where he'd been kissed.

A damp, tingling itch spread from that spot, and Le Wuya found a strange amusement in it.

He asked, his face betraying nothing: "What do you mean by that?"

Zhi Jie: "It means 'we have a date for next time.'"

"When is 'next time'?"

"'Next time' is 'next time,'" Zhi Jie replied patiently, playing word games. "When Teacher is in a good mood, preferably when it's just the two of us."

He said this as if he were the only one in the room, and even Xiang Zhi's face turned red with embarrassment for him.

After speaking, he politely said "see you later," then dragged Xiang Zhi, who was stiff and wide-eyed, out with him.

Once outside the room, he noticed Xiang Zhi's limp: "What's wrong with your foot?"

Xiang Zhi never expected that after doing something so shameless and indecent right in front of him, the man would still have the nerve to show concern. He was furious and burning with jealousy, and he forcibly wrenched himself out of his arms: "Zhi Jie!"

Zhi Jie stood his ground in the courtyard and asked directly, "Do you like him?"

Xiang Zhi's heart lurched, and he opened his mouth to deny it.

But Zhi Jie didn't give him the chance.

"Look carefully. Think it through."

"Is it him you like..." He reached out and plucked the small golden peanut from Xiang Zhi's chest, "...or is it him?"

Xiang Zhi slapped the back of his hand, took a step back, and felt a sudden, inexplicable fluster: "Is there a difference?"

Zhi Jie's eyes remained as calm and steady as ever: "Figure it out yourself."

With that, he walked away through the flowers and willows, his posture ramrod straight.

Xiang Zhi stood in the courtyard, a sour, bitter lump rising in his throat.

He took out a handkerchief and carefully cradled the defiled little golden peanut, then called out, "Kong Yangping!"

Kong Yangping had a way of appearing out of thin air, and soon popped out from some odd corner: "Here."

He lowered his head and wiped the little golden peanut with intense focus: "Are all the belongings packed?"

Kong Yangping answered promptly: "All packed."

Xiang Zhi tucked the little golden peanut carefully into his clothes: "Take that crappy chair Prefect Wenren sat on back to the capital."

He'd tried it himself—the chair legs were too hard, and one careless kick could leave you aching for half a day. It was hardly a decent piece of furniture.

Kong Yangping: "...Huh?"

Xiang Zhi cast him a cool glance.

Kong Yangping immediately responded: "Yes, sir!"

The pain in Xiang Zhi's toes had subsided a little, and he was about to head out when he heard the faint, melodious sound of a flute drifting from the doorway.

He gritted his teeth and hurried out with a slight limp.

Blow, blow, blow. There he goes again.

The teacher only taught him to play the flute, and look how smug he is about it!