Chapter 268: An Old Acquaintance (III)

Qiu Sinian's head throbbed with pain, darkness swimming before his eyes.

He swayed unsteadily, staring fixedly at Le Wuya, a thousand suspicions churning in his chest.

The first time he had arranged to meet Wen Ren was precisely after his initial audience with the emperor.

At that time, Wen Ren had been restless and terrified, nearly stumbling down the steps.

—The Lord was clearly flawless—poised, unruffled—how could he have looked so shaken?

Seeing his expression shift, Le Wuya smiled helplessly.

Since sleep was out of the question tonight anyway, Le Wuya decided to be patient.

He patted the spot beside him, signaling for him to stop hovering and come sit.

Qiu Sinian went rigid, a feral glint flashing in his eyes as he watched him warily, thinking: this man must know he resembles Lord Yue and is deliberately trying to get close to him.

But he wasn't the type to be fooled by a pretty face.

Le Wuya shook his head, turned and rose, casually brushing the bamboo dirt from his palms, and walked step by step to stand before him.

A reassuring, crisp scent of pine and cypress, mingled with bamboo, slowly drifted toward Qiu Sinian.

Qiu Sinian thought dazedly: even if he wore the same incense as the Lord, it would be a clumsy imitation—a crow trying to pass for a phoenix.

Perhaps too many thoughts flooded his mind at once; Qiu Sinian's head spun, his legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the soft bamboo dirt.

He gritted his teeth, struggling desperately to get up.

Unfortunately, he'd barely eaten all day, and after taking two blows to the head, between the shock and the joy, his whole body felt like jelly—even leaning on the bamboo, he couldn't muster the strength to stand.

As he struggled, a shadow crept over him inch by inch, like a rising tide, until it swallowed him whole.

Qiu Sinian's expression shifted; he abruptly let go of the bamboo, and ignoring the ground soaked soft by the night dew, crawled desperately away.

Even on his hands and knees, he would crawl away from this shadow.

He hated kneeling in someone else's shadow.

Even before the emperor, whom he revered, Qiu Sinian knelt with the utmost care, never letting his own shadow overlap the sovereign's.

Because he'd promised the Lord.

He had promised...

A voice came from above—calm and gentle, yet brooking no refusal: "Little A'Si, who said you could run?"

"That year you came with me to Yuzhou for disaster relief—what did I tell you?"

Qiu Sinian froze in place.

...

That year in Yuzhou, a great drought had struck, and people had resorted to cannibalism.

Le Wuya had long been looking for an excuse to send Qiu Sinian back to Yuzhou to look for family, to see if any kin had survived.

This saved him the trouble of making up an excuse.

He took Qiu Sinian straight to Yuzhou, energetically squeezing grain out of the local gentry.

This skin of the Treacherous Official—Le Wuya wore it with no small difficulty.

Among the gentry, he played the social butterfly, smiling with a hidden blade, using words as bait, toasting at banquets and whispering in dark chambers—he had to convince the gentry he was on their side, yet not fully give in to their wishes, lest the people's last hope be snuffed out.

In the end, he courteously carved out a path of survival for the refugees.

On the night before the granaries were opened, Le Wuya drank with the gentry until dawn; the next morning, he went to inspect the newly built porridge stations, "coincidentally" running into three or four other gentry who had gotten nothing out of the deal, spinning one high-sounding speech after another.

After seeing off the last person, Le Wuya's legs gave out, and he staggered into Qiu Sinian's arms.

Qiu Sinian was startled: "...My—"

"Quiet." Le Wuya was burning with fever, his teeth chattering.

He bit down hard on his own sleeve, and only when the trembling subsided did he mumble: "Medicine and doctors are scarce right now. If others find out I'm sick, they'll try to curry favor with me—I can't compete with the people for resources... Help me up. I need to walk back to the post station without a hitch."

He weathered that overwhelming wave of dizziness, and when he lowered his hand, his expression had already returned to normal.

...Only a ring of teeth marks, damp with saliva, remained on his sleeve.

Qiu Sinian stared at that ring of bite marks, silently accompanying him back to the post station.

People bustled all around, familiar accents filling his ears.

But he focused solely on that bite mark, trying not to think about other things.

Like the fact that he had returned to his homeland, yet felt like a stranger in a strange land.

Only upon returning to Yuzhou did he realize he couldn't even speak his native dialect anymore.

This flawless Dayu official accent filled him with a strange sense of shame.

—He had betrayed the land that raised him, all for the sake of survival.

In his earlier years serving in the palace, Qiu Sinian had always held himself taut—fearing death, fearing hunger—so he was cautious and meticulous in everything, never even feeling wronged, believing wholeheartedly that his life was simply meant to be this way—somewhat worse than others', but tolerable.

Somehow, ever since following Xiaoshu Princess into the Le household, Qiu Sinian spent every day by Le Wuya's side, and all sorts of inexplicable little thoughts began to sprout.

When the Lord praised Qinghe Studio's osmanthus cakes to the skies, he would swallow hard, full of anticipation.

When the Lord came home from work without bringing any pastries, he would feel a pang of disappointment.

And on the Lord's own birthday—which even he himself had forgotten—he brought home a foot-long osmanthus cake shaped like a little figure, stamped with the pattern of the clothes Qiu Sinian usually wore.

The Lord said he had carved the mold himself and taken it to Qinghe Studio, badgering the pastry master for a long time. The man was used to making small, delicate confections and feared he couldn't manage such a large one—if the flavor suffered or the shop's reputation was damaged, that would be bad for business—so he was reluctant. The Lord had to beg for ages before the master agreed to make one. So even if it tasted terrible, Qiu Sinian had to pretend it was delicious.

Qiu Sinian ate the foot-long osmanthus cake down to the last crumb.

The Lord had said: even if it's bad, you can't say a word.

So, even though it was the most delicious pastry he had ever eaten in his life, Qiu Sinian kept his face stern, refusing to say a word.

No matter how happy he was, he couldn't say it.

Ever since returning to Yuzhou, Qiu Sinian had been in low spirits, lacking all energy. These days he followed Le Wuya like a shadow, speaking remarkably little, and had failed to notice the Lord's strange condition and illness at all.

It wasn't until Le Wuya fell ill that he realized how negligent he had been.

As soon as they got back to the inn, Le Wuya collapsed without making a sound.

In this year of severe drought, nine wells out of ten had gone dry.

Qiu Sinian hurried seven or eight li—about two and a half miles—before finding a deep well. He fetched water and came back to wipe Le Wuya down to bring the fever down, then used the medicinal smoke pipe to treat him with the smoke of the powdered white mustard seeds and pinellia tuber he had brought, hoping to relieve the searing pain in his lungs.

It wasn't until two days later that Le Wuya was fully awake.

The instant he opened his eyes, Qiu Sinian threw himself at him: "My lord, how are you feeling?!"

Le Wuya huffed: "You might as well crush me to death."

Qiu Sinian scrambled back and knelt ramrod straight on the floor.

After Le Wuya rode out one wave of chest pain after another, he spared a glance to size him up.

In only two days, dark stubble had sprouted on his chin, and his eyes were bloodshot—he was a pitiful sight.

Le Wuya pressed his hand to his forehead and let out a sigh: "Go get some rest. You've worn yourself out and gotten ugly. I don't like ugly things."

Qiu Sinian knelt on the ground, saying not a word.

Le Wuya sensed something was off and joked with him in a hoarse voice: "What, deaf now?"

"My lord, punish me." Qiu Sinian said flatly. "I'm good for nothing. You were this ill, and I was blind and foolish, not noticing a thing. I should've told you to rest more and drink less wine. …But I did nothing."

Le Wuya said not a word.

Qiu Sinian's shoulders started shaking violently, and he almost started babbling: "I beg you, punish me. I'm trash. All I can do is stay alive. Why am I the one who's alive? I can't handle this, I'm not worthy—"

The man on the bed struggled himself upright, his bare feet hitting the floor.

Qiu Sinian moved to support him, but was swatted away with one hand.

His lips were stark white, his face thin and sharp—even haggard, he looked like a beautiful specter.

Le Wuya coughed softly a couple of times, then caught sight of the big bruises on his body and arms.

This idiot was blaming himself—and hurting himself too.

Le Wuya ordered: "Kneel nearer."

Qiu Sinian crawled forward on his knees.

"Nearer."

The lamplight in the room was dim, and Le Wuya's slight shadow stretched out long, almost completely swallowing Qiu Sinian up.

Le Wuya commanded again: "Kneel within my shadow."

Qiu Sinian crawled low, completely surrendering to his shadow.

Le Wuya looked at him quietly, then reached out and put a hand on his head: "Are you all the way in? I can't see well."

Qiu Sinian answered meekly: "I'm in."

For some reason, his almost insane self-hatred was oddly calmed by those few words.

And Le Wuya said in a low voice: "It's enough that you've knelt in."

He let out a small breath: "I don't know what kind of messy nonsense you're thinking. But since I'm the one taking care of you now, since when is it up to you to decide whether I punish you or not?"

"Kneeling to me, pleading with me, begging me—it's all for nothing."

He leaned in a little: "I don't care what you're thinking. What I want you to think now is: you're mine, protected by my shadow. Anything that wants to hurt you has to hurt me first before it can get to you."

"As for hurting yourself or feeling sorry for yourself—there's no need for that at all. You're alive for no other reason than that I want you alive; the things you can't do are things I haven't allowed you to do yet."

With a sharp, intimidating edge to him, he asked with a smile: "Feeling better now?"

The young Qiu Sinian burst into loud crying, throwing his arms around Le Wuya, rambling like a lost kid: "My lord, my lord, don't leave me. You scared me to death…"

The scenes blurred together.

Times changed, the world moved on.

Qiu Sinian knelt at the edge of Le Wuya's shadow, looking back in a panic.

Le Wuya said softly: "Are you not listening again? Did I say you could leave?"

Qiu Sinian's eyes went wide with surprise.

Years of longing, finally answered.

He carefully crawled back a couple of steps, knelt back into his shadow, and looked up at him blankly, opening his mouth as if he had so much to say.

Le Wuya ruffled his hair gently and said softly: "You can't talk, so from now on I'll do more of the talking. Little A'Si just needs to obey, and he only likes obeying, right?"

…

Watching from the sidelines, Zhi Jie found it hard to watch.

He shifted his gaze and noticed that Jiang He wasn't the least bit surprised—he was simply hugging a bamboo pole, watching the two in the woods enviously.

He asked: "Guard Jiang, you're not surprised?"

Jiang He asked sincerely: "Sixth Prince, what should I be surprised about?"

Zhi Jie hinted meaningfully: "He is…"

Jiang He: "?"

Zhi Jie gave up and spelled it out: "He is Le Wuya."

Given how completely his behavior had changed and how childishly devoted he acted, keeping up the pretense any longer would just be pointless.

Hearing this, Jiang He said with a normal expression: "The young general is amazing. He got us lost many times before, but he always found his way back home."

In his view, if the young general couldn't come back from the dead, it's because he didn't want to come back.

If he really did come back from the dead, that's only natural—nothing surprising about it.

Zhi Jie laughed in spite of himself: "When did you catch on?"

Jiang He replied earnestly: "In answer to Your Highness, I only just found out. You're the one who told me."

Zhi Jie: "…"

How should I put it.

His teacher's men really were each something special.

Author's note:

Qiu Sinian's birthday wish: To be the blade in my lord's hand, the servant at his knee. Where my bones rest, may his shadow cover me all my life.