Chapter 273: Private Desires (I)

Le Wuya braved the scorching summer heat and sauntered into the Ministry of Works with unhurried ease.

Two days prior, Minister of Works Mao Rui had lodged an impeachment memorial against Qiu Wenhao, the former Director of Waterways at the Ministry of Works and current Fourth-Rank Grain Intendant of Jiang'an, accusing him of using shoddy materials and cutting corners during the repair of the Yong'an section—using pine in place of the required cypress, causing the sluice structure to corrode and posing a risk of collapse during flood season.

The capital's waterways were a matter of grave importance, and Le Wuya, who was in charge of oversight for Shuntian Prefecture, had come to the Ministry of Works to review the old archives.

Unfortunately, Mao Rui had gone to inspect the riverways on the outskirts of the capital early that morning and would not return until the afternoon.

Le Wuya thus sat there, bold as brass, in a small reception hall at the Ministry of Works, facing the Sixth Prince, who was currently managing the ministry's affairs, in discussion.

Outside, the clamor of voices was deafening—footsteps, abacus clicks, and arguments interweaving into a cacophony, like a bustling marketplace.

"Lively, isn't it?" Le Wuya fanned himself with a small folding fan. "Among the Six Ministries, the Ministry of Works has the most hustle and bustle. Just the right amount of mortal world's commotion for our Taoist-cultivating Sixth Prince to get a taste of."

Xiang Zhijie smiled: "They quite like me."

Le Wuya was suffering from the heat, and after taking a sip of hot tea, felt a wave of heat surge from deep within his body: "Is that so? That well-liked? You're not just pulling my leg, are you?"

Xiang Zhijie noticed his eyes drifting and lips reddened from the hot tea, and his heart gave a faint, bittersweet pang.

He walked over to Le Wuya, swapped it for a cup of cold tea: "I'm humoring you. No one likes me—Master, take me away."

Le Wuya snapped his fan shut with a crack.

The person before him was clearly the grown Xiang Zhijie, with handsome features and a tall, elegant bearing—but for a fleeting moment, the eyes looking at him had become those round, almond-shaped eyes filled with fear and bewilderment.

...He said, no one likes him.

Take him away.

The joke that had been on the tip of his tongue turned into a serious reply: "Alright."

Xiang Zhijie froze, his earlobes instantly flushing crimson.

Seeing his embarrassment, Le Wuya came back to his senses and pressed the closed fan against his forehead: "Oh, you poor dear. Tell me, where should your teacher stuff you and carry you off to?"

Xiang Zhijie answered without hesitation: "Master, can we have a kiss?"

Le Wuya: "..."

He moved the fan down, pressing it against Xiang Zhijie's lips, and shot a look outside.

Figures flitted about outside, bustling to and fro.

Xiang Zhijie bit his lip and lowered his gaze, trying to conceal the disappointment in his eyes.

Le Wuya flicked the fan up, making him lift his face: "So fond of kissing, are you?"

Recalling the past, he realized that Xiang Zhijie's craving for mouth-to-mouth pleasures was truly insatiable.

The redness on Xiang Zhijie's ears had spread to the outer edges, but he still answered with unwavering determination: "Yes."

Le Wuya nearly wanted to applaud his honesty and courage.

He dipped his index finger into the cup of tea, which was still quite hot, moistening it slightly: "Come here."

Xiang Zhijie obediently leaned forward.

Le Wuya pressed his finger to the corner of Xiang Zhijie's lips, tracing and rubbing gently, and laughed: "There, a reward for you."

Since being reborn into a second life, Le Wuya's hands were no longer perpetually cold as ice.

These hands were not delicate like a scholar's—the knuckles were distinct, the palms rough and calloused. Who knew how much hardship and how many blood blisters it had taken to regain his marksmanship that could hit a willow leaf at a hundred paces.

That spark of living warmth, that rough texture, combined with the hot tea and lips already running warm, set Xiang Zhijie alight almost instantly.

He felt his skin burning unbearably, his breathing growing more rapid, and his normally lucid gaze growing dazed.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside, approaching from afar—clearly heading toward the reception hall.

Xiang Zhijie's muscles tensed all over, the corner of his eye darting to the ajar door.

...He could almost see the man's official robes.

Le Wuya didn't even turn his head: "Just someone passing by. Stay focused."

Sure enough, the man paused at the doorway, picked up two empty flower pots from beneath the eaves, and turned to leave.

"The Ministry of Works always moves at a breakneck pace." Le Wuya watched with amusement the taut line of Xiang Zhijie's jaw. "Probably off to pin down some blueprints."

No matter how often he looked, this face was still a sight for sore eyes.

Xiang Zhijie: "..."

He made his move.

Xiang Zhijie lowered his head, gently wrapping his tongue around Le Wuya's fingertip, his canines sinking in with just the right pressure.

Le Wuya chided him with a distinct lack of propriety: "How bold."

Xiang Zhijie looked up, his expression obedient and focused, yet his tongue's movements grew ever more lingering.

Le Wuya drew a sharp breath inwardly.

Little Six's desires were clearly stronger and more intense than others'—his oral cravings and inner demons thrived and multiplied—yet he played the part of a cool, aloof immortal.

This was really... really...

Before the thought could finish, a furious roar erupted from outside: "Who swiped the ice basin from my office?! The ice allowance is already scarce this year—how am I supposed to get any drafting done?!"

Another loud voice answered him: "Every last ice basin we have has been commandeered by the Construction Department to keep the gold lacquer cold! His Majesty longs for the Empress Dowager and wants the Cining Palace renovated before the Mid-Autumn Festival—this is a critical time! If we miss the deadline, whose head rolls—yours or the Construction Department's?!"

The first man's bluster immediately wilted: "Fine, fine! What's all the yelling for?!"

Le Wuya: "..."

He turned to look, and Xiang Zhijie was already seated primly as if nothing had happened.

Only a ring of bite marks, glistening with saliva and dampness, bore witness to the fragile intimacy that could be shattered at a touch.

Le Wuya traced the bite marks with his fingertip: "The Ministry of Works is short on ice—isn't that the perfect chance for the Sixth Prince to show his favor?"

"Rest assured, Master." Xiang Zhijie watched Le Wuya's small movements, fighting back the waves of warmth and ache surging in his chest, and replied, "Yesterday, upon learning that the gold-lacquer paint needed to be stored, I put in a request for an ice allowance, asking the imperial icehouse to prepare an additional fifteen catties of ice on top of the usual forty per day. Since His Majesty is renovating the palace for Grandmother, it can be delivered by this afternoon."

"That said, make sure it goes through the official books," Le Wuya reminded him. "The old man's petty. When all is well, everything is fine; but when trouble arises, even taking one extra piece of ice is seen as contempt for the sovereign."

Xiang Zhijie took the lesson to heart: "Your student has noted it."

"That's exactly it. In the imperial family, are a father and son ever really father and son? They're boss and underling. If the boss doesn't nitpick, how else would he look all wise and mighty?" Le Wuya said candidly. "And as an underling, what month goes by without a few days of hoping the boss kicks the bucket?"

Xiang Zhijie chuckled softly: "Teacher, lower your voice."

He dropped his gaze, thinking: Teacher used to be so careful—why is he now so boldly badmouthing him right in front of me?

Could it be Father's been picking on him again?

Not knowing what Xiang Zhijie was thinking, Le Wuya took a sip of the cold tea he'd offered, his eyes drifting over the slanted shadow of the flagpole outside the flower hall. "Today's Imperial Consort Zhuang's birthday—aren't you going to go wish her well?"

Xiang Zhijie answered, matter-of-factly:

"Consort Zhuang does her evening prayers every night and won't see anyone. Before noon, Father will probably come by, and it takes at least half an hour to shoo him out. If I'm there, he'll have an excuse to linger. So Consort Zhuang won't let me come before noon."

"In the afternoon, the consorts from the other palaces send their gifts. If I show up, I'd end up making the young maids go through all the bowing and curtsying. Better to wait till the ice from the official cellar arrives. Then I'll present my token, go in, deliver the gift, and leave just as the palace gates are about to close."

Le Wuya said, "Go a little earlier."

Xiang Zhijie tilted his head, puzzled.

Le Wuya opened his official document case and took out a finely bound pharmacopoeia and a small, neatly wrapped packet of donkey-hide gelatin.

"Help me deliver two gifts," Le Wuya said. "The *Compendium of Longevity* for Imperial Consort Zhuang, and the finest nourishing donkey-hide gelatin for Consort Xi."

"Why is there...? One for Consort Xi too?"

Xiang Zhijie cut himself off, shook his head: "I have no dealings with Consort Xi. Father won't let me go..."

Le Wuya winked playfully: "Who said you had to deliver it yourself?"

"Then... Xiaoqi—"

"Not through him. He'd feed the donkey-hide gelatin to the dogs before he'd pass it along for you." Le Wuya said, "Just have Imperial Consort Zhuang pass it along."

Xiang Zhijie: "..."

That would only happen if she'd burned incense and summoned some wild spirit to possess her.

In Xiang Zhijie's memory, Imperial Consort Zhuang never set foot outside Qingxi Palace except for major ceremonies.

As a child, Xiang Zhijie would look up at her and always felt she was a spirit born from a wisp of incense smoke—hazy, indistinct, impossible to see or understand.

One of the few warm memories he had was from when he was four or five, and he'd wanted to go to the imperial garden to see the flowers.

When he'd finished his routine report and was about to leave the hall, a cold voice suddenly came from behind him: "Don't go playing near the water."

Le Wuya tapped the pharmacopoeia with his fingertip: "Xiaoliu, do you remember the late Empress at all?"

"Almost none." Xiang Zhijie snapped back to the present. "The Empress died not long after the Crown Prince."

Empress Rong was barely a shadow in Xiang Zhijie's memory.

He only remembered that, like Consort Zhuang, she never left the palace except for major ceremonies.

He'd caught glimpses of her from afar, remembering only a frail, sickly woman, her small, calm face buried under layers of ornate robes and elaborate headdresses.

In contrast, his eldest brother's image was vivid in Xiang Zhijie's memory.

He was a pale, meticulously proper young man, every move as if measured out with a ruler and compass.

On Xiang Zhijie's sixth birthday, Xiang Zhiming gave him a cloth tiger.

"Made by your eldest brother himself." Xiang Zhiming's tone was aloof—he treated all his brothers the same way—but his words were simple and warm: "May our Xiaoliu grow up as strong and healthy as a tiger."

Unfortunately, at that age, Xiang Zhijie couldn't yet see the sincerity and warmth hidden beneath the surface.

Since his eldest brother spoke coldly and kept his distance, Xiang Zhijie didn't dare presume, and took it with utmost respect, holding it to his chest as he bowed: "Thank you, Your Highness the Crown Prince, for the gift."

Xiang Zhiming's craftsmanship was good—the cloth tiger was sturdily sewn and handsome—and Xiang Zhijie treasured his things.

Even when he brought out old things to air last year, the little toy showed no signs of wear at all.

Xiang Zhijie's love of handicrafts probably owed something to Xiang Zhiming's influence.

Come to think of it, his eldest brother had died suddenly when the teacher was twenty.

He and the teacher were the same age.

Had fate taken a different turn, the teacher would have been the Crown Prince's most capable aide, the right hand the Emperor had carefully groomed for him.

Not long after the Crown Prince's death and the Empress's passing, the entire Rong clan was banished from the capital for their crimes. As for what kind of person Empress Rong really was, besides the Emperor, only Consort Zhuang could say.