Chapter 315: Clash of Wits (10)

Meanwhile, Le Wuya held a strand of Zhi Jie's hair, fidgeting as he tried to tie it to his own, as if the predicament before them were merely child's play.

Zhi Jie humored his antics, tilting his head slightly as he continued offering ideas: "Back then, Zhou Wenchang was riding high, yet he was punished and sent to this place all of a sudden. Wang Su was definitely behind that. Teacher, could we use this to get under his skin?"

Le Wuya raised his head and asked, "How do you know about this?"

Zhi Jie said carefully, "It has something to do with Consort Zhuang. So I looked into it more carefully."

...

That year, when Zhuang Lantai learned that her family had fallen on hard times—her father stripped of his rank and title, the entire family banished back to their hometown, and she herself left with no one to rely on—she did not cry or fall apart.

She offered incense and chanted sutras as usual.

This left the emperor, who had made a special trip to visit her that day, rather underwhelmed, and he merely instructed Zhi Jie to take good care of her.

But that very night, Zhuang Lantai came down with a high fever.

Zhi Jie tended to her himself, wringing out a cold towel and about to place it on her forehead when he suddenly heard her talking in her sleep.

She was extremely stubborn, her teeth clenched so hard they ground together, as if she were forcibly bottling up her worries.

Yet her pent-up grievances churned and fought, and in her weakened state, they finally found a way out.

She managed to utter broken words: "Daddy... Mommy, I don't want to stay here. Take me with you..."

"Take me away... I want to go home..."

"I want to eat sweet soup..."

Zhi Jie said nothing, covering her scorching forehead with the towel, then wringing out another and pressing it over her mouth.

The next day, Zhuang Lantai, feeling a bit better, ate a bowl of just-made peach sweet soup, and once again resumed her calm, unruffled appearance of a cold-faced Guanyin, as if the sweet soup had dropped from the sky.

She did not ask about the previous night, and Zhi Jie acted like he hadn't heard a thing.

They had never been close as mother and son; it was best this way.

...

After telling Le Wuya this story, Le Wuya was more focused on something else: "Then my earlier gift wasn't good enough."

He grabbed another strand of Zhi Jie's hair to tickle his neck: "Actually, sweet soup made from golden peaches tastes better, and the best peaches come from Feicheng. Next time I'll bring a basket and send it to the Consort."

Zhi Jie said nothing, but felt a warm, surging feeling filling his heart.

As he leaned down, secretly breathing in the piney scent from his hair, and was about to take another nibble at him, Le Wuya asked, "Hey, do you like sweet soup?"

Zhi Jie blurted out, "One must not indulge in carnal desires."

At those words, Le Wuya grinned and turned to look at his thin, diamond-shaped lips, as if seeing right through what he was thinking.

Even though Zhi Jie was best at spouting nonsense with a straight face, he couldn't help but blush.

Soon, unable to take Le Wuya's gaze, he turned his face away and hurriedly tried to steer the conversation back on track: "Teacher, we should discuss the real matter. How do we pull Wang Su into this..."

"No need." Le Wuya lazily reached into his robes and pulled out a letter. "I already went."

...

Before he and Zhi Jie had gotten together, Le Wuya had already paid a visit to the Dansui County prison.

Le Wuya still remembered the scene of Zhou Wenchang hurriedly bringing people to greet him at the prison.

In just a few short days, the tables had turned.

Zhou Wenchang had a lot of pride—even in prison, he took the trouble to keep his hair neatly groomed. When he saw Le Wuya arrive, he did not act arrogant, but respectfully knelt in greeting.

Le Wuya stood on the other side of the prison bars, quietly watching him: "Does Magistrate Zhou know? Some ordinary people heard you were ill, and brought a basket of eggs from their own chickens to the yamen gate, saying they wanted to build up your strength."

The story Le Wuya had spread was that Zhou Wenchang had collapsed from exhaustion while busy with disaster relief, and he took the opportunity to swiftly root out all the informants Zhou Wenchang had placed in key positions.

As for the snakes and rats in the corners, once their lifeline was cut and no more orders came, they became stray dogs, with their tails between their legs and living in constant fear, dreading that they would be purged.

Of course, the ordinary people only knew that Magistrate Zhou was ill.

Le Wuya handed a basket of boiled eggs over.

Zhou Wenchang widened his eyes slightly, then, as if unable to face it, covered his face and hung his head, murmuring, "It is my failure as an official..."

Le Wuya cut him off: "Drop the act."

The moment he said this, Zhou Wenchang dropped his hands.

There were no tears on his face, no pain, no expression—only a fake show of deference and feigned incompetence. He said in a soft voice, "Yes, as Lord Wenren commands."

Seeing this, Le Wuya wasn't surprised in the least.

Zhou Wenchang wasn't Shao Hongzhen.

If he could truly be broken by the expectations, disappointments, and hatred of the people, he would never have been able to do what he did—murdering the miners to keep them quiet.

Le Wuya played his next card: "Magistrate Zhou, all these years you've slaved away, working for others. Do you know, after a lifetime of bustle, whose wedding dress you've been sewing?"

Zhou Wenchang raised an eyebrow: "Lord Imperial Censor, this humble official is dull-witted and does not understand your meaning."

Le Wuya casually ripped through his act: "Magistrate Zhou, I know exactly what you are. You know this Dansui County prison better than anyone—you know full well whether there's an eavesdropping room nearby. Apart from the gods above, it's just you and me. You don't have to keep pretending."

"This humble official is not acting; I am merely a little surprised." Zhou Wenchang asked with a look of sincerity, "Lord Wenren is so young—where did you learn of Zhou's younger days?"

This was an attempt to fish for information.

Le Wuya brushed it off casually: "You're still young."

These words seemed to strike a nerve in Zhou Wenchang.

White-haired county magistrates were as numerous as carp in a river.

Many, like Qi Wuhu, had no luck, no connections, and remained seventh-rank magistrates until retirement.

Zhou Wenchang was only in his thirties, and with the Bangyan title under his belt, he was definitely counted as young and accomplished among a crowd of magistrates averaging forty to fifty years old.

Though ten years was long, he had matured early and had plenty of opportunities to mess up and start over.

If he had played it straight, he might not have lacked another chance to rise.

However, the strange look on Zhou Wenchang's face lasted only a moment.

“Young, am I?” His tone carried a hint of self-mockery. “I feel as though I’ve been rotting in this place, Dansui, for a hundred years or more.”

Le Wuya hit the nail on the head: “Because you’re not resigned to it.”

“Yes. You’re truly a master at hitting the nail on the head.” Zhou Wenchang smiled ambiguously. “I really am not resigned.”

With that, Zhou Wenchang lifted his head, meeting Le Wuya’s gaze directly: “You’ve had exceptional luck, smooth sailing, climbing the ladder—I doubt you’d really get it. Back in the day, I was the golden boy, a young prodigy, with a photographic memory and my glory unmatched. Who’d have thought my career would tank so hard, sinking this low? Look at you—a nobody who bought his way into office—now you’re on top, and I’m stuck in here as a prisoner. Clearly, reading ten thousand books ain’t worth shit compared to knowing how the world really works; knowing how to play the game and suck up is what really keeps you alive.”

“Don’t go blaming the books. Which book taught you to wreck mountains, oppress folks, and kill people?”

Zhou Wenchang replied calmly, “You’ve got me wrong, Your Honor. I just failed to keep my men in line.”

Le Wuya wasn’t having any of his bullshit: “So you knew all along?”

“Knew what?”

“That Wang Su used you back then.”

Zhou Wenchang was caught off guard.

Le Wuya saw right through him: “A normal guy, after a blow like that, even if he’s bitter and down in the dumps, wouldn’t go to the extremes you did. You’re not just bitter—you’ve got real hate in you, don’t you?”

Zhou Wenchang’s shoulders loosened up a bit.

A faint smile crept onto his stiff, flat lips: “Lord Wenren, you’re something else, really. I had you pegged wrong earlier. This knack you have for reading people—no book can teach that. So who was it that taught you this?”

Le Wuya brushed off his probing and asked only, “When did you figure it out?”

“I ain’t stupid.” Zhou Wenchang stared off into space, like he was looking back at the distant past. “Back then, Lord Wang told me to come to Dansui and think things over carefully. I followed his orders and soon figured it all out.”

“He was my superior; we were just polite on the surface, nothing more. Why would he suddenly get all warm and chummy, trying to win me over?”

“He had the emperor’s ear and was good at reading what the emperor wanted. Since the emperor wanted to take down the Zhuang family and needed a scapegoat, who better to set me up? And who really picked me to be the fall guy?”

“Once I figured that out, it all clicked.”

“Later, I tried to feel him out about transferring out of Dansui to find better opportunities. He just said that if I served loyally and worked hard, I’d get what I deserved. That’s when it hit me—I was just a useful pawn.”

“And you still wrote to him and did whatever he said?”

Zhou Wenchang replied with utter conviction: “He did right by me.”

“He ruined you, and that’s a favor?”

Zhou Wenchang gave Le Wuya a weird smile and switched topics: “Your Honor, for a big shot like you to lower yourself to talk to me this long, you need something from me, don’t you?”

Le Wuya slid the paper and brush through the bars: “Write him a letter. Use your old method. Say that I’ve found nothing here and fallen gravely ill, and that the Sixth Prince has arrived in Dansui, working his ass off on disaster relief and fixing the roads. Ask him if he wants to have me killed.”

Le Wuya had locked down the whole intelligence network here, including the relay stations.

The only ones left who could get a message to Wang Su were Zhou Wenchang and Zhou Wenhuan.

This letter forced Wang Su to face a big question.

Since whether Le Wuya lived or died was a big deal to the higher-ups, Wang Su couldn’t just ignore it.

Once Wang Su’s reply came, it could be compared with the earlier letters to confirm his guilt.

Zhou Wenchang looked at the paper and brush pushed toward him: “May I ask, Lord Wenren, why should I write this?”

Le Wuya answered bluntly: “Because if you don’t, you’ll be the one struck down by a grave illness.”

Zhou Wenchang paused, then laughed: “Your Honor, that’s a bit too direct, isn’t it?”

Le Wuya: “You didn’t dare kill me in this cell because you feared an investigation from above, right? But you fear it—I don’t. The emperor couldn’t care less about your fate. Besides, if I had you killed, your brother would lose all hope. Then I’d stir the pot, say something like—Lord Wang Su sent Changmen Guard Ji Zhun to watch your every move, and fearing you’d turn, he silenced you. Guess whether your brother, seeing you dead, would willingly serve me?”

“You see, whether you live or die hardly matters.”

“I know you want to live. I’m offering you a way out. By your own logic, that makes me your benefactor, doesn’t it? Now it’s time to repay that debt.”

Zhou Wenchang was caught between laughter and tears at this tactic of turning his own reasoning against him.

But he dared not overstep.

He could see clearly from Le Wuya’s eyes that this man had blood on his hands and was capable of such deeds.

Once the paper and brush were in hand, he didn’t rush to write but asked, “How exactly did you find out it was Lord Wang Su?”

“I know who sent me here.” Le Wuya shrugged. “Whoever tries to destroy me, I destroy them.”

Zhou Wenchang picked up the brush, his expression grave, lost in thought.

After a long moment, he wrote.

Le Wuya took the letter, raising an eyebrow: “You’re not just scribbling nonsense to fool me, are you? This is barely coherent—what is this?”

“It’s a cipher.” Zhou Wenchang said. “Without writing it this way, Lord Wang would see through it at a glance.”

Le Wuya asked knowingly: “What’s the key?”

Zhou Wenchang smiled wanly: “I can’t say. If I told you, I’d have no value left to you, would I?”

Before Le Wuya left, Zhou Wenchang urged him: “Your Honor, in the drawer of my study desk, there’s a seal with no other markings—just a four-petaled peach blossom. Be sure to stamp it in the lower right corner of this letter. It’s my unique mark, to prevent forgery. Remember, Your Honor, remember.”

...

In Le Wuya’s hand was that very letter.

Xiang Zhijie examined it, his brow furrowing slightly.

“This letter uses the cipher from the ‘Book to Sons,’ and it does convey what I instructed him to say.”

“But that peach blossom seal—do you find it credible, Master?”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Le Wuya rummaged in his robes and produced another letter: “I went to see Zhou Wenhuan with a different story—that his brother was framed by Wang Su and brought to this pass. Even though he’s resolved to take the blame for his brother, he was furious and said he’d drag Wang Su down with him. I had him write an identical letter...”

“He also mentioned stamping a four-petaled peach blossom seal.”

“Except, it was to be placed in the upper left corner of the letter.”