TSLSILMH Ch 43

Chapter 43

The Young Lord’s voice was so faint, like a breeze from mountain ravines, yet it stirred ten thousand ripples across still water.

Xie Shu looked down at those lips—glossed in delicate red, sweet and soft, opening slightly to breathe fragrance like orchids.

The man in his arms did not need to do anything. Xie Shu could feel him collapsing softly against his body, pliant as spring water, light as drifting snow, pure as a moonbeam cupped in hand.

Xie Shu’s breath caught. His grip upon that small hand trembled with effort, though Yu Chuxi’s frail, boneless form clung close, weightless yet overwhelming.

And as their breaths mingled, Xie Shu’s Adam’s apple rolled involuntarily.

Slowly, his arms tightened.

Yu Chuxi’s heart thundered. He felt Xie Shu’s gaze fall upon his lips, felt him leaning closer.

His long lashes fluttered violently. In that moment, he thought—Xie Shu would kiss him.

But no. Xie Shu halted, lips barely away, hovering.

Yu’s heart plummeted in disappointment. Yet in the next second, he felt himself drawn snug again into Xie Shu’s arms—as the lightest kiss settled into his dark hair, tender as falling petals, filled with a reverence and pity that ached sweetly.

Yu Chuxi shuddered head to toe, and sudden joy flooded him. Resting against Xie Shu, he clung there, an unspoken smile within.

Xie Shu, realizing afterward the impulse was rash, lowered his eyes. Yet he only reached to smooth back Yu’s rumpled hair, tucking it behind his pale ear. With a gentle smile, he whispered: “Young Lord—wait for me to return.”

—

He came to his teacher’s house much earlier than usual. After servants relayed his arrival, he sat waiting quietly, posture ramrod straight, gaze deep as still water, though his demeanor bore a trace of unusual gravity.

Jiang Hong found him thus, surprised. This student was usually so composed—what matter had driven him here at daybreak?

When they entered the study, Xie Shu immediately asked: “Teacher, do you know of His Majesty’s southern tour?”

Jiang blinked in surprise. So quickly, this is spreading? He nodded. “Yes. Before I left the capital a month ago, His Majesty had resolved on it. I advised against, but he resisted. Truth be told, his intention was long set—sending the Third Prince to Jiangnan months ahead was clear sign. But why do you ask, Rongzhan?”

Xie Shu’s mind darted back. Four months ago—just when he had first awakened in this world. His only tie with others then had been the poetry gathering at the Western Garden. Could something from there already ripple still?

Suppressing his instinct, he pressed instead: “Teacher, may I ask—what manner of man is the Third Prince in your eyes?”

“The Third Prince?”

Jiang paused, frowning. “Prince Shao Zhen is His Majesty’s most favored child. Just come of age this year, not yet with his own establishment. He is indeed quick of wit, versed in both literature and martial—keen, clever beyond his siblings…”

These were common praises. In truth, the Crown Prince, Shao An, was only three years elder. The princes studied together in youth. But when the Emperor once tested them impromptu, the Crown Prince faltered, while Shao Zhen recited fluently without error. The court had remembered this—and tales of the Crown Prince’s weakness spread alongside Shao Zhen’s brilliance.

Jiang went on, voice lowering. “Yet do not think all as the wide rumor. The Crown is dull only compared against his brother. He is gentle of nature, rightful heir, and as most of us old ministers see—it is stability, not genius, that secures the state.”

But His Majesty increasingly favored Shao Zhen, putting him forward deliberately, even granting him management of a rebel case, in which he succeeded but acted cruelly. He had nearly been placed as Imperial Academy’s vice-chancellor, but Jiang had opposed it firmly.

Thus Jiang bore deep dislike for him. He added quietly: “He is too ruthless, too suspicious, too proud.”

Xie Shu’s heart raced. He recalled that day at the poetry gathering—the aloof “Sir Zheng.” The name Zhen… its sound nearly a match to Zheng. And was he not cousin to Gu Yuanke? With how Gu Yuanke fawned that day upon “Sir Zheng”… the truth was beyond doubt.

So—Shao Zhen was “Zheng Gongzi.”

But why—why fixate on him until now, targeting through Liu Qiang?

This was not a question for now. The truth was enough—he must resolve it, not complain.

He bowed, voice low: “Teacher… this matter touches my spouse. May I beg counsel?”

And carefully, he omitted the name of the Prince. He recounted instead—how the eunuch Liu Qiang, sent by the Imperial Household, had avoided meeting Yu Chuxi deliberately, while extorting other salt merchants.

At this, Jiang’s brows drew tight, expression grave.

He knew Liu Qiang. A sly, cunning one. Why antagonize his pupil’s household, of all?

But hearing of demands upon salt merchants for palace construction, his face burned with anger. One of the reasons they had opposed the southern tour! The treasury bled, people strained—yet now he sent eunuchs to squeeze local merchants. Outrageous!

Yet soon Jiang calmed. Narrowing his eyes at Xie Shu, he said slowly: “Rongzhan—you asked me thrice of the Third Prince. This matter… does it tie to him?”

Xie Shu faltered. Should he? He had no proof. But—Jiang pressed coldly: “If you truly acknowledge me as teacher, withhold nothing.”

At last, he told him. He spoke of that long-ago poetry meet, the enigmatic Sir Zheng, and described his form.

Jiang had suspected when he saw his pupil’s solemnity. He had not expected it—but believed. The timing, the cousin Gu Yuanke, the disguise—it was truth. The Third Prince had courted talents in secret.

Jiang’s heart chilled—so the boy had been recruiting here long already.

And Xie Shu ended, voice weary: “I do not even know how I offended him—why come so far to trouble me now? Teacher, will you believe me?”

Jiang’s eyes burned a moment, then narrowed. “Believe? Foolish boy—for you offended him in the simplest way. Did you not refuse the prize he offered you? Did you not leave when he sought you to remain?”

Startled, Xie Shu admitted it. Yes—he had swapped the prize token with another. And yes—Gu Yuanke and Sir Zheng had pressed him to stay, but he had declined.

“There!” Jiang barked. “A prince, cherished since birth, denied nothing, thwarted by no one—and you slighted him before a hall of peers. How could he let you go?”

Light struck Xie Shu—yet he protested weakly: “But… as a prince, need he be so petty?”

Jiang laughed sharply. “Petty? No—you misunderstand. He does not mean to crush you. He means to recruit you.”

Xie Shu blinked. Could such coercion be considered recruiting?

But the truth dawned. Liu Qiang’s harassment was prelude. Drive him to despair, then offer the saving hand. He would be bound to gratitude. Played thus as a pawn.

He swallowed. The trap was clear.

Jiang’s expression steeled. “This is not your fault. The boy seeks the throne, spares no means. To snare you like this—where is his benevolence? That he is but the Emperor’s favored child makes it worse. Proofless, who dares raise it before the Dragon Throne? No—Liu Qiang first must be dealt with.”

Then Jiang smiled coldly, light flashing sharp in his eye. “Eunuch or no, imperial letter or no, what crime is it to think he may trample me? In my day, when His Majesty first sought to raise eunuchs into control, it was my voice that stirred a national qingyi. He had to step back.”

Xie Shu felt his blood stir. A qingyi conference—assemblies where literati gathered to critique the state, their voices moving public mood, holding power enough to constrain even emperors.

But Jiang had no wish to summon such if avoidable. This was merely for emergencies.

And now—it was not yet beyond saving.

“Consider this.” Xie Shu spoke firmly, thoughts clear at last. “Liu Qiang left the capital before it became known I was your pupil. He knew not of me. That is why he chose to press us. By the time rumor spreads, he may halt.”

He added, voice tightening: “And behind him, apart from Gu family’s assistance, must stand one more. Yet Gu is too cautious for this rashness—it cannot be they. They gave him passage, nothing more.”

Jiang studied him, admiration glinting. “Just so. Gu Zhong is brother to the Imperial Consort, high as kin, yet declined court posts to hold salt commission here—a fox, not a fool. He would not risk entanglement. If he lent aid, it was out of form, not scheme.

Thus, you are right—do not fear. The enemy’s shape is clear now. The hand is ours to move. We will wait and see. Now, come—stand by me as we greet our guests.”

Xie Shu exhaled relief, bowing assent. “Yes. Only—let me first send word to my household, lest my Young Lord fret.”

Jiang’s lips quirked. Always the spouse at his heart. Fitting indeed.

So Xi Mo was dispatched, clutching the letter, hurrying home at once.

Just then, the steward entered. “Sir—Master Zuo Ran and his pupil Wang Jing have arrived.”

Jiang rose, signaled Xie Shu to follow.

—

At the gates, Zuo Ran descended, frail at sixty-five, supported by Wang Jing.

At that same moment, Wang caught sight of a youth servant exiting the side gate in haste—Xi Mo, unmistakably Xie Shu’s close aide, fleeing with urgency.

Wang frowned sharply. A secret message? Suspicious indeed.

He already knew the Third Prince had instructed Liu Qiang to press the Yu family, only so he might intercede with favor later. But late—the chance was gone, for Xie Shu was not just a merchant’s son-in-law. He was Jiang Hong’s disciple now.

Thus, Wang dared not underestimate, and quickly signaled a follower to shadow the youth.

—

Meanwhile, in Gu residence, grand halls blazed with gilt pillars, dragons on crimson plaque above—characters written by the Emperor’s own hand.

Here sat Gu Zhong, the Salt Censor, robed in red, fingers combing his beard, brows furrowed. Gu Yuanke sat beside him, face knotted.

Months before, he had privately received imperial order: prepare for the southern tour. He must build an imperial palace to host the Emperor himself. The cost? Crushing.

The treasury would not cover it. The Emperor himself would not pay. Thus he paved the road with merchants’ wealth. The Third Prince’s counsel had sealed it: unleash the eunuchs to force the money.

It had seemed fine. Salt merchants easily squeezed. His hands clean, eunuchs blamed.

But Liu Qiang had singled out the Yu. Fool!

For that son-in-law was pupil now of Jiang Hong—untouchable.

Gu Yuanke voiced fear. “Father, this must not spread. If Master Jiang learns…”

Gu Zhong only sighed, long and troubled. “Too late, boy. You think Xie Shu has not already run to him?”

Gu Yuanke exhaled grim. “At the Western poetry meet, I thought him wondrous. Even not Jiang’s student then, he met me cold. He has the aloof pride of a man unsuited long to court.”

But Gu Zhong seemed relieved. “Good. Better aloof than schemer. Such men rarely climb high.”

Gu Yuanke pressed him. “What shall we do then?”

Gu Zhong sipped his tea, eyes glinting shrewd. “Patience. Do you know why Jiang retired? He loves his name more than power. He will not stain himself for a mere pupil.

As for the Yu—this we may still resolve. You will go to Liu Qiang. Explain it. Apart from Yu, bleed the merchants as before. They will grumble less with a scapegoat spared. We need not raise a hand. Let them hate themselves instead.”

Footnotes

 

 

1. 國子監祭酒 (Chancellor of Imperial Academy) – Jiang Hong’s former title, head of the empire’s highest school. 
2. 清議 (Qingyi) – “Pure Discussion”: gatherings of scholars judging and condemning state affairs. Historically powerful enough to sway politics and emperors. 
3. 座主 / 門生 (Seat Master / Protégé) – Special relationship of chief examiner and his successful candidates, wielding strong political ties.