ITIEQ C97

Chapter 97 (Extra) — IF Route

 

[Extra] IF Route

Seated beside him, Xiao Yuanxi also saw clearly; no anger could be found on his face. He was the first to lean forward and lift the curtain, squinting as he looked. “A young gentleman.”

“Your High—” The clear, light voice cut off halfway. Shen Qinghe stared wide-eyed; catching sight of the palpably present third person behind the curtain, he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Xiao Yuanxi waved his fan. “You—know each other?” A servant stepped up and drew the curtain to the side.

Xiao Yuxi glanced outward. Oh-ho. Better on the eyes than that An fellow. 

Shen Qinghe ignored the various expressions around the pavilion; his eyes turned, and he nimbly climbed the lifeline, “We do, we do—on that long, long road, this gentleman is the one who brought me to Guantao.”

“A gentleman, is it.” Xiao Yuanxi gave the man beside him a look; since he wouldn’t show his hand, Xiao Yuanxi kept it in mind and smiled. “I’d thought it might be some reclusive master, never expected a handsome young lad. Why go to such trouble? Enter my door, and of course the mats will be swept and the house readied in welcome.”

Xiao Yuanzheng gave no answer. He fixed on Shen Qinghe with a dark look. “So this is what you meant by coming to do business?”

Afraid this fellow would ruin his plans, Shen Qinghe rushed, “It is business! Offering myself to a wise lord—how is that not a transaction?”

Xiao Yuanzheng tilted his head toward the table. Shen Qinghe followed his gaze to the items he’d brought. “This one, I call it ‘Iced Americano’—it clears the head; with it, work will be twice as effective for half the effort. And that one is ‘Penicillin.’ If a wound festers and becomes infected, stubbornly refusing to heal, this can reduce the mortality rate by seventy percent. But this thing needs cold storage—these have oxidized and lost potency.”

No one spoke. Without proof in action, words lacked persuasive power. But he had met them today, had exchanged words, and his aim was already half-achieved. Everything needed to be done step by step. “Give me some time; I will prove it.”

Xiao Yuanzheng glanced at Xiao Yuanxi—indeed, he was tempted. Since when had he realized this cousin of his had such a lecherous streak?

Job-hunting with the boss present, Shen Qinghe straightened his clothes, ready to receive an offer. “I—don’t think it’s suitable.”

“???”

He shot Xiao Yuanzheng a look: big brother, don’t sabotage me!

But the more he signaled, the more energized the other became. Xiao Yuanzheng tapped the table lazily with his fingers. “This person met me in Changzhou, and then arrived in Guantao with me—what are the chances of that? Highly suspicious. Who’s to say he’s not some family’s planted spy?”

A spy?!

Never did Shen Qinghe think the day would come he’d be slapped with such a hat!

“Your Highness!” “For safety’s sake, I think Your Highness should reconsider—best not to invite a wolf into your house.”

What outrageous slander. Shen Qinghe could scarcely believe it. The man arched a brow slightly—provocative. Indeed, he was bent on giving him grief.

Xiao Yuanxi hadn’t expected the interjection either; he nearly laughed aloud. So the Northwest fiend had such a sense of humor—pity, but this was the most that could be done. He withdrew his gaze and smiled apologetically. “Young sir, I fear I cannot accept you.”

…Completely sunk.

Ruining a man’s offer is like killing his father. Calming the churn in his chest, Shen Qinghe swept the paper packet from the table into his robe and walked off without a backward glance.

“Touchy, isn’t he.” Xiao Yuanzheng paused, then sneered.

Rarely did Xiao Yuanxi see him take a loss. A calf unafraid of tigers—ordinary folk had no such nerve. “If Cousin likes him, just tell me. A gentleman does not snatch what another fancies.”

“Like what? Not everyone has that in mind!” Xiao Yuanzheng shot him a sidelong look, flung his cup on the table, braced a knee, and rose. “Let’s go.”

Xiao Yuanxi rubbed his nose. “Says others—yet his own temper’s no better.” Once the room was empty, he looked at the fallen blossoms along the corridor and sipped a little sake alone. “Interesting, interesting. Pity, I forgot to ask his name.”

Having enjoyed a good private rant, Shen Qinghe lowered his eyes and began to calculate again. The world’s situation—there wasn’t only one Xiao Yuanxi! If the commandery prince wouldn’t work, there were still princes and princesses; failing that, find a Chen Sheng or a Wu Guang! There would surely be a place for him.

That said, he was still angry. He kicked a stone at the roadside in vexation. That meddler… “Let me never meet you again in this life!”

“Never meet who?”

Shen Qinghe jumped. Startled, he looked up. A man with black hair tied high parted flowers and leaves as he came through. The youth took a small step back.

Xiao Yuanzheng flicked at his hair-knot, having taken a shortcut; petals and leaves caught among the strands from the bushes. Xiao Yuanxi—rarely did that fellow show much taste, yet he had planted so many flowers for empty elegance—what a nuisance. “Why are you running so fast—afraid someone will eat you?”

Caught speaking ill behind a back, Shen Qinghe felt a twinge of guilt, but still bristled. “If you hadn’t thrown a wrench in, I’d be happily housed now, a guest within the commandery prince’s curtains. Why would I need to run?”

Pricked, Xiao Yuanzheng looked into those indignant eyes—and found his temper tempered. Folding his arms, he bargained, “Don’t be mad.”

That, without question, was pouring oil on flame. “Don’t be mad?!” He was at the end of his tether—days without change of clothing, no baths, all to clutch a new boss’s thigh, and now to meet such an ungrateful wretch!

“Hey, I notice your… discipline,” he began, catching himself, “your face has grown stern. Leaning closer—you’ve a bit of a frightening air.” Shen Qinghe took a step back. Endowed with a delicate breed of beauty, he stumbled into the flowerbed; the branches trembled, and the budding rouge-pink bloomed brilliant as sunset.

Suddenly, Xiao Yuanzheng felt that these wretched flowers weren’t so much in the way after all.

He stood above him. “Hey—do you know Xiao Yuanxi has a taste for Longyang?” [FN2]

Scared and furious—though assisted by a “system,” it couldn’t help with the grueling travel; it had been hard won just to get here. He wished he could toss this man into a pot of oil to fry and boil. He grew angrier.

“He likes men? What has that to do with me! Do you know how much trouble I went through from Changzhou to Guantao! And you call me a spy… I, a young master in good standing—do you think I enjoy coming here to be slandered by you?!”

Startled, Xiao Yuanzheng’s fingers curled and stretched. Finally he crouched, set a hand on his shoulder, only to have it sharply shrugged off. “…Don’t. All right—my fault, my fault. Is that better?”

“…No.”

“What do you want then?”

Shen Qinghe hadn’t expected him to become so accommodating; he answered without ceremony, “…Go back and tell the commandery prince to take me on.”

“No.” The refusal rang like iron.

“Then take me to Fushuo—bring me to Lord Lu.”

“…No.” What seek that blockhead for.

Shen Qinghe tossed his head aside. “No to this, no to that—are you sincere at all?”

“Must you throw yourself under someone’s banner?”

“Yes!”

“You—” Xiao Yuanzheng looked at him once, then again, leaving Shen Qinghe baffled. “Come with me, then. I’ll find you a wise lord.”

“Who could you possibly…” To share a seat with a commandery prince—his abilities must be great. With his help, perhaps… A turn of thought, and he grudgingly agreed. “Fine. You find one.”

“Then say—what kind?”

Shen Qinghe’s gaze flickered; he cocked his head, jokingly, “One that can make me… the highest of ministers. Is that possible?”

Xiao Yuanzheng paused. He hadn’t expected such appetite. “Then this isn’t the place—Guantao. You should go to the capital: royal power and aristocrats there can be your arm.”

“If I’d wanted that path, I’d have moved my whole family there with my father long ago.” Shen Qinghe shook his head. “The Emperor is debauched; Prince Ying, a tiger at his side; great houses sit aloof and carve up Heaven. I have neither lineage nor patrons.” He smiled shyly, words sharp as blades. “Brother, I won’t be some sixth-rank nobody.” [FN3]

“You’ve a great deal of nerve.” He understood the meaning. Xiao Yuanzheng skimmed him with his eyes. “Then don’t say such things outside again.”

“You were the one who asked.” Shen Qinghe moved his hand away. “Today, here, you owe me—you must pay me back. Hey, can you help me make this happen?” Today’s twist was unexpected; he needed to seize a chance.

He watched the man fold his arms, calculating. Indeed, he had set a hard problem. “If not, I’ll go back to the commandery prince—so long as you don’t meddle…” Something cold touched his cheek.

He rolled his eyes to look—an obsidian-black metal token. Xiao Yuanzheng pinched the tassel, patted his face lightly, the token held before his eyes. “Look closely.”

“…”

“Why that expression? You know Xiao Yuanxi; don’t pretend you don’t know me.” Xiao Yuanzheng looked him over. About the same age as Yuanhe—ambition sky-high. Without someone to watch him, he’d be swallowed in no time. “If you truly have ability—come to my camp.”

The Northwestern Prince, Xiao Yuanzheng—holding the frontier with the Northwestern Army, triumphs piled high, the youngest princely peer in the realm. Shen Qinghe had heard of him, but the northwest was far; his reputation too fearsome. He had given up, left or right.

Sought with iron shoes, yet nowhere to be found—who could have imagined, who could have imagined!

Shen Qinghe took the tally, turning it over and over, then held it to his chest and nuzzled up. Xiao Yuanzheng shot him a sideways glance; the youth laughed. “A promise, no take-backs.”

…

Yao Guang hadn’t expected that the tagalong he’d brought would stick to them when they left.

Shen Qinghe finally had a horse of his own, but his riding was truly poor; time and again he nearly fell. Xiao Yuanzheng couldn’t bear to watch, and ordered him to share a carriage with the invalid.

“Sir Shen.” Xiao Yuanhe coughed weakly; his complexion had improved much over the past days.

“Hello, hello.”

“I hear my brother took you in as a retainer?” Xiao Yuanhe’s eyes sparkled. Being of the same age, and having been told that this gentleman had saved him, he felt naturally closer. “Then he must like you. He doesn’t keep any retainers—not even one.”

“Not even one?” Shen Qinghe found it hard to believe.

“Not even one!” Xiao Yuanhe snickered. In a few words, he had already taken him as one of their own. “He thinks retainers all eat for free; when trouble comes, none are worth a damn—nothing like a hard gun-barrel.”

Perhaps riding alone in a carriage was boring; once the floodgates opened, Xiao Yuanhe chattered without end; Shen Qinghe humored him with talk from south to north. The elder brother was mercurial; the younger, a chatterbox.

Laughter rippled within the carriage. Xiao Yuanzheng lifted the curtain; his gaze flicked between them. “So merry, are we.”

Shen Qinghe’s arm curled over Xiao Yuanhe’s shoulder; they huddled like brothers, whispering. The boy’s eyes shone when he looked up, clearly already taken. “I’m telling Sir Shen about the northwest!”

“Oh—”

Before Shen Qinghe could make sense of it, the front curtain was swept up with a swish; Xiao Yuanzheng stepped inside in one stride. His presence was overpowering; Shen Qinghe immediately stiffened.

He looked very interested. “Why stop talking? Go on.”

“Brother, don’t come and scare people!”

“Behave.” Xiao Yuanzheng leaned back and jerked his chin at Xiao Yuanhe. “You too.”

Silence fell. After a moment, Shen Qinghe raised his hand quietly. “May I ask—where are we going now?”

“North—Fenglong,” Xiao Yuanzheng answered.

Naturally—the Northwestern Prince returning to his fief.

Shen Qinghe had been from a southern city before crossing over, and even after arriving had remained in the south—he had yet to go north. “Is there snow?”

“At this time, there should be.”

“Much?”

“Not… much.”

Xiao Yuanzheng hadn’t expected the youth to show such longing. The harsh snows of the northwest—deadly cold, foreign tribes raiding—had never been something to look forward to in his eyes.

Half a month on the road, and the cold deepened by the day. Just as Shen Qinghe grew accustomed to the roving life, the mysterious North drew open its curtain before him. Ruts etched deep grooves; the frost and snow he had awaited blanketed the land, thick as goose feathers.

The people lining the road did not hide or flee at the sight of soldiers. They stood along the way. In the whistling wind, it was as if something called.

Cloaked now, Shen Qinghe leaned out to watch the storming snow—yet was drawn by the man at the front. A pale-blue back, straight as a blade; a face cold and severe; astride a horse receiving the populace’s salute.

Victorious in a hundred battles, a royal prince; the people lifted him high, his brothers revered him; the snows of the northwest could not press him down; true radiance on his person—unfettered, magnificent.

Shen Qinghe did not know whether it was the snow or that silhouette that dazzled his eyes. He murmured, “A proper Dragon Ao Tian…” [FN4]

“Brother Shen, what?” Xiao Yuanhe leaned out. In the carriage, he had already decided seniority; Shen Qinghe was older by months, so he obediently addressed him as “Brother Shen.”

“Nothing—praising your brother’s prowess.”

Xiao Yuanhe looked that way, seeing nothing different than usual. But he agreed from the heart. “Yes—he’s always been formidable.”

Shen Qinghe settled in Fenglong. It was not as pleasant as Changzhou, rich in fish and rice—but he had not come to enjoy himself. Without shops to manage, he could not sit idle; he began to learn what a strategist should do.

He was not yet fifteen; no one took him too seriously, thinking him a toy the prince had picked up along the way. But none expected that the boy truly had skills—bookkeeping and accounts were trivial.

But that only qualified him for a record-keeper’s post. What truly won the big rough soldiers’ respect was—he led people to chisel out a salt well.

The importance of salt needed no words. Salt was monopolized by the court; in the northwest it was dearer still. If they could make salt—every household’s bowl could taste more flavor.

For some, it was easy to fight—harder to provide. He guarded against invaders, patrolled the marches, all to protect the common folk. Once they were steady—how to cultivate and rest? That, then, became the problem.

Here Shen Qinghe’s role shone. His mind was quick; with a twinkle he had three or four ideas. The Northwestern Prince’s residence saw him ever more frequently. When confidential military matters were discussed, he sometimes had a seat in the corner. He looked like a pampered young lord who couldn’t endure hardship; yet in but a few months he had become one with local soldiers and people. Even Yao Guang, who had often voiced objections, fell silent.

Wrapped in thick furs, Shen Qinghe leaned alone upon the window. The great snows had seemed interesting at first—but day after day of white now wore him down.

From afar, Xiao Yuanzheng saw his pensive look. He came close, tidied the scattered scrolls upon the table, then pushed the window inward to block the gusting wind.

“What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing.”

Shen Qinghe drew back his gaze. He wore a red jacket today, the collar edged in a circle of thick, soft gray fox fur—that fluffy ring brushed at his chin, throwing into relief the lively vigor of his age. Seeing the prince’s eyes upon his clothes, he touched the fur and offered belated thanks: “They said you hunted this fox—thank you.”

“No need. These days everyone is thanking you.”

Shen Qinghe thought of the aunts and uncles stuffing him with buns and cakes; he laughed lightly. You thank me, I thank you—rather amusing.

“By the way—you came just in time. Yesterday I saw a document…”

Xiao Yuanzheng shook his head helplessly and stopped him. “Every time I come to you, within three or five sentences you want to talk business.” He leaned against the frame, eyes lowered, looking down at him. “Can’t we talk of something else?”

Shen Qinghe blinked, then smiled. “All right.” He turned to face him directly. “Let’s talk of something else.”

“Do you like the northwest?”

“The northern lands—thousand-li of ice, ten-thousand-li of drifting snow.” Shen Qinghe lengthened his tone. “If I say I can’t get used to it—could you conquer some southern territory to let me live there?”

“You’re good at climbing poles.” Xiao Yuanzheng snorted. In a casual joke, he spoke of a staggering thing. “It will take some time.”

“My lord!” Wei Lan ran in. “Someone has come to the front courtyard—with an imperial edict.”

The emperor, buried in alchemy, had gone mad for longevity. He had not attended court for days; the great affairs of state were entrusted to Prince Ying.

At such a time—this edict—clearly ill-intended.

Shen Qinghe had seen imperial decrees in dramas and felt a curious itch. Xiao Yuanzheng pressed a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here for me.”

Shen Qinghe did as told. When the prince returned, he pinched a roll of silk in his hand; his expression was ill.

“He wants Yuanhe to go to the capital—leave today.” He tossed the silk upon the table.

Shen Qinghe started.

Xiao Yuanzheng exhaled and calmed himself. “Not only Yuanhe—the youths of the imperial clan of similar age are all summoned to the capital, to receive rites and education.”

In an instant, Shen Qinghe grasped the blade hidden beneath. There were no imperial sons fit to inherit; heirs could be chosen from the imperial clan. The emperor swallowed pills daily—who knew when heavy metal poisoning might carry him off? Prince Ying desired the seat; as a non-imperial peer his name lacked legitimacy. So—he gathered all potential inheritors under his hand.

They couldn’t be too old, nor bear meritorious fame. By that measure—Yuanhe being chosen was nailed fast.

He had been protected well by his elder brother—bright, brave, innocent. But the capital would not tolerate such goodness. In the whirlpool’s center, he would be eaten to the bone.

Xiao Yuanzheng slammed a fist on the table. Now, nothing was prepared. Reason told him—this was not the moment to brandish his fangs; besides, Prince Ying was mad—surely he would not dare so much.

Prince Ying’s ambition was vast; he would rise sooner or later. Xiao Yuanzheng had readied himself long ago. Yet he had not expected this day to come so soon.

In the time Shen Qinghe had known him, Xiao Yuanzheng was ever composed; he had never seen him thus. He was deeply vexed, but not like Shen Qingchun—no roaring or smashing. It was a different stillness, like a beast that had grown muscle and learned to lie low. Shen Qinghe liked this in him—those occasional flashes of sovereign bearing told him he had not chosen wrong.

After all, he was just over twenty; before crossing over, Shen Qinghe was nearly the same age. Naturally he regarded the prince as a true brother. He set his palm upon the back of Xiao Yuanzheng’s hand and met his sudden lifted eyes.

“Don’t go.”

Xiao Yuanzheng froze.

“I won’t let him go.”

Those black eyes stared at him.

“Prince Ying forced the Secretariat Supervisor to draft such an edict—he must be in a hurry.” Shen Qinghe spoke each word. “You have rank and an army. Prince Ying’s boldness rests on the thousand li between the northwest and the capital. If you can win over the officials along the road, you will have power to contend.”

“You mean—the great houses,” Xiao Yuanzheng frowned.

“Yes—the great houses,” Shen Qinghe nodded. The other current flowing beneath the world. “With the literati led by the Yue family—if we can make them choose a side, we can ‘quell the calamity and act in loyalty to the throne.’” [FN5]

“Unexpected—you aren’t the first to despise the gentry,” Xiao Yuanzheng said.

Shen Qinghe thought: I despise Celestial Dragons too, and now I’m in your hands. “These are extraordinary times—what I like or hate doesn’t matter. If that Yue clan can accomplish this, I’ll burn incense and worship them.”

It was better to take the cauldron from the fire than to ladle the boiling soup. To keep Xiao Yuanhe—this truly was the fastest, neatest path.

Xiao Yuanzheng rose; Shen Qinghe followed close behind. “I’m coming too.”

—

Footnotes:

 

[FN2] “Longyang’s love” (龙阳之好) – A classical euphemism for male–male romantic/sexual preference, referencing Lord Longyang of the Warring States.

[FN3] “Sixth-rank” – In traditional imperial officialdom, ranks ranged broadly from first (highest) to ninth (lowest), often with upper/lower grades. Saying “I won’t be a sixth-rank nobody” asserts ambition far above middling bureaucracy.

[FN4] “Dragon Ao Tian” (龙傲天) – Internet slang denoting an overpowered, destiny-favored male protagonist who is unrivaled and charismatic; used half-jokingly as praise here.

[FN5] “Quell the calamity and act in loyalty to the throne” (靖难勤王) – A classical formulation meaning to raise forces to suppress disorder under the banner of loyal service to the legitimate sovereign.