LBLCPCB C21

Chapter 21

Duan Zhenghong left the hall with Yi Kangning, the two walking shoulder to shoulder. Troubled, Duan asked:

“Which of the beauties in my household do you think is most suitable?”

His household brimmed with women – so many even Yi Kangning had not seen them all. The question left Yi pondering deeply. After thought, he answered:

“Zhu Song in the capital has seen plenty of noble ladies – graceful, refined, demure. Too familiar, too bland. We should offer him something new.”

Duan nodded in understanding. “Then I’ll send the most bewitching of them all.”

Yi almost agreed, but greed stirred. “One may not be enough. Send several. If all else fails, overwhelm him by sheer force.”

At the mention of physical force, Duan frowned. “But—what if he resists? He could sense the trick before stepping into the chamber. We cannot very well shove him in, can we?”

Yi conceded this was true. They schemed further. “If sober he can keep his head, then get him drunk.”

“But Zhu Song has touched no wine since coming here! How will we make him drink?” Duan countered.

After murmurs, Yi smacked his thigh in inspiration. “So he won’t drink—but he must still eat!”

Duan followed the thought. “Your meaning is – spike his food? But won’t he notice?”

The idea shriveled quickly. Too easy to taste, too little to intoxicate. The hours slipped—Zhu Song would return soon. They split tasks: Duan to ready women; Yi to handle Zhu Song.

Yi slipped into the kitchens. Pans smoked, cooks laboring endlessly. Dishes bland as water without salt. Yi stared into a pot and suddenly brightened. Another idea.

Near midnight, Zhu Song returned, starving. He’d missed supper—his chest clung to his back with hunger. At once he demanded food.

Stepping inside, his nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell?”

“A fumigation of water‑moths,” a guard explained. Torrential rains bred floods of moths. Harmless, but nuisance.

His food arrived quicker than usual. Aromas of spice and heat fogged the room—chili and salt. Zhu’s eyes lit. “Eh? Sichuan food tonight?”

“Yes, my lord,” answered the servant. “The chef said we’ve eaten plain dishes too long. A change of taste. If you dislike, I’ll have them alter.”

“No, no—fine. This is perfect.”

Three dishes: shredded potato stir‑fry, mapo tofu, and spicy sliced pork. His mouth watered. He had small appetite usually, but too much blandness these days. He fell upon it ravenous.

One bite of tofu—and it seared like fire. Tongue blazing, lips burning. He snatched the kettle, gulped desperately. But water scorched his throat—sharp alcohol fumes. Spirits. Coughing, choking, he staggered to find more liquid. Head spun. Hand grabbed the teapot—again burning spirits.

He snapped, trying to shout for servants, but slurred halfway. “Bring water!”

The guard hurried in with another kettle, swearing, “Here, my lord.” Zhu drank deep—only to cough anew. Still liquor.

Eyebrows knotted, temper flaring—yet his vision swirled, one face splitting into eight.

At that precise moment, Yi Kangning emerged with feigned innocence. “Oh my, Lord Zhu! Why is your face so flushed? Could you be fevered?”

The guard stammered guiltily: “It was my rice‑wine – I gave him some when he needed water. Hardly any alcohol—”

Yi scolded him hypocritically. “How foolish! Knowing our lord does not drink!” With a push and a glare, he sent the servant off, then swept to help Zhu.

“My lord, let me escort you to your chambers.”

But Zhu Song had dealt with such deceptions before. The haze of heat crawling his veins told him he had been drugged. His hand shoved Yi away. “What are you plotting?”

Yi pitched his face into wounded innocence. “Plotting? I only care for our pillar of strength! You are our heart, Lord Zhu—”

“Spare me your rot. Don’t follow.”

But Yi clutched stubbornly at his arm, insisting. His touch triggered the drug’s sinister warmth. Zhu’s body flared like flame. But his years at the Court had trained steel reflexes. He shoved Yi back and snarled: “Yi Kangning—touch me again and I’ll cut you down.”

His sword lay ready on the bench. He seized it, steel singing in lamplight. “Out of my way.”

Yi blanched and stepped back quickly, hands raised in false peace. He retreated, voice honeyed. “Careful, my lord—you may wound yourself. I meant no harm…”

Zhu staggered from the chamber, eyes spinning. Yi followed stealthily, but dared not near once the blade flashed in warning.

Zhu stumbled blindly through the corridors. His mind clouded, but his body burned with feral need. The world swam, yet his sense still told him: find safety. He thought of his cousin Zhu Lingye—and veered toward his quarters.

Dead drunk and half‑drugged, he shoved through the door to what he thought was his cousin’s room. Darkness greeted him. Unconcerned, he let his curses rip:

“Yi Kangning, that dog! Using such vile tricks! One day, I’ll chop him down!”

Secret watchers crouched outside: Duan and Yi. Duan hissed: “Why are you squatting here?”

Yi whispered back: “Zhu Song went inside.”

Duan frowned. “Isn’t that room empty?”

“Not anymore. I had someone brought in—a beauty he seemed to linger over before. I set him inside.”

Duan’s eyes bulged. “You hog! I gave up my finest concubine, and you’ve been hiding another?”

Yi sniffed defensively. “Yours are women. This one’s a man. Less useful long‑term.”

“What do you mean by ‘less useful’?”

Yi rolled his eyes. “Women bear children. Best leverage! Even if Zhu Song denied paternity, the Zhu clan could never disown the blood. That would chain them to us forever.”

Duan had to admit, impressed. “Clever.”

They peered through the cracks. Inside, dim outlines shifted. Zhu Song roamed, ranting: “I’ll chop Yi Kangning! Chop Duan Zhenghong too!”

Both eavesdroppers stiffened. Their names spoken, loud and clear.

“He’s drunk and still wants to kill us,” Duan muttered sourly.

“Equally, my friend,” Yi hissed back.

At last they saw the figure within: a man seated silent, hands propping his chin, watching Zhu Song in stillness. Like asleep—but his posture showed wakefulness.

Hushed, they debated. “Shall we haul the beauty out?”

But remembering the sword, they dared not. They crouched until legs cramped, until cold wind seeped, until Zhu’s slurred tirade shook the air. At last, a sudden sneeze betrayed them.

“Who there?” roared Zhu.

Two panicked men scrambled, legs prickling, running in odd staggered strides into the night.

Zhu leaned from the window, blinking at their retreating shapes. His lips muttered: “Tree spirits?”

He turned. Within the faint light, he saw the seated man clearly now—head pillowed on his hands. And his face! Wen Fengxuan.

Zhu startled violently. Slapping his own cheek he gasped: “Damn—hallucinations! Lingye’s face turned into Wen Fengxuan’s!”

But at that instant Wen stirred, eyes opening, husky voice soft: “Still cursing?”

Zhu blinked dazed. “Hallucination that talks too?”

Unmoved, Wen yawned lightly, rose, and slipped into the bed. Zhu blinked harder, muttering: “Second brother, shuffle aside. Let your big brother lie too.”

Blank gaze cut him. “No.”

“Brat. Still joking with me, eh.” Zhu slid onto the bed regardless, pressing Wen inward. Wen had slight strength against him, but Zhu burned like fire. Forced aside, the prince retreated warily.

At length Zhu sighed contentedly. “Yes… that’s a good brother.”

But then—Wen suddenly sat up, grave face. “You’re burning.”

“Mm. They drugged me. Only trust my brother.”

Wen rose, stepping away. Zhu’s hand shot out, clutching. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t trust this.”

“Bullshit,” Zhu retorted, dragging him back roughly.

Wen stumbled into his chest. Too sudden. They crashed together—lips against lips.

Soft. Moist. Fragrant.

From those dark eyes inches away, Zhu Song saw his own, wide and stunned, reflected back.

Footnote

1. Midnight Hour (子時) — traditional timing, 11 p.m. – 1 a.m.; considered deep‑night in Chinese calendrical time.

2. “Grain becoming rice” (生米煮成熟飯) — idiom: “Once raw rice has been cooked, it cannot be reversed,” meaning an accomplished fact (esp. forced sexual relationships).

3. Water‑moths (水飛蛾) — seasonal insect swarms often fumigated during floods; used here as pretext for strange fragrances in kitchen.