Chapter 17: Recovery
"When...did you know that?" Wen Youqing finally spoke, her voice still hoarse but much calmer.
Shen Zijie didn't look at her. "A little earlier than you. The losses in the south city warehouse aren't accurate. Wang Shouren... is too 'greedy.'" A hint of sarcasm curved his lips. "A truly greedy person, someone who manipulates his account books, would keep them cleaner and wouldn't leave such obvious loopholes waiting for someone to check. His 'greed' is like a clumsy bait."
"Bait..." Wen Youqing chewed over the word, feeling a chill in his heart. "For others to see?"
"Wang Shouren wants to ensnare the truly corrupt officials; those who don't want him to join are trying to ensnare all the sharp swords eager to 'enforce justice on behalf of Heaven,'" Shen Zijie said calmly. "They need a sharp knife to cut off Wang Shouren, the thorn that could overturn the table. The Wu family's sword is fast enough and 'righteous' enough."
Speaking of Wen Youqing's recklessness, Wen Youqing clenched her hands suddenly, and her nails dug into the cotton cloth that had just been bandaged on her palm again. The pain came, but she did not let go.
"Those people..." Her voice was cold, "Not a single one of them can be spared."
"Madam Wang... she's half-crazy. She's hiding more than just this file." Shen Zijie's voice dropped even lower, almost blending into the night breeze. "She gave me the dyeing factory's shipping records and the private confessions signed by several key warehouse clerks."
Wen Youqing suddenly looked up, her eyes flashing with a startling light, like a dying charcoal fire suddenly thrown into a raging wind. The light was sharp and blazing, carrying an aura of desperate destruction. She even subconsciously straightened her back and reached for her waist—still empty.
"Give it to me!" Her voice was firm and decisive, carrying an unquestionable murderous aura. "The list! The evidence! The names of those people! Don't let any of them escape! I can help too..."
"What do you want?" Shen Zijie interrupted her. His voice remained steady, yet it carried a strange penetrating force, like ice water poured on a red-hot iron block. He couldn't help but expose her actions tonight. "Draw your sword again? Like you did with Wang Shouren, taking advantage of the night to kill each family one by one? Using one blood debt to wash away another blood debt?"
Wen Youqing choked. The raging, bloody rage that had just ignited was trapped in her chest, burning her entire body. She stared at Shen Zijie, her lips moving but no sound coming out. Yeah, what could she do? Kill again? Could she ever finish?
"Killing one Wang Shouren is enough to temporarily sink the rice in that vat, giving them time to clean it out." Shen Zijie's eyes sharpened, as if he could see through her boiling murderous intent. "Killing ten more will only muddy the waters further, allowing the real maggots to hide deeper. Your sword will only become a more effective knife in their hands, pointing at more people like Wang Shouren...who try to struggle in the mud and get out."
His words were like a blunt hammer, hammering down on Wen Youqing's heart. The seething murderous intent within her was instantly shattered, leaving only a cold feeling of powerlessness and a deeper despair. Her shoulders slumped, her straight back seemingly unable to bear any more weight.
"Then... what should I do?" His voice was filled with confusion and immense fatigue, like a traveler who had traveled a thousand miles and suddenly discovered that the road ahead was full of cliffs. "Just... forget it?"
"Forget it?" Shen Zijie repeated softly, shaking his head. Their home was just ahead. He raised his head and looked towards the deep, dark blue sky in the east.
"Look."
Wen Youqing subconsciously followed his gaze.
In the eastern sky, deep within the indissoluble inky blue, a star quietly emerged. It wasn't dazzling, its light was even faint, a cool, almost isolated silver-white. But it shone stubbornly, piercing the gloomy night, becoming the clearest, most undeniable presence in the profound darkness.
Venus.
At the darkest hour of the night, it pierced the darkness.
Shen Zijie's voice echoed in the silent courtyard, deep and clear, as if carrying some kind of eternal rhythm:
"You see, the night itself has grown something that pierced it."
Wen Youqing's body trembled violently. Her eyes snapped open, her gaze fixed on the lone star in the eastern sky. Its faint yet sharp light, like a cold silver needle, pierced the depths of her chaotic, searing heart, stained with blood and regret.
That star, born in the deepest darkness, didn't roar or wave its sword, but simply shone silently, announcing the end of the long night.
An indescribable torrent of pain and enlightenment instantly broke down the high wall of anger and despair in her heart.
Without warning, boiling liquid rushed out of his eye sockets, surging down his icy cheeks. This time, it was no longer a howl of collapse, no longer a whimper of self-loathing, but rather something hard, after silently shattering, finally revealing the deeply buried, bloodshot softness within.
Wen Youqing lowered her head, looking at the dirty, fake rice tightly clenched in her palm. Silent tears fell, hitting the surface of the rice grains, washing away the false yellow halo a little, revealing the true color underneath.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she closed her fingers. She clutched the grain of rice, along with its cold, slippery touch, along with the boundless night and the light of that lone star... tightly in her palm. Her nails dug deep into her palm again, a sharp pain piercing through her, but she gripped even tighter.
The turbid water surface of the dye vat reflects the increasingly bright morning star in the east.
She cried out "wow" and buried her face in Shen Zijie's chest.
—
The fire was out, the scholars had been appeased. Cui Junji had just concluded a secret meeting with his confidants, and the air still lingered with the scent of tension and bloody plans. He rubbed his brow, trying to dispel the complex mix of fatigue and excitement from the past few days.
A guard came in quietly and presented a brocade box sealed with wax and carrying the unique scent of the capital.
"Sir, this letter from home in the capital must be sent urgently, eight hundred miles away."
Cui Junji's eyes flickered as he took the brocade box. It felt heavy in his hand, clearly holding more than one letter. He waved his guards away and sat alone behind the massive rosewood desk. The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows on his handsome yet sinister face.
He opened the sealing wax and found two things in the brocade box: a piece of paper with a plum blossom pattern in mud gold, which exuded the cool orchid and musk scent that Li was accustomed to; and another smaller brocade bag, tied with a red silk thread.
He unfolded the letter first. The neat calligraphy in small characters, each word a flower, radiated Li's usual dignity and aloofness.
My husband, if you meet me:
The twelfth lunar month has come to an end, and the branches of the royal palace are adorned with jade. I, your concubine, gave birth to a son with great difficulty at the hour of Chou on the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month. He cried loudly, weighed seven pounds and eight ounces, and had broad eyes and brows, much like you when you were swaddled. My father was deeply pleased to hear this and personally named him "Zhang," meaning "Gui Zhang is a special treasure of the state." I have heard that there are century-old ginseng in the north, which is miraculously effective in strengthening the body and replenishing vital energy. If it is convenient, please ask your husband to send some for you. Also, Zhang'er is still in need of a nanny with years of experience and knowledge of pharmacology. If there are suitable and reliable people in the border areas, please be on the lookout. Enclosed is a lock of Zhang'er's newborn hair as a token of my longing.
Written by my wife, Mrs. Li
Cui Junji's fingertips passed over the character "璋" and stopped at "瑰璋特达，国之重器", and a cold arc appeared at the corner of his mouth.
The Li family was so quick to act that they even couldn't wait to name their eldest son a name with a certain meaning, hinting at their desire to control the "national treasure" in the future. As for "Mr. Xiao's appearance in swaddling clothes"? He almost sneered. What could a newborn baby really tell?
His eyes fell on the last two lines. "Old ginseng?" Perhaps Li herself was weak after giving birth, or perhaps one of the Li family's leaders needed help.
As for the "maid who knows pharmacology"... Cui Junji's eyes instantly sharpened like a knife. How could this remote place be short of manpower? It was clearly the Li family, or rather the Li clan behind her, who were openly trying to place spies around the future heir of the Cui family!
What she wanted was not a nanny, but a confidant who could control her son's health and even his life! What a good phrase "do what you can", between the lines was full of the reserve and unwillingness to refuse of a lady from an aristocratic family.
He opened the small brocade pouch, and inside was indeed a strand of soft, black fetal hair, tied with a red string. He twisted it, and it felt soft, yet like pinching a cold, venomous snake.
This child is the continuation of his bloodline, and is also the symbol of the strongest bond between the interests of the Cui and Li families. He is a living "precious weapon" that can be fought over in the future.
After all, she was his child, and it was worth his painstaking efforts to choose a good wife. He was silent for a moment, then stood up and walked to the window. Outside the window was the dark, cold night at the frontier, and the torches patrolling the distant wall were like will-o'-the-wisp.
He took a deep breath of the cold air, suppressing the irritability and cold calculations in his heart. Turning back to his desk, he spread out a piece of plain white cold gold paper, picked up his pen and dipped it in ink. His iron-like and silver-like handwriting was so powerful that it could be seen through the back of the paper:
Madam's makeup:
I received a letter from Beijing, read it over and over again, and was overjoyed. My son's name, "Zhang," was given by my father-in-law, and it is dear to my heart. Zhang looks like me. My wife has worked hard, and I am so ashamed that I cannot be by your side while you are far away at the border.
The Madam has requested the century-old ginseng, and I have immediately ordered my confidant to search the secret vaults of the North. They will definitely find this century-old treasure. As for the nanny, I will carefully select her for you and send her to the capital on horseback to serve you.
I have collected my son's hair and have kept it close to my body. Seeing it is like seeing my son. Madam, please take good care of yourself and wait patiently for the wedding day.
Husband's handwritten letter
He wrote the last word and blew the ink dry. Every word in the letter was perfectly balanced, filled with the joy, guilt, concern, and promise of being a husband and a father. To anyone who read it, it was a deeply affectionate, thoughtful, and considerate letter.
Only Cui Junji himself knew that when he wrote "I have immediately ordered my confidant to search for it in the secret warehouse in the north", what he had in mind was the batch of precious medicinal herbs that had just been secretly traded to the leader of a Turkic tribe in exchange for the other party's "cooperation" in the general attack, among which there happened to be a few century-old ginsengs.
And a "carefully selected" maid? A sneer curled up his lips. He would "choose" one, one who was absolutely "loyal" to him, Cui Junji, and who could ensure that the Li mother and son lived "safe and sound" until he needed them to fulfill their "Gui Zhang" role.
He folded the letter carefully, put it in an envelope, and called the guards: "Send it urgently, eight hundred miles, to my wife in the capital." His voice was calm.
The guards withdrew. Silence returned to the study. Cui Junji picked up the brocade bag containing the fetal hair and walked to the burning charcoal basin. He stared at the dancing flames for a moment, his eyes dark and unfathomable.
In the end, he did not throw the brocade bag in, but casually threw it into the deepest drawer of the desk, lying together with those cold secret letters.
On such a beautiful evening, he actually wasted so much time replying to the letter. He picked up the map they had just discussed, and his eyes became sharp and cold again, as if the tender letter from home had never existed.
The flickering candlelight illuminated Li's letter on the desk, which was scented with orchid and musk, as well as Cui Junji's reply, which had just been written but the ink was still wet.
The two letters lay side by side, with the most exquisite hypocrisy and the coldest calculations flowing between the lines, together weaving the gorgeous illusion of "harmony" between this power couple.
And deep in the drawer, the strand of hair that symbolizes blood and the future is lying silently in the darkness.
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