Chapter 70 [VIP]
The continuous rain had made the air incredibly humid. Crows flew over the old eaves, carrying away patches of wet rainwater, and boots left uneven tracks in the mud.
"Brother?" A young man in red came with an umbrella, his dark brown eyebrows and eyes appearing in the sunlight. Water droplets fell on the bamboo umbrella, but could not hide the young man's stunning appearance. The young man smiled and walked towards him.
"Didn't I tell you before that you didn't need to wait for me? I have some writings that I haven't finished yet, and I need to go to the Emperor today. I don't know when I will be able to return."
Behind the boy in red were several students from Zhizhang Palace, including Wei Ning, the Second Prince Murong Xi, Zhang Lin, and a group of other young men and women.
“Hey, Xue Yi, you should go back first,” Wei Ning said. “We’ll be taking some time. If you don’t like the place we’re going to, you can just stay at your residence.”
Murong Xi: "I apologize. My father and elder sister are waiting for Changyou. If Young Master Xue doesn't mind, you may come with us to the Golden Palace."
"Let's talk about it after Yanli has recovered," Zhang Lin said. "Health is the most important thing; don't get sick again."
The group of outstanding young men and women surrounded the boy in red. The boy in red did not say anything, but just smiled at them, walked towards him, and took his hand.
"I understand... You may proceed. It's raining today, so I won't go to His Majesty's place. Please apologize on my behalf, Second Prince."
If it were anyone else acting so recklessly, they would probably lose ten heads. But the young man before them was the Emperor's prized student, even called a close confidant by Emperor Liang, and a mentor and friend to the current Emperor. Wei Ning said nothing upon seeing this, Murong Xi felt a little regretful, while Zhang Lin yawned.
"Understood, we'll go and talk to His Majesty."
Seeing the red-clad youth approaching him, away from the hustle and bustle, he willingly walked to his side, falling into silence with him. His world was like this: a deathly stillness born of frailty, unable to erase the intense scene the other brought.
From his memory, he only remembered Lu Xuejin's smile. Lu Xuejin held his hand, picked up those boring books for him, and opened them to read his handwriting. Her striking eyes turned to him, and she shone with a hint of surprise.
“Did you write these, brother? I never realized you were so insightful. If you showed them to the teacher, he would be very pleased,” Lu Xuejin said.
That's not the case. Not every student is liked by their teachers. There is a type of person who is born an outlier in the group, and he is one of them. Even if he is well-versed in the strategies of governing a country, he is not liked by his teachers because his selfishness outweighs the so-called goodness of the world.
Which is more important, a person's purpose or their means? Obviously, it is the purpose. The purpose itself determines the means. If the purpose is inherently dark, no matter how it is disguised, it will never lead to the path of light. The further it goes, the deeper it will sink into the abyss.
"It's merely a paraphrase of the thoughts of the sages; Changyou has overpraised it." He heard his own voice.
Lu Xuejin glanced at him sideways. “How can it be an overstatement? Even the sages of the past cannot compare to you, brother. Although scholars often cite the words of the sages, I sometimes feel that those are not my own thoughts… Even if the thoughts of the sages are broad and profound, they are ultimately not my own ideas. The actions and thoughts of others are always somewhat distant from me. I would rather see something new. Whether it is an idea or a theory, as long as it is a conclusion I have come to through serious thought, it is real and meaningful, rather than an old and dull idea passed down by word of mouth.”
The crimson crane-patterned brocade, dazzling and eye-catching on the side of his robes, accentuated the striking features of the young man in red, creating a scene of unparalleled splendor beneath the beams, reminiscent of the most magnificent and beautiful sight of the Liang Dynasty. Profoundly imbued with reverence, and breathtakingly captivating, the palace behind the young man seemed to gleam even brighter, transforming this place into a divinely blessed celestial palace.
“Changyou. Not everyone can have their own thoughts. Many people… they may not have any thoughts at all; just surviving is hard enough, they don’t have the energy to generate so many opinions. Therefore, they only feel that the experience passed down by word of mouth is beneficial, thus minimizing the risk of danger. One of the secrets to long-term survival among people is to conform. Just cut off your mouth and eyes. Make yourself unable to see or speak, just follow the crowd, and you will be perfectly safe.” he said.
“What you say, brother, is very interesting. Yes, that’s exactly right. Though they cannot speak, though they remain silent, people have their own standards of discernment. Which is more worthy of understanding: a poor, toiling peasant or a noble family? It must be the former. Because the former is a microcosm of an era, and the suffering he inevitably bears is the festering sore brought about by that era, a problem that rulers cannot avoid. As for the so-called profound thoughts of noble families, they have never experienced upheaval. Living in a safe palace, unaffected by those systems, they naturally remain outside of real life. They are detached from reality, appearing elegant and noble, but those are all appearances, not the true people under their rule,” Lu Xuejin analyzed.
He listened intently, the patter of the raindrops pale in comparison to the boy's voice and expression. So intelligent, so bright, so dazzling, so kind, so... so utterly insignificant. All his thoughts seemed utterly insignificant before this man.
That unyielding, radiant light, like a flame, illuminated the entire Liang Palace. The red-clad youth smiled at him, a gentle and clear smile, full of unwavering determination.
Lu Xuejin: "I want to make the people able to see and hear, and to have their voices heard among the people. Brother, I want to become the eagle eye of the court, the most impartial observer. All officials of my Liang Dynasty will put the people first. I want the people to be greater than officials, the people's will to be above the officials', the people to be able to express their thoughts, and no one to worry about safety and security. Their thoughts and ideas will blossom into a vibrant debate under my rule. This is my will, and I will make it a reality."
“This… Changyou’s thoughts and ideas are naturally excellent,” he said.
He gazed at the plants growing in the garden; he should have been a shadowy moss, trampled unnoticed by everyone. Only Lu Xuejin noticed that touch of green and made way for the moss. He never thought about the common people. They were all irrelevant to him; he would simply continue living in the shadows. Even if he gained power, he wouldn't give a second thought to the people.
Throughout the ages, only a handful of such individuals have achieved this.
The person before me… the person before me… Changyou. Changyou. Changyou. Though I am by his side, it feels as if he might sacrifice himself at any moment, dedicating himself to all light and love, and leaving him far away.
...Changyou.
Inside the Golden Palace.
"...His Majesty has awakened." Imperial Physician Gu hurriedly summoned Imperial Physician Jia and Song Zhao, who was guarding outside. When Song Zhao entered, he saw the person on the bed.
Xue Yi's eyes remained closed, his face pale, and his eyelashes were damp. Although he still looked weak, when I reached out to touch him, his breathing was much more stable.
Physician Gu: "He has indeed woken up just now! Doctor Qiu truly lives up to his reputation as a divine physician; his pulse has become much more stable... This is a sign of improvement."
Song Zhao stared at the person on the bed for a while, gave some instructions, and then left. In the side hall's pavilion, Xiao Qi was sitting at the table. Upon seeing him, she asked, "How is it?"
“He has woken up once and his breathing has calmed down considerably. He should be fully awake soon. We need to finish writing before His Majesty wakes up,” Song Zhao said.
Although he didn't want to admit it, he knew that the letter would put Xue Yi at ease. If the monarch was uneasy, they would also find it difficult to be at ease.
Xiao Qi breathed a sigh of relief, but soon her headache returned, with veins throbbing on her head. "Song Zhao, I would like to help you with this, but I am just a military man, and I have never corresponded with my wife. How could I possibly write a letter? Besides, Lord Lu... I am not familiar with him, and we have even had disagreements. How could I possibly imitate his tone?"
Before she could finish speaking, Xiao Qi noticed Song Zhao's expression and swallowed her words of refusal.
"Don't blame me if my writing is not good."
Song Zhao sat down opposite Xiao Qi, knowing full well that Xue Yi could recognize both his and Xiao Qi's handwriting. He was simply pondering Qiu Ji's words. The Emperor and he were acquainted as gentlemen; though they respected each other, an unspeakable chasm always separated them. Even if it was impossible to obtain the desires driven by lust, was there another possibility that could erase that chasm?
They were the monarch's courtiers, yet also his close friends. If they could enrich even a little of his frail and withered heart, then the ten thousand letters he and Xiao Qi wrote would not have been in vain.
...aversion to separation.
Xue Yanli was not only his loyal lord but also his closest friend in life. His lord was often ill, leaving him feeling powerless. If he could take away his lord's suffering, he would gladly do so. His lord was often troubled by emotional turmoil, something he could never hope to emulate. Even if he were not a wise ruler, he only wished that his friend could have a peaceful mind, be free from illness, and enjoy good fortune and longevity.
So... how should it be written?
rain.
rain.
rain.
The rain poured down, falling like pearls, pattering on the eaves. The golden Buddha statue inside the carriage closed its eyes, peering at the scene in the courtyard through the gaps in the carriage.
"Young master, it's raining," said the wisteria tree in the courtyard.
Lu Xuejin peered through the window at the rain, seeing the withered paulownia trees of autumn. Many leaves had fallen, pelting the ground in the rain, and moss sprouted from the cracks in the blue bricks. For some reason, he suddenly thought of Xue Yi. Perhaps Xue Yi hadn't written in a long time; if his brother could abandon him because of his departure, wouldn't that be a good thing for him?
He recalled the sickly boy's gaze upon the moss; though silent, he knew what his brother was thinking. Xue Yi felt he was the moss, a mushroom growing in the shadows, disliked by plants, always damp and sticky, unnoticed by passersby.
"Has His Majesty sent any messages recently?" he asked.
Upon hearing this, the boy who had been reading at his desk immediately turned his head. Murong Yue looked at him, put down his book, and his eyes revealed an emotion that was hard to define—a mixture of displeasure and indifference. His innocent gaze reflected the boy's expression, waiting to see what he would say next.
“No,” Ziyan said. “Now that it’s autumn, His Majesty may be ill again and unable to write to you, sir.”
“Brother Changyou cares so much about him,” Murong Yue said. “He’s injured himself, yet he still has time to care about others. He must be doing well. If he were dead, news of his funeral would surely come from the capital.”
Tengluo came in and overheard the whole thing, and was stunned. The young prince has become so bold now. Look at him, he's becoming more and more unrestrained, and when he's unhappy, he reveals his mean nature.
"..." Lu Xuejin listened quietly, wanting to tell the boy not to speak like that. She sensed jealousy in his voice. If he said it aloud, she was afraid that things would escalate and the boy would get angry again.
“Your Highness has a point. Just pretend I didn’t ask,” he said.
As soon as he finished speaking, the boy moved closer. Murong Yue sat down beside him, met his gaze, and looked at him, saying, "Brother, are you angry?"
Lu Xuejin: "Never, how could I dare to be angry with Your Highness?"
“I should be the one saying that. How could I be angry with you, brother?” Murong Yue lay down beside him and started reading a book. He looked at the comic book and pretended not to care. “I shouldn’t have said that just now. Changyou, just pretend I didn’t say anything.”
Murong Yue: "I should be more magnanimous, just like in this book. When a wife wants to write a letter to her ex-husband, the husband should help her by making ink... Brother Changyou, do you want to write a letter to the Emperor? I'll prepare paper and pen for you."
Lu Xuejin watched the boy lying on the quilt, his eyes revealing a hint of melancholy, yet he pretended to be calm. He looked at him for a while before looking away.
“Of course I wouldn’t dare trouble Your Highness. I never said I would write a letter… Is there a sequel in the book? This husband is so magnanimous, perhaps he would overturn the inkstone if he saw his wife actually write a letter.”
“I’m not that petty,” Murong Yue said immediately. “I also sent him the letter you wrote last time. You care so much about him, I’m afraid he’s not worthy of it.”
“Brother, you can write whatever you want, why worry so much? The last letter was sent but there was no reply, so I have to write again. Brother hasn’t written to me yet. If only I were sick, then you could care about me and worry less about others. It’s all my mother’s fault for making me so healthy; I survived being stabbed twice… If it were someone else, they might have died long ago. I can distinguish between red beans and green beans now, and my injuries have healed. Even if I’m not feeling well, I won’t tell you, unlike some people who use their illness to gain your pity… Brother, you don’t need to worry about me. I can be happy just by reading comic books, unlike some people who need to be coaxed with sweet words. I have a good appetite; I can eat twelve buns in one meal. I’ll eat less from now on. I won’t eat tonight; you can write to him. I won’t eat tomorrow either…”
When Tengluo heard that His Highness was going on a hunger strike, she blinked. She didn't believe the young master would believe such an obvious lie. She leaned closer to look at Ziyan sewing something—a pink fur collar, a winter coat she was making for her, with a little rabbit on the collar. So cute, very good.
“I never said I was going to write a letter. Why aren’t you eating dinner... What kind of logic is this? Your Highness, please don’t demean yourself,” Lu Xuejin said.
That feigned innocence, the contrasting rage in his eyes, and the occasional flashes of emotion made Murong Yue's face incredibly vivid. His gloomy eyes carried a natural malice, and his sharp tongue seemed intent on wounding him, burning like flames.
His Highness has always been like this, always vying and competing. If he makes His Highness uncomfortable, His Highness will definitely make him compensate in other ways.
But he kept staring at the prince's eyes and was concerned about his every word and action. If he really didn't eat dinner, he felt an indescribable state of mind when he thought about it.
“I won’t write a letter. Your Highness needs to eat properly and shouldn’t be so willful,” he said helplessly.
A note from the author:
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