TBR CH123

Ji Ying did not go to the Prime Minister’s residence immediately—he didn’t make it in time.

The palace gates were deep and shadowed, like a beast waiting to devour. The green tiles above reflected a touch of sunlight, but even that seemed murky. He walked alone through the narrow palace paths, ascending over a hundred steps of white marble until he stood at the doors of the main hall.

Inside the palace, dragon incense was burned year-round.

The overly sweet and cloying scent clung to him, impossible to shake off. Ji Ying entered the grand hall in silence and knelt respectfully before the emperor. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the emperor’s hands—wrinkled, mottled with age spots, the marks of an old man. But the emperor refused to acknowledge these signs. Instead, he was desperate to prove that his authority had not weakened with age.

“Tell me something new,”
the emperor ordered, turning his clouded eye in Ji Ying’s direction.

This was no easy prompt to deal with. Ji Ying’s lashes quivered slightly, and in his dark pupils, one could see an abyss. He reported everything he had gathered about Prince Duan and the Seventh Prince since their return to the capital—their secret efforts to win over allies, buy loyalties. Nothing escaped Ji Ying’s gaze, and now it all reached the ears of the aging emperor.

And yet, when he lifted his eyes to look upon the pale and aged face, he knew—

It was far from enough.

…No. He had already made a mistake.

Ji Ying’s nails dug violently into his palms, piercing his flesh. The pain erupted from his chest like a thousand insects gnawing at him. In such agony, one would begin to wonder if their body had already been hollowed out—leaving only a skeleton behind.

As he bowed lower, he bit down on his lip, pain radiating from the very marrow of his bones. Yet not a single sound escaped him. Cold sweat drenched his back. His deep-purple official robes clung to his skin with each involuntary tremble. He couldn’t stop it—curling up instinctively, shielding his chest with both hands, but the pain never lessened.

On the golden throne, the emperor looked down at him.

Ji Ying—infamous across the court—was now crumpled at his feet, his life and death completely at the emperor’s mercy.

The emperor’s voice sounded again:
“Ji Ying. The information I asked for—you’re not stupid enough to misunderstand, are you? What’s the point of rambling about Prince Duan and the Seventh Prince? I may be old, but I’m not blind.”

This man was soaked in poison.

Without the antidote, he had no choice but to crawl like a housecat at the emperor’s feet.

Ji Ying’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. Forcing his lips apart tugged on every nerve ending, the pain so sharp it nearly tore him apart.

“Your Majesty,” he said weakly, his eyes brimming with deep self-loathing, “I misspoke. I accept whatever punishment is due.”

At last, the emperor’s personal attendant stepped down from beside the throne, carrying a bottle of pills—the only thing keeping Ji Ying from losing his mind. His fingers were too weak, and he almost couldn’t twist off the wax-sealed cap. He had to squeeze his eyes shut before finally opening it.

The moment the pill entered his mouth, a cooling sensation spread through him, silencing the pain.

“Speak,” came the emperor’s command.

Ji Ying’s hair was disheveled, a few strands plastered to his sweat-drenched cheeks.

“Prime Minister Chu…” he said softly. “It was not my intent to deceive. But the Prime Minister’s residence is heavily guarded—there’s been no way to gather useful information. Even at yesterday’s palace banquet, Chu Huaicun revealed nothing. In fact, our exchange was rather unpleasant. I’m sure Your Majesty saw that. As for before, he is not one to feel guilt easily—his attitude toward me hasn’t changed at all.”

“So Ji Ying still has nothing,”
the emperor said, unable to hide his disappointment.
“I allowed you to live—and let your ignorant family live—because you were useful and knew how to serve. Before you speak, you’d best remember everything I’ve given you.”

Ji Ying knew this was not the moment for hesitation.

He spoke quickly, with no pause:

“I dare not hide anything. Your Majesty’s grace moves me to my core, but I’m slow-witted and haven’t been able to relieve your burden. After I leave today, I will go directly to the Prime Minister’s residence. He just met with the Northern Frontier General—there’s no reason for him to turn me away. I believe there must be an opportunity to take advantage of.”

The emperor narrowed his good eye and hummed slightly.

“Has the investigation into the Ministry of War begun?”

“Yes,” Ji Ying answered. “All evidence will point only to those under Prime Minister Chu. The Northern Frontier General is our best witness. You said he became very emotional after speaking with Chu Huaicun. He has merit—Chu wouldn’t dare touch him.”

Every part of Ji Ying’s body still felt like it had been shattered. He knelt upright, gaze lowered to the floor—not daring to look at the emperor. Yet in his mind, he vividly recalled the general asking about Chu Huaicun upon arriving in the capital. But no one should have overheard their conversation.

So he boldly remained silent.

“I will kill someone,”
the emperor said.

Ji Ying nearly thought his lie had been discovered. If that were the case, the punishment felt too light.

The old emperor’s raspy voice echoed throughout the hall like something inhuman, drilling into Ji Ying’s ears:
“His death will be because of your incompetence—because you failed to meet my expectations. And it will be the same in the future. You must treat Chu Huaicun as your greatest enemy. Only when you rip the flesh from his bones will I feed the dogs raised by the royal house.”

Ji Ying knew he should feel despair. And he did. But he’d endured this too many times. Even pain, when repeated often enough, becomes a habit.

So he could still bow his head and thank the emperor—with a straight face.

When he walked out of the palace, daylight hit him again.

But a part of him would always bear the imprint of that dark hall—cold, damp, and suffocating. He glanced at his palms, almost surprised to find them still fleshy and whole, not melted away under the sun like an evil spirit vanquished by the noon heat.

Right.
Ji Ying reminded himself.
Now, to the Prime Minister’s residence.

He lowered his hand. On his deep-purple robes, the serpentine patterns shimmered, almost as if the snakes were hissing and twisting as he moved. It was too hot—far too hot. Suddenly, he thought of Chu Huaicun’s cold hands—the way they had gripped his wrist.

It was the only real sensation he remembered.

He was desperate to see him again.

Like a dying man in the desert who glimpsed water. Even if it was just a mirage—like those rare expressions that slipped through Chu Huaicun’s usual indifference—he didn’t care. He needed something to hold on to. Without it, he felt he might just want to die.

The carriage stopped in front of the Prime Minister’s residence.

Ji Ying stepped down slowly. His face was a little pale, but soon a heavy, mask-like smile once again concealed his true emotions. The gatekeeper stared at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

“I’m here to see the Prime Minister,”

he said softly, lips curled into a faint smile.
“Tell him to come see me.”

—

Chu Huaicun hadn’t expected Ji Ying to come so soon.

The Northern Frontier General had still wanted to stay and catch up, but Chu Huaicun had unceremoniously kicked him out, saying their relationship needed to be concealed and that the general couldn’t linger at the residence. As the general left, he crossed paths with Ji Ying’s approaching carriage. They exchanged brief glances—Ji Ying bowed with a smile, as if their previous conversation had never occurred, though his face was pale as a ghost.

This sort of man was truly difficult to handle.

The general had gained just enough experience in the capital over the last few days to stop assuming everyone with a kind face was trustworthy.

Ji Ying merely curled his lips, ignoring the general’s now colder gaze. He’d been looked at with disdain by many before. He followed the steward deeper inside.

The Prime Minister’s residence wasn’t crowded, but the air was severe. From a glance, there weren’t any elaborate pavilions or towers—only a peach grove stood out as remotely picturesque. But it was still early spring, and the cold hadn’t yet receded. The peach trees bore only a few blossoms—most still just pale green or pink buds.

Ji Ying paused.

Not just because of the scenery, but because of the man standing in it.
Chu Huaicun had turned slightly. His sword shimmered faintly, reflecting cold light in his eyes. He sheathed the blade—it moved like a rainbow arc. Then he looked over calmly.

For a moment, it felt like time had reversed.
He had always been so full of vigor. The only one who had changed… was Ji Ying.

“Lord Ji,”
Chu Huaicun said. He had used the wait to test his sword.
“I didn’t expect you to arrive so quickly.”

Ji Ying’s eyes held a thick, inky smile—too deep to dissolve.

He stepped forward, and saw the small pavilion nestled within the peach grove. It was already prepared for guests, with two cups of tea set on the table. Yet seeing it, he didn’t rush in. He remained amidst the blossoms and said quietly:

“What a lovely peach grove. You do have taste, Prime Minister.”

Chu Huaicun, of course, didn’t believe Ji Ying had come just to talk about poetry and flowers. His earlier conversation with the general had taken place in the main hall—it would’ve taken too much time to clean it up—so he simply waited here in the grove instead. The soft pink buds and faint colors seemed to lend a strange gentleness to his expression.

When smart people talk, it’s always filled with hidden meanings.

“Do you like it, Lord Ji?”
Chu Huaicun asked.
“My estate is rather plain—only this place counts as scenery.”

Ji Ying’s lashes silently lowered:

“Not only do I like it—the peach blossoms are truly beautiful. I even feel tempted to break off a branch. I wonder if the Prime Minister is willing to part with one?”

Who makes such a request upon entering an enemy’s residence—asking for something right away, and so unreasonably, at that? Especially for a peach blossom, when only three or four were in full bloom. Saying they were “truly beautiful” felt more like sarcasm. And to break one off—it would seem improper, almost ridiculous.

The way Ji Ying spoke didn’t suggest he truly desired it either. His words held a thin layer of probing.

Chu Huaicun stepped closer to him and caught the scent on Ji Ying’s body—a mix of dragon incense and the dampness of the peach grove—fused into a sweet and vaguely metallic tang.

He immediately guessed that Ji Ying had just come from the palace.

So this wasn’t a visit prompted by his invitation—it was official business.

And yet—peach blossoms.
Chu Huaicun glanced at the vast peach grove and realized, somewhat absurdly, that he was genuinely considering Ji Ying’s request. That pair of pale hands under the deep purple robe held nothing, yet his fingers always remained slightly curled, as if trying to grasp something. On that absurd night—during the palace banquet, besieged by others—he’d still curled his fingers like that, by habit.

Chu Huaicun was startled by how many details he remembered about Ji Ying. Was he… paying too much attention?

Even knowing this man could not possibly be the one he was looking for.

Then Ji Ying’s pale face showed a brief flicker of surprise. In the blink of an eye, he hadn’t even seen Chu Huaicun move—the flower branch was already sliced clean off. The Prime Minister had chosen the tallest one, the most vibrant in bloom. As the branch broke, a crisp scent of greenery was released. Before him stood a man in robes as white as snow, yet now holding a peach blossom lit by the gleam of a sharp blade.

When the branch was handed to him, Ji Ying hadn’t fully registered what had happened.

He instinctively grasped the branch, and a few petals fell to the ground.

His voice was slightly tense:

“You’re really giving it to me?”

Chu Huaicun realized something fundamental about dealing with Ji Ying. Every time the man tried to veil something behind a showy posture, or spoke in twisted, sarcastic riddles, he had an impulse to break that façade—to startle Ji Ying into showing a genuine reaction. It was… a bit perverse, even Chu himself found it hard to justify.

But the ruthless Lord Ji, when cracked open, revealed a sliver of something else—a different person, faintly visible beneath.

And Chu Huaicun wasn’t the kind to go back on his word over a mere flower.

“A friend once told me: peach blossoms aren’t just pretty for their looks,” he said.
“A peach tree does not speak, but the path beneath it still forms on its own. If Lord Ji likes them, then taking one only spreads its fragrance further. Why wouldn’t I allow it?”

Ji Ying felt the edge of the branch pressing into his palm—the curve of it, the coolness of the petals brushing his skin.

Chu Huaicun’s words sounded like something out of a dream. In a daze, it was as if he remembered a past life—some forgotten moment when he himself had spoken those very words to Chu Huaicun. And now they were returned to him, alongside a flower. As though fate itself had suddenly opened its eyes in the heavens above.

Chu Huaicun turned his gaze away, his eyes holding a distant chill. He had always been cold to strangers.

“So then,” he finally looked at Ji Ying with a scrutinizing expression,
“Lord Ji, why are you really here? You didn’t come because of my invitation. You came straight from the palace, didn’t you? I imagine—”

“It hurts,”
Ji Ying cut him off, suddenly murmuring like a complaint.

That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to say, “I came regarding the Ministry of War case, Prime Minister.” But the words turned into something silent and choking at the last second—disappearing entirely. One moment of distraction, and he’d said the complete opposite.

He had tried to stop himself.

He had never felt this kind of exhaustion before. Not in over a decade. But now, holding the branch in his hand—something that had been given to him—he suddenly felt like he had permission to be indulgent. He was still freezing, the pain had burrowed into his bones, and though the flare had ceased, it had never truly stopped.

Chu Huaicun paused. Ji Ying, smiling again as if joking, said:

“Prime Minister, I really do hurt.”

His voice was hoarse, Chu realized.

And it made no sense at all. Like the time Ji Ying’s foot had slid beneath the table to nudge at his boot. That was just who Ji Ying was: the moment he was thrown off balance, he had to scramble to regain the upper hand—even if it meant turning the tables, rendering Chu Huaicun speechless for once.

“…Where?”

Even though Chu Huaicun didn’t believe Ji Ying had come just to complain about his physical discomfort, he still followed along with the absurdity.

Ji Ying’s smile deepened, but his eyes seemed distant—looking not at the present moment, but at some point far off in time and space.

He pointed to his chest.
“Here hurts.”
Then his arm, his neck, his waist. He pointed everywhere—almost every spot he could.

It was clearly a clumsy joke, a cruel bit of mockery. Watching Chu Huaicun’s expression shift from focus to helplessness gave Ji Ying a strange, cruel sense of satisfaction.

Finally, Chu Huaicun interrupted him.

His cool voice rang out, snapping Ji Ying’s thoughts back to clarity—though the smile on Ji Ying’s lips only deepened.

“So, Lord Ji,” Chu asked,
“what you’re really trying to say is… your whole body hurts?”

“Yes,” Ji Ying whispered.

But he knew full well—his body was clean, unmarked. His skin was intact. Not a single wound.

He simply couldn’t help himself. Or perhaps, it was that peach blossom handed to him by Chu Huaicun that shattered his composure. As if someone had handed him a blade—his first instinct was to turn it on himself.

It felt like he was peeling off his own flesh, exposing raw bone beneath.

That’s probably what Chu Huaicun thought of him—
A madman spouting nonsense.
Or worse—
A wretched, despicable liar.