TBR CH127

Chu Huaicun did not expect to run into Ji Ying here.

He had taken a rare moment away from official duties to meet the so-called “Mr. Fang” his master had mentioned, only to unexpectedly spot Ji Ying in the lavish, glittering gambling den outside. Ji Ying was also in plain clothes. Upon seeing him, he seemed momentarily startled and looked as if he wanted to turn and leave—but in the end, he straightened his spine, his already pale face losing another shade of color, yet forced himself to remain still and wait for Chu Huaicun to approach.

“Chancellor Chu,” he greeted with a tilt of his lips, “Didn’t think you’d come to a place like this.”

“I was about to ask the same of you, Lord Ji. Never heard you were fond of gambling.”

Chu Huaicun examined Ji Ying’s expression and found it slightly better than when they last met. He had seen Ji Ying over the past couple of days, but with so many pressing matters and too many eyes around Ji Ying, they’d had no chance for private conversation—only a few verbal exchanges in the political arena.

Ji Ying leaned back against the coral-inlaid table, his voice smooth and serpentine:

“That’s because Chancellor Chu doesn’t know me well enough,” he said. “Is there anything I don’t do? Wine, women, riches, and gambling—I might as well indulge in them all. That’s the only way to be worthy of being a thorn in your eye.”

He was clearly talking nonsense again. Of course, he hadn’t come here for such reasons. Chu Huaicun knew that perfectly well—otherwise, why would Ji Ying have come with only a few attendants, when others would scramble to host elaborate gambling parties?

Then why had he come?

The real treasure of this gambling den wasn’t the gold and jewels, but someone inside—the mysterious Mr. Fang. Had Ji Ying also come to meet him?

Chu Huaicun remained calm as ever, his expression cold as snow. He placed a hand on the table as well.

“Is that so?” he said softly, his voice carrying an unyielding firmness. “Then would Lord Ji care to place a bet with me?”

“A bet on what?”

Ji Ying’s heart stirred, his mind already racing through a hundred thoughts. Chu Huaicun tapped a knuckle against the tabletop.

“I’d like Lord Ji to decide.”

Using a gamble to settle something—it felt too frivolous. But here, people used dice to decide their fates, their future fortunes or untimely deaths hanging on the roll of a few tiny dots. One side wins, the other loses. One becomes rich, one ends up destitute. How absurd, Ji Ying thought—but the idea’s lure was hard to resist.

Such was the truth: Chu Huaicun had offered a wager that a man named Ji Ying couldn’t refuse.

He pressed his lips in a neurotic attempt to hide his growing smile—but the smile spread anyway. He tilted his head, black hair falling across his eyes and casting a faint shadow over them.

Chu Huaicun observed him silently until he felt a hand gently cover his own—soft, ambiguous. Ji Ying nearly leaned into him completely.

…Of course.

“Don’t back out now, Chancellor. I’ve stated my condition,”

Ji Ying said, like a child who had found a toy they loved. His eyes reflected the whiteness of Chu Huaicun’s robes, and, like a wish, he added:

“If I win, you’ll like me just a little. How’s that?”

The dice were prepared like a joke, and even now Ji Ying couldn’t quite believe it. After a single order from Chu Huaicun, the attendants led them into a refined private room. The ivory dice were delicately carved, six-sided and intricate. Chu Huaicun tested their weight, finding nothing unusual, then passed them to Ji Ying.

“Wait a moment,” Ji Ying said. “Are you really going through with this?”

When he didn’t accept the dice, Chu Huaicun simply released them, taking the first turn himself. The dice spun across the smooth table, their numbers a blur.

Like a sentence passed without warning, Ji Ying instinctively curled his fingers, as if trying to grasp something—but he couldn’t look away from the dice, not even to blink.

…Even though he had acted so flippantly, like this was a joke never meant to be fulfilled.

Chu Huaicun didn’t even glance at his roll. Instead, he watched Ji Ying in silence. Ji Ying was clearly nervous—something so obvious to Chu Huaicun, a man used to the battlefield, that it was as plain as smoke on the wind.

The dice began to slow… then stopped—on a two.

A low roll, unlikely to win. But Chu Huaicun showed no disappointment. He simply pushed the dice toward Ji Ying. His fingers were long and strong—hands that had held a sword. When Ji Ying picked up the dice, their fingertips brushed briefly. That single, fleeting contact seemed to calm him ever so slightly.

But Chu Huaicun noticed the subtle tremble in Ji Ying’s hand—something even Ji Ying himself hadn’t realized.

His eyes locked on the dice, his expression unreadable, but he quickly realized he’d been hesitating too long. That wasn’t like him. So he rolled.

The dice clattered crisply against the table.

“Did I throw that wrong?”

Ji Ying immediately began to regret it, staring fixedly at the spinning dice.

The strength of the spin wasn’t right, and the flickering dots were already visible. It wasn’t a good roll. He could tell it would settle quickly. A single die, so delicate, yet it had such power to stir his heart. Ji Ying couldn’t understand how Chu Huaicun could remain so unmoved—his own heart was spinning with the dice, and unlike the die, it wasn’t about to stop.

Then the dice stilled, and a wave of absurd helplessness swept over him.

One.

A single red dot—sharp and bright like fresh blood. Of all the numbers it could have landed on, it had to be the smallest: one.

Ji Ying was the first to tug his lips into a smile. The greatest sin of a loser was to lose with no grace. He had been swept into this wager half-dazed and now stood on the losing side, pushed by fate.

“I’ve lost, fair and square,” he said. “You win, Chancellor.”

“It’s only luck. There’s no real winning or losing,” Chu Huaicun said gently. He had no intention of rubbing salt into Ji Ying’s wound. He could see clearly how much Ji Ying had cared about this seemingly frivolous bet. He was getting better at reading his emotions—and better at soothing them, like knowing exactly how to stroke the ruffled fur of a temperamental cat.

“Actually, it’s not that I don’t like you—”

He paused, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. But Ji Ying’s head shot up, staring at him in disbelief.

“I don’t make bets on just anything,” Chu Huaicun continued. “And I know you and I don’t speak of court matters when we meet privately. But I agreed to this gamble. That should at least tell you I don’t see you the way you think I do—not as a thorn in my side.”

“Why say this to a loser?”

“You’re pursuing me seriously,” Chu Huaicun tilted his head, his eyes glinting like snow. “Maybe that’s not quite right. But you do genuinely like me—I can see that. And I don’t belittle people’s feelings.”

Only half of that was true.

Chu Huaicun only cared about those he had deemed worth caring for—those he had drawn under his own wing.

Ji Ying leaned back, his gaze returning to the die, avoiding Chu Huaicun entirely. After a moment, he muttered:

“Actually, I don’t believe in ‘fair and square’—I’ve lost, yes, but I’m not willing to. Why does fate always deal me the worst hand? If my bet weren’t with you, I’d have flipped the table, rolled again and again until I got what I wanted. I’d force everyone else to accept it too.”

Chu Huaicun finally let a smile tug at his lips. “What a shame. I feel the same way.”

Some said they had never seen Chu Huaicun smile. That he was cold and untouchable, aloof as a banished immortal. But perhaps that was only how he acted toward people he didn’t care about. When his icy soul showed a crack—when he made an exception—it was impossible to look away.

“It’s my turn to name a wager now,” he said.

Ji Ying murmured agreement. Chu Huaicun had saved his side of the bargain for now. But what did it matter? Either he won, or he lost. He hadn’t thought about anything beyond that. If you wanted something, there was always a price.

Ji Ying guessed that Chu Huaicun would make him swear to tell the truth and then ask a question.

And he did ask.

But the question was this:

“Why did you lie to me?”

Chu Huaicun met Mr. Fang the next incense stick later.

The old man sat in his grand armchair, rocking gently back and forth, his beard trembling in the breeze. When disturbed, he instinctively looked toward the door with alertness. He hadn’t expected a second business deal today—and to make matters worse, the second client had brought the first client with him. In his line of work, that was a major taboo.

For a peddler like him—scamming one noble on the left, extorting another on the right—the worst outcome was for his victims to compare notes. If they realized he was just another link in the chain of blackmail, wouldn’t they join forces against him?

“Mr. Fang,” said the most powerful man in court, standing at the door, “I’ve long heard of your reputation.”

And just earlier, Mr. Fang had sold the ledgers of the Chancellor’s own faction—to none other than the purple-robed youth now entering with him. The youth stood awkwardly to the side, his earlier arrogance completely gone.

“Ah…” Mr. Fang tugged at his beard. It was probably time to flee.

But Chu Huaicun’s voice shattered that idea.

“Someone sent me to find you,” he said, casually pressing a hand to the sword at his waist.

Mr. Fang’s eyes followed the motion. The scabbard had no ornamentation, not a hint of shine—possibly sharkskin—with only a simple pattern etched where it met the hilt.

But… that pattern on the sword hilt—it looked familiar…

“You—aren’t you the child the old swordsman picked up over twenty years ago?” Mr. Fang rubbed his forehead as if awakening from a long dream. “It’s been so long. I was there back then too. I never knew he could raise someone who’d become the chancellor of the realm!”

Chu Huaicun did, in fact, remember such a person.

When the old swordsman met him, he was traveling with another companion.

He remembered that man as having something of a moral obsession—nagging him all the way about how he’d slit someone’s throat over half a steamed bun.

In hindsight, that man really had a good eye. Chu Huaicun had fought his way to the capital, and now he had gone so far as to turn the Crown Prince into his puppet, standing on equal footing with the Emperor himself. Truly ambitious and utterly ruthless. If that man still held to his rigid morals, he’d probably be heartbroken by now—perhaps even cutting ties with the swordsman who had raised Chu Huaicun.

Chu Huaicun gave the white-haired, superstitious Mr. Fang another look and did find some resemblance to his master’s old friend—but morally, they clearly had nothing in common anymore.

Mr. Fang noticed the look and gave an awkward chuckle.

“People change,” he said, his tone suddenly more grounded now that he recognized who Chu Huaicun was. “I haven’t seen your master in many years—I don’t know how he’s doing now. As for me, well, I’m doing quite well for myself. That just proves that righteousness and morality aren’t worth much. To be honest with you, Chancellor Chu, you might laugh, but I just sold your intel to—”

He pointed with his chin to Ji Ying, who stood silently beside Chu Huaicun.

“To your friend here.”

Surprisingly, he wasn’t even embarrassed to say it. Ji Ying, however, finally lifted his eyes and shot him a look—neither heavy nor light, but cold and venomous. A textbook example of a treacherous official threatening someone with sheer gaze alone.

“I’m not his friend,” Ji Ying said.

Then he turned to Chu Huaicun and added, “And I won’t give you the ledger.”

This, Chu Huaicun had already anticipated. But the moment Ji Ying discovered his connection to Mr. Fang, he had also fully grasped what the Emperor wanted him to do. In fact, the moment the word “ledger” was mentioned, the mastermind behind the Pingjiang Prince case had practically revealed themselves. It wasn’t surprising that Mr. Fang was working for the court—his moral flexibility was now well-proven.

“Sorry to disturb you today, Mr. Fang,” Chu Huaicun said, getting straight to the point, “but I’m here to consult you about a poison. I’ve brought someone. Please tell me—does he show signs of poisoning? If so, what kind of poison is it? And is there a cure?”

Ji Ying fell quiet again at those words, standing as obediently as a child. He had lost the bet; though he had voiced his dissatisfaction, he was still obliged to do one thing for Chu Huaicun. This was already the result of a concession—he couldn’t answer Chu Huaicun’s original question, so instead they came to meet someone, and he had no right to object.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. He had just met this person not long ago.

But his silence only stemmed from being forbidden to speak. A closer look would reveal his fingers curling tightly, nails pressing into his palms. As he turned his head slightly, his hair fell over his eyes, making it hard to see his expression.

Poison.

The poison in his body.

It was a poison with no known cure in the world. All of his suffering was tied to the Emperor’s whims—one command, and he would collapse. It was a royal secret. He had never heard of it before, had even hired people to investigate it secretly, but all traces had vanished.

So why was Chu Huaicun asking about this now? How could—wait. He believed it.

Ji Ying, for the first time, heard the name of this poison.

Half-Face Makeup.

How fitting, he thought. He couldn’t show his true emotions—any loss of control would only rebound upon himself. It felt like he had been split in two, performing a role rather than living as himself.

“Actually, I sensed something off about this young man earlier too,”

Mr. Fang said slowly, walking over to check his pulse. As he felt the blood flowing through Ji Ying’s wrist, he shook his head and added,

“Half-Face Makeup isn’t a poison—it’s a gu, a parasitic curse. In a few more days, it’ll burrow into the bones. By then, it really will be incurable.”

In other words—there was still time.

Ji Ying understood this vaguely, but he didn’t feel relieved.

Mr. Fang kept muttering, “This shouldn’t be possible. This gu should’ve disappeared from the world long ago. Who used it on this young man? The only time I’ve seen it before was back when the late Emperor was still alive. Could it be… the palace?”

He immediately stopped himself, realizing he shouldn’t say too much in front of Ji Ying.

He now regarded Chu Huaicun as “one of us,” but not Ji Ying. Although Ji Ying had been brought by the Chancellor for treatment, no one really knew his allegiances—and this matter touched on secrets of the previous reign.

Ji Ying didn’t seem to care. His face remained unnaturally pale as he listened to Mr. Fang’s diagnosis. From time to time, he quietly raised his eyes to glance at Chu Huaicun.

Chu Huaicun, meanwhile, was turning over the phrase “previous reign” in his mind.

He had just been discussing the former emperor with Ji Ying earlier.

The current emperor had ascended the throne nearly at the age of forty. When the late emperor was still alive, he had favored his crown prince—the current emperor—and named him heir long in advance. But the problem was… the late emperor lived too long. So long that by the time he passed, the now-reigning emperor had aged many years waiting.

Long enough, in fact, for father and son to grow estranged.

Yet after the old emperor died, the rightful successor took the throne—as he should.

A few days ago, Ji Ying had leaned against the doorframe, holding a branch of blossoms, and spoken to him with subtle hints—about how both the current emperor and the former one had feared the same thing happening. Chu Huaicun had thought about it many times since.

They had both, in their final years, begun to fear the crown prince.

Chu Huaicun had become Chancellor step by step, originally backed by the Emperor himself—as a counterforce against the Crown Prince’s faction. But it had clearly backfired. The prince had indeed been forced into becoming a former prince, and only then had the Emperor begun to regret it.

Ji Ying wasn’t trying to explain why the current Emperor had acted as he did.

There was no need for that anymore.

What Ji Ying wanted to show him was: Something had indeed happened in the past. Without a doubt.

And that truth was the very key Chu Huaicun needed.