TBR CH131

Chu Huaicun closed his eyes. When his thin eyelids veiled everything before him in darkness, and the blue lake merged with the one in his memory, he seemed to see again—that once, he had walked here side by side with someone.

It was the night before disaster befell the Lin family.

But no one can foresee calamity. The moon that night was like a wide-open eye. The lake waters swayed gently under its urging, rippling softly. The vast world had generously granted them a corner of peace, like a prophecy, permitting two people who were about to be separated a night of unparalleled quiet.

After the poetry gathering ended, the young gentleman of unmatched renown from the Lin family swiftly left the crowd. When he saw the youth waiting for him in the distance, he smiled at him with utmost gentleness.

Chu Huaicun had said, “Let’s go.”

But the other had replied, “Huaicun, the view at Qingyu Lake is lovely. Will you sit and talk with me here for a while?”

At the time, Chu Huaicun didn’t think he was someone who could appreciate the beauty of nature. Besides, after wandering the wilderness with his old sword master, he had long become numb to the rustic elegance scholars so admired. But that day, Qingyu Lake was different—as though the legendary bluefish had returned to it, cloaked in a layer of moonlight as mysterious as frost.

What they talked about that day was also like a prophecy. Chu Huaicun didn’t know why, but he began to speak of his plans for the future.

The old sword master had long abandoned him somewhere on the road. He hadn’t planned to study or become an official—though he wasn’t lacking in talent, he had no desire for power. The youth gently touched the blade of his sword, which shimmered like flowing cold water, its fierce aura tempered only in the presence of the white-robed gentleman before him.

“If there’s a chance,” Chu Huaicun had said, “I want to join the military. The border is unstable—battle reports reach the capital constantly. I don’t want to waste my talents. Perhaps stepping onto the battlefield myself is the path I should take.”

“I see.” The other had smiled softly, as if gently and wistfully.

“But… war is perilous, blades are blind. If you go ten thousand miles from me, Huaicun, I think… I would miss you.”

His words had been an implicit plea. Chu Huaicun, though not aware of the hidden emotions, could at least tell that the other did not want him to go. He had thought carefully for a long moment and then, with some difficulty, made his decision:
“Then I won’t go.”

Back then, choices had been so simple—like the whole world had shrunk to the lake in front of him, crystal-clear and easy to see through. Just like the man’s eyes—eyes belonging to a gentleman as refined and pure as clear skies after rain. Chu Huaicun had never seen anyone more suited to white robes. Those eyes had been filled with quiet joy.

“That’s not what I meant,” he had gently said. “You can do whatever you want. Of course I won’t stop you—never. In a few days, the recruitment list for the Dingguo Army will be announced. With your talents, the general will surely accept you under his command.”

He would be proud of him, Chu Huaicun had thought.

The man had rested a hand on the youth’s shoulder. Though the Lin family’s eldest son was famed for his scholarly grace and carried a brush, not a sword, at that moment, he had a bit of a hero’s charisma. Smiling brilliantly at Chu Huaicun, he raised his other hand and, turning his back to the vast lake, said:

“Let me sing you a farewell song in advance, General Chu. Will you allow it?”

The word “general” rested on his lips with the clarity of jade. He truly deserved his reputation as a celebrated scholar. With casual rhythm struck from his palms, he began to chant the “Ballad of Qin the Conqueror,” his voice drawing out a tune both strange and sonorous. The bloodshed and white bones under distant iron-gray skies seemed to rise before their eyes.

Chu Huaicun had been dazed for a moment before awkwardly turning his head away:
“I’m not a general yet.”

“You will be one day.”

He had been so certain.

Back then, Chu Huaicun was still too young to realize that what mattered most wasn’t his status, but the rare affection from the person in front of him—and the magical moonlit night when it felt like anything in the world was possible. The moon had seemed as though it might break free from the sky, illuminating everything in pure silver.

That scene had burned itself deep into his eyes.

So deep that even the blaze lighting up half the sky afterward could not outshine the moonlight.

Memories are like tasting a secret delicacy known only to oneself—bittersweet and complex, but in others’ eyes, just a fleeting moment. Chu Huaicun didn’t intend to lie, but neither did he feel the need to explain it all to Ji Ying. So he simply answered:

“Yes. But I’ve only ever walked this lake with one other person.”

“That Lin Gongzi—the one the Prime Minister has been searching for all this time?”

Ji Ying was unusually sharp about such things. Perhaps it was his old profession—sniffing out secrets like a serpent-hawk sensing blood. Chu Huaicun looked at him calmly, clearly unwilling to continue the topic, but Ji Ying pressed on.

“What kind of person was he, to make the Prime Minister think of him for so long?”

“You don’t know?” Chu Huaicun asked back. “Didn’t you go to great lengths to collect information on him? Why ask me, when you can piece it together from your own clues?”

Their words were clearly contentious—neither yielding an inch, each tugging at the other, unwilling to let the other get their way. And yet, their hands were still tightly clasped. Chu Huaicun felt Ji Ying’s grip tighten, like he wanted to bind him completely. A lock of black hair fell over Ji Ying’s cheek—dark, just like his eyes.

So Chu Huaicun curled his fingertip and lightly traced Ji Ying’s palm.

Ji Ying flinched as though shocked—but still didn’t let go. He merely loosened his grip slightly, as Chu Huaicun seemed to prefer. He ought to have known that no grip could truly bind a man trained in martial arts—unless that man didn’t intend to break free. Chu Huaicun sighed silently, helpless.

Perhaps reminiscing about the departed had softened his heart.

“He…” Chu Huaicun said, “is exactly like everything you found. Whatever people said about him being wonderful—none of it came close. He was well-read, knowledgeable beyond measure—one of the brightest minds in the world. A man of character too—the word ‘integrity’ might as well have been invented for him. He treated others with perfect grace, calm and measured, yet never betrayed his principles.”

“Was he… very good to you?” Ji Ying asked, for some reason avoiding Chu Huaicun’s gaze.

“Of course.”

Not even the melting snow atop mountains could be more moving than this moment. The all-powerful Prime Minister no longer looked so cold. Ji Ying held his hand, still feeling its chill—but his heart was slowly warming.

“There’s no such thing as a flawless person in this world,” Ji Ying said softly.

“But he was.”

Chu Huaicun’s greatest flaw was his protectiveness—and now, it showed in full. At this moment, he saw no need to justify his claims, only stated them with a touch of proud certainty, as if the man in his memory truly had no blemishes—pure as moonlight, flawless as white jade.

Ji Ying thought, It’s enough to ask up to here. The answers were clear. A soul who had long passed was still being defended so fiercely—what more could be asked? What regrets could be spoken?

If that man truly rested in peace, surely he’d feel a flicker of comfort now.

And yet, Ji Ying’s gaze flickered.

He asked one final question:

“If, Prime Minister Chu,” Ji Ying asked, “if you were to find that person and realize he’s no longer the one you remembered—or worse, that he was never who you imagined, that he had done terrible things—what would you do?”

Chu Huaicun wanted to say impossible, but he looked straight into Ji Ying’s eyes instead. Those dark eyes now seemed like they could be shattered easily, as if pleading with him. Ji Ying’s soul trembled, knowing full well he had asked something he shouldn’t have.

“You…”

Chu Huaicun stared at him for a long moment before finally moving. The jade pendant at his waist swayed slightly, casting a soft glow in the night.

“I was just joking.”

Ji Ying had started smiling again at some point, his smile spreading from his eyes to his lips. Shrouded in his dark purple official robes, that intense smile trembled along their linked hands, transmitting a barely perceptible vibration to Chu Huaicun’s palm.

“Did I offend the Prime Minister? I do apologize. It was just a poorly timed curiosity. I know my place—I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to interrogate the person who holds that place in your heart.”

“No,” Chu Huaicun finally spoke, “I just never thought about it like that.”

“But figuring out the answer isn’t that hard.”

The Prime Minister caught every barely noticeable movement from the man in front of him—even an overly heavy breath, a glance that may or may not have been deliberately avoided, and the way his fingers curled involuntarily. Every time Ji Ying was nervous, he did this. Ever since their first conversation after Ji Ying regained consciousness, Chu Huaicun had noticed that tell—curled fingers meant he was lying.

Ultimately, someone else had done the same thing.

“He once told me I could do anything I wanted, that he didn’t want to hold me back,” Chu Huaicun said. “I can still remember that moment vividly, almost unnaturally clearly. But only now do I understand why my memory preserved it with such detail. I should be thanking you, Lord Ji… But no matter what he is, or what he may have become—”

In his memory, that person stood in white robes, his words gentle and sure, yet for some reason his fingers had curled ever so slightly, like a reflex he couldn’t control.

Chu Huaicun’s eyes flashed like a drawn sword as he looked at Ji Ying. It was a fleeting glance, without intention.

“I don’t mind. I don’t have that many rules.”

In his youth, Chu Huaicun had no interest in power games, nor in high office and riches. He had nearly slit a man’s throat for half a steamed bun and had wept beside nameless graves reeking of sulfur.

So what had driven him to climb for over a decade, to this place surrounded by gold and bones, where a cold, bitter fire burned through the court? The Prime Minister hadn’t forgotten the truth he’d always wanted to uncover.

“If he’s willing, then however he is, it’s fine; if he’s not willing, I’ll pull him up and give him whatever path he wants to walk.”

Ji Ying pressed his lips together. He had opened his mouth briefly before, only to find he had no words to say. He stayed silent. For a moment, he feared that Chu Huaicun had seen through him—but quickly, his heart sank. Chu Huaicun was only answering his question. There was no evidence, just a foolish inquiry.

The Prime Minister of today would never trust someone without reason.

He would only grow more cautious and discerning.

Ji Ying didn’t want to drag Chu Huaicun into those old, decayed memories. He was bound and powerless, struggling for a sliver of survival, all while having to play a snarling puppet. He knew Chu Huaicun must never find out who he truly was, or else he wouldn’t be the only one ensnared.

He could not live as that person.

Yet he couldn’t help but want to, just briefly, live as Ji Ying. To reveal, in these stitched-together moments, unrestrained affection for Chu Huaicun—even if unreciprocated. But this was drinking poison to quench thirst—he couldn’t pull his hand back now.

Just like their interlocked fingers at this moment.

Chu Huaicun continued walking calmly with Ji Ying, as if unaware of the subtle change in the man beside him. There were many possible reasons for the unease—Chu Huaicun knew this well—but none of them should have caused that fleeting glimpse of a trembling, unguarded soul. And yet, suspicion began to silently spread once more.

It shouldn’t be like this, Chu Huaicun thought. You never harbored such profane thoughts about that person. In your memories, he had nothing to do with desire.

But Ji Ying was different.

He trembled from pain, cried from kisses, and tensed from touch. Chu Huaicun looked at him and realized he was simply observing a living man—a fawning, smiling court official in deep purple, who only shed his mask when seeking pleasure. But the moment any deeper layer was touched, it was like brushing against a secret. Still, Chu Huaicun did not resist this feeling.

I’ll keep watch, he told himself.

He should’ve continued scrutinizing Ji Ying from head to toe, but instead, his steps suddenly halted. Ji Ying turned his head slightly in confusion, dark strands of hair falling over his eyes. Chu Huaicun instinctively reached out and brushed them aside.

“Wh—” Ji Ying started, then fell silent.

They both heard it: from somewhere along the lakeshore, came faint but distinct sounds of weeping.

The sobs were low and mournful, full of a bitter sorrow. Prime Minister Chu stopped in his tracks. Almost immediately, one of the hidden guards monitoring the surroundings arrived at his side, bowed, and reported:

“Prime Minister, ahead near the Qingyu Stone, there is a scholar quietly weeping—perhaps mourning something. If he is disturbing your peace, shall I go and persuade him to leave?”

“It’s Liang Kechun,” Ji Ying said. “I can recognize most of their voices.”

“Impressive,” Chu Huaicun said casually. Only after he noticed a faint gleam in Ji Ying’s expression did he realize what he’d just said.

“In our line of work, we have to be this good,” Ji Ying smiled. “If you can’t even tell people apart while eavesdropping, you never know whose trap you’ll walk into. But—doesn’t Young Master Liang know that you and I are supposed to ‘clash’ here today? Crying here, at this time and place… he must have some kind of motive.”

Just from these few words, he seemed to have snapped back to his usual ruthless self, already itching to do something underhanded—true to his reputation.

“I don’t think he’s so bad,” Chu Huaicun said. “You probably didn’t hear it, but Young Master Liang’s poetry wasn’t half bad.”

“So the Prime Minister judges a man’s worth based on whether he writes good poems?” Ji Ying murmured. “What a shame—I can’t write poetry.”

Just then, the dark guard whom Chu Huaicun had sent earlier returned to report. This time, his expression was more composed—clearly, he had gathered conclusive information. He didn’t even glance at Ji Ying standing beside the Prime Minister. Who stood at their lord’s side was not their concern.

What mattered now… was the decision that followed.

The guard bowed respectfully and said:

“Young Master Liang requests a private audience with the Prime Minister.”