TBR CH165

After three rounds of wine, Qin Sangzhi felt as if he was sitting on needles.

Today, he had meticulously chosen a plain white fabric, hinting at a casual elegance, determined to outshine that always gloomy Ji Ying.

Who would have thought that the other also wore a white robe, made of far more luxurious fabric, yet it was not at all vulgar. Instead, it accentuated his graceful and refined demeanor, befitting a noble young master. Even Chu Huaicun’s gaze seemed to linger solely on the other, not sparing him a single glance.

Should he ask the System for help?

He recalled the System’s advice and ultimately decided to pretend he was perfectly at ease.

He merely drank tea, cup after cup, feigning composure, eagerly awaiting Chu Huaicun to remember him.

The new emperor would certainly have a use for him. Today’s coronation ceremony saw civil officials and scholars eager to create outstanding works that would resound through the ages. If he could please the new emperor, what worries would he have for his future career? As the foremost gentleman of the literary society, Qin Sangzhi was naturally considered first when it came to poetry.

Indeed, before long, the new emperor spoke laughingly of the new dynasty’s poets and scholars, his gaze seemingly intentionally sweeping over Qin Sangzhi.

Court ladies, like flowers, moved with graceful steps, holding snow-white silk paper and ink-filled lamb hair brushes, respectfully laying out writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones for several renowned talents.

Chu Huaicun said, “Our dynasty gathers many talents here today. Why not propose a theme for poetry, and you all improvise? Your calligraphy will be left here, and we can all judge it later.”

Qin Sangzhi felt a pang of unease upon hearing this. His handwriting was notoriously terrible. He would, of course, prefer to freely recite poetry like a celestial poet in public, earning even more reverence from the admiring crowd.

However, after a quick glance at the person beside him, Qin Sangzhi’s heart settled a little. This time was different from the Green Fish Lake Poetry Society; it wasn’t a silent dictation in plain sight, and he had made some preparations beforehand, memorizing the strokes of a few obscure characters.

Thus, Qin Sangzhi smiled arrogantly, walked to the writing desk first, and picked up the lamb hair brush from the rack. As if his thoughts flowed quickly, he gripped the brush, ready to be the first to put ink to the white paper.

“System,” Qin Sangzhi whispered in his mind, “bring up the Poetry Collection for me.”

A ripple of whispers spread around: “As expected of Young Master Qin.” “But, I heard about the last poetry competition—” “Silence! The poems Young Master Qin composed, I recite day and night, and truly find them lingering deliciously on the tongue. What is a momentary mistake anyway?” …

These discussions faithfully reached Qin Sangzhi’s ears. Yet, the voice he most wanted to hear at this moment remained inexplicably silent.

Qin Sangzhi called out again, “System!”

The lamb hair brush had been picked up too early. At this very moment, a bead of ink hung precariously, about to stain the paper. However, the System, which normally responded to every call, remained completely still. Not only did it not speak, but even the usual buzzing sound of current when it responded had vanished without a trace.

His mind was unprecedentedly silent, leaving only an ominous undercurrent.

Qin Sangzhi couldn’t help but shiver.

He still didn’t understand what this meant, or perhaps he understood but was unwilling to admit it. He forced himself to calm down. The urgent task at hand was to finish writing this poem, but the more flustered he became, the more the words in his mind became blank patches, blurred beyond recognition. He only felt the hard brush digging uncomfortably into his palm, causing his hand to tremble subconsciously.

The bead of ink dropped onto the paper with a plop, spreading into a dazzling black smudge.

His situation, holding the brush and being unable to write a single word for a long time, more or less drew the attention of some people. Under the gaze of these people, Qin Sangzhi felt more humiliated than death.

He forced himself to reach out. The soft lamb hair brush touched the paper, but he didn’t know where the strokes should turn. He wrote down all the sentences he could barely recall onto the paper.

As for the remaining blank spaces, he racked his brains to fill them with some fabricated words.

Although it was merely the effort of writing one piece, Qin Sangzhi’s face was paler than a corpse. He streamed with cold sweat in the palace room where ice blocks filled the four corners. After writing, he carefully examined the poem he had produced and found the layout a mess.

However, after forcing himself to read the poem from beginning to end, he found a little reassurance.

The ancient poets’ timeless masterpieces were all there.

Even if some of the other sentences were missing, he could always excuse it by claiming he felt unwell today.

Throughout this long process, Qin Sangzhi called out to the System countless times, and countless expectations ultimately fell flat. The ominous void in his heart grew larger and larger. He fearfully raised his eyes and saw the new emperor slowly walking towards him, intending to read the contents of his poem.

“Chu… Your Majesty,”

Qin Sangzhi quickly corrected himself, “I am feeling unwell today, and some of the wording could be more carefully considered.”

He was like a student whose teacher suddenly comes to grade his test papers, his usual arrogance completely gone, yet often holding onto hope: what if he could somehow muddle through, what if other participants did even worse, what if—when Chu Huaicun stopped beside him, Qin Sangzhi held his breath in fear, for some reason not daring to look into his eyes, only staring at the jade pendant at his waist.

After an unknown period, the new emperor had slowly moved forward, walking to the side of the other civil officials.

Qin Sangzhi still felt his heart pounding like a drum.

He didn’t understand what Chu Huaicun meant. How could he not even offer a single comment, or even a glance? This left him agonizing in place, feeling as if his heart and liver were being scorched by suppressed anger.

Yet Chu Huaicun’s footsteps remained unhurried, his long boots treading steadily through the palace hall.

Even worse, Chu Huaicun commented on all the other poets, even those whose work was merely satisfactory.

When the new emperor returned to the main seat, looking down with a cold expression, a dangerous premonition finally surged through Qin Sangzhi’s entire being, as if he were being viewed as a worthless piece of rotten meat by some cruel, predatory animal.

He opened his mouth, but for some reason couldn’t utter a word. After a long pause, he managed to squeeze out a few words:

“Your Majesty, how…”

“All of you, why don’t you take a look at Young Master Qin’s poem.”

Chu Huaicun’s eyes, like ice and snow, looked down indifferently.

Chu Huaicun usually protected Qin Sangzhi in every way, but today’s attitude naturally raised suspicion. A civil official responded and walked over. Upon seeing Qin Sangzhi’s messy paper, he couldn’t help but let out an “Oh?” After reading it once, he felt that in some places, the meter was misused, and the sentences were jumbled and incomprehensible. It was truly bizarre, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that these were mistakes made by someone utterly ignorant of poetry.

However, amidst this jumble of nonsense, there were quite a few excellent phrases.

Qin Sangzhi’s face flushed crimson, and he stammered an explanation:

“I suddenly felt dizzy just now, and what I wrote was disorganized. I’ve made you all laugh. However, I believe this piece is not entirely worthless; there are still a few original lines that stand out.”

“Young Master Qin is right,”

It was Liang Kechun who spoke. At this moment, he had shed his earlier youthful greenness, becoming not only steady but also radiating an elusive quality, one he must have learned from someone. He turned and bowed to Chu Huaicun:

“But this piece is truly peculiar. It’s a mix of good and bad, precisely at two extremes, and certainly not from a single hand. What is Your Majesty’s assessment?”

His words were light, and he didn’t seem to offer any new information, yet the emphasis coincidentally fell on the words “single hand.”

Qin Sangzhi nearly choked.

He hastily accused the other, but did not expect Chu Huaicun, seated on the high throne, to calmly hum a “hmm” at this very moment.

“I think so too.”

“…What?” No matter how gentle and refined the scholars present usually were, their expressions became solemn when it came to matters related to creation. Although Qin Sangzhi’s work today was full of questionable points, his previous poems were truly outstanding, causing everyone to subconsciously refuse to believe that His Majesty would suddenly launch such a harsh attack, which seemed overly critical.

However, the new emperor’s expression was completely calm, as if everything that had happened was within his expectations.

“You all might as well listen to my words.”

He used his habit from his time as Prime Minister Chu, and everyone immediately quieted down, looking at the supreme ruler. Chu Huaicun did not say much, merely instructing his attendant to bring something from the table in front of him and display it for all the civil and military officials present to examine.

That item had been kept under a black book in front of the new emperor since the banquet began.

It was a thin piece of rice paper, covered with flowing ink marks.

“This is Minister Ji’s handwriting,”

Someone exclaimed, “No, this, this isn’t the content of Young Master Qin’s poem from earlier? It’s just that those mistakes have also become beautiful lines; and no, this signature, how is it neither Minister Ji’s nor Young Master Qin’s, but instead unheard of, unseen?”

Everyone gathered around to examine it.

Only Qin Sangzhi remained stunned in place, raising his eyes incredulously to look at Chu Huaicun. His eyes at this moment contained endless emotion and a thousand grievances, even his eye sockets were red, as if to accuse Chu Huaicun of being heartless with his current actions.

Chu Huaicun merely smiled slightly, his cold and bright gaze like a blade, seemingly able to see the deepest thoughts hidden within the young man’s heart.

He did not give Qin Sangzhi time to breathe, but rather, with imperial authority, addressed the assembled officials below:

“Today, I heard a story.”

“This story was taught by an immortal. As for where the immortal came from, at today’s grand ceremony, I believe all present witnessed the divine miracle descended from heaven, bestowing upon me the Spiritual Treasure Book. This book is from the Nine Heavens, knowledgeable of affairs in the eight directions of the world. Unfortunately, it was temporarily stolen, actually by a thief. The thief, ignorant, even falsely used its name, claiming the talents and masterpieces of the eight directions of the world as his own, seeking fame and prestige, not knowing what was permissible. Only today, after the divine book returned to its rightful path, can this person no longer make presumptuous poems. I initially did not believe such divine and miraculous things existed, but now I believe it eight or nine tenths.”

As his words settled, the book before His Majesty actually opened to a certain page without any wind.

Chu Huaicun read softly: “Bringing in the Wine was originally written by someone named Li Bai in the Three Thousand Worlds, who was revered as the Immortal Poet, with exceptionally towering talent. Qin Sangzhi falsely attributed himself as the author, and even wantonly altered it, truly defiling the literature.”

The black book turned another page on its own, and Chu Huaicun said:

“A Spring River Flower Moon Night, on the other hand, was written by Master Zhang Ruoxu of the same world. It was crafted with utmost thought and is truly a timeless masterpiece. Qin Sangzhi hastily composed it in an instant to flaunt his reputation, but instead left himself exposed and disgraced the contemporary literary brush.”

As the black book turned, the new emperor read. He didn’t stop until he had read through all of Qin Sangzhi’s works. Looking at Qin Sangzhi, who stood at the back of the crowd, his face was like thin paper, his breath faint, almost about to faint, yet he couldn’t utter a single word of rebuttal.

He knew he was completely finished. His only chance was to leave with the System. But that too was over.

“The return of the divine book to its rightful place is truly a blessing for the world. Only the true authors of the poetry, whom you, my lords, were kept in the dark about, have now been revealed. Though unseen, they are surely remembered, their fame renowned throughout the world, something no imposter can achieve.”

Chu Huaicun’s pupils were bone-chillingly cold as he looked at Qin Sangzhi: “Do you admit it?”

“If you don’t admit it, then compose another poem.”

Qin Sangzhi’s face was terrified, and he unconsciously took a step back, knocking over a chair behind him, which made a sharp sound in the hall. This sound seemed to shatter his last psychological defense, causing him to openly sob in public, yet he dared not utter a single word of rebuttal. He just sat on the ground, wailing shamelessly.

Chu Huaicun sighed: “Take him away.”

Though there were no laws against plagiarism of poetry from other worlds in the current dynasty, there was a regulation that those who engaged in literary fraud were not allowed to enter officialdom.

Qin Sangzhi had undoubtedly committed the most fundamental blunder of a scholar in public. Thereafter, even if his path wasn’t entirely arduous, he would be in a position where everyone would scorn him. And he was a person accustomed to a life of ease; how could he endure hardship? He had only ever relied on Chu Huaicun’s protection. His days ahead would surely be even harder.

The new emperor thought this while skillfully stroking the black book’s spine, affirming its contribution.

The subsequent banquet proceeded very smoothly. With so many events today, Chu Huaicun didn’t keep people too long. Those who were drunk stayed in the palace, those who should stay, stayed, and those who should leave, left.

The black book displayed the grandeur of the Spiritual Treasure Book in front of everyone. Although a bit tired, it exuded a joyful enthusiasm.

It had actually woken up from its temporary rest not long before the banquet. It intended to stay in this world a little longer, until the temple was built and it was properly placed inside. Only then would its mission be considered accomplished.

Chu Huaicun had no objection: “If you want, you can also design your own temple.”

He realized after speaking that the black book’s naming ability was somewhat questionable, and he wondered about its architectural design skills. However, after thinking about it, he decided not to immediately pour cold water on the idea, instead asking:

“Then, is there anything else you need to do afterwards?”

“I hope to rest for a long time.”

The black book wrote, “But, I don’t know when an anomaly will occur. I mean, the ‘System’ in this world was indeed completely killed by me, but in the last world, I was clearly certain that I had driven the ‘System’ to a dead end. Moreover, the methods of the child of destiny you encountered are also different from other villains, but I am very certain that the origin of these ‘Systems’ is the same—”

“So, if you want to completely solve this problem, you must find the true origin of the System’s source?”

“Exactly,”

The black book admitted, “Perhaps I won’t even have time to see the temple built, because I still have to constantly monitor the various small worlds. The good news is that even if the System still has backups, it must be on its last legs; the bad news is that the more it is like this, the more hidden it becomes. And, I suspect it is very likely to hide in the place it is most familiar with. But what is that place?”

“Hmm…” Chu Huaicun said, “If you’re unsure of its origin, perhaps you could tell your story to Yuan Ya and me during your stay here. We could help look for commonalities between the System and the children of destiny across these worlds.”

The black book seemed to suddenly freeze, and no new words appeared for a long time.

Then, ink surged from the snow-white paper, leaving behind a few bold characters: “Oh right! Why didn’t I think to ask you two before?”

After all, it didn’t seem particularly intelligent—

Of course, Chu Huaicun was a clever man, so he would not voice this assessment.

If the day’s sacrifice on Danshan could truly be interpreted as a form of intimate ceremony often used for weddings, then Chu Huaicun and Ji Ying’s night was evidently a little more brutal compared to others.

The new emperor stood still, the bloodstains not yet reaching his feet.

The scene before him was reflected in his eyes, as if in an ancient, unmelting snow mountain, leaving not even a trace of superfluous emotion. Ji Ying, however, had left the old emperor with both eyes, which was unexpected for Chu Huaicun.

He might have done it intentionally, because that way, Chu Huaicun’s dazzling dragon robe would be deeply imprinted in the old emperor’s eyes.

“Cruelty is sometimes a talent,”

Ji Ying said, “I sometimes feel that everything I did to him doesn’t even compare to the destruction he caused. However, perhaps this is just my opinion.”

He spoke very objectively, and Chu Huaicun had no intention of offering a more thorough evaluation of that bloody mess.

The other initially stared at Ji Ying with venomous eyes, pain consuming him just as it had once consumed Ji Ying, and acting upon him in an irreversible form, just as he had done to the Lin family. In the end, he too would reach the same end as those he persecuted.

Seeing Chu Huaicun before his death was unexpected for the deposed emperor.

Ji Ying had seen many emotions in this person’s eyes—gloom, hatred, pain—but none surpassed the utter despair stemming from failure that he showed upon seeing Chu Huaicun in his dragon robe.

The old emperor could no longer speak. Chu Huaicun stood before him, not a speck of blood on him, his clothes bright and clean as snow. But he remembered that last night, when this person was covered in blood, standing beside Ji Ying like an Asura, his eyes sharper than any blade in the world.

“What should I call you? I share no blood relation with you,”

Chu Huaicun said slowly, “The things you have done in your life are enough for you to suffer endless torment. What brought you to this end was merely your initial malice. The elixirs can sustain your life, allowing you to feel prolonged pain. Of course, outside rumors will only say that you were scared to death from fear of your crimes. However, tormenting people is your hobby, not mine, nor Yuan Ya’s. Tonight, you will face what you fear most.”

The old emperor feared death most.

A terrifying light appeared on his dying face as he watched Ji Ying, holding a dagger, his eyes deep, slowly walk towards him. He struggled again.

Ji Ying looked at the person before him, who had completely lost his dignity and sanity, and slowly took a breath. He bent his knees and, before acting, for some reason glanced at Chu Huaicun.

Chu Huaicun softly told him, “It will end.”

So he held the blade and stabbed it directly into the old emperor’s heart.

The stab was extremely precise and swift. Almost at the moment it pierced, death had already gathered above the deposed emperor’s head. At this point, he might still be able to savor the last two or three minutes of his life. His expectation for his final two or three minutes surely wasn’t in a dark imperial prison, but surrounded by people, with the entire nation grieving.

“Today is a joyous occasion,”

Ji Ying finally looked down at the old emperor, saying softly, “Not only has His Majesty ascended the throne, but it is also my birthday.”

After that, he didn’t spare another glance for the twitching body on the floor, but instead pulled Chu Huaicun’s sleeve and walked out.

Lanterns hung along the corridor leading into the imperial prison. The lamplight shone in his eyes, glowing crimson. Chu Huaicun noticed that his eyes were already startlingly bright, but now they seemed to burn. Yet, that flame was a good one.

Ji Ying initially pulled him along, but Chu Huaicun paid a little attention and realized that the other actually had no specific destination, so the two of them slowly strolled around the palace.

Tonight’s moon was bright, so bright that one might mistake it for daylight.

It was probably when they turned into a thin stretch of trees by the carp pond that Ji Ying suddenly said:

“Huaicun, I don’t feel like any of this is a dream anymore.”

Chu Huaicun gently squeezed his palm and turned to look at him. Those eyes were still as clear and frank as they had been in his youth, reflecting his entire world back then. Everything had shattered too quickly at one point, and Ji Ying had struggled to grasp the pieced-together version of himself, which bore some resemblance to his original self, yet was also somewhat different.

But in Chu Huaicun’s eyes, he had always been himself.

“In your eyes,”

Chu Huaicun said softly, as if reading his mind, “have I also not changed at all?”

“Just like how Master evaluated the two of us back then,”

Ji Ying slowly blinked his eyes, “Although it was an auspicious saying for success, I really liked that comment. It was split into two sentences: the first referred to me, and the second to you. Not that I think it was that accurate…”

“Like a branch of osmanthus in Guilin, like a sliver of jade from Kunlun Mountain.”

Chu Huaicun clearly remembered it too. “At least, that’s the impression you left on me.”

“Yes,” Ji Ying also smiled. “It really suits you. Let’s not talk about these things for now. Anyway, neither of us will ever lose the other again. At least tonight, we have more important things to do.”

They strolled aimlessly, talking casually. Chu Huaicun stopped, realizing they had unconsciously walked to the imperial sleeping quarters. The building cast a dark shadow, but the sharp eaves were softened by the moonlight.

Looking at Ji Ying beside him again, the other’s hair was neatly tied with a plum blossom hairpin, but the eyes hidden beneath still seemed to carry a hint of heat. He pursed his lips, and his ears seemed to have a faint blush.

“Your Majesty,” his voice dropped, a little hoarsely, “Huaicun, did you mean that, during the ceremony today? I heard that common couples in their wedding ceremonies must sacrifice to heaven and earth before everyone, and then together pour wine to the gods.”

Chu Huaicun reached out and put his arm around his shoulder, his ice-like eyes flashing with the deliberate restraint of a predator.

He admitted frankly, “Yes.”

“Then, should there be a bridal chamber ritual?” Ji Ying said, “Like now.”

Chu Huaicun gazed at him and said, “Yes.”

No one knew who kissed whom first. It was as if the moonlight, lost for over a decade, shone upon them once more. Everything felt brand new, yet incredibly familiar.

The palace candles burned intermittently all night. The candlelight sometimes cast long shadows, at other times flickered, witnessing countless romantic moments within the hall.

They both harbored extravagant desires, feeling they were the ones who plucked the moon. But the moon ultimately hung brightly in the sky, observing with pure radiance all partings and reunions, all separations and rediscoveries, all those constantly changing things in the world.

And we all know,

—The moon does not change.