Chapter 69

Rong Tang returned to the study with Su Huaijing, still turning over their conversation with Mu Jingxu in his mind.

It was strange—he had known Mu Jingxu for so long yet had never heard him speak to anyone like that. The words were so cryptic, leaving him utterly perplexed.

In fact, Rong Tang vaguely felt that the punishments Mu Jingxu had mentioned to Su Huaijing carried an inexplicable hint of admonishment, somewhat resembling the gentle yet stern guidance an elder would give to a younger one.

But why would Mu Jingxu admonish Su Huaijing?

Rong Tang’s frown deepened and lingered, even after he sat down. It wasn’t until Su Huaijing softly smiled and asked, “What’s Tangtang thinking about?” that he snapped out of it, glancing at Su Huaijing with a complicated expression before shaking his head and saying, “Nothing.”

He picked up the teacup on the table, took a light sip to suppress the rising doubts, and then asked Su Huaijing, “Aren’t you going out with His Highness the Second Prince today?”

Su Huaijing raised his brows and smiled. “Today is Qixi; of course, I should spend it with Tangtang.”

Rong Tang hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head and softly muttered, “Oh.”

The long summer’s shade from the trees shielded the sun. Outside the study, along the courtyard wall, a small bamboo grove had been planted, where thrushes chirped, harmonising with the gentle breeze. The study was free of incense, with only grapes and other seasonal fruits placed on the table, their fragrance sweet and refreshing.

Rong Tang calmed himself, his gaze sweeping over the desk. He randomly picked up the record of the Jiangnan flood investigation from the second year of Qingzheng, the same book Su Huaijing had tucked under his arm earlier, and began to flip through it.

The book was a thin volume, carefully preserved without a trace of damage; its only sign of age was the faint antiquity it had gained from years of handling.

It recorded in meticulous detail the floods that occurred in the Jiangnan area during the second year of the Qingzheng era. The book included the causes of the floods, when and where the heavy rains began, how long they lasted, how much the water level along the river rose, how many prefectures and villages were affected, the extent of the damage to farmland, and the total monetary loss. It also provided a thorough account of when the sluice gates were opened, where the floodwaters were diverted, as well as the post-disaster epidemic situation and reconstruction efforts. Moreover, it contained related analyses and flood prevention measures.

Although the circumstances of that flood were not identical to this year’s disaster, some of the experiences and methods described could still be applied today, albeit with modifications.

As Rong Tang read, he became increasingly absorbed, deeply admiring the author’s talent and knowledge.

Eventually, he reached the final page and noticed a small passage of text.

[In the summer of the second year of Qingzheng, I passed through Jiangnan and Luzhen in Huizhou. Along the way, I encountered the remains of starved corpses. After consulting with the local elders, I learned of the devastating impact of the floods. It took me three months to compile this book, hoping it would serve as a warning to future generations. While natural disasters are inevitable, man-made calamities can perhaps be averted.]

Rong Tang stared at these words for a long time. Noticing his preoccupation, Su Huaijing asked casually, “What’s wrong?”

Rong Tang hesitated for a moment, then closed the book and asked Su Huaijing, “Where did you get this book?”

Su Huaijing replied, “Second Highness brought it from the capital. It was originally stored in the Cabinet Library.”

Rong Tang pressed further, “Is this the original version or a later copy?”

Su Huaijing looked slightly puzzled. He picked up the book, flipped through a few pages, and said, “It’s the original version. Why?”

Rong Tang fell silent, which made Su Huaijing even more curious. He glanced at Rong Tang, then looked back down at the book, turning the pages more carefully. At first, he didn’t notice anything unusual, but as he continued, his expression darkened. When he finally reached the last page and saw the small text, he froze, his brows slowly knitting together.

Rong Tang then asked quietly, “During the second year of Qingzheng, where was Excellency Mu?”

At the flower-picking festival, they had asked Lu Jiaxi about it. He had mentioned that Mu Jingxu only joined Linyuan Academy in the fifth year of Qingzheng and had been living in the countryside before that.

Which specific countryside? Lu Jiaxi didn’t know, and Rong Tang had never asked.

But it certainly wouldn’t have been Jiangnan, which is thousands of miles away from Linyuan Academy.

Yet, the handwriting in this investigation record is unmistakably the same as that in Mu Jingxu’s dossiers.

Rong Tang was about to voice his suspicions when Su Huaijing smiled, closed the book, and looked up, as if casually remarking, “The handwriting is just similar, that’s all. It’s not uncommon. Tangtang wouldn’t actually consider taking this book to ask Excellency Mu if he wrote it, would you?”

Rong Tang was taken aback, staring at Su Huaijing in disbelief.

Their eyes met briefly, then Rong Tang looked away and sighed softly, “What a shame.”

Su Huaijing: “Ng?”

Rong Tang: “I was hoping Excellency Mu could teach me calligraphy.”

Su Huaijing was momentarily taken aback but quickly smiled: “I can teach Tangtang as well.”

Rong Tang gave him a clear, sidelong glance. Without missing a beat, Su Huaijing began grinding the ink, as if he genuinely intended to teach him calligraphy. The book was casually set aside, cover facing down.

Rong Tang glanced at it briefly before turning his gaze away. In his mind, the system beeped twice, alerting him: [Something’s off.]

“Ignore it,” Rong Tang responded.

He couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind Mu Jingxu’s words to Su Huaijing, nor did he understand why Su Huaijing’s attempt at covering things up felt so blatant. But at the very least, he was certain that Su Huaijing wouldn’t harm him.

Unless it was something Rong Tang wasn’t supposed to know, Su Huaijing wouldn’t be so cautious.

Rong Tang acted as though he had never seen the book or suspected anything about the handwriting. Since Su Huaijing wanted to teach him calligraphy, he played along, practicing for a page before claiming he was tired and putting down the brush. Content, he then read half a storybook and went for a meal.

After eating, he took a nap, woke up, and enjoyed the cool evening air. Later, he and Su Huaijing went into Suzhou city to see the lanterns floating on Lotus Lake.

They returned home, and as they passed by Ke Hongxue and Mu Jingxu’s courtyard, noticing the light emanating from within, Rong Tang suddenly remembered something and casually asked Su Huaijing, “Do you still have the medicinal salve prepared by the palace doctor?”

Su Huaijing: “Yes, what does Tangtang plan to do with it?”

Rong Tang: “I noticed a few scars on Excellency Mu’s wrist this morning, as if someone had scratched him. If you have extra, ask Shuang Shou to send over two jars.”

Su Huaijing’s gaze darkened slightly, but he nodded. “Alright.”

The swan lanterns under the eaves glowed with a warm yellow light. Su Huaijing walked Rong Tang to his door and suddenly called out, “Tangtang.”

Rong Tang turned his head in puzzlement, and the space before him dimmed slightly. He felt a cool, soft touch on his lips.

The kiss was fleeting. By the time Rong Tang realised what had happened, Su Huaijing had already stepped back, smiling like a cat: “Good night.”

Rong Tang was infuriated and glared fiercely at him. He immediately turned around, stomped into the house, and slammed the door with a loud “bang.” Two seconds later, he flung the door open again, stuck his head out, glared at Su Huaijing, and huffed, “Good night!”

This time, the door shut with a much softer sound.

Su Huaijing stood there, momentarily stunned, then shook his head with a smile. He was so charmed by Rong Tang’s cuteness that he didn’t know what to do. After a moment of gazing up at the palace lantern with the entwined swans, he slowly headed towards his own quarters.

He first took out two jars of scar treatment salve. Just before stepping out, he hesitated for a split second, then grabbed something else from inside his room and brought it with him.

Su Huaijing handed the medicine to Shuang Shou and instructed, “Send this to Excellency Mu and tell him it’s from Prince Ningxuan. The ointment should be applied externally three times a day, and the pills taken twice a day.”

Shuang Shou took the medicine and quickly ran off.

Once he was alone, the smile on Su Huaijing’s face gradually faded. He turned and made his way to the study.

Under the dim light, Su Huaijing sat behind his desk, slowly flipping through the record of the Jiangnan flood investigation from the second year of Qingzheng’s reign. After a while, someone slipped in through the window and handed him a thin piece of letter paper: “Master.”

“Ng.” Su Huaijing responded in a low voice and began to compare the handwriting.

Xingfeng, not understanding his intention, waited for a moment before asking, “Master, is there something unusual?”

Su Huaijing didn’t answer, keeping his gaze lowered for a long time. Finally, he put down the paper and the book, leaned back in his chair, and began to slowly stroke something he held in his hand.

He asked softly, “When I taught Bi Xin medical skills and asked if you wanted to learn, you refused. Why?”

Xingfeng’s whole body trembled, his throat tightened, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He replied in a hoarse voice, “This subordinate… lacks the aptitude to learn such advanced medical skills.”

“Heh.” Su Huaijing let out a low laugh, his phoenix eyes lifting slightly as he cast a shallow glance at Xingfeng. “Liar.”

Xingfeng immediately dropped to his knees. “This subordinate would never dare deceive Master!”

Su Huaijing said, “Get up; I’m not blaming you.”

Xingfeng hesitantly raised his head, only to see that Su Huaijing’s gaze had casually fallen on the table, not fixed on any point, as if he didn’t care at all.

He hesitated for a moment, then stood up.

Su Huaijing spoke quietly: “It’s because you saw me alter my bones with your own eyes, isn’t it?”

Xingfeng bit his lip hard, not daring to respond.

But Su Huaijing wasn’t looking for an answer. He was simply speaking whatever came to mind, in a tone that was both casual and dismissive.

“Imperial Mother once said that every person has their own unique veins. A skilled doctor, after checking someone’s pulse ten years ago, could still recognise that person by their pulse ten years later,” Su Huaijing said. “The same applies to bones.”

“Changing one’s appearance is the most basic method. If you want to truly disappear so that no one—not even your closest relatives—can recognise you, the best way is to alter your bones.”

The night was deep, with wind stirring outside the courtyard. Frogs croaked their songs, while inside, the sound of fingertips brushing against fabric seemed to echo the melody.

Su Huaijing spoke intermittently, while Xingfeng listened in silence. Yet his hand was on the verge of bleeding from his own grip, and his eyes ached with the pressure building inside them.

“Flesh clings to the bones, and the tendons and veins weave through them. Any changes made to the skin are never truly secure. The only way is to break most of the bones in the body one by one, applying external force and medicine to make them heal in a predetermined direction. Gradually, the bones shift, and the facial features are reshaped, until the flesh, blood, veins, voice, and appearance all transform into another person.”

“Then, if you alter your speech, your handwriting, and your gait, even your own parents wouldn’t recognise you if they stood right in front of you.”

Su Huaijing laughed softly as he spoke. Xingfeng stared at the floor, his vision suddenly blurring. In a daze, he felt as if he had returned to the time when he first arrived in Sichuan, witnessing his young master writhing in pain on the ground.

“Altering bones isn’t something that can be done overnight, nor can all the bones be broken at once. It can take as little as three years or as long as five. A single mistake could mean instant death. And if not treated properly, it leaves you with lifelong ailments—you can’t be exposed to wind, you can’t endure the cold, you can’t ride a horse, you can’t be in the rain, you can’t overexert yourself……”

“Imperial Mother said that the best age to alter bones is between eight and eighteen, and it should never be done after twenty-three.” Su Huaijing murmured softly, as if struggling to remember. He looked up and asked Xingfeng, “How old was my san ge when he went south?”

Xingfeng’s voice was hoarse: “Eighteen.”

“Eighteen……” Su Huaijing whispered, “In the fifth year of Qingzheng, he would have been twenty-three.”

“What a coincidence.” He sighed softly, closing his eyes as he leaned back, then shifted to a new topic: “Do you know what question I asked Shen Feiyi when we were in the outskirts of the capital?”

Xingfeng: “This subordinate does not know.”

Su Huaijing: “I asked him why he survived, but let my san ge die. Can you guess what he replied?”

“He said, ‘Third Highness had long suspected that someone in the army heading south harboured ill intentions and feared that the entire army might be annihilated. He secretly separated a small team, led by me, to take a narrow path south. If we heard bad news along the way, we were to quickly return to the capital to protect His Majesty.’”

Su Huaijing’s voice was soft, as usual—low and melodious. But it lacked the unintentional sweetness that emerged when he spoke with Rong Tang, revealing instead a chilling indifference.

Yet beneath this indifference, there was a trembling he himself could not detect.

He opened his eyes, glanced at the letter on the table, and slowly lowered his gaze, staring at the safety talisman he was repeatedly rubbing between his fingers.

Ever since Rong Tang had obtained it for him, he’d kept it in a brocade box—until today, when he inexplicably took it out.

Su Huaijing asked softly, though his body was tense: “Tell me, do you think my san ge could still be alive?”

Xingfeng was shaken, rendered speechless for a long time. Just as he was about to speak, Su Huaijing shook his head again, his voice deep and tinged with disappointment. “But I don’t want it to be him either.”

“It hurts,” he said quietly.

It really, really hurts to have every bone in your body broken and then reshaped, one by one.

He doesn’t want his ge to go through what he did……

Author’s Note:

The concept of altering bones is purely fictional and has no scientific basis. Kids, please don’t try this at home!