Chapter 100

The question was shockingly improper. Su Huaijing frowned, his gaze falling to Qin Pengxuan’s hand gripping his arm. In a cold tone, he said, “My lord, please mind yourself.”

Qin Pengxuan quickly returned to his senses, jerking his hand back in a flash.

Su Huaijing paused, an odd feeling stirring within him.

Earl Wukang was a prominent figure in court. Emperor Renshou, who esteemed civil matters over military ones, kept few officials with military power in close circles, with Marshal Xia and Earl Wukang being among them.

Although the Earl commanded only part of the capital’s troops, it was enough to show the emperor’s favour.

With a powerful father, a deceased mother, and himself as heir, Qin Pengxuan had never known fear or apprehension since birth and thus had never needed to learn humility.

Any outward respect he showed was purely circumstantial—an occasional awareness of noble decorum, instilled by the pressure of higher ranks he couldn’t avoid honouring.

He barely respected even Rong Tang, so genuine respect for Su Huaijing was out of the question.

Yet from his hesitations upon alighting from the carriage to the brief panic that flashed in his eyes as he withdrew his hand, all suggested one undeniable fact:

He feared Su Huaijing.

Qin Pengxuan likely didn’t understand the roots of this fear himself, leading to a blend of arrogance and nervousness.

On one hand, he was blunt and heedless; on the other, anxious and filled with regret.

It was a strange duality. Su Huaijing narrowed his eyes, took a step back, and replied to the question, “No.”

“That can’t be!” Qin Pengxuan grew flustered, ignoring his fear to step forward and press, “You can’t see that area yourself; hasn’t anyone told you whether it’s there or not?”

He seemed even more concerned about the birthmark than Su Huaijing himself and desperately needed a clear answer.

Su Huaijing, appearing unperturbed, asked, “Must I undress to show you, my lord?”

The Censorate shared origins with the Ministry of Justice, marked by the stone likeness of a bi’an* by the entrance.

(*TN: a mythical creature resembling a tiger, symbolising judgement, in charge of punishments and lawsuits.)

Few officials passed through the Censorate’s gates, and its quiet facade exuded a solemn chill. The draft of early spring swept through Yu Capital, the northern wind howling as Su Huaijing lowered his eyes and caught a glimmer of anticipation and curiosity in Qin Pengxuan’s gaze.

It seemed his proposition held a strange appeal for Qin Pengxuan.

For the first time in a while, a trace of killing intent flared in Su Huaijing’s heart.

He narrowed his eyes, lowering his right hand to grip Rong Tang’s official token, lips curving faintly as he reminded, “My lord?”

Qin Pengxuan snapped to awareness under his address, and the chill of the wind cleared his mind. He quickly retreated two steps, clasped his hands, and apologised, “Forgive my rudeness, Young Master Su.”

Not ‘Ningxuan Shizi Fei’, nor ‘Excellency Su’, but simply and strangely close ‘Young Master’.

Suppressing his growing irritation, Su Huaijing looked down and asked, “May I ask why you’re so curious about this, my lord?”

Qin Pengxuan avoided his gaze, grasping for a flimsy excuse that could be seen through instantly: “Panyan mentioned it.”

Su Huaijing regarded him for a moment before giving a slight smile, “So that’s it. I’ve not had time to visit my biao mei since her miscarriage; I must trouble my lord to care for her in my stead.”

“It’s my duty,” Qin Pengxuan mumbled softly.

Su Huaijing turned to board his carriage, and Qin Pengxuan took an insistent step forward. Su Huaijing glanced back, his tone cold and stern as he reminded him, “My lord, if there’s anything you need to confirm in the future, avoid blocking others outside official gates like this.”

He added, “In this vast imperial city, how many families do you think can withstand the scrutiny of the Censorate?”

Qin Pengxuan froze, his face turning pale as he looked at Su Huaijing as if seeing a ghost.

Su Huaijing disliked the expression, finding it too foolish and transparent. His thoughts were plain to see, evoking a sense of aversion.

He didn’t like Qin Pengxuan. He even felt a twinge of contempt.

If this had happened a year earlier, when he might have been taken into Earl Wukang’s ,anor, then the manor would likely be in dire straits now, hardly able to allow its young lord to act so foolishly at the Censorate’s door.

Su Huaijing’s position in court was an exception, and as the Ningxuan Shizi Fei, he was under constant observation. Qin Pengxuan’s actions today would invite rumours tomorrow of an alliance between Duke Ningxuan and Earl Wukang.

Interacting with fools was exhausting, and Su Huaijing felt a surge of frustration.

Yet it was Li Changfu and Qin Pengxuan’s audacity that had brought Rong Tang into his life, so Su Huaijing wasn’t wholly inclined to see him dead. But today…

Inside the carriage, Su Huaijing removed his outer robe, which Qin Pengxuan had touched, and warmed his hands over the stove.

He had no birthmarks on his back. Even if he had, he would have removed them when he escaped the palace ten years ago.

It would have been like a delayed poison, a potential trigger for failure at an unknown time. He couldn’t afford to leave that risk.

But…

With his hands warmed, Su Huaijing opened the hidden compartment within the carriage, which held numerous vials of antidotes, poisons, silver needles, and daggers.

He picked up one vial, opened it, and poured a single pill into his palm.

It was smooth and bright red, tasteless yet faintly poisonous, inducing hallucinatory visions akin to the mythical pleasures atop Mount Wu.

A year earlier, at Fengyue House, he’d only brought two pills.

One was this, the other a lethal poison. Had Rong Tang not arrived and taken him away, one of those pills might have been for Qin Pengxuan.

As a healer, he tested the medicine on himself after refining it. The pills were crafted from ancient recipes with his own enhancements. He had once locked himself in a room to assess the effects.

At the time, he found such desires base and dull, so he stowed the pills away and had hardly thought of them since.

But now, with Qin Pengxuan’s questioning, he recalled a vision of crabapple blossoms.

Fragrant-less, crabapple blossoms bloom at leisure, reaching their peak in a brilliant burst, submerging the senses in an ethereal wave of fantasy.

Su Huaijing frowned slightly and counted the pills.

There were ten in total; with one discarded a year ago, there were still nine. The discarded one had long been ground into powder and mixed into the soil.

The carriage rumbled forward, the last of the winter snow beginning to thaw, as winter itself lingered in its final moments. Su Huaijing placed the pill back in the vial, closed his eyes, and let his thoughts drift. The goddess atop Mount Wu was Su Huaijing.

This affair reeks of intrigue, yet Su Huaijing has no choice but to believe it.

Qin Pengxuan himself may not even realise where things went awry. How could such an understanding have formed in his mind? It might even connect to more things that would frighten and unsettle him, which is precisely why he rushed to the Censorate alone, seeking Su Huaijing for answers.

He probably thinks it’s just an illusion.

Su Huaijing couldn’t care less about why Qin Pengxuan is afraid, nor does he wish to know why this memory has suddenly appeared.

He merely clenches his fists in restraint, his throat tight with bitterness.

“So, it really wasn’t a dream…” he murmurs, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re bloodshot.

In the “dream” fabricated by Rong Tang, there wasn’t anyone like Rong Tang to take him from Fengyue House; instead, he went from the Li Mansion in Songjing Lane to Earl Wukang’s Manor.

He and Rong Tang never had that absurdly tender encounter, drenched in candlelight and spring waters, nor a quiet home in Yong’an Lane, no letters exchanged, no marriage, no life together, no kisses, no journey through Jiangnan, and no return to the capital.

The five-coloured strings for the Dragon Boat Festival, the New Year’s money added to annually after the Spring Festival…

None of it ever happened.

Those were Tangtang’s “dreams,” yet now all of it feels like Su Huaijing’s “dream.”

What fills Su Huaijing with even greater despair is that, in this earlier “dream,” it seems he couldn’t save Rong Tang.

While he himself was imprisoned, he had left Rong Tang sad and frightened.

Su Huaijing can’t help but wonder—how could he have allowed it?

Sandalwood incense burns within the carriage, gradually soothing his restless heart.

Su Huaijing steadies himself, bends down, and adds more incense to the Boshan censer.

If everything Rong Tang described wasn’t a mere dream, perhaps it aligns with the tales of past lives and reincarnation in supernatural storybooks; let’s suppose this was Rong Tang’s previous life.

In that life, he chose Sheng Chengli, and devoted himself wholeheartedly to protecting him, rescuing him from the cold palace, and teaching him the ways of an emperor.

A sharp “crack” rang out.

Su Huaijing looks down in surprise, noticing the incense spoon he’s accidentally broken, and stares at it for a long while.

At last, he puts down the spoon, opens the carriage window, and lets the cold wind blow in to clear his mind, driving away the overwhelming surge of jealousy.

In that past life, Rong Tang had chosen Sheng Chengli, yet in this life he seems filled with disgust and fear upon seeing him—

The past life connects to the present. Qin Pengxuan himself is clearly baffled by these strange memories, unaware of where they come from, while Rong Tang seems to have foreseen and understood everything from the start—

He had poured so much effort into Sheng Chengli, devising strategies of alliance for him, yet in this life, he couldn’t be bothered even to think, wishing instead that someone would sit beside him to read the storybooks to him—

At this thought, Su Huaijing finally feels a touch more settled.

The carriage travels from the Censorate to Yong’an Lane, where Rong Tang is waiting for him to come home.

Su Huaijing calmly considers: if only Rong Tang retains memories of the past life, what does that signify?

Could it mean that all the paths this world has followed were once similar, and that Rong Tang was swept along, forced to move forward?

Then, how did he come to return?

Su Huaijing stares into the burning charcoal in the stove, thinking for a long time, and is led to the most plausible conclusion.

—He died.

Rong Tang died, and so he returned to the beginning.

With this realisation, almost all other questions find their answers.

How did he die?

Through betrayal.

Who betrayed him?

Sheng Chengli.

In an instant, the fog of doubt disperses.

Su Huaijing leaned back, and as the carriage reached the halfway point, he let a slight smile appear, though his eyes were filled with a deep, raging intent.

After a long silence, Su Huaijing breathes out slowly and murmurs, “So Sheng Chengli killed Tangtang…”