At the end of the third month, Sheng Chengxing’s flower-picking festival began anew.
The Second Prince had been granted his title and fief, the Fourth Prince had passed away, the Fifth Prince refused all visitors, the Sixth Prince was Sheng Chengxing’s younger brother, and the Seventh and Eighth Princes were still children.
The year had barely reached its midpoint, yet Sheng Chengxing had already rebuilt his influence in the capital, rising from the lull left by Zhang Baoshan’s fall last year. As a result, this year’s flower-picking festival was especially lively.
Su Huaijing and Mu Jingxu both attended, so naturally, Rong Tang and Ke Hongxue tagged along to Song Garden for the festivities.
They were staying once again in that courtyard with the red loft, but their state of mind was worlds apart from the first time they’d come.
On the very first night, they set up a small banquet upstairs. With the spring flowers and sunset spread out before them, they laughed and drank several pots of wine.
The next morning, Rong Tang didn’t see Su Huaijing. When he stepped outside, he found Ke Hongxue in the loft, playing a leftover game of chess. Seeing him, Tutor Ke gave a slight smile and waved lazily. “Good morning, Prince.”
So Rong Tang walked over and sat down opposite him.
The board was in a tangled state. At first glance, the match seemed settled, but in truth, threats and openings were hidden in every corner, each side fighting tooth and nail for survival.
He couldn’t be bothered to play seriously. After sitting in silence for a bit, letting the late spring breeze wash over him, he asked, “Where are Excellency Mu and Huaijing?”
Ke Hongxue placed a black piece and said, “They’ve gone to fetch someone outside the garden.”
Rong Tang frowned, a strange sense of foreboding rising in his chest. “Who?”
Ke Hongxue glanced at him lightly. “His Highness, the Fifth Prince.”
Rong Tang froze for only a heartbeat, then relaxed again. His expression betrayed no particular emotion.
Ke Hongxue found that rather curious. “You’re not surprised, Prince?”
“Not really.” Rong Tang shook his head, his eyes falling to the chessboard. In a low voice, he said, “That’s exactly the sort of man he is.”
A broken leg would only make him find a way to retreat from the capital. Losing his eye and disappearing for three months… that was already pushing the limit. How could someone like Sheng Chengli willingly stay away from the heart of power for that long?
Even if imperial tradition forbade a disabled prince from inheriting the throne, what of it? As long as there were no other viable heirs, did it matter?
There would always be a way. As long as Sheng Chengli lived, he would find a path to becoming the most likely heir among Emperor Renshou’s sons.
But because of the restrictions imposed by the Heavenly Way, Rong Tang couldn’t kill him just yet.
So from his perspective, any move Sheng Chengli made was perfectly normal. There was no need to worry, no reason to panic.
Compared to the protagonist himself, Rong Tang was far more concerned about the so-called orthodox “Heavenly Way” and the mainframe. Those were the ones capable of breaking all known rules to elevate Sheng Chengli.
Ke Hongxue watched him for a few quiet moments, then suddenly chuckled. With a casual flick, he dropped another piece onto the board and said softly, “Sometimes I feel like we must share some deep connection.”
Moments ago, Rong Tang had remained unmoved even at the mention of Sheng Chengli. Now, though, he faltered. His gaze dropped, and with a faint trace of guilt, he asked, “Such as?”
Ke Hongxue said, “Perhaps we met in a past life. Or were fated to be together for three.”
He always spoke that way: half sincere, half in jest. Outsiders would likely find it flippant, take it as a mere joke. Even Su Huaijing and Mu Jingxu wouldn’t be too bothered if they overheard it.
But Rong Tang’s throat bobbed slightly. Looking down at the black-and-white pieces crossing the board, he replied softly, “Perhaps. Who knows.”
Ke Hongxue stared at him intently, but when he couldn’t meet his eyes, he shifted his gaze to Rong Tang’s dark hair.
After a long pause, Ke Hongxue gave a soft, unreadable laugh. “Lately, I’ve been having a dream. Heavy snow falling from the sky. The ground scattered with gold-foil joss paper. I’m carrying a coffin, step by step, from the gates of the Ke household all the way to the ancestral tombs outside the city.”
He asked, “Prince, do you know who’s in that coffin?”
Rong Tang was silent for a long time. At last, he looked toward the morning light and the late-spring sunrise and asked softly, “Do you think xiong zhang was more like a cold flake of snow… or a blazing morning sun?”
The wind swept through drifting clouds, and atop the attic, a conversation not meant for this era quietly unfolded.
Ke Hongxue said nothing for a while. Then he gave a small smile, gently placed his chess piece down, rose to his feet, and neatly straightened his robes before giving Rong Tang a formal, deep bow.
No words were needed, they both understood exactly what it meant.
So Rong Tang didn’t stop him. He simply collected the pieces, one by one, and started a fresh match with Ke Hongxue.
By the time Su Huaijing and Mu Jingxu returned, the board was mid-game, evenly matched.
Shuang Shou had laid out breakfast. The four of them sat down to eat. Rong Tang caught the slight crease between Mu Jingxu’s brows and the unmistakable gloom around Su Huaijing. He understood immediately. Something had gone wrong.
He bit into a pan-fried dumpling and asked lightly, “What’s this? Sheng Chengli’s eyes healed again?”
Su Huaijing said nothing, lips pressed in a thin line. Mu Jingxu glanced at him, and a strange glint flickered in his gaze.
Rong Tang paused, then murmured, “As expected…”
Su Huaijing asked, “You already knew, Tangtang?”
Rong Tang replied, “Just a wild guess. Got lucky, I suppose.”
But luck had nothing to do with it. Sheng Chengli’s eyeball had been dug out by Liuyun himself, sealed in a box, and sent directly to Su Huaijing. Forget reattaching it. At most, it would be a lifeless orb, completely useless.
And yet, that very morning, the officials arriving at Song Garden had seen the Fifth Prince alive and whole. Walking properly, eyes intact. As if those three months of disappearance had been nothing more than a whim, not marred by any real suffering.
And what’s more, because he’d decided to attend on a whim, His Majesty had even ordered the eunuchs to deliver an imperial edict: all the officials were to welcome him.
What was this, if not absurd?
Su Huaijing’s mood was at its lowest. He unconsciously grasped Rong Tang’s hand, unable to hide the growing unease that simmered beneath the surface.
Rong Tang, instead, patted his hand gently and offered comfort. “This is good.”
Su Huaijing looked at him, puzzled, concern still lingering between his brows.
Rong Tang explained, “Better this than him staying hidden.”
Heavenly Way’s bias toward its chosen protagonist was overwhelming. No one could say for sure whether, if Sheng Chengli continued to falter, some divine miracle wouldn’t suddenly appear to turn things around.
Rather than living in fear of some abstract, ill-defined threat, better to face each other out in the open.
To walk the same roads as in every past life, manipulating people, weaving schemes both in light and shadow.
Besides…
Rong Tang’s eyes narrowed slightly. He gave Su Huaijing’s hand a light pat. “For me, this is actually good.”
Su Huaijing looked at him in confusion but ultimately said nothing—just nodded.
Each of the four harboured different thoughts. Ke Hongxue glanced at Mu Jingxu, and Rong Tang’s earlier question echoed in his mind.
As for Rong Tang, he slipped into the system space, gazing at the two swirling clouds within… and let out a low chuckle.
When he emerged, he looked up at the sky above and gave a faint, sardonic smile—an emotion difficult to name playing at the corner of his lips.
……
It was the most ordinary thing in the world to run into Sheng Chengli at the flower-picking festival.
Back in the ninth year of the Qingzheng era, the male protagonist had been feigning illness and operating behind the scenes, making it unsuitable for him to show his face in public.
By the eleventh year of Qingzheng, however, there had already been the scandal involving the Southwest Governor, Zhang Baoshan, embezzling military funds, followed by the emperor’s obvious favouritism. At that year’s flower-picking festival, apart from the host of the banquet, it was Sheng Chengli who garnered the most attention.
Su Huaijing, naturally, had no reason to hold back. No matter which lifetime it was, by this point he would already be edging into the centre of power. The Censor-in-Chief was ageing, and the Censorate was fast becoming a mouthpiece for his will alone. Emperor Renshou trusted him deeply. He was but one step away from vengeance. How could he not exert every effort at this stage?
Everyone stepped onto the historical stage that year, and this flower-picking festival marked the beginning of many power struggles.
On the upper level of Lanyue Pavilion, the opera continued its melodious refrain. Su Huaijing and Mu Jingxu had politicians to befriend, so Rong Tang ended up listening to the opera with Ke Hongxue instead.
By the time moonlight blanketed the lake, the performance had ended, and the guests began to take their leave. Rong Tang bent to board the returning boat and had just taken his seat when the stern dipped slightly under a new weight. Someone in apricot-yellow court robes was leaning in at the prow, peering into the canopy-covered boat. With features like a painting, eyes that seemed to pull and linger, a natural-born beauty, he had a tear-shaped mole at the corner of one eye, exquisite and beguiling, nestled just below a pair of clear, luminous eyes. Anyone who saw him would say the heavens had shown him extraordinary favour.
Sheng Chengli asked, “Might I trouble you for a ride back?”
Ke Hongxue refused with calm courtesy. “The boat is rather small, and Your Highness’s noble personage may find it unsuitable.”
Sheng Chengli replied with a warm smile, “Is that so? But all the other boats along the shore are full. If I wait any longer, I’ll have to wait for a return trip on an empty one. That would not only be a waste of time, but it would also tire out the boatmen.”
He looked slightly troubled as he said this, then turned to Rong Tang and asked again, “Biao ge, might I come aboard with you?”
Ke Hongxue’s brows creased slightly, and he was about to turn him down again when Rong Tang made a subtle gesture and lifted his gaze to meet Sheng Chengli’s. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Song Garden is an imperial retreat. His Highness is the host here. Since when does the host need to request permission from a guest?”
Rong Tang’s voice was cool. “Please, do come aboard.”
Sheng Chengli’s smile deepened, and he stepped lightly into the boat.
Ke Hongxue had no desire to let him on, but since Rong Tang had already agreed, he could hardly throw him back out. Instead, he adjusted his position naturally, sitting beside Rong Tang, and said with a faint smile, “For Your Highness to share a boat with humble courtiers. Such condescension. I wouldn’t dare sit as an equal with you.”
Sheng Chengli had originally intended to sit beside Rong Tang. His movement paused slightly at Ke Hongxue’s words, but he merely smiled and sat where Ke had previously been.
The boatman rowed, the gentle currents propelling them forward. Sheng Chengli made casual conversation, while Ke Hongxue responded with guarded, impeccable politeness.
The moonlight drifted lazily across the lake, and the sound of young nobles and gentlewomen laughing echoed across the water.
Rong Tang wanted to tell Ke Hongxue not to be so wary, but he himself had little desire to speak with Sheng Chengli. In the end, he remained silent, leaning against the side of the cabin and gazing out at the lake through the small window.
Then, from outside, came a sudden cry of surprise. Ke Hongxue leaned out to see what was happening and caught sight of a tipsy young gentleman from some family or other, who had evidently become so inebriated that he’d taken over rowing from the boatman and was now reciting poetry to the moon as he paddled.
Unfortunately, his rowing skills were abysmal. He was weaving drunkenly across the water, bumping into boats left and right, and now seemed to be heading straight for theirs.
Ke Hongxue clicked his tongue. “What a disgrace.”
Rong Tang glanced at their position and realised they were right in the middle of the lake, where the water was deepest.
He didn’t need to think twice. He looked up at Sheng Chengli and asked, “Was this your doing?”
Sheng Chengli’s smile was full of delight. “So my dear biao ge is finally willing to speak to me?”
Ke Hongxue tensed, startled, and immediately went on guard. He pulled Rong Tang to his feet, intending to jump to another boat nearby.
Sheng Chengli remained perfectly still, his eyes shining like polished glass.
The churning tangle of boats surged closer, eventually brushing past their own vessel. But it was just a light nudge before the current pulled it away. The expected trap never materialised. It was as if the whole thing had been a false alarm.
More like a harmless little warning.
Sheng Chengli looked at the two tense men before him and asked with a pleasant smile, “I’m only curious, biao ge, what made you attend the gathering? Have you forgotten that cup of tea?”
In that instant, Rong Tang felt as though he’d plunged into an icy abyss.
He hadn’t fallen into the lake. But he understood all too well what Sheng Chengli meant.
In his first life, in the fourth month of the eleventh year of Qingzheng, Rong Tang had died during the flower-picking festival. The mission failed because of a cup of poisoned tea.
Sheng Chengli lowered his voice and asked, with evident confusion, “Why did you trust him so much?”
