Fish Meat – Chapter 162

The Third Year of Zhao Wu

The Lamp Behind the Curtain, the Sword in its Case (21)

When Guan Xun left after receiving the imperial edict, Luan Jiang was still in a daze.

            

What spirit had possessed Her Majesty? From the moment she entered the Taiji Hall, something seemed odd. Now, whether in the court’s inner circle or among common people, pressure was mounting from all sides. Everyone knew that the Emperor had promoted Zhen Wenjun to her side precisely to have her and Wei Tingxu jointly assist her, giving women of Da Yu more hope, showing them that Da Yu had changed and women could now hold official positions and receive noble titles, thus further consolidating her power.

Zhen Wenjun was an important piece in Li Yanyi’s game, one of the few pieces she could use right now. It hadn’t been easy to promote her, yet now when someone wanted to bring her down, Li Yanyi showed no opposition and simply let the Tingwei arrest her and take her to the imperial prison?

Could the Emperor have other plans? Luan Jiang noticed that Li Yanyi remained remarkably calm in both expression and speech, showing no concern for her trusted aide’s dangerous situation.

            

Li Yanyi’s composure didn’t seem fake, as if she had already planned her countermeasures…

Luan Jiang gradually felt that the image of the female emperor on the high steps in the center of Taiji Hall was becoming unclear.

The former Li Yanyi had been quite similar to his perception of women in general. Easily swayed by her surroundings, weak under pressure, always basing decisions on emotions. Compared to most male emperors, Li Yanyi’s likes and dislikes were too easy to predict. With her feelings written on her forehead, she couldn’t blame others for taking advantage.

            

Luan Jiang had been transferred to the capital on the Geng family’s recommendation, and he felt indebted to them for recognizing his talents. He would do anything Geng Bai asked of him. At first, Luan Jiang thought the same as many other officials – though they dared not say it aloud, they looked down on this female emperor somewhat.

A woman as emperor would surely be chaos.

During the first two years, Li Yanyi’s actions matched Luan Jiang’s expectations exactly. Whenever multiple voices whispered in her ear, her plans would easily be disrupted. Even her occasional schemes posed no real threat, as all her back-and-forth maneuvering was ultimately just for one Xie family’s Ah Xin.

            

Meanwhile, the Emperor’s brother-in-law was aiming for military power and the interests of nobles nationwide – the difference was clear.

After entering the third year of Zhaowu, Li Yanyi’s image as a female ruler began to blur, and Luan Jiang increasingly couldn’t fathom what she was thinking. The rise of the Bo family and this strange assassination attempt left Luan Jiang unable to grasp Li Yanyi’s true intentions.

It was said that Xie family’s Ah Xin suddenly appeared in Runing and saved Li Yanyi’s life – could this be what Li Yanyi wanted all along? Or was it still about the Xie family?

            

It shouldn’t be…

Luan Jiang dared not draw conclusions.

When Guan Xun came to arrest Zhen Wenjun, she offered no resistance, handing over both her commander’s token and long sword. She said to Guan Xun: “Lord Tingwei, before I enter prison, there’s one small matter unfinished. Might I trouble you to wait for one shichen [two hours]?”

            

Guan Xun remained silent, his sharp features revealing no emotion. But his subordinates could tell he had tacitly agreed – the upright and unbending Tingwei would have immediately refused if he disagreed.

“If the Tingwei is concerned, you can shackle my hands and feet and send someone to accompany me,” Zhen Wenjun raised her wrists for him to chain.

“No need,” Guan Xun said, “Wherever you need to go, I shall accompany you myself.”

            

Zhen Wenjun hadn’t expected that Guan Xun, known for his iron-faced impartiality [meaning: strict and uncompromising], could show such gentleness. She looked up at him with a grateful smile.

Previously, when Jiang Wang  had been forced to steal Guan Xun’s Tingwei snake token and planned to dispose of it in the sewers, it was Zhen Wenjun who had risked her life to retrieve it. In the end, though Jiang Wang lost his official position, he kept his head and ended up living with Guan Xun as his strategist.

Over these years, Guan Xun continued to diligently interrogate criminals for the Emperor. After Li Yanyi ascended the throne, she maintained the Tingwei Office with Guan Xun still in the highest position. As the Emperor implemented bold reforms, conflicts of interest naturally arose, and many officials were imprisoned. The once-quiet prison became quite lively.

            

Guan Xun’s methods remained as swift as thunder – falling into his hands meant giving up half your life. Zhen Wenjun had long heard what kind of place the imperial prison was. Though being impeached and imprisoned was like embracing a tiger and sleeping on a dragon [meaning: to be in extreme danger], this young woman showed no panic. Before entering prison, the only thing she did was help collect someone’s corpse.

Zhen Wenjun went into Runing City, spent a considerable sum on a pine coffin, prepared a set of clean new clothes, and went to the mass grave. Unafraid of filth or stench, she searched through the mass grave for half a day until she finally found a female corpse riddled with arrows.

Zhen Wenjun removed the arrows from the female corpse one by one, tidied her appearance, wrapped her in clothes, and placed her in the coffin. She took out a worn whip from her sleeve, looked at it for a while, and placed it carefully beside the body. Zhen Wenjun gazed at the person in the coffin for a long time before closing it.

            

“I wish to bury this person at the peak of Liaoxi Mountain,” Zhen Wenjun turned and bowed to Guan Xun, “It will take another shichen.”

Guan Xun closed his eyes briefly in agreement.

After burying Ah Xun at the peak of Liaoxi Mountain and patting down the last shovel of earth, Zhen Wenjun straightened her aching back.

            

The sunset had fallen, and the earth was shrouded in cold, cyan light.

She remembered the small courtyard of the Xie family in Suichuan, thinking of the young woman who had patiently taught her writing and martial arts, who always smiled at her and protected her – Ah Xun.

Back then, Ah Xun had been her most beloved person, the only one besides her mother who had been kind to her…

            

She had once thought she and Ah Xun would always be together, growing up and supporting each other. They would remain the closest sisters in the world, living together until old age and being buried together after death. Zhen Wenjun had almost forgotten that young Alai once had such innocent thoughts.

Who could have imagined this ending.

If someone had told Alai in the sixth year of Shenchu: “One day you will become enemies with Ah Xun, and even find it in your heart to kill her,” Alai would never have believed it.

            

The two cypress trees at the peak of Liaoxi Mountain remained vigorous and green, witnesses to how much the world had changed, like seas turning into mulberry fields [meaning: great changes over time].

Coming down from Liaoxi Mountain, Zhen Wenjun followed Guan Xun to the imperial prison.

They met Wei Tingxu at the entrance of Luoyi Lane, who seemed to have been waiting there for a long time.

            

As Zhen Wenjun passed by Wei Tingxu, the latter’s brows furrowed slightly, as if there was much she wanted to say.

Zhen Wenjun gently shook her head, indicating that Wei Tingxu needn’t say anything and shouldn’t worry.

Initially, the sudden assassination attempt by the Zhuxie Sect had left Zhen Wenjun puzzled. How did these people know the Emperor’s schedule? Even she, as the Zhuiyue Zhongjun Xiaowei, couldn’t directly know it, let alone these criminals. The unexpected appearance of Ah Xun and Hang Lie was surprising, but when Geng Yu led troops to protect the Emperor, Zhen Wenjun finally understood completely.

            

This must all be another of Wei Tingxu’s schemes.

Geng Bai had been plotting to gain military power for days, persistently harassing Wei Tingxu in an attempt to bring her down. Given Wei Tingxu’s personality, she wouldn’t tolerate this. The Geng family’s involvement in this assassination attempt surely wasn’t coincidental.

Though uncertain how Wei Tingxu would deal with Geng Bai, Zhen Wenjun was sure Wei Tingxu had known about Ah Xun and Hang Lie’s presence in the Zhuxie Sect. Setting these two up to die was likely also part of Wei Tingxu’s arrangement.

            

How could Zhen Wenjun not think of Lingbi upon seeing these two? Lingbi’s death was an enormous regret and painful scar for Zhen Wenjun. She felt remorse, with too many “what ifs” and “if only I had knowns” leaving her full of regret. Thinking of Lingbi’s death, she felt somewhat responsible. The revenge for Lingbi’s tragic death must be taken – only personally killing the murderer could ease this hatred.

Wei Tingxu surely cared about Lingbi. Though she hadn’t mentioned Lingbi much in the years since her death, Wei Tingxu had carefully preserved all of Lingbi’s belongings. Among the boxes moved to the Zhuo Jun Mansion, one was specifically for storing Lingbi’s possessions.

Avenging Lingbi and letting Zhen Wenjun personally execute it to resolve her inner conflict was just one part of Wei Tingxu’s plan.

            

Wei Tingxu never acted with just one purpose in mind. Zhen Wenjun understood this better than anyone – if it wasn’t killing two birds with one stone, it wasn’t worth Wei Tingxu’s effort.

The second purpose still concerned Zhen Wenjun herself.

Ever since Zhen Wenjun had caught a whiff of something strange, their relationship had been in limbo. Zhen Wenjun suspected Wei Tingxu had manipulated her but could never find real evidence to prove her suspicions. In this uncertain state, Wei Tingxu surely sensed something was wrong.

            

If Zhen Wenjun didn’t speak up, Wei Tingxu naturally wouldn’t explain voluntarily, but she could prove her innocence in other ways.

Since Lingbi only learned just before her death that Zhen Wenjun’s initial approach was as a spy, and that she had impersonated ‘Zhen Wenjun’ to assassinate Wei Tingxu, this contradicted Zhen Wenjun’s suspicion that everything was Wei Tingxu’s scheme.

Of course, Zhen Wenjun knew Wei Tingxu was deeply calculating, and it was hard to predict from where she might create an opening to feed someone a bowl of confusion soup [meaning: to deceive or mislead]. Zhen Wenjun didn’t doubt her own judgment and speculation, but if she had wrongly accused Wei Tingxu, she would be the biggest fool under heaven.

            

The two gazed at each other from afar, and Zhen Wenjun clearly read reluctance in Wei Tingxu’s eyes, though she knew that no matter how reluctant Wei Tingxu might be, she would still prioritize the bigger picture.

She had fallen for someone who was both brilliantly clever and extremely ruthless – who could she blame?

As they passed each other, Wei Tingxu’s fingertips caught Zhen Wenjun’s, making her heart tremble as she quickened her pace.

            

After changing into prison garments, Guan Xun had her placed in a cell with a small window to stay alone. He didn’t use any interrogation methods, and the daily meals were surprisingly good, with vegetables, meat, and rich broths, even including a pot of wine.

“This wine is from Jiang Wang,” Guan Xun spoke outside the cell, his voice deep and slightly hoarse. “He says you’re his benefactor and insisted I must not mistreat you. Lady Zhen, take care of yourself.”

“How will you explain to the Emperor if you don’t interrogate me?” Zhen Wenjun asked him.

            

“I know how to handle matters with the Emperor.”

“Sir, please don’t ruin your future because of me.”

Guan Xun said no more and left after setting down the wine pot.

            

Since leaving Suichuan, Zhen Wenjun had tirelessly traversed the mountains and rivers of Da Yu, traveling thousands of li to find the Liuhuo Kingdom, fighting one person after another. Only now, in this deep prison filled with strange smells and resentment, did she find a moment of peace.

She felt lost, not knowing where her path would lead or what awaited her.

Where was her mother, and where would she herself end up?

            

Exhaustion left her body weak, and both her healed wounds and those still scabbing over began to ache faintly.

Zhen Wenjun closed her eyes. She didn’t like who she had become – she shouldn’t have let herself be treated like fish meat.

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