Chapter Text
The pale beauty on the bed swallowed the bowl of medicine without complaint and handed it silently to the eunuch by the bed. Leaning dizzily against the wall, Zhou Zishu fought yet another bout of nausea, trying to keep down the thin congee that he’d forced down his throat in the morning.
“Wangye,” the eunuch, Qiu Bin, said, sounding uncomfortable.
“Leave.” Zhou Zishu closed his eyes.
“Just… your bride should be on the way. Since the Emperor has refused to postpone the wedding—”
Zhou Zishu rubbed a palm helplessly over his face. This farce of an illusion, or whatever it was, was getting increasingly ludicrous. The last he remembered was his vision going dark the day before Gu Xiang’s wedding. Zhou Zishu had known that forcibly removing the nails would reduce his lifespan to mere days, but he’d hoped that he would’ve at least held out past the wedding. He’d died unreconciled—or so he’d thought—only to reopen his eyes in a room he didn’t recognise, surrounded by strangers, seemingly poisoned. Worse, he had no internal energy.
More confusingly, while the body Zhou Zishu had now appeared to be his own, if regressed to his youth, everyone addressed Zhou Zishu respectfully as a Prince. While he seemed to be in the Imperial City, this mansion didn’t look like any of the properties Zhou Zishu had ever owned or visited. If this was an illusion array, it was the most perfect and the strangest one Zhou Zishu had run into yet.
Further, he was due to get married. Opening his eyes, Zhou Zishu stared unhappily at the wall. When told about the marriage the day Zhou Zishu had woken up from a supposed coma, Zhou Zishu had hoarsely told Qiu Bin to postpone it. Only to be advised awkwardly that it wasn’t possible because the Emperor had personally awarded the marriage via an Imperial edict, and the only way Zhou Zishu could get out of it was if he were dead.
Exhaling, Zhou Zishu allowed Qiu Bin to gently help him out of bed and get him cleaned up and dressed. He paid no attention to the sumptuous red robes that the servants layered on him, glancing only once at the bronze mirror to check the pallor of his skin. Not having internal energy made suppressing the poison difficult. At present, Zhou Zishu could barely walk by himself, and his weakness frustrated him. He had never been so weak.
Zhou Zishu’s vision swam as Qiu Bin helped him out of his chambers, trying to focus. Serving staff ducked their gazes and fled out of their path as they walked, all but stinking of fear. The mansion, while large and well-kept, somehow felt bleak. There were far more guards than would be expected, even for someone with an identity of a Prince. Yet, they didn’t give Zhou Zishu’s instincts a sense of unease, only a vague memory of pride.
Frowning, Zhou Zishu rubbed his temple as Qiu Bin helped him to a chair, saying something that Zhou Zishu tuned out. He drifted in and out of consciousness until he saw someone approaching in beautiful red wedding robes, etched with gold threads along the hems, depicting phoenix wings arched into flight. Zhou Zishu frowned at the veil, trying to concentrate, staring dizzily between his unknown bride and the chattering entourage. The bride stood at least a head taller than most, even the armoured guards. What the hell? Were there women who were that tall in the world? The bride didn’t walk with the graceful, flowing stride of a highborn woman, either, but with a fierce confidence more suited to someone with martial arts training. Was she a female general or something?
As the bride drew closer, Zhou Zishu had already drawn up several tragic possibilities in his mind based on his old work in Tian Chuang. Imperial marriages were often the Emperor’s way of forcibly balancing power between the three bloodline princes and their factions. The parties involved often didn’t know each other and came from families that were either unsuitable or at odds. The women were usually handed over to indifferent or vindictive husbands, fated to spend the rest of their lives trapped within the backyard of a mansion no matter how talented they were, fighting for favour.
Zhou Zishu stared at his tall bride, dazed. “Sorry,” he murmured. She froze, even as the world started to tilt again and grow dark.
#
Waking up back in bed, Zhou Zishu blinked slowly at the ceiling. The dizziness and nausea had eased to tolerable levels, and the bone-deep ache in his body was gone. As Zhou Zishu rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up, a familiar voice said, “Wangye, you should rest and conserve your strength.”
Astonished, Zhou Zishu sat up so quickly that dizziness overtook him again. He nearly swayed off the bed, only for a warm hand to grasp his shoulder to steady him. Zhou Zishu looked up in relief. Wen Kexing looked years younger, his face softer, handsome in his red… phoenix… robes… wait…
Zhou Zishu rubbed a palm slowly over his face. “Is this one of your jokes?”
Wen Kexing cocked his head, expressionless. His hand dropped to his side. “I don’t understand Wangye’s meaning,” he said.
Zhou Zishu shuddered at Wen Kexing’s use of the feminine deprecating self-title ‘chen qie’. “Ha, very funny. Is this an illusion array? It’s excellent. What’s the point, though? If you wanted to get married, we could just get married.”
Wen Kexing drew himself up, studying Zhou Zishu more closely. He grabbed Zhou Zishu’s wrist, pressing his fingertips to it with a faint frown. It was Zhou Zishu’s turn to tense—he grasped Wen Kexing’s palm, turning it over. No calluses. His lip curled, his hand darting up to Wen Kexing’s face. Wen Kexing flinched back, but Zhou Zishu grasped his chin, kneading the skin.
“Not a disguise?” Zhou Zishu said.
A fierce, ruthless look flashed through Wen Kexing’s eyes, making Zhou Zishu startle back and drop his grip. He’d never seen Wen Kexing look so mercilessly at himself, as though Wen Kexing were facing off with an enemy he didn’t recognise.
This… wasn’t an illusion?
At Zhou Zishu’s open confusion, Wen Kexing’s expression flattened back to his blank mask. “Perhaps Wangye is tired and still disoriented.”
“My memory… the illness has affected my memory,” Zhou Zishu said, opting for a lie. “You. You’re…?”
“I am named Wen Kexing, previously the Head of Taiyuan Hospital.” As blank as Wen Kexing’s expression was, he couldn’t help his fingers curling slightly over his lap.
Zhou Zishu felt even more disoriented. “The Emperor mandated our marriage? Between a prince and an Imperial doctor? Why?” The questions emerged despite Zhou Zishu’s instincts telling him to shut up and just let things pass. One of the greatest taboos in any aspect of the Imperial game was to display genuine ignorance. Yet Zhou Zishu had long lost his guard against Wen Kexing, even an unfamiliar Wen Kexing.
Wen Kexing stared at him, evidently wondering what to say. Eventually, he said in a stiff tone, “I am too dull to understand the Emperor’s measure.”
The open distrust hurt. Zhou Zishu gritted his teeth and got unsteadily to his feet, shoving a hand against the wall to balance himself. “Rest. I’ll. Sleep in the study.” He’d made a mistake instinctively trusting this stranger, in a world that Zhou Zishu had to quickly understand on his own steam. Now that he no longer felt like he was hovering on the verge of death, Zhou Zishu had to adapt quickly.
Wen Kexing began to speak, then stopped himself and bowed his head. Zhou Zishu somehow managed to stumble out of his chambers without falling flat on his face, curtly instructing the startled guard outside to help him to the study.
Left alone in the bedchamber, Wen Kexing stared at the closed door. His fingers tapped idly over his lap as a faint, cold smile curled over his lips. “Interesting,” he said.
#
Zhou Zishu stared longingly at the walls past the window of his study. Over the past couple of days, he’d recovered more rapidly, no longer unsteady on his feet, though he still lacked internal energy. Otherwise, suppressing the rest of the poison and escaping from this mansion to have a better look at the new world would’ve been easy enough. As it were, Zhou Zishu had to resort to obliquely questioning Qiu Bin and perusing all the books and correspondence in his study.
As far as Zhou Zishu could tell, the world was reasonably similar to the one he had grown up in. The Princes who were jostling for power were the same, save that none of them had yet been named Crown Prince. Zhou Zishu was still allied with Helian Yi, but in this world, Zhou Zishu was a Prince of another surname, titled Junwang. Helian Yi had been sealed as Jinwang, and was currently handling flood relief efforts to the south. Jing Beiyuan was still the Nan’ning Wang, though he kept to a neutral footing, siding with no one. Wu Xi didn’t appear to exist, at least not in the dossier Zhou Zishu had on Xinjiang.
No Tian Chuang or Siji Pavilion either, which was even stranger. Instead, Zhou Zishu held hereditary private military power over the Leitie army, the bulk of which remained stationed on the Northwestern border. That part had been hard to believe, but the devotion from the armoured soldiers stationed within the mansion was real enough.
As to Wen Kexing… Zhou Zishu stared silently at the dossier on his desk, one that he had leafed through several times. Judging from the letters Zhou Zishu had exchanged with Helian Yi, Wen Kexing was indeed previously the Head of Taiyuan Hospital. Favoured by the Emperor at a young age and promoted quickly to his current position, the awarded marriage had surprised both Helian Yi and the previous Zhou Zishu. The Wen clan had produced doctors through the generations, and Wen Kexing was talented enough to have been awarded a Jinshi rank during the Imperial examination. Instead of going into Hanlin Academy, Wen Kexing had opted to follow his father’s footsteps, entering Taiyuan Hospital as one of the Imperial Physicians.
The original Zhou Zishu had been thoroughly insulted by the Imperial edict of marriage. Despite Wen Kexing’s achievements, Wen Kexing was not from a powerful clan. Further, having a man in the position of Wangfei meant Zhou Zishu would not have any legitimate successors to the title of Junwang. Nor did the original Zhou Zishu even like men. Zhou Zishu read through the furious correspondence with Helian Yi one last time and burnt them all in the brazier. As the letter burned—one where Zhou Zishu had more or less threatened to run off to the Northwestern border, Imperial wrath be damned—there was a soft knock on the door.
“Who?” Zhou Zishu asked, in a sour mood.
“Wangye, the Wangfei is here to see you,” Qiu Bin said.
Zhou Zishu started to voice the same rejection he’d spoken for the last couple of days and paused. Hiding the dossier, he said, “Send him in.”
Wen Kexing entered, holding a tray with a bowl of steaming hot soup with a flattering smile. Taken aback, Zhou Zishu straightened in his seat, frowning as Wen Kexing set the bowl down on his desk. “Wangye, I made this myself. It contains a medicinal tonic, one that would aid your recovery.”
“I’m feeling fine,” Zhou Zishu said, not touching the bowl. Until he had a complete grasp of the new world he was in, Zhou Zishu was certainly not reckless enough to eat something by someone who saw him as an enemy. Even though it hurt to think of Wen Kexing that way, a stranger as this version of Wen Kexing was. Familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time. “Thank you for your concern.”
Undeterred, Wen Kexing knelt by the desk, resting his cheek on his palm coquettishly. He wore pale blue robes today, their design simple and neat, giving him the air of a young scholar. Beautiful, still so beautiful. “As your Wangfei, shouldn’t I be concerned?”
Zhou Zishu scoffed. He would’ve believed that but for the way Wen Kexing had acted on the wedding night. “Were you the one who poisoned me in the first place?”
Wen Kexing flinched at the blunt question, wide-eyed. “I… no!”
“You had the best motive for doing so. This marriage effectively ruined your life, trapping you within my mansion despite everything you’ve worked for. Why wouldn’t you poison me? I would, if I were you.”
“You think I somehow managed to sneak through your thoroughly guarded mansion to poison you in your sleep?” Wen Kexing asked, frowning at Zhou Zishu. “Me, a person who doesn’t even know martial arts?”
“You’re intelligent enough to have done it in some other way,” Zhou Zishu said with a sharp smile.
Wen Kexing let out a cold snort. “I noticed you were poisoned during the wedding; it was obvious enough. If I knew that you’d suspect me, I would have just let you die. Didn’t you get better quickly? What, did you think that was your luck? I fed you a detoxification pill.”
“You’d be the main suspect if I died.”
“So why should I have poisoned you in the first place?” Wen Kexing shot back. His coldness receded all of a sudden, replaced by a playful smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Wangye, haven’t you heard of my reputation? I’m a genius doctor, or so they say. If I gave you poison of any sort, you would be dead. Besides, if you had any real proof, would I still be here, talking to you? Also,” Wen Kexing said, looking Zhou Zishu over appraisingly, “it’d have been such a waste.”
“Why?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Did you think I didn’t want to be married to you? On the contrary, I should thank Heaven and the Emperor for marrying me to someone with the face of a descended Immortal,” Wen Kexing said with a cheeky grin.
This version of Wen Kexing was just as shameless as the other one. Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “So, who would it have been?”
“Wangye, you were disoriented not so long ago. Perhaps you’ve lost your memory? Or perhaps…” Wen Kexing leaned in, lowering his voice, “you aren’t the real Junwang?”
Zhou Zishu tensed, his lips flattening into a thin line. “What nonsense are you talking about?”
“You used the wrong form of self-address when you were talking to me during the wedding night,” Wen Kexing said, studying Zhou Zishu closely again. “Disoriented as you may be, there’s no reasonable explanation for your warm reaction to me, either. The last time we met, you would’ve killed me but for your first cousin’s intervention.”
“You’d rather I tried to kill you again?”
Wen Kexing stretched his fingertips toward Zhou Zishu’s face. Steeling himself, Zhou Zishu stayed still, his jaw clenched as Wen Kexing tickled fingers curiously over his jaw, then his cheek. “Hm. Not a disguise, I think. How curious.”
“Were you expecting one?”
“Perhaps.” Wen Kexing dropped his palm back onto the desk. “Wangye, I have a proposal. You have your difficulties, and I have mine. Either way, we’re married now and have to live together. I’d rather not be your enemy.” At Zhou Zishu’s flat stare, Wen Kexing said, “You claim I tried to kill you, but you’ve also acknowledged that you tried to kill me. Personally, I feel wronged by your hurtful accusations and your murder attempt, but by your logic, shouldn’t matters cancel out?” He smiled teasingly at Zhou Zishu.
Zhou Zishu stared at Wen Kexing. What was with this attitude? Shouldn’t anyone be more frightened by the charge of attempted murder of an Imperial relative? Unsettled, Zhou Zishu said, “You’re lucky that I… Out!”
Wen Kexing chuckled but didn’t push it, excusing himself gracefully. Once he was gone, Zhou Zishu said, “Qiu Bin.”
Qiu Bin let himself in. “Wangye has orders?”
“Dispose of this.” Zhou Zishu gestured at the bowl of soup.
“Wangye suspects that it’s poisoned?”
“He isn’t that stupid.” Zhou Zishu smiled faintly. Both versions of Wen Kexing had that in common. Ruthless, unpredictable, and clever—and so very brazen.
Qiu Bin glanced curiously at Zhou Zishu. “Wangfei did indeed prepare this soup by himself. He woke up early in the morning and—”
Zhou Zishu held up a palm. “Qiu Bin. Who is your master? Why are you speaking on Wen Kexing’s behalf?”
“This slave dare not,” Qiu Bin said, kneeling quickly. “Only…”
“Only what?”
“Wangye doesn’t appear as displeased with the marriage as before…?” Qiu Bin asked, hesitant.
Zhou Zishu huffed. “What’s there to be pleased or displeased about? Did anyone have a choice?” When Qiu Bin made no comment but shifted his weight uncomfortably, Zhou Zishu asked impatiently, “What else?”
“This slave is concerned about your health,” Qiu Bin said, picking each word with care. “The weather is beginning to grow colder, and Wangye’s study is not so warm. Perhaps a suitable courtyard for Wangfei should be arranged?”
“That hasn’t been done?” Zhou Zishu had never had to bother with such matters. He’d slept in the study recently because he’d fallen asleep every night trying to catch himself up on this world’s current affairs.
“To answer Wangye, prior to the marriage, Wangye said there was no need to arrange Wangfei into any courtyard because you would cut Wangfei down should he dare to cross your threshold as your bride,” Qiu Bin said with a light cough.
“I said that?”
“Ah, in the main courtyard. Even people on the street heard it. It was the talk of the teahouses in the city for a week.”
…Wen Kexing was the poisoner. Definitely!
“Where has Wangfei been sleeping, then?”
Qiu Bin lightly cleared his throat. “Answering Wangye, in your room.”
“Just… arrange him into…” Zhou Zishu paused. He hadn’t had the time even to explore his mansion. “An appropriate courtyard for his status, with sufficient servants and guards. Ah, and the household accounts, let Wangfei handle them if he wishes.” Zhou Zishu understood from his previous work in Tian Chuang that this was what main wives did—he’d stolen enough ledgers to know.
“This…” Qiu Bin said with surprise.
“What’s the issue?”
“As the master decrees,” Qiu Bin said, bowing. “About tomorrow, would Wangye be accompanying Wangfei back to his maternal home?”
Zhou Zishu stared blankly at Qiu Bin for a long moment before belatedly recalling wedding customs. “Ah, yes. Prepare a suitably generous gift. One that would make up for the bride price.” The original Zhou Zishu of this world hadn’t bothered to pay a bride price, signalling that he didn’t put the marriage or his future Wangfei in mind.
“This slave will handle the matter.”
“At least it’s him,” Zhou Zishu muttered, even as he waved Qiu Bin and the bowl out. Gods knew that it’d have been worse if it had been anyone else. Zhou Zishu had led a lonely life, one where he’d closed his heart into a shell out of necessity. The only person he’d let into its depths had been Wen Kexing.
Lost in thought, Zhou Zishu glanced at the ashes in the brazier, then at the latest letter from his cousin on his desk. This world’s Helian Yi appeared no different from the younger version of Helian Yi that Zhou Zishu recalled, though time had proven his judgment wrong. Still, he could see no better choice between the princes. To remain involved in the Imperial struggle or not?
Zhou Zishu walked to the letter, picking it up and burning it as well, watching the paper curl into ashes.