C149 — Kill the Top Scorer (16）

“A while ago, you got a beating, and now you’ve been hit by a rock. In a few days, you’re coming with me to the temple outside the city to pray. Did you hear me?”

Shi Ji lazily lifted his eyelids and replied halfheartedly, “Got it, but it was just a hit. I’ve had worse on the battlefield—countless times worse…”

Before he could finish, a sudden smack landed on his back, making him nearly jump out of bed from the pain.

“Mother, what was that for?” he turned to look at Madam Shi.

Her eyes were red as she glared at him. “Didn’t you say it didn’t hurt? I just wanted to see if that was true! Today is your brother’s death anniversary, and you…”

“Mother! That’s enough,” Shi Ji interrupted, his expression darkening.

Madam Shi dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “If you don’t want to hear it, I won’t say more. But remember—you’re the only son left in the Shi family. You must take care of yourself. Your father’s still in the study. He’s not saying anything, but he’s hurting too.”

She sat with him a little while longer, and when she saw he looked tired, she finally got up to leave. Before going, she gave instructions to the servant tending him, “Young Master’s injured today—take good care of him.”

“Yes, Madam,” the servant quickly replied.

But the moment Madam Shi left the courtyard, Shi Ji got out of bed, startling the servant.

“Young Master, why are you up? Your back’s still injured!”

Shi Ji slipped on a robe. “I’m going out. Lock the gate after me. If anyone comes, say I’m asleep. I don’t want to see anyone.”

As he spoke, he already walked to the door. The servant hurried after him. “Young Master, where are you going?”

But asking was pointless. Shi Ji reached a corner of the wall, and with one agile leap, he was over and gone. He had learned how to avoid the General’s residence guards from a young age—he knew their patrol routes by heart, so getting out was easy.

He was heading to the Prime Minister’s residence. Earlier, during the landslide, though he’d shielded Wen Yurong, he had still gotten hurt. With so many people around, he hadn’t been able to check on him, and the worry lingered in his mind.

He rushed to the Prime Minister’s estate and slipped in through the back door, heading straight for Wen Yurong’s courtyard like he owned the place.

Locks and doors were no obstacle to him.

But just as he reached the courtyard, he saw someone guarding the entrance—and froze.

This time, Shen Jue had brought not just palace staff but members of the imperial guard. Right now, they were dutifully posted outside Wen Yurong’s courtyard.

Spotting them, Shi Ji ducked behind a tree and, with a light leap, climbed up. From there, he scanned the wall where the guards were.

It was dark, and he couldn’t make out faces, but he could tell they were all armed.

He frowned slightly. Why would there be guards outside Wen Yurong’s courtyard?

But Shi Ji wasn’t just anyone. Even injured, he could slip in undetected. He circled around and scaled the back wall. Once inside, he noticed there were still people around. Lanterns lit the courtyard, and he could now see clearly—some of the faces were familiar.

They were eunuchs who personally served Shen Jue.

If the eunuchs were here, Shen Jue had to be here too.

Shi Ji’s expression shifted, his gaze locking on the main building, which was brightly lit.

He was still figuring out how to lure the people away when the door suddenly opened.

Wen Yurong stepped out, hair loose, only draped in a robe, and asked in a hurry, “Did you bring His Majesty’s medicine?”

A eunuch quickly replied, “We brought His Majesty’s medicine when we left the palace—it’s already brewing, and it’s being kept warm on the stove now.”

“Bring it to me,” Wen Yurong said before turning back inside.

The eunuch soon brought the medicine over but didn’t dare enter. He knocked lightly at the door and called, “Lord Wen, the medicine is here.”

Wen Yurong opened the door, took the bowl, and closed the door again.

He walked quickly to the bedside, set the medicine on a nearby stool, then sat down and helped Shen Jue sit up.

Shen Jue glanced at the medicine and turned his face away. “I don’t want to drink it.”

Wen Yurong gently squeezed his hand. “Your Majesty, be good.”

Shen Jue frowned. “I’m fine. Let’s just continue.”

How could they possibly continue? Earlier, after only a few kisses, Shen Jue’s condition had visibly worsened—he had trouble breathing, and even briefly blacked out. Though it lasted just a moment, it had scared Wen Yurong deeply.

“Why don’t you drink the medicine first, alright?” Shen Jue had always taken his medicine willingly before—this was the first time Wen Yurong had ever seen him resist it.

Shen Jue’s brow furrowed deeper, but after a moment, he relaxed slightly and shot Wen Yurong a look. “Then feed it to me.”

And of course, by “feed,” he didn’t mean with a porcelain spoon.

Wen Yurong was far from slow-witted—he could clearly see the implication in Shen Jue’s gaze. He paused, then picked up the spoon and set it aside. Taking a large sip of the medicine himself, he leaned in close to Shen Jue.

One mouthful at a time, he fed him the medicine through kisses, until the bowl was empty.

Setting the bowl down, Wen Yurong turned his head—only to see Shen Jue licking his lips. He seemed to find the taste bitter; every time he licked, he frowned a little. That kind of childlike behavior was rare for Shen Jue, especially considering he was an emperor.

Wen Yurong stared at him for a moment, then suddenly lifted his hand to wipe his lips. Shen Jue, caught off guard, ended up licking Wen Yurong’s fingers.

Their eyes met.

Wen Yurong smiled faintly, gently wiping at his lips again. “There’s some medicine left on you.”

He paused for a second. “Your Majesty should bathe now, or it’ll get too late.”

Shen Jue nodded, so Wen Yurong stepped out to order water to be brought in. While Shen Jue bathed, Wen Yurong didn’t stay to attend him. Instead, he went to another room to wash himself.

Because Shen Jue was here, he didn’t dare take too long. After a quick rinse, he put on fresh clothes. Just as he finished tying the inner sash of his robe, a familiar voice rang out behind him:

“What is he doing here?”

Wen Yurong froze.

He turned to see Shi Ji standing by the folding screen. Panic flashed in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly forced it down.

He stepped forward and pulled Shi Ji behind the screen, lowering his voice. “Why are you here?”

Shi Ji stared at Wen Yurong, his eyes drifting from his face to his neck. He sneered, then reached out and yanked open Wen Yurong’s collar. “And what’s this?”

Wen Yurong’s brows furrowed. He shoved Shi Ji’s hand away and stepped back, quickly closing his collar. “Why do you care?”

“That mark wasn’t there earlier today,” Shi Ji said coldly. “Looks like someone bit you. Pretty hard, too, brother Yurong.”

The smile on his face had a sharp edge to it. “Didn’t you say you didn’t like him? Doesn’t look that way to me. You were feeding him medicine just now—looked pretty intimate.”

At those words, Wen Yurong’s expression chilled. “You were spying on us?”

“Spying? I came because I was worried about your injuries, and what did I find?” Shi Ji’s hands clenched into fists, trembling with restrained anger. He lifted one hand, looking like he was about to smash the screen beside him—but held himself back at the last second. “Wen Yurong, he killed my brother. You choose. Him or me?”

Wen Yurong closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. “Xiao Zhou, there’s still no evidence proving His Majesty was behind it. You’ve served by his side too, haven’t you? You know he’s not like the rumors say.”

Shi Ji stared coldly at him. “So that means you’re choosing him?”

“I… I’m not choosing anyone. I just don’t want you to judge someone so one-sidedly. What if His Majesty really wasn’t involved?” Wen Yurong softened his voice, “Don’t be so impulsive, alright? Calm down.”

Calm down?

How was he supposed to calm down?

This afternoon, he had thrown himself in front of a falling boulder to protect the very man standing before him. If he weren’t in such good health, he wouldn’t even have the strength to stand right now. His back still throbbed with pain—so much that his face had gone pale. But the person in front of him didn’t seem to see that at all.

All he cared about was defending that sickly emperor. Not once had he asked if Shi Ji was in pain.

How ridiculous. He had given so much for Wen Yurong—and in return, Wen Yurong was busy warming another man’s bed.

Shi Ji looked at Wen Yurong one last time, then turned and walked away.

Seeing this, Wen Yurong instinctively stepped forward. “Xiao Zhou!”

Shi Ji halted, then turned his head. His voice sounded like it had been squeezed out between gritted teeth. “Don’t call me that. There’s no ‘Xiao Zhou’ anymore. There’s only Shi Ji. When my brother took those poisoned drinks for me, Xiao Zhou died with him.”

It was the summer feast of the previous year.

Shi Haoran had attended the palace banquet with both his sons. Because Shi Zhou had just recovered from an injury, Shi Ji didn’t want him drinking. But when the imperial wine was served, there was no refusing it. So, quietly, Shi Ji swapped his empty cup with Shi Zhou’s full one.

In truth, all of the wine meant for his brother had ended up in his own stomach.

That night, Shi Zhou drank only plain water. Poured into a wine cup, it looked just like wine—unless you got very close, there was no way to tell the difference.

After the feast ended and they reached the gate of their estate, Shi Ji suddenly collapsed—he didn’t even get a sound out before hitting the ground.

His brother had always been in good health. How could he die so suddenly?

Their grandfather, Shi Tongru, who had served three emperors, asked what Shi Ji had eaten at the banquet after examining his corpse.

Shi Zhou suddenly recalled those few cups of wine—and remembered that the servant who brought him his cup wasn’t the same one who served their father and elder brother.

Shi Tongru fell silent for a long time after hearing this. Finally, he sighed and said, “It may be that someone in the palace wanted Zhou’er dead. But they didn’t expect Ji’er to drink the wine instead.”

Madam Shi had cried until her voice was gone. When she heard this, her face turned pale with horror. “Why… why would they want Zhou’er dead?”

Shi Tongru fingered the prayer beads in his hand, his gaze falling on the dim, shadowy courtyard outside. The tree shadows cast twisted shapes on the ground—gruesome and ominous, much like everything they were now enduring.

“That witch empress and tyrant likely see the Shi family as a threat. Zhou’er has won too many battles lately. His fame among the people is rising… perhaps they feel threatened, so they decided to act first.”

He turned to his son, Shi Haoran. “We can’t let anyone know Ji’er is dead. Thirty years ago, I once trained with martial artists and learned the art of disguise. We can make Ji’er look like Zhou’er. If they’re out to kill Zhou’er, and they see him already dead, perhaps they’ll finally back off.”

Shi Haoran’s eyes were also bloodshot. He only nodded in response to his father’s words. “We’ll do everything as Father says.”

From that moment on, the two brothers exchanged identities and appearances.

The Shi household publicly announced the death of Shi Zhou, but in truth, the one buried was Shi Ji. And the one who entered the palace to serve at the Emperor’s side… was the real Shi Zhou.

Very few people knew that Shi Zhou was still alive. But Shi Zhou had told Wen Yurong everything—and said he was determined to uncover the truth behind his brother’s death.

What Shi Zhou hadn’t expected was that the person he cherished and adored—his beloved brother Yurong —would end up with the very man who might have murdered his brother. And worse, that he would lie to him.

He hated being lied to the most.

…

Upon hearing all this, Wen Yurong hurried forward, trying to grab his hand. But just as he touched the sleeve, it was violently shaken off.

Shi Zhou staggered a few steps back, his eyes red with fury, filled with both hatred and madness. “Brother Yurong, go ahead and stay with that sickly bastard. One day, I’ll make you regret this. I’ll make you cry and beg me.”

With that, he turned and jumped out the window, vanishing into the night in an instant. Wen Yurong rushed to the window, but he was already gone.

…

Meanwhile, Shen Jue emerged from the bath and, after dressing, lay back down on Wen Yurong’s bed. But just as he settled in, someone knocked on the door.

“Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager has sent someone,” came the voice of the commander of the Imperial Guards from outside.

Shen Jue sat up upon hearing this.

“Let them in.”

It turned out Tong Meng’er, unable to rest easy knowing Shen Jue was staying outside the palace, had ordered the palace gates opened even at this late hour and sent someone to fetch him.

The Prime Minister and others escorted Shen Jue to the carriage. Just before boarding, Shen Jue called Wen Yurong in alone.

Compared to earlier, Wen Yurong now seemed distant, clearly distracted—but Shen Jue acted as if he didn’t notice. He took Wen Yurong’s hand and said softly, “Come to the palace early tomorrow morning, alright? I want to see you sooner.”

Wen Yurong managed a smile. “I’ll come early, Your Majesty.”

Shen Jue smiled too. He leaned forward slightly and kissed Wen Yurong on the forehead before saying, “Get some rest. And remember to apply the medicine.”

…

On the way back to the palace, Shen Jue leaned back against the cushions and, unexpectedly, let out a quiet laugh.

After returning, Shen Jue went to see Tong Meng’er first. Seeing him safe and sound, she let out a sigh of relief. “My precious boy, why did you suddenly go to the Prime Minister’s residence? You even made me send someone after you.”

Shen Jue supported her as they walked back into the inner palace. “It’s nothing, Mother. You should rest early. Sorry to have troubled you tonight.”

“What trouble?” she said. “Did you go see Yurong? He was injured today, right? How is he?”

“He’s alright. The injury isn’t serious,” Shen Jue replied.

Tong Meng’er touched her chest, a look of concern on her face. “Hard to believe it’s already been a year since Shi Zhou’s death. Time flies. I don’t know why, but lately I keep having strange dreams—bad ones. My sweet boy, you must take care of yourself.”

 

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TN:

Brace yourselves, the angst is coming 🫠