C158 — Kill that top scholar (25)

Wen Yurong didn’t hesitate—he immediately crawled forward on his knees. As soon as he reached Shen Jue, his chin was lifted.

Shen Jue’s fingers had always been cold, especially in the winter. When Wen Yurong felt the touch, his eyes flickered subtly.

“You’re right,” Shen Jue said. “I do fear the cold. Then I’ll trouble you, Wen Aiqing.”

Shen Jue had long since grown tired of Shi Zhou. Regardless of whether Shi Zhou was the realm master, Shen Jue didn’t want to see him. Yet Shi Zhou seemed blind to his rejection. Shen Jue had even considered taking his own life again, but if he’d only be dragged back into this realm, what meaning would that have?

Since the realm master wouldn’t let him go, he’d be forced to repeat this life endlessly, and that meant endlessly seeing Shi Zhou.

If that was the case, then the only option left was to take action—whether it broke the realm or not, Shen Jue only wanted one thing: to make Shi Zhou give up.

Shen Jue didn’t want to drag others into it. But if he had to, it would be Wen Yurong. Besides, Wen Yurong was strange— he was clearly the realm master, yet he didn’t have any of the past memories. But how could he not be, when those words existed in his mind?

Or… was he just pretending?

Compared to Shi Zhou, Wen Yurong was far harder to read.

…

When Shi Zhou barged in from outside, he called out, “Your Majesty, I’ve come,” before stepping into the inner chamber.

It was quiet.

As he walked in, he found the desk empty—no Shen Jue, only neatly stacked memorials. Shi Zhou’s eyes scanned the room before landing on the back section.

To accommodate Shen Jue’s rest, the inner chamber had a bed, hidden behind six painted folding screens of mountains and rivers.

“Fengjun, please leave,” a palace servant who had followed him in tried to persuade him. “If His Majesty finds out, he’ll be angry.”

Shi Zhou waved the servant off and limped toward the screen. He’d been beaten the night before, and had forced himself out of bed to find Shen Jue today. He was worried about Shen Jue being alone with Wen Yurong.

The moment he stepped around the screen, he saw clothes on the floor.

Shi Zhou’s pupils shrank—it was an official’s robe, thrown carelessly on the ground. His gaze followed the discarded clothing upward until he saw a hand.

A hand extended from within the bed curtains, resting lightly on the edge of the bed. The fingers were long and pale as jade—Shi Zhou only needed one glance to know that wasn’t Shen Jue’s hand.

His hand clenched at his side. His expression turned cold, and he raised his voice, “Your Majesty!”

The hand quickly withdrew, followed by the sound of rustling fabric, and someone’s soft murmuring.

Though faint, Shi Zhou heard most of it.

“Your Majesty, Fengjun… what should we do?”

“Don’t mind him.”

Shen Jue’s voice wasn’t lowered at all—very different from the coldness he used with Shi Zhou. This voice was gentle, even with a bit of a spoiled tone.

“Hug tighter. I’m cold.”

“…Yes.”

…

Shen Jue lay sprawled on top of Wen Yurong, his long hair spilled down, and a few strands brushing against Wen Yurong’s neck. He didn’t bother to move them. Instead, he stared outside the bed curtain, only sitting up once the shadow beyond gradually faded.

Wen Yurong remained lying down, eyes calm. He looked at Shen Jue and softly asked, “Did Your Majesty do all this just to anger Fengjun?”

Wen Yurong was sharp in every lifetime.

Shen Jue glanced at him. “Not entirely.” He paused. “You’re unwilling?”

Wen Yurong sat up as well. He studied Shen Jue in silence before finally replying, “I obey Your Majesty in all things.”

From that day on, Wen Yurong stayed. He didn’t return to the capital but remained in the Southern Palace. Shen Jue sent a letter to the capital, informing Tong Meng’er about Wen Yurong’s situation.

Tong Meng’er replied to the letter without mentioning anything else, only advising Shen Jue to take good care of his health in the Southern Palace.

Wen Yurong’s presence by Shen Jue’s side didn’t involve much; he simply accompanied Shen Jue in playing chess and reading. However, Shen Jue was sensitive to the cold. Sometimes, when Wen Yurong read aloud, Shen Jue would lie on the bed, wrapped in a thick quilt, his gaze fixed on the window.

The window was closed, but Shen Jue still stared at it. Wen Yurong noticed and asked softly, “Your Majesty, what are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Shen Jue replied, pulling his gaze back. “Continue reading.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

…

After Shi Zhou barged in that day, there was a period of silence. Shen Jue didn’t care where Shi Zhou had gone. In fact, he felt relieved at Shi Zhou’s absence.

It seemed that the one who could deal with Shi Zhou was Wen Yurong.

As a result, Shen Jue became closer to Wen Yurong. While they weren’t yet sleeping in the same bed, they spent almost all their time together. The palace servants had grown accustomed to Wen Yurong’s presence, so when Shen Jue suddenly fell ill in the middle of the night, the servants first summoned the imperial physician and then called Wen Yurong.

Shen Jue had been cooped up in the room for a long time. He had taken a brief walk in the plum garden earlier in the afternoon, and while he was fine at night, by midnight, he had developed a fever. The night watch eunuch noticed this and immediately went to summon help.

The most important thing for the servants was Shen Jue’s health. If anything happened to it, they would lose their heads.

Wen Yurong hurried over, his clothes in disarray and his hair hastily tied with a hairband. He quickly reached Shen Jue’s bedside and stood next to the physician. When the physician withdrew his hand, Wen Yurong softly asked, “How is Your Majesty?”

“He caught a chill,” the physician said. “I’ve prescribed some medicine. Once His Majesty drinks it, the cold will subside. If it doesn’t, he’ll need a stronger medicine.”

“Please, have the prescription written quickly,” Wen Yurong ordered. He then instructed someone to accompany the physician to fetch and prepare the medicine.

Just as he finished giving instructions, someone else entered the room.

It was Shi Zhou.

Shi Zhou had somehow learned that Shen Jue was ill and rushed over. When he saw Wen Yurong standing by Shen Jue’s bed, he stopped, narrowing his eyes before striding forward.

“Why is Lord Wen here in the middle of the night?”

Wen Yurong stepped back two paces and gave a salute. “I greet Fengjun.”

Shi Zhou gave him a brief glance before looking at Shen Jue, who was burning with fever. His face was flushed, his forehead slick with faint sweat, his brows furrowed, and he was sleeping fitfully.

Seeing Shen Jue in such a state, Shi Zhou furrowed his brows as well. He immediately began to strip off his outer garments and, before Wen Yurong’s eyes, climbed into Shen Jue’s bed.

“Fengjun…” Wen Yurong’s attempt to stop him was cut short when he saw Shi Zhou pull Shen Jue into his embrace.

Shi Zhou carefully held Shen Jue, disregarding Wen Yurong, who stood nearby. The medicine soon arrived, and Shi Zhou took it from the servant. The servant dared not refuse, knowing that in the imperial harem, Shi Zhou was the only one who had such privilege.

Shi Zhou first stirred the medicine with a spoon, then took a large sip himself before lowering his head to feed the medicine to Shen Jue, mouth to mouth.

Once the bowl was emptied, Shi Zhou reluctantly parted from Shen Jue’s lips. He handed the bowl back to the servant, then glanced at Wen Yurong with a slight smirk. “Lord Wen, have you seen enough? Or do you plan to continue watching?”

Wen Yurong lowered his eyes. “I’ll take my leave.”

He turned to leave, but after only two steps, he heard a voice.

“Wen…” It was Shen Jue’s voice, faint and unclear.

Before Wen Yurong could turn around, Shi Zhou’s voice sounded.

“Your Majesty, I’m here.” Shi Zhou held Shen Jue tightly in his arms, like a serpent wrapping around its prey. Though his words were directed at Shen Jue, his gaze never left the young man standing near the bed.