Chapter 16
In the original plot of Zhu Lu Jiu Zhou, Song Beiyao’s original character had very little screen time, merely serving as cannon fodder.
He didn’t understand why Zhao Kingdom was interfering in the succession struggle of the Great Zhou Dynasty, nor why they would sacrifice a prince to act as a spy, and even more curiously, why the prince would willingly do so.
The past of the character “Song Beiyao” was a mystery to him. Currently, the only person he could contact was Ling Feng, but Ling Feng wasn’t familiar with “Song Beiyao” either.
He sometimes had a vague feeling that the icebergs hidden beneath the surface might one day become a fatal threat.
…
The large-scale assassination attempt that night was clearly the first time the Crown Prince’s manor had experienced such an event.
The patrol of guards throughout the manor was significantly strengthened, and even several extra guards were added outside Yan Nuan Pavilion.
Xiao Yun was picked up early the next morning by a carriage sent from Nan’an Hou’s manor. Before leaving, he specially rushed to Yan Nuan Pavilion, waking the still-sleeping Ling Feng, and said something to him. Ling Feng was in high spirits all day, his tail practically wagging to the sky.
Song Beiyao noticed his unusual behavior and after asking him once, Ling Feng readily confessed.
“He said he thanked me for saving his life, and also said I’m handsome and he’s decided to like me.”
When Ling Feng said this, the word “proud” could practically be written on his face. “I can’t help it, my charm is too great.”
Song Beiyao shook his head helplessly and resumed his recuperation.
His injuries weren’t serious this time; after applying medicine and bandages, they didn’t affect his movements at all. However, Qu Lan invited him to dinner in the dining hall in the evening, but he still refused, claiming to be unwell.
“I understand, host, this time it’s that tactic again, ‘the enemy doesn’t move, I don’t move,’ right?!” the system excitedly said.
“It’s not that.” Song Beiyao said this while half-reclining in a chair in his study, legs crossed, one hand propping up his chin, his demeanor languid and unrestrained; all he lacked was a cigarette between his fingers.
This was a rare moment of relaxation for him. “This time, it’s called ‘Let the bullets fly for a while’,” he lazily and casually mumbled.
“Whoa! Impressive!” the system exclaimed.
Song Beiyao smiled. He sometimes thought this system was quite cute.
This period was the coldest part of the Great Zhou’s harsh winter; spilled water would instantly freeze.
According to Ling Feng’s investigation, Pei Ji seemed very busy these days, leaving the manor early every morning and returning only around the Xu hour (7-9 pm) in the evening. He barely touched his evening meal before heading to his study. There were also more unfamiliar faces entering and leaving the manor recently, likely strategists or court officials.
Song Beiyao spent three days recuperating in Yan Nuan Pavilion, and the scabs from his back wounds had almost completely fallen off. On the fourth day, at noon, during their meal, Ling Feng said mysteriously, “Do you know? Last night, Pei Ji summoned Doctor Tan late into the night.”
Song Beiyao picked up a piece of braised pork and put it in his mouth, nonchalantly saying, “What’s wrong with him?”
“It seems his stomach trouble has recurred, and it’s quite serious this time. He even took leave from court today,” Ling Feng said.
Song Beiyao paused his chopsticks. Pei Ji’s poor stomach was mentioned in the original text, but it was only briefly described. Song Beiyao didn’t expect it to be this serious.
If his stomach ailment continued to worsen, it might affect the subsequent succession struggle, and even lead to unpredictable consequences.
After lunch, Song Beiyao went to his study, spread out some paper, and wrote a list which he gave to Ling Feng: “Have the kitchen make a pot of soup according to this. I’ve written down the specific cooking method. How long to boil over high heat, how long to simmer over low heat, and the weight of each ingredient—tell them to follow exactly what’s written in my recipe.”
Ling Feng glanced at the writing, a bunch of incomprehensible medicinal herbs mixed with recognizable ingredients.
“What is this? Don’t tell me it’s for Pei Ji.”
“It’s a ten-herb tonic soup specifically for regulating the spleen and stomach,” Song Beiyao said.
“You, a prince of Zhao Kingdom, even know how to do this? Is there anything you don’t know?” Ling Feng was puzzled.
Song Beiyao raised the corner of his lips: “When I was outside the palace, if a friend was sick, I would take care of them this way. It worked very well.”
“But I think you shouldn’t bother,” Ling Feng handed the paper back. “The Crown Prince’s manor has excellent physicians and cooks; they certainly know better how to regulate the spleen and stomach. Besides, you have a bunch of herbs in there. Boiling this soup for so long, if Pei Ji doesn’t drink it, all your efforts will be wasted!”
“He will drink it,” Song Beiyao stuffed the paper back into Ling Feng’s hand, winking at him. “Young Master Ling, please help me.”
“Hey, I’m just curious. You’re only here to execute a mission, getting close to Pei Ji is one thing, but you’re also taking care of him now that he has a stomach problem.” Ling Feng looked at him coldly. “Tell me, you wouldn’t have fallen for Pei Ji, would you!”
“Wrong, your honor,” Song Beiyao put three fingers to his forehead. “Even if Pei Ji fell for me, I wouldn’t fall for him.”
Ling Feng briefly considered the possibility of “Pei Ji falling for him,” and shivered involuntarily.
Pei Ji, that kind of person, falling in love with someone else? Ridiculous!
…
Night, the study.
Zhang Bo knocked on the door, and after receiving permission, entered carrying a bowl of soup.
Last night, His Highness the Crown Prince had a severe stomachache; he was so worried he couldn’t sleep well all night. Recently, His Highness seems exceptionally busy; his meals are irregular, and he doesn’t eat much at all. He had advised him several times to no avail. What’s going to happen if this continues?!
This morning, he only rested for a short while in the manor before leaving after lunch, only returning around the Xu hour. He didn’t eat much for dinner either, and went straight to his study.
Zhang Bo was worried sick.
“Your Highness, please drink some soup,” Zhang Bo placed the bowl of soup aside, persuading him. “You didn’t eat much this evening, and you went to bed late; your stomach will be upset again later.”
“Put it there,” Pei Ji said indifferently, his attention still on the documents in his hand.
When Zhang Bo heard this, he knew the soup would likely be left untouched again. But His Highness wouldn’t listen to him, so this time he wouldn’t retreat, every now and then mentioning “Drink some soup,” “The soup is getting cold”…
Pei Ji initially didn’t pay attention, each time replying “Put it aside,” “I’ll drink it later,” but later he noticed something was amiss, and symbolically took a sip.
The viscous oil in the soup entered his mouth, he briefly furrowed his brow, quickly putting it aside. “I’ve drunk it.”
Zhang Bo: “…”
At this moment, there was a knock on the door, and Qu Lan announced from outside: “Your Highness, the consort has arrived.”
“Let him in.”
This was the first time the consort had come to His Highness’s study; perhaps he would have a way to get His Highness to drink more soup. Zhang Bo immediately bowed his head: “This old servant will take his leave.”
As he was about to leave, Pei Ji added casually: “Take the soup away.”
Zhang Bo was helpless and had to carry the soup out exactly as he brought it in. When he reached the door, he saw that the consort was carrying a food box, presumably also bringing food.
“His Highness doesn’t have a good appetite, please persuade him to eat more,” Zhang Bo said to him.
Song Beiyao smiled at him: “Don’t worry, Zhang Bo, I will.”
Pei Ji’s study was much larger than the small room in his Yan Nuan Pavilion, divided into inner and outer rooms. The outer room had some red wood chairs and tables, with a qilin (mythical creature) flying carpet on the floor. The overall layout was rather serious and formal; it was probably where he received guests.
Going further in, passing through a folding screen with a landscape painting, he reached the inner room.
There was a faint scent of incense in the air; Song Beiyao smelled it, it seemed like a mix of mint, lavender, and snow – a cool-toned perfume; the mint was fresh, the lavender soft, and the snow scent cold, blending together into a refreshing and comfortable fragrance.
Song Beiyao had smelled this scent on Pei Ji before; it was the incense in the study.
He slowly approached, speaking softly: “Husband.”
Pei Ji looked up from the pile of documents and official papers on the desk. His chiseled features were still cold and handsome, giving no indication of any physical discomfort.
Their last meeting was three days ago. Pei Ji’s gaze swept over Song Beiyao’s face.
Somehow, that face seemed to have a kind of magic, making one want to look a second, third time…
Pei Ji lowered his head, his gaze returning to the documents, and asked, “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better. I should be asking you, my husband. I heard that your stomach trouble flared up last night. Are you feeling better today?” Song Beiyao unconsciously walked to his side, put down the food box, and spoke with concern.
“This king is fine,” Pei Ji said in a low voice.
Song Beiyao opened the food box and took out a black and white porcelain bowl. The bowl and lid together formed a cute cat’s head.
Pei Ji glanced at the bowl casually, then glanced again, casually asking, “What is this?”
“This bowl and spoon were specially made this afternoon by Ling Feng,” Song Beiyao took a wooden spoon from the food box, dangling it before Pei Ji’s eyes; the end of the spoon handle was shaped like a cat’s paw.
Pei Ji stared at it for a while, then quickly looked at the bowl again: “What’s inside?”
“Guess, my husband. If you guess correctly, I’ll let you eat it,” Song Beiyao looked at him with bright eyes.
Pei Ji found it amusing and quickly looked away: “This king won’t guess, nor will I eat it.”
“Guess,” Song Beiyao tugged at his sleeve with two fingers, with a slightly coquettish implication.
Pei Ji remembered the soup Zhang Bo had brought earlier, his temples twitched, and he said, “Is it soup?”
“You guessed right!” Song Beiyao lifted the cat’s ears, taking off the lid of the bowl, a light medicinal fragrance wafted out, Pei Ji felt the stickiness of the oily soup he had just drunk was washed away.
“Please, my husband,” Song Beiyao put the spoon into the bowl.
Pei Ji’s finger moved, glancing at the bowl again, and said, “This king will drink it later; leave now.”
“No way. This is a reward for you guessing correctly, so I will personally feed you,” Song Beiyao looked at Pei Ji with smiling eyes.
Pei Ji looked away: “It’s not necessary.”
Song Beiyao still picked up a spoonful and brought it to Pei Ji’s face: “My husband.”
Pei Ji slightly turned his head: “This king will do it myself.”
The spoon instantly reached his lips. Pei Ji stiffly opened his mouth and took a sip. The medicinal fragrance mixed with the aroma of meat, without any oiliness; in the salty taste, there was a hint of sweetness.
Pei Ji pursed his lips. Song Beiyao eagerly asked, “Is it delicious?”
Before Pei Ji could answer, he immediately scooped up a second spoonful, and Pei Ji again stiffly swallowed it. Then came the third spoonful, the fourth…
Pei Ji gradually relaxed. He lifted his eyelids and saw Song Beiyao’s incredibly serious and focused expression. With every sip he took, the young man would raise the corners of his lips, revealing a satisfied smile.
In those eyes, it seemed that only he could be seen. Whenever he smiled, the corners of his eyes would slightly rise, and the teardrop mole would rise and fall with them.
Unconsciously, Pei Ji reached out and held the young man’s wrist. Song Beiyao looked puzzled: “What’s wrong, my husband? Did I feed you too fast?”
Pei Ji realized what he had done, his expression slightly startled, and immediately let go of his hand: “Nothing.”
After the bowl of soup was finished, Song Beiyao put away the spoon, Pei Ji lowered his brows and looked at the inside of the bowl; the soup was empty.
Putting away the bowl and closing the lid of the food box, Song Beiyao said softly, “I won’t disturb you, my husband.” As he turned to leave, his feet suddenly went weak, and he stumbled to the side.
Pei Ji immediately grabbed his waist, pulling him over, and Song Beiyao instantly sat on Pei Ji’s lap.
He exclaimed, his hand resting on Pei Ji’s chest, his eyes darting about, like a startled deer. Quickly regaining his composure, his face pale, he said, “I’m sorry, my husband. I was watching them make the soup in the kitchen this afternoon, I was a little tired, and I just spaced out.”
The candlelight on the table flickered suddenly.
Pei Ji’s hand was still on his waist. He lowered his eyes, looking into Song Beiyao’s eyes. Song Beiyao had extremely beautiful eyes; his eye shape was beautiful, the corners slightly upturned, his pupils amber, his eyes moist, and when he looked at people, there was always a tender feeling.
There was a mole below the left corner of his eye, making his face even more enchanting. But in those eyes, only well-behaved, gentle, mild, or startled, frightened, and bewildered expressions would usually appear.
At one point, Pei Ji suddenly felt that these eyes shouldn’t only show such expressions.
Song Beiyao looked at Pei Ji’s dark, deep eyes, quickly lowered his head, slightly shyly saying, “Why are you staring at me, my husband?”
Pei Ji’s voice was slightly hoarse: “You’ve worked hard today.”
Song Beiyao lifted his eyelids and looked at Pei Ji again, joy flashing in his eyes, quickly lowering his head again, gently leaning his face against Pei Ji’s neck, softly saying, “My husband likes it, that’s good.”
In the lower left corner of his vision, the luck value had already jumped to -166.
The corner of his lips curled slightly, and he continued, “Tomorrow I will go to the dining hall for dinner; will you return to the manor early, my husband?”
When the scent of the young man enveloped him, Pei Ji stiffened slightly: “No.” Then gently patted Song Beiyao’s back twice. “Go out now; this king still has official matters to attend to.”
“Okay.” Song Beiyao reluctantly got up from Pei Ji, picking up the food box. “My husband promised me that after my scabs fall off, you would come to Yan Nuan Pavilion to help me apply the scar removal ointment; is that still true?”
Pei Ji said faintly, “Yes, it’s true.”
“Then I’ll wait for you in Yan Nuan Pavilion tomorrow night.” Song Beiyao smiled faintly and left the study.
For a long time, Pei Ji’s nose still lingered with the faint scent of the young man. Mixed with the medicinal fragrance, it was an indescribable scent.
He raised his hand to press on his brow and summoned Qu Lan.
After Qu Lan entered the study, he knelt down: “Your Highness looks much better.”
Pei Ji took a deep breath and asked heavily, “How’s the investigation going? What did Song Beiyao do during those few years he was out of the palace?”
Qu Lan replied with his head bowed: “According to reports from the spies, the consort seemed to have left Zhao Kingdom after being sent out of the palace. The exact location is unknown; very few people knew the details back then, and the spies are still investigating.”
“Understood.”
Qu Lan thought for a moment and asked, “I don’t understand, Your Highness. Why are you so concerned about the consort’s past?”
Pei Ji slowly leaned back against the chair, closed his eyes, and asked in a low voice, “Qu Lan, what do you think of the consort?”
Qu Lan pondered, “Forgive my bluntness, Your Highness. Initially, my impression of the consort was simply that he was handsome—a face rarely seen in the Nine Continents—and I thought that beautiful men might have bad tempers. But the consort not only has a good temperament but also treats people well. Gradually, I discovered that the consort genuinely cares for Your Highness, and is also multi-talented. Last time I went to Yan Nuan Pavilion to invite the consort to dine in the dining hall, I found him playing Go with Ling Feng; his skill level seemed quite high. He has also seen Your Highness play Go with the young marquis before, I wonder if he has mentioned to Your Highness that he can also play Go.”
Pei Ji remained silent for a moment, then said, “He didn’t mention it to this king.”
“That’s it then. I feel that the consort is not only beautiful on the outside, but also refined on the inside, he is unassuming, and acts with propriety. Your Highness is truly fortunate.”
After listening to this long speech, Pei Ji opened his eyes: “Qu Lan, it’s rare to see you speak so much.”
“…Please forgive me, Your Highness.” Qu Lan bowed his head.
“Don’t you feel that the consort is…perfect?” Pei Ji asked in a low voice, “You can’t find a single flaw in him.”
Qu Lan pondered slightly: “Your Highness, now that you mention it, it seems that is indeed the case…”
Pei Ji closed his eyes again, his long fingers pressed against his forehead.
Gentle, humble, virtuous, cultured, and well-mannered, he knows how to act appropriately; sometimes he displays a bit of a temper—that is Song Beiyao.
Too perfect, perfect to the point of feeling unreal.
