PCA Chapter 199

Su Cen ran wildly through the empty streets, only realizing it was raining after running half a li.

 

The day’s upheavals had numbed all his senses and pain. Now they gradually returned, with cold rainwater seeping into his clothes, which clung to his body like heavy shackles.

 

Su Cen forced himself to take another step, afraid that if he stopped, he would never be able to take the next one.

 

Regardless of tomorrow’s outcome, he wanted to see that person one more time. Actually, when everything happened, he had been constantly thinking about that face, those calm eyes, wanting to hide in that person’s embrace and sleep through everything, waking up to have someone tell him it was just a nightmare.

 

He had suppressed this thought all day, but it finally broke through after seeing Cui Hao, then grew wildly and could no longer be contained.

 

Prime Minister Liu could never return, yet he still wanted to see Li Shi one last time.

 

Parting in life, separation in death—it was hard to say which was more painful.

 

Su Cen finally stopped before the tightly closed ward gates.

 

Curfew had arrived, the ward gates were closed, and civilians were forbidden to travel.

 

Su Cen stood dazed for a while, then stepped forward and used all his strength to pound on those two towering gates.

 

But his voice was too small, his throat too hoarse. That little sound was drowned in the rain and instantly disappeared without a trace.

 

Su Cen slowly slid down along the ward gate, his strength completely drained, as deep despair overwhelmed him.

 

It turned out that his ability to charge through everything before was only because he had someone’s protection and acted without fear. Without Li Shi, he couldn’t even leave his own ward.

 

Su Cen looked up at the sky. Cold rainwater fell endlessly from the pitch-black night, like an airtight net slowly tightening around him.

 

He didn’t even know if he could last until dawn.

 

The magnificent facade he had built up came crashing down with a clatter.

 

After an unknown time, the rain suddenly stopped. The bone-deep cold was gone, replaced by a faint sandalwood fragrance.

 

Su Cen opened his eyes and looked up. The first thing he saw was a plain white umbrella.

 

Tilting his head slightly, he saw the hand holding the umbrella had distinct joints, with a dark jade thumb ring on the thumb, blacker than the night itself.

 

Something suddenly welled up, flowing down uncontrollably, into his mouth, salty and bitter.

 

A hand descended, fingertips brushing across his cheek with a slightly rough texture. Once it touched, it became even more uncontrollable.

 

Though his face was covered with water, Li Shi just knew—he was crying.

 

His palm was full of moisture, filling the lines of his palm, and he could even distinguish which was rainwater and which were tears.

 

Su Cen had never cried so desperately in front of him, like a child who couldn’t find his way home.

 

Li Shi felt a corner of his heart ache faintly. He had thought that the winds and sands of the northern frontier and the storms of court had already tempered his heart to be unbreakable, but this little fox could break in, make a nest on the tip of his heart, frolic there, and torment him with scratching and clawing.

 

His step-by-step indulgence and tolerance had finally reached the point where a touch would hurt.

 

Li Shi gently pressed the person into his embrace, letting Su Cen vent all the unspeakable, insurmountable feelings of the day. Tears soaked his clothes, and the person was so aggrieved, as if he could never finish crying.

 

The distant sound of the night watchman’s wooden clappers echoed from the alley. After three strikes, the night was half over. Su Cen seemed to suddenly realize something, abruptly raising his head to stare at those eyes, even forgetting to cry.

 

After a moment, Su Cen slowly reached out, gently caressing those eyes.

 

If only he had a carving knife to engrave these eyes on his heart.

 

He had traced this person’s features countless times, yet still feared he wouldn’t remember them well. Time flies like a white horse passing a gap—just thinking that one day he might wake up and no longer remember made his heart ache so much he couldn’t breathe.

 

Seeing the person still unwilling to withdraw his hand, Li Shi chuckled softly, “I’ll give them to you.”

 

For that instant, Su Cen actually wanted to nod. But then he understood—Li Shi knew everything, knew the cause and course of events, knew what he was about to do, and knew how this matter should end.

 

Su Cen’s hands slowly dropped to rest on his knees. Like a confused child, he asked: “Did I do wrong?”

 

Li Shi’s deep gaze gently settled on him, raising his hand to pat his shoulder, “Where did you go wrong?”

 

“I…” Su Cen’s throat suddenly went dry, struggling to say: “I want to restore the truth of what happened back then, to seek justice for Tian Pingzhi and Liu Cheng, and I also want to… want to…”

 

In the end, he choked up.

 

Li Shi softly hummed in acknowledgment, “Revealing the truth isn’t wrong, upholding justice isn’t wrong either.”

 

“But I’ll make all your years of effort go to waste, and might even… might even shake the Great Zhou’s foundation, overturn the Great Zhou’s realm…”

 

“Do you regret it?” Li Shi suddenly asked. “Do you regret choosing to enter the Dali Temple at the Qinglin Banquet?”

 

Su Cen was stunned.

 

Did he regret it? Since entering the Dali Temple, he had been beaten, poisoned, fallen off cliffs, escaped death, and compromised—it had been fraught with danger. But if truly asked whether he regretted it, his first reaction was unwillingness.

 

Su Cen lowered his head and said softly: “I regret… regret not coming to Chang’an earlier, to uphold justice for more victims, to seek redress for more innocent people. I regret not meeting you earlier—three years, five years, or even earlier—to stay by your side longer, until I grew tired of you, until I lost interest in you, you old thing.”

 

Li Shi chuckled softly and scolded with a smile: “Little rascal.”

 

After a long while, a sigh slowly escaped: “You’re not wrong—the Great Zhou is wrong. The Great Zhou is sick, with chronic ailments that have lasted long. When necessary, one must cut off an arm to save a life. Since you chose the Dali Temple, investigating and revealing the truth is your duty, while as regent prince, stabilizing the court and balancing the realm is mine. You do what you should do, and I’ll handle the rest.”

 

Su Cen looked up in panic, and those deep, steady eyes caught him firmly: “Don’t worry, the Great Zhou can afford this price.”

 

When the first rooster crow sounded in Chang’an, the rain stopped, and Li Shi left.

 

The gatekeeper was startled when opening the gate—sitting outside was a person soaked through, pale-faced, but with eyes bright as the last remaining star on the horizon. He had thought this person was waiting for the gate to open, but after he fully opened the ward gate, he saw the person stand up, shake off the rainwater, and walk back without looking back.

 

The gatekeeper shook his head, muttered “madman,” and yawned as he continued with his duties.

 

Hearing the door open, everyone in the room looked up. Cui Hao quietly breathed a sigh of relief, while Qu Ling’er quickly stood up, wanting to ask something but not knowing how to begin.

 

Su Cen methodically washed his face, changed into court robes, and after tidying himself up, was once again the distinguished Lord Su.

 

He turned back and nodded to Cui Hao: “Let’s go.”

 

Just as the chen hour arrived, all civil and military officials gathered in Hanyuan Hall to pay respects to His Majesty and the regent prince. The young emperor, following usual custom, allowed the ministers to rise and routinely asked if anyone had matters to report.

 

The grand court assembly was generally just going through the motions, allowing lower-ranking officials to glimpse the imperial countenance. Matters for discussion had usually been petitioned and approved beforehand. Several officials stepped forward to praise the peaceful times and imperial virtue. The young emperor covered his face with memorials, stifled a yawn, and upon looking up met his uncle’s gaze, then stuck out his tongue sheepishly.

 

Finally enduring the sleep-inducing praise, the young emperor straightened up: “Do the ministers have other matters? If not, then…”

 

Zhang Jun suddenly stepped forward: “This subject has something to report.”

 

The young emperor frowned, forcing himself not to show his impatience, thinking about the cricket he’d caught yesterday, and quickly waved his hand: “Minister Zhang, speak quickly if you have something.”

 

“This subject…”

 

Zhang Jun had just begun when another clear, resonant voice rang out from behind: “This subject has thoroughly investigated the matter of Liuzhou scholar Tian Pingzhi’s sudden death in the examination hall in the 22nd year of Yonglong, and requests to report.”

 

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