PCA Chapter 212

Su Cen stood frozen in place. After coming to his senses, his first reaction was to pinch himself hard.

 

What an absurd scene this was, like one big dream hadn’t ended and another immediately followed. The scenery before his eyes suddenly became covered with a layer of mist, strange and bizarre, yet only that person’s figure remained clear as before, exactly the same as in his dreams.

 

Li Shi swept his cloak and dismounted, travel-worn but still with an upright bearing and vigorous spirit.

 

“This welcoming gift is truly substantial.” Though he spoke to Yang Wanhong, his gaze remained fixed ahead, unwilling to look away.

 

What had originally been a major crime of deception and concealment—he suddenly didn’t know how to judge it.

 

Yang Wanhong thought the Prince was blaming him for poor governance and immediately prostrated himself, not daring to rise. Those officials also quickly knelt down, making false accusations first: “Your, Your Highness, forgive us. This person is a troublemaker who brought these fake monks to spread lies and incite the people. Your subject was carrying out orders to arrest them.”

 

“Spreading lies…” Li Shi walked forward step by step with his hands behind his back, looked down at the official, his eyes turning cold. The riding whip in his hand rose and fell with a swish, directly knocking the man to the ground.

 

A cold, severe wound stretched from the shoulder across to the chest, tearing through his outer garment. Blood began to seep out moments later.

 

The official’s face went pale with pain, but he didn’t dare make a sound.

 

The whip’s wind brushed past Su Cen’s ear, yet his heart suddenly became overwhelmingly moist.

 

Once before the assembled ministers, in the great hall, those people had pointed at his spine with their white teeth and red tongues, calling him a “deceiver of the world,” cursing him for “spreading lies,” wishing they could pounce on him and devour his flesh, as if he had truly done something that angered both heaven and earth. He woke from nightmares countless times to that scene, drenched in cold sweat, unable to recover for a long time.

 

Most terrifying was that in his dreams, that person was also there, looking at him with deep, silent eyes full of heartbreak.

 

This whip tore open a gap in the air, and Su Cen suddenly felt those curses grow distant. The nightmare receded like a flood, and he finally surfaced, gasping for breath.

 

Li Shi casually tossed the riding whip to someone behind him and stepped forward. When he reached out his hand, it was actually trembling slightly.

 

“Zixu, oh Zixu,” the cool thumb ring gently traced across his cheek, “how is it that I always encounter you here?”

 

In a teahouse with just a few people, Su Cen held a cup of Kuilong Pearl tea that had gone cold without taking a single sip.

 

“That Lord Yang just now is not a good person,” Su Cen said softly with his head down. “He ordered his subordinates to drive all the real disaster victims outside the city. Those left here are all people he found to impersonate them. Don’t let him deceive you.”

 

“The area most severely affected by this earthquake was Fuli County, not Suzhou city. The people there haven’t had food for many days. Yang Wanhong has appropriated the disaster relief supplies for himself, deceiving those above and below. He…”

 

“When we came, we took a route through Xuzhou and specifically detoured to Fuli to see for ourselves. I already know everything you mentioned, and the people have been settled. Is there anything else?” Li Shi interrupted.

 

Su Cen opened his mouth, then understood—what could be hidden from Li Shi’s eyes in this court? How much ability did Yang Wanhong think he had to play tricks in front of Prince Ning? The result would naturally be more than he could handle.

 

“Also… Teacher didn’t wait for court approval and took it upon himself to send additional troops and supplies to Suzhou. That’s always been his nature. Could you perhaps pardon him?”

 

Li Shi smiled helplessly: “Is this all you wanted to tell me?”

 

Su Cen’s fingertips picked at the rim of the cup, his gaze as if trying to see a flower bloom from the blue-white glazed porcelain.

 

Finally, Li Shi spoke first: “How have you been this past year?”

 

Su Cen pressed his lips together: “Not bad.”

 

“You’ve lost weight,” Li Shi observed for a moment. “Has someone been giving you trouble?”

 

“No.” Su Cen shook his head gently.

 

“Why are you with a group of monks?”

 

Su Cen glanced at the Lingyuan Temple monks eating vegetarian food downstairs: “Buddhist teachings are boundless and can bring peace of mind.”

 

Li Shi asked: “Why do you need peace of mind?”

 

Su Cen pressed his lips together. Those shameful thoughts—he couldn’t voice them.

 

The atmosphere grew quiet. Li Shi’s deep gaze lowered, knowing he was again taking all responsibility upon himself. So much time had passed, yet he still imprisoned himself, refusing to forgive himself.

 

“You left without saying goodbye back then,” Li Shi said. “There were some things I didn’t get to tell you.”

 

Su Cen kept his head very low, saying softly: “I had no face to see you.”

 

“Do you regret it?” Li Shi asked.

 

Regret? Su Cen bit his lip lightly. Countless people had asked him—for two lives, he had ruined his reputation, lost years of effort in an instant, and nearly lost his life. Had he ever felt even a trace of regret?

 

But he had never been willing to face this question directly, because only he knew that he hadn’t just lost reputation and status—he had lost his very soul, leaving only an empty shell drifting aimlessly.

 

Li Shi said: “Years ago, when I was inspecting the Huainan Circuit garrison and passed through Suzhou, right here, I met someone.”

 

Rain began pattering outside the window. The room hadn’t yet been lit, pressed down by the gloomy sky outside, shrouded in increasingly dense darkness.

 

Su Cen slowly raised his head, looking at Li Shi’s silhouette hidden in the darkness, and suddenly an idea surfaced in his mind.

 

“Ten taels of silver could save a life, but ten copper coins could preserve one’s integrity. How would you choose?”

 

A floodgate suddenly burst open, releasing a torrent of emotions.

 

That year in Suzhou, it had rained for an entire month.

 

He had gotten off to a bad start—his money pouch was stolen as soon as he arrived in Suzhou city. With a high fever and nowhere to turn, he finally had to make a living selling paintings on the street.

 

His ink bamboo painting with excellent form and spirit could have fetched a good price, but the buyer demanded he add a golden pheasant beneath the bamboo.

 

At that time, he was young and didn’t know the taste of sorrow or what fear meant. Driven by youthful spirit, he flatly refused. The man flew into a rage, smashed his stall, and broke his brushes, yet he could still straighten his back and declare: “I said I won’t paint it, so I won’t!”

 

It was then that a voice suddenly rang out from the crowd—clearly deep and resonant, yet instantly piercing through the surrounding noise.

 

The voice said: “Ten copper coins. I’ll buy this painting.”

 

Suzhou had been rainy for days, and he was already running a high fever. Following the voice, he looked over but couldn’t make out the person’s face clearly.

 

Ten copper coins were barely a drop in the bucket for his situation then, yet he gladly sold the painting. The person seemed to already know how he would choose, smiled lightly, counted out ten copper coins, and placed them palm to palm in his hand.

 

He remembered all of this, but couldn’t recall that face.

 

Now, overlapping with Li Shi’s face in the shadows, it suddenly became clear.

 

“It was you back then…” Su Cen looked up, and a line of hot tears suddenly fell uncontrollably.

 

“Standing alone with proud bones, wrongly made dust beneath vain steps.” Li Shi recited this—it was the inscription on his painting, composed impromptu when handing over the painting, written with bold strokes. Apart from the buyer, no one else knew it.

 

“I remember now, I remember everything…”

 

Back then, he had been running a high fever. The four-copper-coin bun he bought went uneaten as he dozed off against a greasy table. In his dreams, he vaguely felt someone gently carry him away, accompanied by a clean, cool sandalwood fragrance that was wonderfully pleasant.

 

When he woke, he was in an inn room. The table was set with exquisite, delicate dishes, fragrant tea, and sweet pastries—a world apart from that nauseating lard smell.

 

That person’s voice was more mellow than any wine in the world: “I saw your painting—it was very good. Ten copper coins was too little, so let me treat you to a meal as well.”

 

When wine meets a kindred spirit, a thousand cups are too few. They discussed classics and philosophy together. At that time, he was bold and unrestrained, with peerless grace. Using the table as paper and chopsticks as brushes, he embraced the world and critiqued the realm. They discussed the problems of border generals amassing private armies, explored the pros and cons of the salt monopoly decree, and together cursed the factional struggles. Talking and talking, they spent the entire night without rest.

 

He was in high spirits, but his body was still recovering from serious illness. Near dawn he finally succumbed to sleep, but when he woke, he had forgotten everything.

 

No wonder when they first met at the East Market teahouse, Li Shi had observed him through a light gauze curtain. No wonder at the Qinglin Banquet, Li Shi immediately knew which place would suit him best.

 

But he had over-interpreted the meaning in those eyes, thinking it was mockery or ridicule, angry that no matter what he did, he was seen through at a glance.

 

His hostility had come from nowhere. Looking back now, he had simply wanted to recapture that feeling of being evenly matched, unwilling to accept being at a disadvantage from their first encounter.

 

Su Cen fumbled several times before finding the money pouch he carried with him. He poured out a copper coin, held it to his chest, his spine trembling violently.

 

Li Shi stood up and consoled him: “That young man with proud bones is still there, has always been there. He cleared wrongful cases for the Great Zhou, upheld the law, maintained justice, and never bowed before tyrannical power.”

 

“He wasn’t wrong—he simply maintained his integrity while everyone else was intoxicated. If he had truly chosen those ten taels of silver, he wouldn’t be the Su Zixu I know.”

 

“Whether Suzhou city or Chang’an, neither should become shackles to imprison you. When the rivers are clear and seas calm, you must still watch over them for me.”

 

Su Cen slept well for once, dreamless and sweet, deep and peaceful.

 

When he woke, the sky had cleared. Disaster victims poured into the city in large numbers, finally able to eat their fill. The bustling voices finally brought life to what had been a false city.

 

After handling everything, Li Shi had already rushed back to the capital.

 

Years ago, Li Shi had left him ten copper coins and a backbone of integrity. Now he had broken his shackles again and returned his freedom.

 

The great dream had finally ended, everything returned to its proper course. He had long known he might not be able to accompany Li Shi to the end, but wherever Great Zhou’s territory extended, Li Shi was with him.

 

After returning from Suzhou, Su Cen stopped going to Lingyuan Temple and was no longer half-dead as before. Music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, wine, and flowers—he touched upon everything and excelled in each. He gradually began helping Su Lan handle the tea shop business. Being naturally intelligent, after following Su Lan on several trips, he picked things up quite quickly.

 

Su Lan was overjoyed. Seeing his brother finally had spirit again, he tentatively brought up the matter of marriage and starting a family.

 

Unexpectedly, Su Cen nodded without much hesitation. When a man comes of age, he should marry. He would follow his elder brother’s arrangements.

 

The marriage between Young Master Su and Miss Wang was set for the eighth day of the twelfth month. On the wedding day, with red decorations stretching ten li, the entire city emptied to watch. According to elderly residents, they hadn’t seen such a scene in decades.

 

The groom rode a tall horse at the head of the procession, jade-faced and dignified, followed by a bright red eight-bearer sedan chair. Behind the sedan, the dowry alone stretched nearly a li.

 

In front of the Su residence, Lin Zongqing personally wrote four large characters—”Perfect Match Made in Heaven”—no smaller than what he had written at the examination hall gates.

 

With the Governor setting an example, figures large and small throughout Yangzhou came to attend. The vast Su family residence nearly couldn’t accommodate everyone.

 

The auspicious time had arrived, the three letters and six rites were complete. The new couple, connected by a red silk cord, slowly approached and stood together beneath the main hall.

 

Just then, commotion erupted in the crowd. A figure broke through and rushed directly onto the courtyard where the ceremony was about to begin.

 

“Young Master Su, urgent message from the capital—six hundred li express!”

 

Su Cen recognized this person—a servant from the Duke of Ying’s residence who usually followed Zheng Yang’s orders. Su Cen frowned, not understanding what Zheng Yang was up to now. He was about to step forward when Su Lan’s glare stopped him.

 

“The auspicious time has arrived. Complete the ceremony first.”

 

Su Cen hesitated. It really wouldn’t do to keep so many people waiting, so he gestured for the servant to wait.

 

Just as he turned around, the servant, in desperation, spoke out decisively.

 

“Prince Ning Li Shi is suspected of colluding with the Turks, murdering the former emperor, and attempting rebellion. He has been detained in Xingqing Palace and will be executed soon!”

 

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