PCA Chapter 222

Su Cen came out of the Wen residence in a rage, walking with such force and sharp eyes that even the gate guards avoided him to escape involvement.

 

Zheng Yang followed behind cursing all the way: “When Uncle was in power, these people couldn’t even qualify to carry his shoes. Now seeing Uncle’s downfall, they come to kick him when he’s down. If they don’t dare oppose Li Sheng, just say so—what kind of excuse is this, pretending to be so righteous? They’ve already chosen sides early, but who knows who will win or lose!”

 

Near the carriage, Su Cen suddenly stopped and looked around sharply.

 

Zheng Yang became alert: “What’s wrong?”

 

Only then did Su Cen lower his gaze and lift the carriage curtain to get in.

 

Even after the carriage had traveled far, Su Cen remained silent. Zheng Yang consoled: “Don’t be angry. It’s not like the Wen family is the only one in court. If he doesn’t dare stand up, naturally others will speak for Uncle. Today was just the beginning—you’ll see, someone will definitely petition tomorrow.”

 

Su Cen nodded, the hostility in his eyes gone, replaced by his usual calm: “Don’t you think Wen Xiu’s attitude today was strange?”

 

“Strange?” Zheng Yang was slightly stunned. “How so?”

 

Su Cen said: “He refused too decisively.”

 

“Decisively? Looking at how eager he was to defect to Li Sheng, wouldn’t it be fake if he wasn’t decisive?” Zheng Yang said disdainfully.

 

Su Cen pondered for a moment: “But Wen Xiu isn’t a newcomer after all. The Wen family has been officials for generations and deeply understands court routines. Changing sides at the last moment is taboo—the former master despises it and the new master suspects it. With the Yonglong palace coup as precedent, he should know that maintaining neutrality is the best choice at times like this. Moreover, even if Wen Xiu was momentarily careless and chose the wrong path, what about the Old Prime Minister? Would he let him act so recklessly?”

 

Zheng Yang thought carefully and came to his senses: “You make sense. Could it be as Wen Xiu said—Li Sheng sowed discord and falsely accused Uncle of harming Sister Wen?”

 

“That makes even less sense,” Su Cen said. “Miss Wen has been dead for over ten years. Bringing it up now is suspicious in itself. Moreover, after learning about it, Wen Xiu neither went to verify with the Prince nor reported it for investigation—he just believed Li Sheng’s words? His decisive refusal is actually suspicious. Also, did you notice several people lingering around the Wen residence gates? They’ve been watching us since we entered.”

 

Zheng Yang nodded: “At first I thought they were passersby or vendors, but they were still there when we came out.”

 

“Miss Wen…” Su Cen frowned and pondered. “Does Wen Xiu want us to investigate Miss Wen’s cause of death?”

 

“But time is so tight—where’s the time to worry about other cases?”

 

“We don’t need to investigate… we can ask…” Su Cen looked up. “I don’t believe no one truly knows the cause of Miss Wen’s death back then.”

 

Zheng Yang looked up: “Ask who? Uncle?”

 

Su Cen shook his head lightly and instructed the driver: “To the imperial prison.”

 

The sky was beginning to darken. Due to Chang’an’s inflexible curfew system, pedestrians hurried along while street vendors busily packed up their stalls to close and go home. The carriage fell silent for a moment, both men hidden in deep darkness, each lost in thought.

 

“Do you think Uncle will really be alright?” Zheng Yang was first to break the silence.

 

Su Cen was startled and came back to his senses. He knew what Zheng Yang was thinking—with just the two of them, could they really investigate that old case clearly in these few short days? When he had agreed to Li Sheng’s terms, he was full of passionate determination, but now he was gradually sensing the difficulty. He often felt inexplicably anxious and woke up in cold sweats at night. He had already messed things up once before, and last time Li Shi had shouldered the burden for him. If he made another mistake this time, it would be irreversible.

 

Zheng Yang also knew this question was difficult, but his heart was equally troubled, tangled like a mess of hemp threads. He needed someone to be his support, to sustain him through this.

 

Previously, that person had been Uncle or Mother Consort. Relying on his privileged birth, he could walk sideways through Chang’an. But one day the sky collapsed and dark clouds pressed down on the city. Now the only person he could count on was Su Cen.

 

“Our examination class has truly had a troubled fate. I still remember during the imperial examinations, you, me, and Cui Hao stood before the great hall of Hanyuan Palace, granted first-class degrees, receiving the admiring gazes of scholars throughout the realm,” Zheng Yang sighed lightly. “Now, of those still struggling in this court, only I remain.”

 

“Speaking of Cui Hao, he was the first to leave, but now it seems he was the wisest,” Zheng Yang smiled helplessly. “Old Chen is dead, Prime Minister Liu is dead, Brother Feng is dead too. Who knows who will be next? If I had known the court would become this chaotic, living peacefully with a small plot of land like Cui Hao wouldn’t be bad either.”

 

“It will be fine,” Su Cen suddenly said, his fingertips digging deep into his palm while he stared at the thick darkness before him, trying to discern some light from it. “As long as it wasn’t the Prince who did it, I will get to the truth.”

 

The carriage interior fell quiet again. The carriage rolled over the bluestone road, but its speed grew slower and slower until it finally stopped.

 

Calculating the distance, they shouldn’t have reached their destination yet. There were noisy voices outside, so Zheng Yang lifted the curtain to ask the driver what was happening.

 

The driver was also craning his neck to look ahead. Seeing Zheng Yang emerge, he quickly turned back: “Something seems to have happened ahead. The carriage can’t move forward.”

 

Zheng Yang frowned and was about to instruct the driver to take a detour through the alleys when he suddenly froze, then said hesitantly after a moment: “Huang Wan’er?”

 

Su Cen had been waiting in the carriage for a while without any movement, so he came out to inquire. He saw Zheng Yang pointing to someone standing in the crowd: “Do you think that’s Huang Wan’er?”

 

Su Cen looked in the direction Zheng Yang indicated. The person ahead was wearing a cloak lined with snow fox fur, standing under a teahouse looking up—it was indeed Huang Wan’er, whom he had rescued from Caotang Temple that day.

 

During this hesitation, more carriages came up from behind, making it too late to turn around now.

 

Su Cen observed for a while longer. The crowd showed no signs of dispersing, so he got down from the carriage and said to Zheng Yang: “Come on, let’s take a look.”

 

Only when the two approached did they understand the situation. Miss Huang had brought her son out shopping, but halfway through, her son was kidnapped. The kidnapper was also someone wealthy and powerful who had occupied a teahouse. Two guards with weapons stood at the door, brazenly taking the child into the teahouse in broad daylight.

 

They hadn’t noticed from the carriage earlier, but coming closer, they could faintly hear a child’s crying from inside the teahouse.

 

Huang Wan’er’s eyes lit up seeing Su Cen. She stepped forward and had already called out “Brother Su,” but catching sight of Zheng Yang nearby, she quickly changed her address and bowed simply to both: “Greetings to the Young Master and Young Master Su.”

 

Huang Wan’er had stayed at the Su residence for a few days and had always followed Qu Ling’er in calling him Brother Su. Su Cen smiled helplessly: “After not seeing you for a year, why have you become so formal?”

 

“Brother Su,” Huang Wan’er immediately changed back, but her joy lasted only a moment before her face fell again. “Brother Su, please save Qiong’er.”

 

At that moment, a window on the second floor of the teahouse suddenly opened, and a familiar face appeared behind it, holding a crying child. The person raised an eyebrow and smiled down at them: “Su Su, it’s been so long.”

 

“…Song Fan.” Su Cen couldn’t help but frown. He felt an instinctive revulsion toward this name from deep within, his entire body growing cold as if crawled over by cold-blooded creatures.

 

“Qiong’er!” Huang Wan’er immediately burst into tears.

 

Song Fan ignored Huang Wan’er and waved at Su Cen: “Want to come up and see my son?”

 

Su Cen looked at the helpless Huang Wan’er beside him. Though his heart resisted, he still nodded in agreement: “I’ll take a look.”

 

“Brother Su.” Zheng Yang tried to stop him.

 

Su Cen turned back and patted his hand, instructing: “Go to the Dali Temple, find Lord Zhang.”

 

The guards at the door indeed didn’t stop him. Watching Su Cen’s figure disappear step by step up the stairs to the second floor, Zheng Yang finally flicked his sleeve, stamped his foot, and hurried back to get reinforcements.

 

Outside, the cold wind was bitter, but inside the teahouse it was warm as spring. When Su Cen reached the upper floor, he saw Song Fan sitting with a child in his arms. The child was quite handsome, with mouth and facial features somewhat resembling Huang Wan’er, but his eyes took after Song Fan. His face was streaked with tears, making him look rather pitiful. The table was laden with exquisite delicate pastries, though none appeared to have been touched.

 

Song Fan gestured with his chin for Su Cen to sit down, then grabbed the child under the arms and lifted him up: “Look, my son.”

 

The child flailed his little arms and legs in the air, crying even louder.

 

Su Cen was about to reach out to take the child when Song Fan pulled him back into his embrace, frowning as he picked at his ear: “Crying, crying, always crying. Are all children this good at crying?”

 

Su Cen frowned: “You’re hurting him.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t know you understood children,” Song Fan’s eyes and brows were full of smiles. “Don’t tell me you spent this year in Yangzhou just getting married and having children?”

 

He turned and smiled again: “Oh, I forgot—you like men, and men can’t bear children for you.”

 

He then pulled out a brown sugar pastry and stuffed it into the child’s mouth: “Stop crying, eat something to plug up your mouth.”

 

The little child was crying with his mouth open when he was suddenly stuffed full of pastry crumbs. He choked in his throat, and his crying turned into sharp coughing.

 

Su Cen immediately stood up: “This is your own son.”

 

Song Fan’s smile didn’t diminish in the slightest. He casually put down the pastry covered with snot and tears, laughing: “Yes, who would have thought I’d end up gaining a son.”

 

Su Cen said coldly: “You were the one who nearly trapped Huang Wan’er and your son to death in that well.”

 

“That’s why I should thank you,” Song Fan raised an eyebrow and smiled, personally pouring a cup of hot tea for Su Cen. “Come, let’s use tea instead of wine—I thank you.”

 

Su Cen looked coldly at the cup of tea Song Fan had brewed. Wisps of white steam rose from it, clearly quite hot.

 

He was already repulsed by anything Song Fan offered, so naturally he refused to accept it.

 

Song Fan raised an eyebrow: “If you don’t drink it, how about I have my son drink it for you?”

 

Su Cen stared coldly at Song Fan for a moment, then grabbed the hot tea from the table corner and drank it all in one gulp.

 

The scalding tea burned his tongue and throat until they went slightly numb. Even after swallowing, Su Cen couldn’t taste what kind of tea it actually was.

 

Song Fan smiled with satisfaction, reached out to pinch the child’s tender cheek and examined him for a moment: “Huang Wan’er named my son something like Huang Boqiong. I don’t like it. Su Su, you’re the top scholar—why don’t you give my son a name?”

 

While speaking, his leg suddenly felt warm and wet. Song Fan jumped up to see that most of his robes were soaked. The little child looked at him innocently, sparing no effort to spray the last bit of urine on him.

 

Song Fan: “…”

 

Su Cen’s expression turned stern, afraid Song Fan might do something to the child. He quickly stepped forward and, while Song Fan was still stunned, snatched the child away and protectively held him in his arms.

 

Song Fan stood there empty-handed, stunned. Rarely, he didn’t get angry, just frowned and shook his foul-smelling clothes, then called over a servant and forced the man to exchange clothes with him. When he finished tidying up and tried to take the child back from Su Cen, Su Cen absolutely refused to give him up.

 

Song Fan pressed closer step by step: “This is my son.”

 

Su Cen backed away step by step while protecting the child: “Did you give birth to this child, raise him, or has he ever called you father? What right do you have to say he’s your son?”

 

Song Fan’s peach blossom eyes narrowed slightly. Since bringing the child here, he had only been concerned with the crying and had forgotten to make him call him father. His eyes turned vicious as he glared at the child, who had finally calmed down in Su Cen’s arms but nearly started crying again under Song Fan’s stare.

 

Seeing the second-floor railing behind him with nowhere left to retreat, Su Cen could only hold the child tightly in his arms.

 

Suddenly, the teahouse’s main door was pushed open from outside. A team of soldiers poured in, with Zhang Jun following close behind. Seeing the situation upstairs, he raised his arm and waved: “What are you standing there for? Arrest him!”

 

The soldiers immediately rushed up and surrounded Song Fan.

 

Song Fan smiled coldly: “I’m the heir of Prince Yu’s residence. Do you dare arrest me?”

 

Zhang Jun slowly walked up the stairs: “We’re arresting you precisely. Kidnapping people in broad daylight—if we don’t arrest you, who should we arrest?”

 

“I’m this child’s father.”

 

Zhang Jun patted his belly and smiled: “This child’s father is the young marquis of the Marquis of Ding’an’s residence. The emperor personally granted that marriage back then. Are you him?”

 

He turned and ordered: “Arrest him.”

 

Song Fan had great skills but couldn’t display them in such a confined space, so he could only submit to capture. His eyes defiantly sized up Zhang Jun, making people feel inexplicably cold.

 

But Zhang Jun remained unmoved: “Other offices don’t dare arrest you, but our Dali Temple dares. Even if we can only hold you for one night, it’ll dampen your arrogant spirit. Take him away!”

 

Su Cen went downstairs and returned the child to Huang Wan’er. Huang Wan’er wept with joy, taking the child and examining him repeatedly until she was sure he had no external injuries.

 

She then remembered that when this child was first born, he had acknowledged Su Cen as his godfather. Holding the child, she stepped forward: “Come, Qiong’er, call father.”

 

The little child looked timidly at Su Cen and called out in a baby voice: “Father.”

 

The voice wasn’t loud, but Song Fan, who was being escorted past, happened to hear it. He immediately lost his composure: “Why does he get to call you father!”

 

Su Cen gestured for Huang Wan’er to take the child and leave first, then turned back to face Song Fan: “It doesn’t matter who he calls father, as long as it’s not you.”

 

“Don’t get cocky,” Song Fan suddenly smiled. “Do you know why we let you investigate Li Shi’s case?”

 

Su Cen was stunned. Song Fan took the opportunity to lean close to his ear and whisper: “Because we didn’t do this.”

 

Su Cen’s body swayed slightly. Song Fan’s voice was light and airy, as if poisoned: “So this case is either true, or Li Shi is seeking death himself. We’re at most just adding fuel to the fire. Only after you help us investigate clearly can we feel at ease making our move.”

 

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