PCA Chapter 82

The winter days grew dark quickly. Qu Ling’er leaned against the window, staring blankly at a magnolia tree in the courtyard, its leaves long since fallen. The setting sun cast its golden glow on his pale face, finally adding a hint of color to his otherwise sickly complexion.

 

He had spent more than half a month confined to bed, nearly causing Su Cen to bury him with all the precious herbs that had been used. The discarded medicinal dregs beneath the magnolia tree had piled up half a foot high—one could already predict that the tree would flourish gloriously next spring.

 

Now that he had finally been granted permission to get out of bed, all Qu Ling’er wanted was to stay as far away from that bed as possible.

 

Over the past two weeks, he had met everyone in the Su residence, even the esteemed Prince of Ning, who had once stopped by his room—though it was clearly to look for Su Cen rather than him. And yet, that person hadn’t come to see him even once.

 

Perhaps they were simply not meant to walk the same path.

 

At some point, a bird landed in the courtyard, perching on one of the magnolia’s bare branches. Its feathers were a mix of gray and white, with a tuft of red on its head, making it quite endearing.

 

Qu Ling’er went back into his room and fetched an almond pastry. He crumbled a bit of it onto the windowsill. In this freezing winter month when food was scarce, it wasn’t easy for such a little bird to survive alone out in the wild.

 

The bird hesitated on the tree for a while before fluttering down and pecking at the crumbs on the windowsill.

 

It wasn’t afraid of people at all. When Qu Ling’er extended some crumbs in his palm, the bird tilted its head to look at him before hopping onto his hand without hesitation.

 

As he played with the bird, Qu Ling’er suddenly felt someone’s gaze on him. He looked up and saw a tall figure standing behind the garden wall. The moment their eyes met, the figure turned and left.

 

Qu Ling’er quickly brushed off the crumbs in his hand and rushed out through the door.

 

But by then, the faint mist had thickened, and the courtyard was empty. The figure behind the garden wall was long gone.

 

That evening, there was no *Floating Clouds White Egret Soup* served at dinner. The second young master of the Su family wore an expression of utter displeasure. While grinding ink later that night, he vented all his frustration on the inkstone. His impatience and heavy-handedness caused Li Shi’s writing to come out unevenly shaded as he penned several characters.

 

“Enough,” Li Shi said. “If you don’t want to grind ink, then don’t bother. Stop taking your anger out on it.”

 

Su Cen looked at the inkstick in his hand—its texture smooth and rich with fine patterns. It was none other than Tinggui Ink, famously known as “easier to obtain gold than this ink.” Reluctant to ruin it further, he set it down and complained, “Without rules, nothing can be accomplished. Even in small households like ours, discipline is necessary; how much more so for royalty? If someone makes a mistake, why doesn’t Your Highness punish them?”

 

Since Li Shi’s arrival in Yangzhou, memorials from across the nation had been sent there for review. Every day he worked late into the night approving them. Dipping his brush into ink again without looking up, Li Shi replied casually, “Didn’t I already punish them?”

 

A missed dinner hardly satisfied Su Cen’s sense of justice. He fumed and said indignantly, “And what about Ling’er? What about that sword Qi Lin drove into Qu Ling’er? How does that get resolved?”

 

Li Shi asked calmly, “Did Qu Ling’er send you here?”

 

Su Cen didn’t answer. Qu Ling’er seemed to have been bewitched by something; not only did he refuse to admit who had hurt him when asked but also showed no intention of seeking justice for himself.

 

Without lifting his head from his work, Li Shi said flatly: “The person involved hasn’t spoken up—why are you so anxious?”

 

Determined to stand up for Qu Ling’er, Su Cen blurted out without thinking: “Qu Ling’er is my person; I—”

 

The prince furrowed his brows and paused his writing. Clearly losing patience now, he looked up at Su Cen and said coldly: “And Qi Lin is mine.”

 

Su Cen broke into a cold sweat, not daring to push further. The saying “complacency leads to ruin” came to mind—he had grown so accustomed to Li Shi’s favor over the past few days that he had forgotten himself, daring to pressure Li Shi into punishing one of his own.

 

“I didn’t punish Qi Lin because I don’t believe he did anything wrong,” Li Shi said calmly. “I told him to bring the person back, and he did. Why should I punish him? You weren’t there when it happened, so how do you know Qu Ling’er wasn’t trying to defect to the Secret Door with intelligence? Or perhaps Qu Ling’er colluded with Secret Door rebels to attack Qi Lin? Now that Qu Ling’er is injured, you’re here demanding justice. But what if it were Qi Lin who was hurt instead? What would you have me do then?”

 

A chill ran down Su Cen’s spine. It had been a long time since he had clashed with Li Shi, and he had nearly forgotten how cold and ruthless this man could be. If Li Shi wanted someone dead, it was as simple as lifting a finger.

 

“Everything must be done willingly,” Li Shi continued. “Since Qu Ling’er hasn’t spoken up, it means he accepted it willingly. There’s no need for you to stand up for him.”

 

“My ink has dried,” Li Shi said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You may leave now. Send Qi Lin in.”

 

Su Cen stood frozen in place for a long time, torn between his emotions. Finally, he swallowed his pride and softened his stance. Picking up the inkstick, he asked cautiously, “How about I grind the ink instead?”

 

Li Shi didn’t look up, which Su Cen took as tacit approval. Rolling up his sleeves, Su Cen focused on grinding the ink diligently without saying another word.

 

The ink he produced this time was smooth and rich, perfect for writing without blotting the paper or pen. By the time Li Shi finished reviewing all the memorials at the third watch of the night, there were no further incidents.

 

Li Shi set down his brush and glanced at Su Cen. He saw someone obedient and respectful, standing all night despite his injured leg and grinding ink tirelessly. His wrist must have been sore by now.

 

Though Su Cen appeared docile and well-behaved, Li Shi knew exactly what he was scheming.

 

Having dealt with state affairs, it was now time to address personal matters. Li Shi spread his arms and said, “Come here.”

 

Su Cen naturally sat down in front of him without complaint or resentment, lowering his gaze in a submissive posture that seemed to say he would accept whatever was given or taken from him.

 

Li Shi sighed softly. It was easy to rule an empire but hard to govern one’s own household. Pinching Su Cen’s delicate chin, he said, “One month’s salary deduction—will that do?”

 

Su Cen looked up at him. He knew full well that Li Shi was giving him an out, a way to save face. At this moment, he should gratefully accept and express his thanks. But Su Cen, ever rebellious by nature, raised two fingers and pushed further: “Two months.”

 

Li Shi laughed and relented. After all, deducting Qi Lin’s salary was inconsequential—he lived in Xingqing Palace with no hobbies or family to support and had gone without pay more than once before.

 

But when dealing with someone like Su Cen, a bit of indulgence went a long way. A small concession brought back the lively spirit in the person sitting before him—the sharp-tongued little fox who had returned to life.

 

One moment Su Cen was complaining about a cunning salt merchant; the next moment, he was criticizing the poor handwriting of the clerks in the yamen. Li Shi knew this chatter wasn’t because Su Cen truly cared—it was because he had been frightened earlier and couldn’t stop talking now as a way of coping with his nerves. Serving a prince was like living alongside a tiger; no wonder Su Cen had been startled.

 

Li Shi gently massaged Su Cen’s wrist as if nothing had happened. Su Cen enjoyed it immensely. Grinding ink required skill—keeping the stick straight while maintaining steady pressure with suspended hands for consistent results. It couldn’t be rushed or delayed. Back when Su Cen insisted on perfection and disliked how servants ground ink for him, he often did it himself while testing its quality along the way—eventually mastering the craft.

 

But even so, standing all night grinding ink would leave anyone’s wrist sore no matter how much they slacked off.

 

Li Shi found several acupoints on Su Cen’s wrist and massaged them lightly. The sensation was both achy and soothing—a delightful relief.

 

Leaning forward slightly, Su Cen kissed Li Shi on the corner of his lips with an affectionate gaze tinged with flattery. The sharp edges of his personality softened into gentle ripples of spring water.

 

The old fox narrowed his eyes slightly; something in them shifted instantly.

 

In just two steps, they were entangled together and carried onto the bed without any effort at all.

 

On the first day Li Shi arrived, Su Cen injured his leg. The Prince of Ning had been staying for half a month, eating vegetarian meals the entire time. Now that Su Cen had willingly presented himself, things naturally spiraled out of control.

 

With swift movements, Li Shi stripped off Su Cen’s clothes, showing no patience as he grabbed both of Su Cen’s legs, ready to proceed.

 

But Su Cen let out a muffled groan, lowering his head as cold sweat immediately broke out on his forehead.

 

He had overestimated his body’s ability to heal. His knee was still in the scabbing stage, and even the slightest movement tore at the tender new skin. The wound reopened, splitting apart and oozing fresh blood.

 

The injury was visible to him, and naturally, Li Shi saw it too.

 

Li Shi narrowed his eyes and stared at it for a long moment. Su Cen gritted his teeth, thinking that at worst, he’d just bleed again and let it scab over once more. Tonight, he’d owe Li Shi a favor and repay it with his body. Just as he was about to speak, Li Shi suddenly withdrew his hands.

 

The arrow was nocked on the bowstring—yet this man stopped?

 

Su Cen froze for a moment. His heart felt warm but also guilty for ruining the mood.

 

Knowing that Li Shi hadn’t indulged in such pleasures for so long, leaving him frustrated for another night would surely be uncomfortable. Su Cen tugged at Li Shi’s sleeve cautiously and suggested, “How about I call Feng Yiming for you?”

 

Seeing no reaction from Li Shi, Su Cen started to get dressed to leave but was immediately pressed back onto the bed.

 

Looking into Su Cen’s eyes, Li Shi said firmly, word by word: “I don’t want him. I want you.”

 

His thumb lingered on Su Cen’s lips for a moment before he added, “Use your mouth.”

 

Master Su’s jaw ached terribly.

 

As he worked, he couldn’t help but marvel at how this thing was even shaped like this while calculating how long it had been—surely half an hour by now? In their usual bedroom exchanges, there was at least some give-and-take that made things bearable or even enjoyable. But now? It was nothing but exhausting and utterly miserable.

 

For the first time in his life, Master Su found his lips sore not from arguing in court but from yielding beneath the Prince of Ning.

 

“Focus,” Li Shi said as he pressed down on the back of Su Cen’s head, forcing him lower. Tears welled up in Su Cen’s eyes as he choked and whimpered.

 

When it was finally over and Li Shi surrendered his weapon, Su Cen was left coughing violently for half the night. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his throat.

 

In hindsight, being overpowered outright might have been better than this ordeal.

 

Li Shi gently wiped away the remnants on Su Cen’s face before pulling him into his arms with a teasing smile. “How does it taste?”

 

Su Cen’s voice was hoarse as he replied with a smile that resembled a poisonous poppy flower: “Since it’s bestowed by Your Highness, naturally it’s excellent.”

 

Li Shi chuckled as he pinched Su Cen’s chin. “Do you want more?”

 

Su Cen: “…Cough… cough… cough.”

 

Li Shi laughed heartily and held him close, patting his back until the coughing subsided. Once Su Cen caught his breath again, Li Shi asked, “Have you had enough of Yangzhou?”

 

Su Cen raised his head. “Are we returning to Chang’an?”

 

“Things here in Yangzhou are mostly settled. If we don’t return soon, I fear chaos will break out in the capital,” Li Shi said as he absentmindedly patted Su Cen’s back. “Certain people are already plotting to take advantage of my absence to push for regency.”

 

Though Li Shi had been in Yangzhou all this time, he hadn’t neglected matters in Chang’an. If he said someone was making moves, it meant he already had concrete information. Su Cen nodded and replied simply: “Then let us return.”

 

Li Shi remarked, “Chang’an is quite cold.”

 

Su Cen smiled in his arms and replied, “With you, I’m not afraid.”

 

 

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