SBMT Chapter 2

The imperial decree for the marriage arrived as expected, setting the wedding date for Prince Qin and the Marquis’s heir two months later.

 

There was only a little over a month to prepare-an extremely rushed timeline for a royal wedding, making it clear the emperor just wanted results and didn’t care about the pomp.

 

News of their upcoming marriage spread like wings, flying through every street and alley of the capital.

 

The reason the news spread so quickly was thanks to Chu Zhao’s reputation.

 

The emperor had spread rumors of his brutality-some people believed it, some didn’t. But no matter what, his military achievements were real; he was truly the war god of Great Qi. Even those who believed the rumors still felt a genuine awe when mentioning him.

 

Besides, when Chu Zhao returned victorious last year, many people had seen his face.

 

And what a striking face it was.

 

With sword-like brows and starry eyes, full of youthful vigor, the nineteen-year-old prince wore light armor, looking every bit the heroic young man, making the faces of many young ladies and gentlemen blush.

 

It’s said that day, all the flowers in the capital were bought up, with a sea of blossoms welcoming the general home, and the scent of flowers following Prince Qin’s horse all the way back to the city.

 

So, as soon as the news of his marriage broke, some pitied the supposedly frail heir about to marry into the prince’s household; others admired Prince Qin and felt deep regret that such a handsome lord was finally taken.

 

Not theirs anymore-sob.

 

Inside the prince’s residence, Chu Zhao listened to his guard, Hei Ying, report.

 

“…The Marquis’s heir is frail and sickly, rarely leaves home, and the other three masters of the house don’t care for him. Pushing him out for marriage is just a way to strip him of his heir status. If the Marquis hadn’t suggested it to the emperor, the emperor probably wouldn’t even remember there was such an heir in the capital.”

 

Chu Zhao sat grandly in his chair, tapping the armrest. “So your conclusion is, he can’t possibly be the emperor’s spy.”

 

Drawing conclusions was the master’s job; Hei Ying just reported the facts: “The heir has very little contact with anyone-no close friends, no correspondence, not even a confidant at his side.”

 

“Sounds squeaky clean.”

 

Chu Zhao picked up his teacup and took a sip. After the imperial marriage decree, the emperor seemed finally at ease and even showed him some favor; along with the decree came many rewards. The tea in his hand was top-grade tribute from Jiangnan, rare even in the palace, yet now he could drink it.

 

And he could drink it without worry-no poison.

 

How ironic. He didn’t get this kind of treatment even after winning a war and returning victorious.

 

But only a fool wouldn’t take advantage. While silently cursing the emperor in his heart, Chu Zhao smiled and accepted the gifts.

 

As he drank the imperial tea, Chu Zhao mused, “One thing I’m curious about: The Marquis is ruthless, and that Madam and eldest son don’t sound magnanimous either. How has a powerless, sickly heir managed to survive in that household?”

 

In the court, people would kill for power; in the inner residence, they’d eat each other alive for profit. In such a big household, killing someone was too easy-especially a sickly person like Shen Ziqin.

 

No need for poison or knives. Just a little neglect-a cold rain, kneeling on the ground, or cutting off his medicine-and he’d die quietly, with even the coroner unable to find anything wrong.

 

Hei Ying replied, “When the heir’s mother, the Lady of Pingyang, was alive, she was favored by the Empress Dowager. The imperial physician once said that if well cared for, the heir could live to forty. After the Lady passed, the Empress Dowager sent people to warn the Marquis, which kept the heir safe.”

 

A “warning” was really a threat.

 

Chu Zhao understood. “So that’s how it is.”

 

The Lady of Pingyang’s family wasn’t in the capital and had declined, so there was no one to rely on. Only the Empress Dowager’s pity offered some protection.

 

Hei Ying added, “But the Empress Dowager only saw the heir when he was a child; there’s been no contact since.”

 

Even if there was, it wouldn’t matter-the emperor was stubborn, and the Empress Dowager couldn’t control him. Their relationship was complicated; if she could persuade him, she wouldn’t be so disheartened, spending her days chanting scriptures in the palace, out of sight and mind.

 

The young guard, Bai Xiao, propped his chin nearby. “Sounds so pitiful.”

 

Bai Xiao was a child Chu Zhao picked up on the frontier-born with white hair, a martial arts prodigy, but straightforward and only thirteen. Though a guard, everyone doted on him.

 

He also loved gossip.

 

He chimed in, and Hei Ying added, “I’ve been to the Marquis’s house. The heir is very good-looking.”

 

Bai Xiao’s eyes lit up. “How good-looking?”

 

Hei Ying thought for a moment, then chose his words: “If he went out often, he’d replace the current number one beauty on the capital’s list.”

 

Bai Xiao: “Wow!”

 

He couldn’t help glancing at Chu Zhao, the current number one beauty in the capital: If someone’s even more beautiful than His Highness, what kind of celestial being must he be?

 

Hei Ying’s investigation was thorough-he’d even found out that the usually quiet heir had changed temperament a few days ago.

 

He reported this too, but both Chu Zhao and Hei Ying figured it was just illness and the oppressive household finally making the heir snap.

 

Why didn’t Chu Zhao, as a fellow transmigrator, suspect the heir was also one?

 

After all, transmigration wasn’t something you could buy by the bagful at the market. Having one was already a miracle; you couldn’t just assume anyone with a personality change was a transmigrator too.

 

“Just what kind of person is Shen Ziqin? I’ll have to see for myself,” Chu Zhao mused, quickly coming up with an idea. “Go deliver a message to the heir of Duke Dingguo for me.”

 

“Tell him, he can finally pay back the wine he owes me.”

 

*

 

The wedding date was set, but Shen Ziqin still hadn’t figured out how to avoid the bridal chamber.

 

He couldn’t blame himself-this frail body would suddenly become weak or ache, always interrupting his train of thought.

 

Health really is the most important thing. Shen Ziqin pressed his chest; once he got through this, he was determined to clear his mind and focus on recovery. The body comes first, everything else can wait.

 

In the stories he’d read, transmigrators always had great ambitions and grand plans, but Shen Ziqin just wanted a peaceful life. An ordinary, uneventful existence was true happiness. If he could, he’d be a salted fish for life-a lazybones.

 

The rapid development of ancient technology had nothing to do with him. He couldn’t shoulder the burden of human progress. His wishes, as a former corporate drone, were simple and plain.

 

Back to the bridal chamber problem.

 

If he pretended to be sick, the prince’s doctors would see through it immediately. But if he really fell ill, given the level of ancient medicine and his already frail health, he might end up in serious trouble.

 

It was a tough situation.

 

Should he just tell Chu Zhao directly that he didn’t want to consummate the marriage?

 

What if he made him angry?

 

After all, to people in ancient times, even if the couple were strangers before the wedding, sharing the bridal chamber right after the banquet was only natural.

 

Chu Zhao might not be favored by the emperor, but he was still a prince. If angered, at best Shen Ziqin would suffer endlessly, at worst, that wedding feast might be his last meal.

 

Ultimately, Shen Ziqin didn’t know what kind of person Chu Zhao really was, or whether he could be reasoned with.

 

The original novel made it clear that Chu Zhao’s bad reputation was fabricated by the emperor, but it never described his temperament in detail. Most of the time, Chu Zhao was a background figure, only mentioned by others.

 

All those descriptions of “invincible in battle” and “master of strategy” turned him into a golden idol-something to be worshipped in a temple, not a real person.

 

As for Chu Zhao’s true emotions and desires, the book never said a word.

 

Shen Ziqin thought it over. In the end, he’d have to meet him in person and decide what to do next.

 

Maybe he should write a letter and invite him out.

 

For two people who were engaged but had been strangers until now, a private invitation might seem a bit forward to ancient people, but to a modern soul, it was just right.

 

He had no choice. If he had any say in the Marquis’s household, he could have hosted a banquet or invited a group out to enjoy the scenery and included Chu Zhao, but he couldn’t do any of that, nor did he have anyone else to invite.

 

Shen Ziqin spread out a sheet of letter paper and picked up his brush.

 

After half a cup of tea, the paper was still blank.

 

After the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, there was only a black ink blot on the paper.

 

Shen Ziqin had drafted dozens of versions in his mind, but hadn’t written a single word.

 

Every time he was about to start, images of all the powerful nobles from the original novel-those who could turn hostile in an instant and cut people down like vegetables-would pop up in his mind.

 

Chu Zhao was one of those powerful nobles.

 

Always imagining the worst was exhausting, but Shen Ziqin couldn’t help it. He’d developed this habit, and it wouldn’t change overnight.

 

On the ink-stained paper, Shen Ziqin absentmindedly started drawing, just like when he’d get stuck writing the opening to a thesis and end up doodling instead.

 

He followed the ink blot, his brush moving smoothly-until he’d drawn a turtle.

 

Shen Ziqin calmly rolled up the ruined paper.

 

No rush, there were still two months until the wedding. He could take his time.

 

He looked up at the courtyard with its sickly tree, thinking maybe being locked up here since his transmigration had dulled his mind.

 

If he were in the modern world, he could happily stay indoors for weeks, but here there was no phone, no computer, no internet, not even a novel to pass the time. The view outside was bleak and rundown-being a homebody here was just boring.

 

He should go out and clear his head, change his mood. Since he’d already transmigrated, he might as well treat it like a trip and see the local sights.

 

Truly enjoying life-that’s what it meant to lie flat in happiness.

 

But he couldn’t go out alone, since he didn’t know the way.

 

Shen Ziqin called for his personal attendant.

 

When he first arrived, he’d seen this attendant look down his nose at him, smashing a bowl of medicine in front of him and spilling half of it on the table, splashing medicine everywhere.

 

No one in the Marquis’s household respected Shen Ziqin.

 

But now that he was engaged, the attendant would have to follow him to the prince’s residence, so the petty man suddenly transformed into a “loyal servant,” smiling like a flower in front of Shen Ziqin, as if he’d always been devoted.

 

“Does the young master have any orders?”

 

Looking at that fawning face, Shen Ziqin made up his mind: once he got to the prince’s residence, he’d fire this guy, just to show him how scary the working world could be.

 

Away with the petty man.

 

“I want to go out for a walk. Bring…” He paused, swallowing the words “show me the way,” and changed it to, “bring some money.”

 

He searched his bedroom and study but couldn’t find any banknotes or silver-he had no idea where they’d been put, or if the original heir had never saved a cent, his sleeves empty.

 

The attendant was surprised that the heir, who’d been growing mushrooms at home for years, suddenly wanted to go out, but now he was very obedient, bowing respectfully. “Yes, I’ll prepare the sedan chair right away.”

 

Shen Ziqin felt the faint breeze by the window. “No need for a sedan, I’ll just walk a bit to stretch my legs.”

 

He’d coughed less these past two days, and the pain in his chest had eased a lot. A short stroll shouldn’t be a problem, right?

 

“Yes, lord.”

 

The attendant grinned slyly, and Shen Ziqin couldn’t bear to look at him.

 

He handed the attendant the rolled-up paper. “This is for you.”

 

The attendant, puzzled, unrolled the crumpled paper and found a drawing of a turtle.

 

His expression twisted for a moment, but he forced it down and immediately put on an exaggeratedly fawning face: “Young master, your artistry is truly earth-shattering and moves ghosts and gods! This longevity turtle is so lifelike-how lucky I am to receive your gift!”

 

Shen Ziqin: “…”

 

So there are real experts out there!

 

Shen Ziqin sighed faintly, “You really do have some unique talents.”

 

The attendant grinned obsequiously, “Thank you for the compliment, Young Master.”

 

Shen Ziqin: That wasn’t a compliment.

 

It was early spring-still a bit chilly at times-but most people had already shed their heavy layers. Only Shen Ziqin was bundled up in three layers inside and out, plus a cloak, wrapped tightly before he dared step outside.

 

As he left the heir’s courtyard, Shen Ziqin felt the air was a bit fresher. Once he stepped out the Marquis’s gates, he felt as if even the wind was filled with comfort.

 

Even the lingering aches in his body seemed to fade away.

 

The Marquis’s household really was no good place.

 

Shen Ziqin pulled his clothes tighter and slowly exhaled. “You walk ahead.”

 

The attendant was still putting on his loyal servant act: “How could I dare block the Young Master’s path? Please, after you!”

 

Shen Ziqin finally couldn’t stand his exaggerated expression. “Enough, stop acting. Wipe that look off your face and lead the way.”

 

Though his tone wasn’t harsh, it immediately froze the attendant’s flattery.

 

Uh oh. He’d thought he was being clever-if he just endured and pretended, the sickly heir wouldn’t care now or in the future. Since so few people were good to Shen Ziqin, maybe he’d even be moved.

 

Once they reached the prince’s residence, he could find a way to switch masters-he thought he had it all planned out.

 

But now, he was uncertain and uneasy.

 

Would Shen Ziqin really let him off the hook?

 

For the first time, the attendant was genuinely nervous, lowering his head. “…This way, Young Master.”

 

What Shen Ziqin didn’t know was that just after he left the Marquis’s residence, an invitation to a banquet arrived for Madam Luo.

 

Madam Luo now managed the household affairs and, of course, always favored her own son, Shen Minghong.

 

Rare flowers were blooming at the Duke Dingguo’s estate, and the heir was inviting all the young talents to come appreciate them. The invitation sent to the Marquis’s household, though, was addressed to Shen Ziqin.

 

“An invitation for Shen Ziqin?”

 

Madam Luo’s face darkened.

 

Shen Ziqin had never socialized or held any official position, so all invitations in the past had gone to Shen Minghong. No one had ever named Shen Ziqin specifically.

 

Was it because he was about to marry Chu Zhao and his status was changing?

 

But everyone knew how wary and displeased the emperor was with Chu Zhao. Even if Shen Ziqin married in as a man and received the title of Prince Qin’s consort, who among the nobility would truly respect him for it?

 

The Duke Dingguo’s family had been a prestigious clan for three generations. If they could use this chance to build a connection, it would be a great opportunity.

 

Madam Luo pressed down the invitation and instructed, “Someone go reply and say the heir is bedridden these days and unable to go out. Thank the Duke’s household for the kind invitation, but say the eldest son, Shen Minghong, will attend in his place and offer his thanks.”

 

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