Chapter 13

Wen Biesang had not slept all night.

After returning from the sleeping chamber, he dismantled the string of sandalwood beads engraved with flame patterns on his right wrist, leaving only one bead with a spiral carving, which he fastened back onto his wrist with a red cord.

At dawn, the courtyard echoed with Pang Qi’s voice: “Your Highness, the winter dew is cold; you should wear two more layers.”

“No need.”

Wen Biesang heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed and knew he was going to practice swordsmanship again.

Palace Prince Gong Wuchang’s disciplined routine was completely unlike his own reckless ways. If Wen Biesang were not the unfortunate dream demon he was, Gong’s daily morning sword practice alone would have earned his respect as a diligent heir apparent.

As daylight grew brighter, Cheng Yun sheathed his jade-green sword beneath the rising sun and stood quietly in the rear courtyard for quite some time.

“Your Highness, Your Highness?” After calling twice, he finally snapped back and said, “Hmm?”

“It’s time to eat.”

Cheng Yun tossed the long sword to Qi Song beside him and turned toward the corridor.

Passing through the corridor, his gaze lingered on the small hut for a few moments before silently withdrawing, his expression stiff and somewhat unnatural.

Wen Biesang had been awake since Cheng Yun began his sword practice. He sat behind the window, covering his left ear and listening intently with his right, striving to catch the sound of footsteps turning from the corridor to the dining hall.

Once he confirmed Cheng Yun had gone to the dining hall, Wen Biesang remained wary. He felt this was unlike Gong Wuchang’s character—he should have come storming in early morning, kicking the door open and furiously scolding him for daring to invade his dream...

It wasn’t until after lunch, when he was mentally braced, that Wen Biesang finally heard the words brought by Pang Qi: “His Highness requests your presence; there is important business to discuss.”

The meeting place was the study, a suitably formal setting.

To avoid displeasing the Crown Prince again, Wen Biesang only allowed servants to carry him to the door of the study.

Supporting himself, he entered and saw the Crown Prince, who was usually disheveled, now dressed in full ceremonial robes, sitting upright. His robe was neatly spread on his lap, his expression solemn and dignified, his entire demeanor meticulous and exacting.

Wen Biesang removed the bracelet with the single remaining bead from his wrist and tucked it into his sleeve.

He walked slowly over and sat down at the small table opposite him, supporting himself by the leg. On the table lay a wooden box containing all the items Cheng Yun had confiscated from him.

“The walnuts,” Wen Biesang said happily at the sight of them but did not reach out to take them.

Cheng Yun rotated a jade cup in his hand, the tea inside crystal clear, his tone calm: “Are these thunderfire pellets yours?”

Wen Biesang shook his head.

The jade cup was raised to his lips; Cheng Yun took a small sip and said, “If you are willing to work for me, I can spare your life.”

Wen Biesang looked at his walnuts and said, “Return that string to me, keep the rest—you have my word.”

“Do you want to take those walnuts with you to your death?”

Wen Biesang sat across from him, staring blankly.

Cheng Yun’s expression was calm, his eyes deep and inscrutable, revealing no emotion.

Wen Biesang pressed the small crossbow in his hand, eyes fixed on his walnuts, and slowly asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Cheng Yun smiled, picked up a jade teapot, poured a cup of tea, and handed it to him personally.

Wen Biesang avoided his fingers and caught the tea by the handle, listening as he said, “Go to the Thunderfire Battalion and develop firearms for me. I promise, our relationship will be solely this—any other grievances will be wiped clean.”

Wen Biesang held the jade cup with both hands, lowering his lashes as he contemplated for a long while before saying, “I cannot stay in Shengjing.”

“The Thunderfire Battalion is a hundred miles from Shengjing. Once there, you need not return.”

His fingers brushed the rim of the cup. After a long pause, he asked, “Where did you hear that I know about firearms?”

“Zhou Xuan,” Cheng Yun stopped beating around the bush. “I’m interested in the timed mechanism you made back then.”

Wen Biesang’s gaze suddenly fixed on his face.

Cheng Yun’s expression remained unchanged.

Wen Biesang’s fingers cautiously approached the trigger mechanism of the small crossbow. “I can give you the schematics. You find someone else to build it. I will only do this one thing for you. Return that string of walnuts, let me go, and promise never to pursue me again...”

“You expect so many benefits for doing just one thing?”

Wen Biesang choked.

Gong Wuchang was still Gong Wuchang—beneath the formal attire was a ruthless demon.

Cheng Yun tugged at his lips and said, “If you go to the Thunderfire Battalion, you might not see me even once in ten or fifteen days. That should be a good thing for you.”

“…I have my own matters to attend to. I can’t stay here.”

“Your matters aren’t important.”

Wen Biesang’s breathing tightened. His gaze fell again on the box. Cheng Yun looked with him and slowly reached out to pick up the string of walnuts.

The shells were smooth and shiny, appearing well-worn—surely a treasured personal keepsake. “Is this very important to you?”

“Quite important.”

“Quite?”

“It’s a relic left by my mother,” Wen Biesang said. “But not as important as my life.”

“I can see you value your life greatly.” Cheng Yun weighed the walnuts in his hand. “Is your mother from the Qi people?”

Upon speaking, he paused slightly.

The man opposite maintained his previous expression, but his emotions had clearly been deeply struck; tears streamed down his face.

This time, he did not look away as usual but met Cheng Yun’s gaze steadily. “No, my mother was not Qi.”

Cheng Yun held his breath, thumb brushing the smooth walnut shell, and said lightly, “Then why did Zhou Cangshu want to kill her?”

Wen Biesang seemed caught off guard.

“Why…” He continued to weep, his chin and collar quickly soaked with tears. “Zhou Cangshu, why… why kill my mother…”

His expression was bewildered, but the torrent of tears was like a raging river. Cheng Yun had never seen anyone cry so fiercely; it was no exaggeration to say it was a deluge.

He frowned. “Enough. I can return this string of walnuts to you. In exchange, produce the schematics.”

He handed back the walnuts, but Wen Biesang did not reach for them. His tear-filled eyes drooped, voice low and soft: “And after that?”

“We’ll talk about what comes next later.”

“You still won’t let me go…”

“It’s not easy to catch you, so I won’t let you go easily.”

Wen Biesang trembled slightly. Whether from mentioning his parents or despair, his voice held a faint despair: “Even if I help you and obey you completely, you can still kill me whenever you want.”

Cheng Yun was surprised at his insight and said arrogantly, “You’re actually smart for once.”

He glanced at the pitiful face opposite him, then sat up straight and spoke with false mercy: “That said, if you behave…”

If you obey, I will naturally not harm you.

“Bang—”

He didn’t finish.

In a flash of sparks, Cheng Yun saw the right hand raised, heard the mechanism click, and instinctively turned his head, ears stinging. Then came the small explosion and the sound of something striking a stone pillar.

As he twisted aside, Wen Biesang had already moved his arm, revealing the black small crossbow aimed directly at his face.

Cheng Yun had to twist his waist, watching in disbelief as a flame-engraved wooden bead zipped past his nose. When he fell heavily onto his back, he still could not believe that this demon actually tried to kill him.

Turning his head, he saw Wen Biesang had already aimed the small crossbow at him for the third time, his tear-streaked face cold and almost numb.

“Bang—”

The third pellet shot toward him. Cheng Yun struggled to roll over, but his movement was no match for the crossbow’s force.

The sound of an explosion rang in his ear. His pristine robe instantly burned a hole, and a sharp pain shot through his arm. He lifted his foot and kicked hard at Wen Biesang’s wrist.

The ebony crossbow flew away, and Wen Biesang was knocked to the ground.

He immediately lunged for the crossbow, but his ankle was grabbed, and he was dragged back, a hand clamping his neck.

Their eyes met, and Wen Biesang saw the thick red veins spreading in his eyes, a terrifying sight. “You dare to assassinate—”

At that moment, footsteps sounded outside; a small team seemed to be rapidly assembling.

Cheng Yun’s breathing quickened. Wen Biesang used one hand to pry at the hand on his neck, and with the other, drew a half-inch blade from his sleeve, stabbing fiercely at the hand, his voice strained: “You should die… by explosion, cough—”

“Your Highness—”

Pang Qi dashed in, immediately smelling the sulfur and dragonfire scent. A fist-sized hole had blown open in the pillar opposite. The Crown Prince sat grimly on the couch, one robe sleeve soaked with blood. A clear abrasion marked his left ear, and the fingers resting on his knee dripped blood continuously.

He was shocked: “Someone, quick, send—”

“Silence.”

Pang Qi covered his mouth, belatedly realizing there was another person inside.

That person had hidden under the table, coughing softly—it was Wen Biesang, the one destined to be the future Crown Princess.

His whole body weakened, he dropped to his knees with a thud, forehead damp with cold sweat pressed against the floor.

Qi Song hurried to the study door, listened to the noises inside, and waved off the approaching patrol guards.

He stepped in slowly and was stunned to the point of darkness: “Your Highness, your injury…”

“Yes, yes, Your Highness, you’re hurt! I’ll go, go, get medicine…”

“Have Lou Zhaozi handle it. Do not alarm the palace.”

Sweat rolled down his scalp as Pang Qi trembled and hurried out, running wildly.

At this point, he dared no longer make any assumptions—no one could guarantee Wen Biesang’s survival today.

The Crown Prince’s dream had truly gone awry...

Soon, Lou Zhaozi hurried in carrying his medicine box.

Behind the archway, Chang Xingzhu, leaning on his cane, cast a puzzled glance.

Inside the study, the Crown Prince had removed his wide robe, allowing Lou Zhaozi to tend the wounds on his right arm. Using his bloodied left hand, he took the last wooden bead from the ebony crossbow.

The bead was only fingertip-sized, with a clear flame engraving. Even he had not expected that the sandalwood beads on the other man’s wrist were all miniature firing thunderfire pellets.

Thanks to the crisp, stiff fabric of his robe and the thick embroidery, the pellets’ impact was reduced; otherwise, he might have had a fist-sized hole blown through him like the pillar.

He studied the tiny sandalwood bead repeatedly, then looked up toward beneath the table.

From his angle, he could only see the opponent’s clean white hem, stained faintly with blood—not his own but from when Wen Biesang had cut his hand with the blade moments ago.