After Being Mistakenly Taken for a Fellow Traveler by Emperor Long Aotian - Chapter 132

Chapter 132: “Brother, you’re coughing blood.”

A profound silence swept through the entire wedding hall. Crimson silk ribbons fluttered in the air, as if bidding farewell to the two bold red-clad figures who had just left, or mocking the ruthless guests still present.

This wedding, which had become impossible to salvage, ended with the spontaneous departure of many guests. The first to rise was the Minister of War, who coughed awkwardly, feigned illness, and left the Zhou residence.

Then the second, the third… The celebrated union of a talented scholar and a beautiful lady, once the grandest event in the capital, had turned into its most absurd joke. Those leaving the feast wore solemn expressions, revealing no emotion and saying nothing. Yet everyone knew that, at this moment, the Zhou residence—and perhaps the Yan residence—were the only quiet places in the entire capital. Everywhere else was a sea of frenzied chatter.

Everyone also knew that these guests, who exited with faces like mourners at a funeral, would soon change their expressions as they left the Zhou residence. They would eagerly send people to inquire about the day’s events, about Miss Yan, the Princess Royal, and Zhou Cai, and about the bizarre tale of switched brides. Of course, in the years to come, when they encountered Zhou Cai or the other parties involved, they would feign calm indifference. Yet as soon as those involved turned their backs, they would whisper among themselves, using this farce as their fodder: a groom who had his bride stolen by another woman, a woman whose merits had been stolen by the groom to fabricate a hero-saves-the-damsel scenario—so absurd, so petty.

This was, almost undoubtedly, the predictable reality awaiting Zhou Cai in the years ahead.

The majority of the guests remained seated, exchanging bewildered glances. The only person who rose without leaving the Zhou residence was Grand Academician Gu. Stroking his pale beard, he approached the painting “Mist and Waves” and gazed at it, his thoughts inscrutable. Meanwhile, the Grand Preceptor, visibly restless, kept glancing anxiously at the sky before finally rising to his feet. He approached Yan Shangshu, who sat nearby, pale and despondent, and patted his shoulder. “Zhenfeng, anger harms the body. Heaven is unpredictable… Ahem, the hour is late, and I must…”

The Grand Preceptor was famously fond of collecting fine paintings. Originally, he had planned to attend an auction at the Duobao Pavilion after the wedding feast. Now that the time had come, he could no longer wait.

But Yan Shangshu remained seated, his face ashen. The man, once eloquent and commanding, now seemed to have lost all control. It was only then that the Grand Preceptor noticed how this colleague, renowned for his composure, now resembled nothing more than a defeated old man.

Just as he was about to say something else, a young servant he didn’t recognize came running toward him. Although unfamiliar, the servant wore the attire of the Grand Preceptor’s household. The Grand Preceptor was about to frown and ask why he was here when the servant, breathless, spoke up. “Master, the auction has started! The painting—it’s been unveiled! I just went to see it!”

His voice rang out in the silent wedding hall, clear and loud. The oppressive silence made everyone turn to him, eager for something to break the tension. It was as if a few words from him could shatter the oppressive atmosphere, allowing the guests to once again raise their glasses and exchange smiles, however fake.

“It’s the ‘Mist and Waves,’ the real ‘Mist and Waves,’ certified by the reclusive scholar Cloud Hermit!” the servant exclaimed joyfully, still panting. “Uh… huh? How come the painting here looks so much like that one?”

…

Everyone had left, including Yan Shangshu, who had been helped into a carriage and taken to a medical clinic by Yan Jia. After a dispute with others over identifying the counterfeit painting’s flaws, Grand Academician Gu, realizing he had offended Yan Shangshu, covered his face with his sleeve and left in embarrassment. By now, everyone knew that the so-called family heirloom cherished by the Yan family was a forgery.

“Yan Shangshu isn’t skilled in such matters. It’s normal that he couldn’t tell. If only he hadn’t been so confident in his judgment and sought others’ advice, he might have realized it was a fake.”

“Yan Shangshu was simply too eager to display it now. Perhaps he wanted to salvage his own reputation or that of his son-in-law.”

“After all, it was a gift from a benefactor and seemed so valuable that even the auction house had invited Cloud Hermit. Yan Shangshu simply lacked the caution to confirm its authenticity with others…”

“He probably wasn’t careless, just too confident in his own judgment. To be fair, the painting was an excellent forgery.”

In the end, all the voices faded. Even Yan Jia had left. When he departed, his face was calm—not the numb calmness from before, but a serene peace, as if the horizon had opened up for him. Gently, he helped his father to his feet and into the carriage.

“My sister is free now. Let’s go home, Father,” he said softly.

And just like that, the Zhou residence disappeared from their view. In the carriage, Yan Shangshu leaned against the seat, his face weathered and aged like dried mountains. Yan Jia looked at him, for the first time meeting his father’s gaze as an equal. He realized his father had grown old.

“Father, we don’t need my sister’s sacrifice. I can still revitalize the Yan family and uphold the principles of a gentleman. You always said we must walk the righteous path,” he murmured. “But if that path is paved with the blood and tears of our loved ones, then what righteousness is it? Father, I will adhere to your teachings and live for the country and its people. If a man cannot clean his own house, how can he rule the world? But…”

He stopped speaking.

He hoped that in his dreams, the house that belonged to the Yan family would no longer have any weeping faces.

Zhou Cai stepped on the shredded red paper left by firecrackers, the soles of his boots making a dry, creaking sound as they brushed against the scraps.

The landscape painting still hung in the wedding hall, like an indelible wound. He reached out to touch it, then began to laugh.

“Hahaha… hahaha…”

His wild laughter echoed through the hall. There was no real need for him to laugh, nor to be so theatrical, because in the empty hall, there was only cold moonlight scattered across the ground and one lone spectator.

The spectator, dressed in apricot-colored robes, sat expressionless on a chair. Everyone else had left—only he remained.

Only he.

“…Everything that happened today,” Zhou Cai murmured, “how much of it was your doing, my clever brother?”

“From this painting…” He pointed at it with his finger.

“To the Princess Royal.” He gestured toward the platform where Miss Yan had leaped onto the Princess Royal’s horse.

“To that servant.” He pointed toward the direction from which the servant who exposed the painting’s truth had come.

“To Grand Academician Gu, to those who gossiped, to everyone…” Zhou Cai counted off all those who had caused his humiliation today, finally turning to Zhou Xun. “How much of it was orchestrated by you?”

Zhou Xun looked at him, his dark eyes cold as ever. “Does it matter anymore?”

“It matters. Of course it matters,” Zhou Cai looked to the sky and laughed aloud. “The whole world is against me! What I want to know—what I must know—is this: Was it you who schemed against me? Or was it Heaven itself? Once, Heaven favored me, and now it lets you take everything from me…”

“Heaven never sought to destroy you. If it had, with your countless sins, you wouldn’t have lived to see today. Heaven doesn’t favor anyone, nor does it pity me. But neither did I plot against you. Zhou Cai, throughout all of this, I never dirtied my own hands. Those who follow the way of virtue find support; those who lose the way find themselves abandoned. Everything that happened today was the result of seeds you planted. No one forced you to usurp the Yan family’s wedding, to send me to the Prince’s mansion, or to claim my poetry as your own. Zhou Cai, you are the pitiful, vain, opportunistic counterfeit. And now, losing what was never yours in the first place has left you so enraged?”

Zhou Cai was truly enraged. He could hear his teeth grinding against each other. He realized that Zhou Xun knew—he had discovered everything.

“I’ve always known you were no good. Since I was seven years old, I understood. Letting you live would only mean you’d take everything from me one day,” Zhou Cai said through gritted teeth. “You’re just a bastard son. Why should you overshadow me? Why didn’t you die in that lake? If you’d drowned at seven, everything would be different… Everything would be better…”

“But have you ever considered,” Zhou Xun interrupted, “that if you hadn’t pushed the seven-year-old me into the lake and made my life so difficult, I might have only been your ordinary bastard brother—a brother who respected you, who was content with his place?”

Zhou Cai froze, his mind blank.

“You are always so short-sighted, Zhou Cai. When your talent pales in comparison to others, you seek to eliminate them. But there are many in this world more talented than I—will you kill them all? Rong Fen came, and you claimed my poem, pretending to be a melancholic, sorrowful man for years in front of him, never daring to reveal your true nature. But you’re naturally good at making friends and currying favor—couldn’t you have approached him another way? When you saw the daughter of the Shangshu mistakenly identify someone, you could have helped her find the real hero. That would also have earned you favor with Shangshu Yan. There are countless noblewomen in the capital, many of whom admire you. You could have found someone better than Miss Yan. Yet you insisted on taking shortcuts.”

“Stop it.”

“Zhou Cai, you’re unwilling to forgo even the smallest benefit before you. You’re so vain and short-sighted. As the legitimate son of the Zhou family, its heir, you could have had a group of loyal and talented brothers who would look up to you. If I were you, I would’ve groomed my brother to be a merchant, granted him small favors, made him grateful to me while ensuring that his position as a merchant would never surpass mine. He would depend on my protection and bring me tens of thousands of taels of silver annually. You could have entered the capital cleanly, risen step by step with integrity, built friendships with princes, and become the benefactor of the Yan family, the benefactor of the Princess, the Emperor’s favorite minister. Lu Xiandao would have had nothing to criticize. No one could have ignored you. But look at yourself now. You stand here like a stray dog, stripped bare. You think you’re talented and virtuous, don’t you? Sure, with your talent, even without scheming, you could have been a fourth-ranked official. But look at you now. Your shortsightedness has cost you far more than what you could have gained.”

“Stop it.”

“Do you think you’ve been destroyed by someone? By fate? By me, who has schemed against you?”

“Stop it!”

Zhou Cai roared. For the first time, he was truly trembling, fearful, anguished, and regretful. But it wasn’t due to conscience, nor just the humiliation of having his schemes exposed. It was because…

What Zhou Xun described to him was a future he could never touch, a future where he could have lived with dignity.

Zhou Cai felt bile rising in his throat. He collapsed to the ground in pain, completely undone. Zhou Xun had found his Achilles’ heel.

This was his Achilles’ heel.

Zhou Xun watched him dispassionately.

“…No.” After a long time, Zhou Cai climbed to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Zhou Xun. “I will not admit defeat. I am the top scholar, the most talented man in Jiangzhou, gifted beyond compare… I am the Zhou family’s heir! In all of Jiangzhou, there is no one more remarkable than me. Everyone has high hopes for me. I will be the best. Everything I have is rightfully mine… I will never admit defeat!”

He shouted hoarsely, filled with shallow arrogance and vain ambition. The real Zhou Cai had been laid bare by Zhou Xun: “I won’t admit defeat! I am Heaven’s favored one! I should be first in everyone’s eyes!”

“Do you want to kill me? Strangle me here?” Zhou Xun looked at the maddened Zhou Cai, his tone unchanging. “Do you want to destroy everyone more outstanding than you? That’s a long list. You could kill me here, but you’d still have countless others to deal with. And after they’re gone, there will always be more who surpass you. Can you kill them all?”

“You…”

Zhou Cai tasted blood in his mouth. Zhou Xun smiled.

“Brother, you’ve coughed up blood,” he said, lightly clapping his hands as if watching a show. “Brother.”

At the sound of that casual “brother,” Zhou Cai’s throat erupted with blood, spilling from the corner of his mouth.

So, it’s true—intense anger can make someone cough blood. Zhou Xun took a handkerchief from his sleeve and meticulously wiped the blood-stained table, his nails, and fingers, as if cleaning something filthy. Finally, he placed the handkerchief on the celebratory candle beside him and watched it burn.

Then he turned and left the hall. The smile he had worn to provoke Zhou Cai vanished, replaced by boundless indifference. He didn’t look back at Zhou Cai—not even once.

Just then, another group in deep red uniforms entered the hall. The leader, dressed in red, had sharp eyebrows and a cold expression, devoid of warmth.

The final guests of the day had arrived. Clad in red, they matched the festive hall—but they hadn’t come to celebrate. They were here to deliver a funeral.

“Zhou Cai, is it?” Lu Xiandao said icily. “You are suspected of colluding with the Northern Wei while stationed in Yunzhou, leaking military secrets. Come with us.”

The last bell of the day tolled, bringing this “joyous” April 28 to its final conclusion.

Zhou Xun walked away, hearing Zhou Mother’s wails behind him—the woman had finally awakened, clutching her son as she cried hysterically. He heard the sound of the capital’s bells. The Zhou family’s mourning bells, however, sounded more like a magpie’s song. He heard the commotion of the Guards carrying out their duties, the sound of overturned tables and chairs. The crescent moon shone behind him. Amid all these sounds, he stepped on red paper and left without looking back.

At the Zhou family gate, a fallen “double happiness” character lay on the ground. He stepped on it and moved forward.

On the streets, people were talking excitedly. They spoke of two stunning women riding through the city earlier—one like a celestial maiden leaning on the other’s back, the other gripping the reins like a fierce, divine warrior. Their red garments had trailed behind them as they galloped through the streets, chased by the Imperial Guards. In the final moment before the gates closed, they had leaped through the gap, disappearing into the sunset.

He also heard about a wealthy buyer who had purchased the “Mist and Waves” painting for tens of thousands of gold taels.

And of course, people discussed the events at the Zhou and Yan families… Yet no one realized that the cold, serene young man walking among them was the true orchestrator of the day’s chaos—the one who had set the entire capital ablaze with excitement.

Some young women noticed him, letting out quiet exclamations. But he was so cold they didn’t dare approach him.

When Zhou Xun returned to his residence, he saw the painting hanging there.

“Mist and Waves,” its waters shimmering, its mountains picturesque.

“It was purchased by the Emperor,” Lianrong said. “He wishes you a happy birthday tomorrow.”

Zhou Xun froze.

“So tomorrow is my birthday,” he murmured. “Happy birthday to me.”