After Being Mistakenly Taken for a Fellow Traveler by Emperor Long Aotian - Chapter 134

Chapter 134: “Then who do you think the child belongs to?”

 

The gauzy curtain in the room was already drawn. The stunningly beautiful girl removed the wooden hairpin from her hair, letting her jet-black locks cascade down.

 

She wore a plain white dress embroidered with simple patterns, so modest it made her look more like a tea-picking village girl than an enchanting courtesan. Today, dressed like an unadorned girl-next-door, without makeup or jewelry, she appeared by the riverbank, holding a lantern for what seemed like an eternity before she finally “happened” to run into her intended target, the young man.

 

An otherworldly courtesan stands before you, yet sheds all her ornaments to appear as nothing more than an ordinary girl praying for peace in the coming year. Everyone sees only her lofty, unattainable beauty, but you alone are privy to her “ordinary” side… No man could resist such a bait, especially a righteous aristocratic young lord.

 

To her, men were foolish creatures. Take the eldest prince of Xiliang, for example—her savior from famine and a self-assured man who treated her as his possession. With a few kind words and smiles, he fancied her deeply in love with him, declaring that once everything was settled, he’d make her his imperial consort.

 

Some men think women are stupid, that love renders them senseless. But they don’t realize love can also be a tool. And Qingruo understood this better than anyone. Compared to being a “consort” dependent on a man’s favor, she desired something entirely different.

 

She didn’t want to be an imperial consort, a nameless flower on a high branch. She wanted achievements, recognition for her name… not to be a decoration.

 

And Xie Zhengqing? He was even more foolish than the eldest prince. His uprightness was almost dull, making her find him uninteresting. Sharing a cup of tea with a woman was, to him, akin to enduring torture. Her task was to approach him and obtain his military maps and other intelligence, but his rigidity once made her doubt whether her previously undefeated methods had failed for the first time. Until one day, while playing the zither, she inadvertently noticed someone outside the window. Across the misty water, on the opposite tea house, someone sat, sipping tea while gazing in her direction—for days on end, always the same.

 

Today, during the lantern-floating ceremony, she wrote “wish fulfilled” on her lantern. As for what Xie Zhengqing wrote on his, she didn’t know. Nor did she need to.

 

A maid entered with tea. Looking at the drawn curtain, she said, “You’ve closed the curtain, miss.”

 

“He’s gone back. Today he won’t be watching from the tea house.” The girl smiled.

 

“Understood,” the maid replied. She was sensible and never pried. Spotting a pair of shoes discarded by the door, she noticed the stunning beauty lounging barefoot at the table. Knowing her mistress disliked wearing shoes, she quietly picked them up and carried them out.

 

The maid departed, but the girl didn’t sleep. She lay on the table, her long hair flowing onto the table mat, as if hearing the faint sound of rain outside. She hated rainy days.

 

Anyone who has been soaked to the skin in rain wouldn’t like it. Rain reminded her of famine, of the little girl separated from her brother, trudging through muddy water and scavenging from corpses. It reminded her of the Xiliang prince’s outstretched hand, of her stumbling toward him only to hear the mocking laughter of his attendants. It reminded her of her first clumsy attempt at seduction, following her master’s teachings, to steal information. It reminded her… of herself.

 

She hated the rain, still feeling as if her feet were always wet and caked with mud. That little girl, always stepping through mud, was no longer needed. So when alone, she preferred going barefoot.

 

While barefoot might be considered highly improper for a proper young lady, it meant nothing to someone like her. If chaste girls feared bare feet would tarnish their purity, then she had long ceased to be the clean little girl who chased after her brother, calling him “brother.”

 

After the maid left, another person entered. This time, it was another woman, who greeted her softly, “Mistress.”

 

“The court’s investigations have tightened lately. Aside from that Lu Xiandao, there’s another group in black pursuing us, seemingly a new organization under the emperor of Jing. The Red Lotus Sect remains silent as ever, waiting for the right moment,” she instructed.

 

“Understood.”

 

Yes, she was a plant from the Xiliang prince in Jing, operating beyond her role in the brothel. She also oversaw the Red Lotus Sect, which was secretly under Xiliang’s control. They had always remained well-hidden, but for some reason, it seemed the emperor had recently begun hunting them down, with unprecedented intensity catching them off guard.

 

“The ‘General’ has asked about the capital’s defense maps.”

 

“The ‘General’? Xie Zhengqing is highly vigilant; it’ll take more time. However, I’ve managed to obtain parts of it through other means and will deliver them later,” the girl said. “By the way, what’s got Beiwei so anxious lately? Is something about to happen?”

 

Her contact with Beiwei was the “General,” a woman more formidable than most men. No one knew her origins, though Qingruo had heard a half-true tale about her.

 

It was said the “General” came from a family that had unknowingly sheltered an injured Beiwei fugitive in Jing, only to be falsely accused and annihilated. The Beiwei man escaped execution, and years later, the “General,” having endured great hardship, reunited with him. The Beiwei man, now influential, had once been a spy in Jing. Taking pity on her plight, he took her in. Over time, she became the “General,” driven by hatred for Jing.

 

She still remembered her first meeting with the “General.” The woman had taken a sip of tea and said, “Even if the prince ascends the throne, you’ll always be ‘his Qingruo,’ a mere concubine in the harem. Your years of effort will amount to nothing more than a fleeting, nameless position, fading as your beauty does. Men gain titles, lands, and legacies. What good is a concubine’s title? You’ll still live under someone’s thumb, while he’ll consider it a ‘gift of love.’”

 

Her tone was calm, but there was a chilling undertone, like someone who had endured much. At that moment, Qingruo realized this woman was not to be underestimated.

 

“Mistress, there’s another strange matter. Recently, some people seem to be searching for your whereabouts.”

 

“My whereabouts?” The girl sat upright.

 

“Yes, initially in your hometown, then later in Xiliang after hearing you were sold there. They’ve been discreet, seemingly agents of the Jing emperor. But the odd thing is…” The woman lowered her voice. “They’re not asking about ‘Qingruo,’ but your real name… Li A’ruo.”

 

“Li A’ruo… what purpose could they have?” The girl frowned, instinctively gripping the table. “Starting from me as a child sold away—what could their aim be?”

 

She pondered but couldn’t figure it out.

 

The prince had erased all traces of her background, so she wasn’t worried. After making some additional arrangements, she asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way here?”

 

The subordinate thought for a moment. “Just an old woman scavenging for trash, no one else.”

 

“What did she look like? Could she have been in disguise?”

 

The subordinate described the woman’s appearance, and Qingruo relaxed. She waved her hand. “You may go.”

 

The lights upstairs finally went out. Everyone had left. Outside the courtyard, an old woman slowly shuffled with a sack, collecting anything salvageable.

 

The subordinate glanced at her as she left. The old woman clumsily bumped into her. Annoyed, the subordinate cursed silently, glaring at the woman and brushing off the dust before leaving.

 

Only after the subordinate was gone did the old woman move faster and faster…

 

“This scent… it must be it. It’s familiar,” she murmured.

 

Moonlight illuminated half her face. The old woman was none other than Lu Bin’s mother, Granny Lu!

 

…

 

Late at night, as a light rain fell, Zhou Xun led the emperor, trudging through the wet ground, finally reaching the place he intended to show him.

 

It was a place not far from Baiyun Temple.

 

Few people would notice this dilapidated small temple, surrounded by tranquility with tall pines and cypresses. Every summer, cicadas would chirp, and fireflies would glow faintly. The small temple stood amidst the shadows of trees, and in front of it was a pond.

 

“In Jiangzhou, there’s a similar small temple and a pond like this,” Zhou Xun crouched down, stirring the water with his hand. “In Jiangzhou, there’s a custom of throwing coins into the pond to make a wish and accumulate virtue.”

 

The emperor also crouched down. Always the materialist, he asked, “Is it effective?”

 

“…I think it is,” Zhou Xun said. “When I was six, I threw a coin into a pond, and it fulfilled my first wish.”

 

“What was the wish?”

 

“I wanted my mother to treat me better.”

 

Zhou Xun suddenly laughed, revealing one slightly sharp tooth, giving his smile a mischievous look. “Actually, my mother didn’t like me back then. I still remember everything before I turned six. She really disliked me.”

 

“Why… would your mother dislike her own child?” The emperor said this and immediately felt it was impolite.

 

“I can understand her, actually, because I was an unexpected child,” Zhou Xun said, picking up a pebble and tossing it into the pond. It sank instead of floating. “Zhou Father didn’t like me, and Mrs. Ye—my stepmother—even less so. As for my mother, she found out she had been deceived by Zhou Bofeng—my father. She had thought he would look after the Lin family, but he didn’t. The Lin family was all killed. In her eyes, he was a scoundrel and a liar. And me? I nearly cost her her life… I know she drank safflower tea back then, trying to get rid of me. My very existence was a constant reminder of her past naivety and foolishness.

 

I didn’t even have a name until I was three. Mrs. Ye laughed about it once, saying something about ‘brotherly harmony and modesty.’ She meant to name me Qian, but my mother interjected and said, ‘Call him Xun—humble, inferior.’ Not a good omen, but I survived, which was what Mrs. Ye wanted. Honestly, if I were in her shoes, I might have felt the same way.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“So when I was six, I wished she would treat me better. Then I got pushed into a lake by Zhou Cai and almost drowned. After that, my mother started being much kinder to me because I had nearly died—after all, I was her last family member. I was very happy then, thinking my wish had come true.” Zhou Xun looked up at the sky. “Later, as I told you before, she often cried alone, and I always stood at a distance watching her cry, feeling powerless. I saw Zhou Cai and Mrs. Ye living happily as a family. My mother would only show me gentleness when I was hurt and needed her to dress my wounds. Sometimes, I resented her for this; other times, I despised myself. I thought I was useless. Zhou Cai being loved was normal—his birth brought joy to Mrs. Ye and the honor of having a legitimate eldest son. He brought a lot to the family. But me? I only brought her stress and made her tread carefully. So it was normal for her to dislike me. I wanted to take my mother away, but if she hated me, I thought it was understandable. That incident when I was six made me realize she didn’t want me dead, and that made me… very happy.”

 

“…”

 

Fireflies flitted around them. Zhou Xun noticed the emperor’s face was hidden in shadows. He nudged his shoulder and said with a smile, “Why do you look so sad?”

 

“Why aren’t you sad?”

 

Zhou Xun looked puzzled and said, “Because it’s just the truth.”

 

“In Jiangzhou, there’s a distant mountain with a Lingying Temple on it. The Zhou family loved visiting Lingying Temple to worship. They thought it was very effective, going several times a year, making donations, eating vegetarian meals, and staying for days. This gave me plenty of unrestrained time—they had to bring me along for appearances but wouldn’t bring my mother. At the foot of Lingying Temple, there was also a small dilapidated temple. Not many people visited because it was so run-down. But it had a pond too, where you could throw coins and accumulate blessings. So I…” Zhou Xun’s cheeks turned slightly red, as if embarrassed, “…I’d save up some coins every time and toss them in, wishing to leave the Zhou family.

 

Lingying Temple also had a pond, supposedly more effective, but I wouldn’t go there. The Zhou family donated a lot every month, and I had no money. The gods at Lingying Temple probably remembered them more.”

 

He stuck out his tongue, seemingly finding his younger self amusing. “Lingying Temple belonged to the Zhou family, and so did the gods and Buddhas inside. Only the small temple gods belonged to me.”

 

The emperor reached out and ruffled his hair.

 

“Then we moved to the capital, where there was Baiyun Temple. The Zhou family switched to Baiyun Temple. When I came here, I discovered this place—a similarly secluded, run-down small temple. So I started coming here instead. There was a pond too. After being kicked out of the Zhou family, I had to save every coin. The prince offered me money, but I always felt he was Zhou Cai’s friend, so I tried to rely on myself. I even avoided eating at the prince’s residence whenever possible. The day before the exams, I came here with three coins, planning to toss them in. But I tripped on the way and lost them all.”

 

That night, he returned home and studied by lamplight. Outside, it rained, and the prince came in soaked, drunk.

 

He grabbed Zhou Xun’s throat and called him “Ah Cai.”

 

“I thought at the time that I probably didn’t have the luck for it. Someone once came to the Zhou family to tell my fortune, saying I was destined to have thin family ties and a life of misfortune. It seemed even the gods agreed—my money wasn’t good enough for them. But later…” He wrapped his arms around the emperor’s neck and said, “Then you came.”

 

They leaned on each other quietly for a while. The emperor suddenly grabbed his hand, pulling him to the edge of the pond, and said, “First of all, fortune-tellers are scam artists. It’s unscientific. They must’ve been spouting nonsense because you didn’t buy their talismans. Secondly, gods aren’t omniscient. They don’t know how hard life is or how wonderful our Zhou Xun is. Thirdly,” he scratched his head, “the fortune-teller said I was blessed, so now that we’re together, blessings are communal property. Half of mine is yours. Also…”

 

He scratched him and said, “Turns out I was bought for a few coins—just shipping was slow. But hey, if you keep praying to random shrines, what if it’s a fertility god?”

 

Zhou Xun buried his head in the emperor’s neck, laughing softly. After a while, he said, “Then whose child would you say it is?”

 

The emperor thought about it seriously and said, “We probably can’t have any.”

 

Zhou Xun laughed again.

 

The emperor: “Wait… were you trying to flirt with me just now?”

 

“Jiangzhou is too far, so I brought you here. This place, which was just mine, is now yours too,” Zhou Xun said.

 

The emperor: “…Alright.”

 

After a moment, he added, “I can’t give you my apartment and car back in Mordor, but you…”

 

He heard the sound of even breathing.

 

Zhou Xun had fallen asleep leaning on his shoulder.

 

He waited for him until the break of dawn. The light from the temple behind them shone through, casting a soft, fuzzy glow on Zhou Xun. The emperor looked at him and suddenly thought of a sentimental phrase.

 

“The gods illuminate people, but the gods also see those they shine upon.”

 

The emperor thought this and scratched his arm.

 

“Someone needs to invent mosquito repellent…” he muttered.

 

After a long while, he suddenly had a bold idea. He summoned his secret guards and gave them an instruction.

 

The next morning, Zhou Xun woke up.

 

And…

 

“Why is there a cart here?” He leaned on the emperor’s shoulder, dazed.

 

He doubted he was fully awake.

 

“I had someone bring a cart full of coins,” the emperor said grandly. “We’re going to fill up this pond!”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

“That’s enough sincerity, right?”