If the first night trapped in the bamboo forest, Zhao Mian could barely sleep for two hours, this night, Zhao Mian didn’t sleep at all.
With only twelve hours left until the Gu poison took effect, he suddenly found himself wondering what Wei Zhenfeng was doing now. Was he, too, tossing and turning, struggling to make a final decision?
Wei Zhenfeng’s evaluation of Wan Huameng the day before kept echoing in Zhao Mian’s mind.
Wei Zhenfeng said that Wan Huameng didn’t care.
If no methods in the world were effective against Wan Huameng, if there truly was only one antidote left for the male and female Gu…
Given that the sole antidote was in Wei Zhenfeng’s hands, and Zhao Mian was no match for him…
Wei Zhenfeng always had a way out; he could even take the antidote now to ensure his own survival. As long as Wei Zhenfeng wished, he could remain poised and composed, watching from above as Zhao Mian struggled in desperation and agony for survival.
Would Wei Zhenfeng do that?
Was Wei Zhenfeng also wondering what Zhao Mian would do?
Would Wei Zhenfeng worry that he might attack him, agonizing over whether to strike first, just like him?
Would Wei Zhenfeng worry that Zhao Mian might strike first, just as Zhao Mian was agonizing over whether to strike him?
Zhao Mian could feel an invisible chain of suspicion silently entwining him and Wei Zhenfeng. Until the final moment arrived, they could neither break free nor sever it.
The next morning, Zhao Mian watched as the room slowly transitioned from darkness to light, gradually brightened by the autumn sun. He calmly sat up and washed and dressed as he had yesterday.
The disguise had long been washed away. He looked at his face in the mirror, picked up the hair ribbon, and numbly tied his hair into a topknot. Although he hadn’t closed his eyes all night, his mind was exceptionally clear. Besides a slight soreness in his eyes, he felt no fatigue.
Leaving the room, Zhao Mian glanced toward Wei Zhenfeng’s quarters. The door was wide open, and the man inside was nowhere to be seen.
His heart sank. He quickly went to the courtyard, but Wei Zhenfeng was still nowhere to be seen.
Had Wei Zhenfeng really done as he suspected…? Would he?
Zhao Mian’s mind raced, when a sound like chiseling stone and carving walls came from the backyard. He stood frozen for a moment before walking towards the noise.
Seeing Wei Zhenfeng busying himself by the medicinal hot spring, Zhao Mian exhaled softly, then let out a self-deprecating laugh.
He had actually fallen to such a paranoid state; how ridiculous.
Zhao Mian watched silently for a long time before asking, “What are you doing so early in the morning?”
Wei Zhenfeng, wrestling with the hot spring’s stone wall using a hoe he found in the courtyard said, “I think this hot spring is a bit strange.”
Zhao Mian said distractedly, “Didn’t you think that the day before yesterday?”
“I’ve made a new discovery—either way, the hot spring’s source is our only clue to finding an exit right now. Instead of sitting around waiting to die, we might as well start digging. Perhaps there’s a surprise.” Wei Zhenfeng straightened up and looked at him, “Aren’t you going to lend a hand?”
Zhao Mian said coldy, “If you start digging now, can you dig your way out by next year?”
Wei Zhenfeng said, “That’s wrong. Whether our Gu poison can be cured or not, we’ll still need to find a way out eventually. Or are you saying you want to stay here forever and turn into two giant pandas with me?”
For the past two days, all they’d eaten was bamboo shoots. At this rate, they’d starve to death before turning into pandas.
“Not necessarily,” Zhao Mian said. “Once tonight passes, Wan Huameng will let us out.”
Wei Zhenfeng raised an eyebrow: “You’re so sure?”
Zhao Mian hummed in agreement. “This is Wan Huameng’s ‘game.’ When the game time ends, if he doesn’t personally inspect the results, what fun would he have?”
Wan Huameng had also said himself that he would come to see them after the moon became very, very round.
Wei Zhenfeng helplessly said, “If you don’t want to help, at least cook something. I’m starving.”
“No rice, only bamboo shoots.” Zhao Mian turned and said, “I’m going to dig for shoots.”
Throughout the day, Wei Zhenfeng remained fixated on the hot spring. Whether intentional or not, neither of them brought up the Gu poison activating tonight. They weren’t in a hurry anymore, as if they had tacitly accepted what would happen tonight.
Another sunset came and went, the golden light faded, and darkness gradually enveloped the sky.
Though Zhao Mian had only been trapped in the bamboo forest for a mere two days, it felt longer than two years.
Wei Zhenfeng planned to continue his battle with the hot spring that night, so they built a campfire beside the pool.
The burning bamboo occasionally crackled, casting a shimmering light on the water’s surface.
As they silently drank bamboo shoot soup, Zhao Mian suddenly brought up an irrelevant matter: “That year, when I was twelve, you sent me a gift as an apology.”
Wei Zhenfeng was momentarily confused: “What?”
“Among them was a ‘Wandering Immortal Pillow’.”
“Oh, you mean that one.” Wei Zhenfeng chuckled, “That’s a treasure! Legend has it, if you sleep on it, you’ll see all of the ten continents, three islands, four seas, and five lakes in your dreams. Have you used it?”
Zhao Mian nodded, smiling faintly: “Several times. It’s indeed good.”
“As long as you like it.” Wei Zhenfeng sighed faintly, “You have no idea how much it pained me when my mother insisted I give it to you. I hadn’t even used it myself yet.”
Zhao Mian’s expression instantly cooled: “Oh? If you were so reluctant, I’ll return it to you once we’re out.”
“No need, really.” Wei Zhenfeng had worked hard all day, and now talking about pillows with Zhao Mian, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sleepy. “You’ve already slept on it.”
Zhao Mian: “…”
Was Wei Zhenfeng complaining about him again?
His face darkening, Zhao Mian stood up. Wei Zhenfeng called after him, “Where are you going?”
Zhao Mian replied flatly, “To wash up.”
Wei Zhenfeng was momentarily stunned. Watching Zhao Mian’s slender retreating figure, his ears inexplicably grew warm.
Washing up at this hour…
Wei Zhenfeng looked up at the bright moon in the sky. Soon, it would reach its zenith.
By the time Zhao Mian returned to the hot spring, a chill clinging to him, Wei Zhenfeng had succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep.
Zhao Mian lightened his steps, stopping just a pace from Wei Zhenfeng, and softly called out, “Your Highness?”
He didn’t respond.
Wei Zhenfeng leaned against the pile of stones he’d dug out, his face resting to the right, his chest gently rising and falling with his breath. His hands lay naturally at his sides, marked with fresh scratches and bruises from the day’s labor.
Zhao Mian’s thoughts didn’t linger on this; his attention was entirely on Wei Zhenfeng’s chest, where the antidote was.
This might be his only chance to get the antidote, and the only chance for Wei Zhenfeng to die because of him, despite him not wanting to kill him.
Zhao Mian steadied himself, tightening his grip on the dagger Wei Zhenfeng had given him.
The blade slid from its sheath, casting an eerie, chilling glint in the dead of night.
Zhao Mian took a step forward, raising the dagger slowly toward Wei Zhenfeng’s exposed neck—utterly defenseless in sleep.
He was about to press the cold blade against Wei Zhenfeng’s skin, then, under Wei Zhenfeng’s shocked gaze, take the only antidote and drink it himself. And after that… watch Wei Zhenfeng… die?
Confusion and uncertainty flickered in Zhao Mian’s eyes.
He should do this; it was his plan.
But…
Zhao Mian lowered his eyes, quietly studying the sleeping youth before him. .
The campfire light illuminated Wei Zhenfeng’s noticeably thinner face. His contours were unexpectedly clear, a graceful blend between youth and adult manhood, the most radiant years of a person’s life.
Was it the dim, hazy glow of the fire? For some reason, Zhao Mian could almost glimpse traces of the young prince of Beiyuan’s former charm in that otherwise unremarkable face.
A crack, unintended in his plan, appeared on Zhao Mian’s frost-like face.
That year, the two met again at a palace banquet. the youth had openly apologized to him, the arrogance in his brow impossible to conceal.
Later, Beiyuan sought to conquer Western Xia. So throughout his youth, Zhao Mian diligently read the classics and studied governance in the Nanjing imperial palace; the Young Prince of Beiyuan, meanwhile, soared over foreign lands, playing out schemes and stratagems, his moonblade flashing as he galloped through endless yellow sands.
For six years, every time the name Wei Zhenfeng was mentioned in court, Zhao Mian would recall a pair of clear, untamed eyes and that youth lazily leaning into the spring breeze.
As a man, he too had once yearned for the life of the Young Prince of Beiyuan—roaming freely across four kingdoms, living with unbridled passion and vengeance.
A young man like him should have met a heroic death on the battlefield, even if it meant dying young, not perishing in Wan Huameng’s absurd game, not at the hands of someone who never truly wished to kill him.
Suddenly, Zhao Mian missed his father and the Prime Minister dearly. If they were by his side now, what choice would they urge him to make?
Undoubtedly, the Prime Minister would decisively abandon Wei Zhenfeng, ensuring Zhao Mian’s safety at all costs. He would stand behind him, gripping the hand that held the dagger, and say, “Hold it steady, give him a quick end.”
As for his father—his soft-hearted, sticky-rice-cake of a father—he would likely agonize back and forth, banging his head against the wall in distress, before finally clutching Zhao Mian’s hand with reddened eyes and stammering, “Mianmian, maybe… maybe we should just treat it like a dog bite? After all, it’s still a human life. Look, Wei Zhenfeng didn’t take the antidote either…”
Zhao Mian let out a soft chuckle.
No matter how much he had acted like the Prime Minister all these years, no matter how hard he tried to disguise himself, perhaps deep down, he would always be the child most like his father.
He had to admit, he didn’t want, he didn’t wish, he couldn’t bear the thought of Wei Zhenfeng dying by his hand.
He wanted to live with Wei Zhenfeng.
…Forget it.
As Zhao Mian’s grip slackened and the dagger in his hand began to drop, his wrist was abruptly seized.
Wei Zhenfeng had woken up at some unknown moment, and the surrounding air turned icy the instant his eyes opened.
Zhao Mian’s mind went blank for a brief moment, but he immediately calmed down: “You’re awake.”
Wei Zhenfeng didn’t look at Zhao Mian, but stared at their reflections in the hot spring.
The two stared at each other across the water’s surface.
In the rippling image, Zhao Mian held the dagger Wei Zhenfeng had gifted him, its blade pressed against his neck. One more step, and he could have taken Wei Zhenfeng’s life in his defenseless sleep.
Slowly, very slowly, Wei Zhenfeng shifted his gaze from Zhao Mian’s reflection to the real person before him. Then he stood, rising from a height Zhao Mian could look down upon to one he now had to crane his neck to meet. His piercing stare locked onto Zhao Mian, so sharp it seemed to pierce his body.
The aura around the young man was nothing like what Zhao Mian was familiar with,and he couldn’t help but swallow nervously.
Wei Zhenfeng’s tone was impeccably polite, but his voice was bone-chilling, carrying a barely suppressed fury. “Care to explain, Your Highness?”
Zhao Mian stiffened, struggling to speak: “I…”
Wei Zhenfeng pressed: “You wanted to kill me?”
Zhao Mian didn’t know how to answer.
He couldn’t deny it—he had considered it. But only considered.
Zhao Mian’s silence, in Wei Zhenfeng’s eyes, was an admission.
Wei Zhenfeng suddenly exerted force on his hand, pulling Zhao Mian closer: “How could you be so heartless,” For the first time, Wei Zhenfeng was so enraged he lost his composure. For the first time, he called Zhao Mian by his name, nearly spitting it through gritted teeth. “Zhao Mian.”
Zhao Mian was gripped so hard by the youth that it hurt. His wrist felt close to snapping, and the dagger clattered to the ground.
Zhao Mian forced himself to remain calm: “A man of integrity would rather die than suffer humiliation. I refuse to be at the mercy of others.”
Wei Zhenfeng, enraged, laughed instead: “You better understand one thing clearly: it wasn’t me who put you in this position. I have no issue with your fierce pride, but you should take it up with Wan Huameng, not me.” His tone was contemptuous, like a layer of ice-cold blade, “Throwing a tantrum in front of me only makes you look like a useless brat who can’t do anything but sulk.”
As if struck at a sore point, Zhao Mian was thoroughly enraged, and words he didn’t truly mean blurted out: “Better to kill you than let myself be humiliated—whether you live or die means nothing to me!”
Wei Zhenfeng’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression utterly alien. Zhao Mian and Wei Zhenfeng had known each other since they were six and reunited at eighteen, yet this was the first time Zhao Mian had faced such dark hostility from him. He was… at a loss.
Wei Zhenfeng spoke slowly, deliberately, “Since it’s just the two of us here. If you kill me, you can simply say I died by Wan Huameng’s hand, blame everything on Dongling, provoke Beiyuan to send troops to Dongling, and Nanjing can stand by and reap the benefits.” Wei Zhenfeng tugged his collar, pulling him even closer, their noses almost touching. Zhao Mian could even see Wei Zhenfeng’s long eyelashes casting a cold shadow as he looked down. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
He should explain. He should calmly and rationally tell Wei Zhenfeng that although he had thought that way, he hadn’t acted upon it.
Judging by actions, not thoughts. Was he not even allowed to even think? Why was Wei Zhenfeng treating him this way?
Zhao Mian gritted his teeth: “So what if I did? I’ve wanted you dead since you forced me to kneel. This is human nature; don’t tell me you’ve never had any towards me.”
They were too close. Wei Zhenfeng’s pupils reflected Zhao Mian’s defiant face, and the eyes that usually shone so brightly they could pierce one’s heart now only held the coldness of exhausted patience.
A thought—one he shouldn’t have—flashed through Zhao Mian’s mind.
Could it be that Wei Zhenfeng truly never…
“I haven’t,” Wei Zhenfeng answered cleanly, “Never.”
Zhao Mian paused for a moment, guilt and shame nearly forcing him into a posture of weakness. He turned his face away, struggling to maintain his dignity: “Perhaps for you, spending a night with me is just a trivial matter, something you’d do to save your life. But for me, I don’t want to, I refuse it, so I will do my utmost to prevent this from happening—I don’t think I’m wrong.”
I don’t think I’m wrong.
As always, so arrogant, so self-centered.
Wei Zhenfeng studied him intently for a long time, then suddenly laughed, a laugh filled with undisguised mockery, perhaps at Zhao Mian, or perhaps at himself: “I offered my heart to the bright moon, but the bright moon shone upon the ditch—so be it,” the youth lowered his gaze, his voice so cold it sent a shiver through Zhao Mian. “Then come. Let’s see if you can kill me, or if I can take your life.”
His demeanor made Zhao Mian’s chest tighten, an inexplicable surge of fear rising in his heart under the overwhelming pressure.
So, was his previous easygoing appearance all an act? Was this the true nature of the Young Prince of Beiyuan?
Wei Zhenfeng had finally decided to kill him.
It was expected; there was nothing to be shocked about. There was no reason he could think this way while forbidding Wei Zhenfeng from doing the same.
The victor becomes king, the loser a bandit; it has always been so.
Fortunately, he had a younger brother, otherwise how could his father and the Prime Minister endure?
His father would surely weep, wouldn’t he? He himself had forgotten how to cry, but his father still could.
Zhao Mian slowly closed his eyes. He felt Wei Zhenfeng lean in, whispering softly by his ear, “Don’t beg me to save you, Zhao Mian.”
With that, Wei Zhenfeng released his grip on Zhao Mian’s collar and shoved him hard on the chest.
Splash—
Zhao Mian fell into the warm spring.
The medicinal-scented spring water rushed into Zhao Mian’s mouth and nose, stealing his breath away. He kept his eyes open, his entire body enveloped in warmth. He could still see the hazy moon through the water’s surface.
Was Wei Zhenfeng trying to drown him?
That wouldn’t be bad either; at least the spring water was warm. It was too cold in the bamboo forest.
But Zhao Mian quickly realized he was mistaken. Likely because the spring was meant for Wan Huameng’s enjoyment, it wasn’t very deep; a youth of average height could easily stand in it.
But what would standing achieve? Would he just watch Wei Zhenfeng take the last antidote, then grovel at his feet, powerless to resist the pain of the Gu, and die helplessly?
It would be better to die in this warmth.
Zhao Mian closed his eyes, letting himself sink. Just as he was about to touch the bottom of the pool, an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him out of the water.
Air rushed back into his lungs, and Zhao Mian coughed violently. The water reached just below his shoulders. Before him stood a drenched youth, watching him silently, unmoved even as Zhao Mian coughed so hard he could barely strand upright.
It took a long time for Zhao Mian to stop coughing, his vision clearing at last. He lifted his head and looked at the youth.
Under the bright moon, he saw a pair of eyes that were all too familiar.
Just as he remembered, two teardrop moles lay symmetrically beneath each eye, dangerously enticing on a face so young and handsome. They lured him to fall into his gaze and then… to be mercilessly drowned and strangled.
Author’s Notes:
- 《Kaiyuan Tianbao Yishi · You Xian Zhen》 (逸事: an informal history or anecdote)
《Pipa Ji》 (琵琶记: The Story of the Lute)