Instantly, Xi Lingjian saw Fu Liao’s eyes light up, glowing with a pleasure that outshone the flickering candlelight within the room.
The candlelight cast their shadows upon the oiled paper and objects he knew by heart, subtly embellishing their simple patterns.
Though he did not examine them closely, he could still sense that his surroundings had grown slightly unfamiliar.
Just as he was not looking closely at Fu Liao right now, yet he knew the youth’s eyes were filled entirely with himself.
“Pears are not in season right now, so these are likely early-ripening ones or those kept from last winter,” Fu Liao said with a gentle smile.
Xi Lingjian’s residence was certainly not short of seasonal fruit; he had seen the apples and oranges placed in the hall earlier.
He likely knew these pears weren’t particularly appetizing at this time of year, yet he had eaten them anyway.
So he was capable of responding to people after all.
Xi Lingjian cast two more glances at Fu Liao, his expression unchanged, and gave a brief, simple acknowledgment before heading toward the study. Yin Ruoche seized this opening to escort Fu Liao out of the estate.
There was scarce light along the path. Fu Liao consistently felt that the light in the study was exceptionally bright, so much so that even with his back turned, a faint radiance seemed to linger before his eyes.
He couldn’t help turning his head back to look.
Half a shadow was projected onto the oiled paper of the window. One could only see the master of the study seated before his desk, while his actions remained hidden, inviting one to step closer and investigate.
Had his own shadow just now been projected onto it as well?
Noticing the heir’s pace had slowed down, Yin Ruoche asked in puzzlement, “Young Master?”
Fu Liao was slightly startled, like a petty thief caught in the act.
“It is nothing.” Fu Liao reined his gaze and focus back to the path beneath his feet, vaguely sensing the blossoms and grass by the stone slab brushing playfully against his hem.
He raised his head to scan the night sky; the bright moon still hung high.
“May I ask Guard Yin a question?” he suddenly asked.
“Ah, go ahead,” Yin Ruoche scratched the back of his head. “Though Young Master needn’t address me so formally, after all, we are… uh?”
Yin Ruoche had intended to say they were somewhat acquainted, but upon second thought, they weren’t familiar at all.
Yet the tone of the heir’s speech always made him forget this fact, sounding more like a friend of many years.
Fu Liao was momentarily taken aback, then chuckled, “Then I shall call you Brother Yin.”
“I wish to ask: how did His Highness sustain that leg injury?”
Observing Yin Ruoche’s expression, Fu Liao duly noted the subtle shift in his complexion.
“If it is inconvenient to speak of, never mind,” he added. “I merely saw Brother Yin looking exceptionally worried about His Highness’s injury that day, and couldn’t help feeling concerned.”
Just as Yin Ruoche was about to answer, he suddenly seized upon another focal point in the remark.
“Which day is the Young Master referring to?”
“The day of the landslide; I saw Brother Yin displaying particular concern for His Highness’s leg, hence the conjecture.” Noticing the guard’s abnormal expression, Fu Liao hurriedly clarified, “His Highness merely tacitly confirmed my deduction; I am completely in the dark regarding the specifics, which is why I am asking.”
Yin Ruoche let out a long sigh.
“That day…”
A sudden realization struck him, and his shoulders slumped instantly. “So the reason His Highness said it was offset that day was because of this.”
“What?” Fu Liao remained bewildered.
Yin Ruoche merely heaved a heavy sigh.
“Young Master is far too perceptive,” he said.
Thus, Fu Liao perceptively deduced something else: “Could it be that because of me, Brother Yin was punished?”
Embarrassed, Yin Ruoche pinched the bridge of his nose, his expression spelling out the answer clearly for Fu Liao to see.
“Such a trivial matter warranted punishment?” Fu Liao frowned slightly.
Seeing this, Yin Ruoche hastened to defend him. “His Highness rarely acts like this; he was merely slightly out of sorts that day, not truly furious.”
In truth, he felt his master had looked more like he was harboring anger out of embarrassment, though such an emotion seemed entirely out of character for the master.
Sensing the guard wasn’t entirely certain himself, Fu Liao asked, “Since Brother Yin didn’t know what the reason was at the time, why didn’t you just ask clearly?”
Yin Ruoche frowned, as if the thought had never crossed his mind.
“What need is there to ask? Even if His Highness is in a good mood and orders me to kneel at the steps for three hours, there must surely be a reason,” he reasoned with a puzzled tone. “Though His Highness has never actually done such a thing.”
“Besides, if His Highness truly feared I wouldn’t understand, he would naturally state it plainly. It is probably best if no one ever fathoms his thoughts,” he added. “Father Meng told me long ago to ask less and do more. He has served by His Highness’s side far longer than I, and even he doesn’t fully understand His Highness’s mind.”
Fu Liao disagreed.
If that were the case, wouldn’t there be no one in Xi Lingjian’s vicinity capable of understanding him?
Not merely his calculated plans, but also his displaced, unplaceable emotions.
Though Xi Lingjian would undoubtedly deem himself in no need of such a person, having someone like that around would likely spare him the necessity of maintaining a cold, stern expression from dawn till dusk.
Living in the borderlands since his early teens, far removed from family and friends, and now returning to this unfamiliar yet familiar place, such long-standing isolation would indeed foster this mindset.
Speaking of which, what kind of circumstances surrounding his parents could force a young boy to remain far from his homeland for so long?
Fu Liao’s gaze drifted and refocused, finally realizing they were drawing near to the front gates. He hurriedly thanked Yin Ruoche and slipped back into the estate under the cover of night.
Not until he was safely locked inside his own room did it abruptly dawn on him that the question regarding Xi Lingjian’s injury had been completely derailed.
Early the following morning, Fu Liao excused himself under the guise of going out for leisure, departing at the crack of dawn.
He deliberately leaked this information to Fu Yaoshu, and sure enough, before long, Fu Pengfu was made aware of it.
Fortunately, the Marquis seemed solely amused by the fact that Fu Liao had failed to report to his assigned post, dismissing him without further objection.
In truth, his start date simply hadn’t arrived yet, Fu Liao muttered inwardly.
By the time he reached the gates of the Prince Regent’s residence, the sky was merely beginning to brighten, and morning court had yet to conclude.
Fu Liao originally intended to wait outside, but coincidentally ran into Yin Ruoche inspecting the perimeter of the estate, who promptly invited him inside.
“His Highness has already given the order,” Yin Ruoche had said.
His expression was notably more solemn than the previous day, casting a heavy pall over his youthful voice.
Folding his arms over his chest, he caught Fu Liao’s gaze and offered an explanation. “Today’s morning court is scheduled to discuss matters regarding the Qiandiu Festival; His Highness and the Emperor have held divergent views on this for quite some time.”
He volunteered no further details, leaving Fu Liao to worry whether his visit to see Xi Lingjian today might inadvertently cause the man trouble.
Yet Yin Ruoche quickly appended a reassuring remark. “Still, the Young Master need not worry, His Highness has everything under control.”
With that, he paused, though he ultimately pressed on.
“The Young Master seems overly concerned with His Highness.” Yin Ruoche averted his gaze, kicking a stray pebble at his feet. “Ever since I began following His Highness, I have never witnessed him make a single misstep, in any respect.”
Fu Liao paused.
In truth, his concern was directed entirely toward Ji Liandu. It was likely his frequent conversations with Xi Lingjian that had led the guard to harbor such a misunderstanding.
“Brother Yin surely knows where my affections lie,” Fu Liao found that invoking the original character’s persona made things considerably more convenient. “Besides, since His Highness has a grasp on the situation and has voiced no objection, it naturally causes no hindrance.”
Xi Lingjian had indeed uttered words to that effect previously, though he seemed considerably more receptive to it of late.
“I suppose so… wait, is that truly the case?”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Yin Ruoche retraced his memories, his expression growing gradually perplexed and noncommittal.
While the two were conversing, a fierce gust of wind suddenly swept toward them.
Sensing an anomaly, Fu Liao turned his gaze to see Xi Lingjian striding out from the front gates, his face etched with fury.
“The heir has arrived,” the Regent tossed out casually before striding toward the main hall.
Lowering his brow, Yin Ruoche hurried to follow in Meng Zhi’s wake.
Noticing the obvious turbulence in Xi Lingjian’s emotional state, Fu Liao considered finding an excuse to take his leave and let the man sort through his temper alone.
Yet he heard Xi Lingjian call out, “Heir.”
Fu Liao looked toward him.
Xi Lingjian remained silent while Meng Zhi stepped forward to present a tea tray, though the Regent made no move to have him pour a cup.
Thus, Meng Zhi was left holding the tray aloft, while Yin Ruoche stood rigidly behind and to the side of the chair with his head bowed. Xi Lingjian sat squarely in his seat, blinking only once after a long stretch, resembling a frozen shadow puppet.
He was simply staring straight at him.
Fu Liao felt goosebumps erupt across his skin.
The sensation of every breath being scrutinized by Xi Lingjian was acutely pronounced, as though the man could manipulate his movements through his mere gaze alone.
It was evident that Xi Lingjian was venting unreasoned rage upon him.
He must be experiencing abnormal fury right now, yet lacking an outlet, he was subconsciously punishing those in his vicinity, exactly as he had done in the past.
He was in deep torment.
Yet the others bearing the brunt of his wrath were equally tormented.
Driven by an inexplicable impulse, Fu Liao stepped forward.
There was a certain distance to the hall, not far, yet he felt as though he had never walked so slowly in his life.
Xi Lingjian’s gaze merely tracked his approach without offering any other reaction, bearing the air of some unspoken suggestion.
Fu Liao lifted the porcelain cup from the tray, reached for the teapot, and poured a cup of tea for Xi Lingjian.
A flutter of nerves made the crisp clink of porcelain jarringly loud in the quiet room.
Xi Lingjian watched quietly as he offered the cup to his side.
“His Highness has worked hard,” Fu Liao said softly.
Xi Lingjian stared down at the tea.
The hue was pale rather than rich, resembling plain water to his eyes.
Amidst the gently undulating ripples of the water, he caught sight of the faint dark circles beneath his own eyes, followed by Fu Liao’s gaze of genuine concern.
“Mm.”
He gave a soft affirmation.
The tension gripping the other two men visibly slackened.
Letting out a long breath, Xi Lingjian was on the verge of speaking when a servant cautiously hurried over to report.
“Your Highness, a steward has arrived at the gates, claiming Your Highness left something behind.”
A hollow sensation gripped Fu Liao’s heart.
His premonition had been spot on; the delivery was indeed Ji Liandu.
He had likely been drugged, rendering him uncharacteristically docile as he lay quietly inside the sack.
The moment that person departed, Ji Liandu snapped his eyes wide open.
He had deliberately allowed himself to be returned via the eunuchs’ hands.
Before Fu Liao could parse the underlying implications, he saw Ji Liandu’s eyebrows arch upward as he parted his lips to speak.
Meanwhile, the color that had just begun returning to Xi Lingjian’s face drained away completely, his brows plunging downward with an intensity that eclipsed his previous fury.
Lifting the still-steaming porcelain cup, he raised his arm to hurl it straight at Ji Liandu.
“Your Highness!”
Fu Liao rushed forward to shield him.
The residual heat grazed the tips of his hair as the cup shattered against a corner of the main hall.
Breathing heavily yet subdued, Xi Lingjian surveyed the chaotic scene before him with icy detachment.
Fu Liao looked back at him with an expression of pitiable vulnerability.
He was undoubtedly bracing himself for another round of lecturing.
The restlessness inside Xi Lingjian’s heart gradually dissolved into a heap of cold ashes, inert debris piling upon one another.
Rising to his feet on his own accord, he retreated toward the study.
Xi Lingjian began methodically polishing the rack of weapons in the room, acting out his routine.
Only after watching their blades gleam with mirror-like brightness did he halt his movements and pivot toward the bedchamber.
Upon pushing open the door, the first entity to greet him was a delicate trace of sandalwood incense lingering in the air.
Xi Lingjian’s hand instantly dropped to the hilt of his sword.
Such a fragrance had never once existed within his bedchamber.
“Your Highness has arrived.”
At the sound of that voice, he withdrew his hand.
Fu Liao looked slightly nervous as well: “I felt this incense possessed a rather soothing quality, hence I lit a single stick.”
Xi Lingjian remained silent.
He was well aware of this scent; it was formulated specifically to calm the mind.
“I begged Brother Yin to let me in; if Your Highness wishes to assign blame, punish me alone,” Fu Liao added.
Brother Yin. Xi Lingjian repeated the name internally.
“What is it you wish to say to me this time?” he asked bluntly.
To his surprise, Fu Liao looked momentarily stunned, blinking vacantly.
“I merely wished to say that Your Highness must take proper care of your health.”
Fu Liao’s slender, delicate fingers pushed aside the wisps of thin incense smoke; the burning stick smoldered right beside him.
“His Highness has failed to rest adequately, coupled with the strain of handling court affairs, growing somewhat displeased is entirely understandable.”
He refrained from spelling things out too bluntly.
Xi Lingjian was prone to venting, but his methods differed noticeably from his behavior today.
Regarding Ji Liandu, he typically forced the youth to swallow scalding tea rather than casually hurling it away in a fit of unfocused rage.
He could be said to have genuinely lost his composure just now.
During their exchange earlier, even his self-address had slipped, as if surrendering and declining to bicker further.
Observing the faint shadows beneath Xi Lingjian’s eyes,
Fu Liao surmised that after sending him away yesterday, the man had likely enjoyed zero rest before plunging straight into the morning court session.
Xi Lingjian walked toward him at an unhurried pace.
No preaching, no interrogation, no wild, unhinged tutoring, and not a single mention of Ji Liandu dominating his sentences.
His eyes were filled entirely with heartache, leaving Xi Lingjian harboring a fleeting suspicion that he had mistaken his target, and that the words of care were meant for Ji Liandu instead.
Yet Fu Liao assured him they were not.
Dressed in fine silk layered three or four deep, the contours of his frame remained faintly discernible.
Standing right there by the bedside, clutching the docile lamb in his arms, the outer corners of his eyes drooping softly.
“His Highness has labored arduously of late; perhaps you might retire early today and take a proper rest.”