Chapter 18

ZHEN

"It's your turn," Xian said.

Zhen's attention snapped back to the wéi qí board. His feet prickled with pins and needles, and he uncrossed his legs on the straw mat. "Sorry, which stone did you just

put down?"

Xian pointed at one of the black stones. "You seem distracted tonight. Is something wrong?"

Zhen couldn't stop thinking about what he had witnessed in the outer court earlier that day.

"I was there when they carried out Deng's punishment this afternoon." Zhen took a deep breath. He knew he should let it go.

It wasn't his place to speak up. "If you had wanted, you could've asked that he be given a less brutal sentence."

"Deng committed a serious crime." Xian's tone was flat. "He got what he deserved."

"He's a courtesan. Those scars will do more than just stay with him for a long time. They will diminish his worth."

Xian's eyes glinted. "If you must know, I pardoned his more serious wrongdoing against me. If I had not, he would've received

eighty strokes with the heavy stick instead of forty with the light one. Forget scars—he might not walk upright for a few

weeks." He paused. "The forty strokes were for what he did to you. I made sure he received the full punishment for that."

Xian had probably expected Zhen to be comforted by his explanation, but knowing that the beating that Deng received was solely

on his account had the opposite effect.

"I forgave him too!" Zhen blurted out before he could stop himself. "Does my forgiveness have less value than yours because

of who I am?"

Xian looked taken aback. "He hurt you, Zhen. He has to pay for what he did. The law exists for a reason. I can't ask the court

to let him off easy just because you feel sorry for him."

"You can do anything you want," Zhen replied. "You're a prince."

"Yes, I am." Xian leaned forward, his expression intense as he held Zhen's gaze. "And what kind of prince would I be if I

didn't protect the ones I care about?"

Zhen blinked. He hadn't been expecting the fervor in Xian's tone or the sharp flutter that carved its way through his own

chest.

"I chose to grant mercy to Deng because of you," Xian continued. "I specifically told Governor Gao not to dismiss him from the palace, because you'd somehow found it in your heart to forgive him. But I'm a prince of Wuyue. I am here representing my father. The Changle court is scrutinizing my every move, and I can't allow myself to be viewed as weak—or, worse, unjust."

Zhen had seen the volatile hierarchy within wolf packs. If the dominant wolf wavered, he risked losing his power. Older wolves

would savagely attack younger challengers to assert their control and ensure obedience from other members of their pack.

"My eldest half brother is waiting for me to make a mistake and prove that I am unworthy of my father's favor. If you thought

forty strokes of the light stick were brutal—" Xian let out a humorless sound. "You should see what rival consorts in the

palace are capable of."

Especially since Xian's mother was a commoner—he had mentioned that she was from a family of tea farmers. Each decision Xian

made affected not just him but his mother's standing in the royal court. She was yet another reason he couldn't afford to

lose his father's approval.

"The amulet around your neck," Zhen said. "I've never seen you take it off. Is it a gift from your mother?"

Xian nodded. He reached into the front of his shirt and took out the amulet on its chain.

"She once told me that the longer a piece of jade has been worn, the stronger its protective powers." He smoothed the dull jade between his thumb and forefinger. "Their colors have different meanings: White jade is a symbol of love and clarity of mind, while dark green jade, like this one, means strength and resilience."

Unlike Qing, whose mother had named and cared for her, Zhen had never met his mother. Pythons laid eggs, and their young were

left to fend for themselves after they hatched. He would never truly understand the connection between a mother and her child.

But from the way Xian spoke about his mother—his fierce protectiveness, how he would do anything to find her cure—it was clear

that he would, without hesitation, destroy anyone who stood in his way... including Zhen.

Zhen lowered his gaze to the board and pretended to contemplate his next move to avoid meeting Xian's eyes, but when he picked

up a white stone, the small pebble felt as heavy as lead.

That night, Zhen waited until Xian's breathing next to him gave way to snores before he sat up. He paused to study the other

boy's sleeping face. A faint line creased the space between Xian's brows and the shadows softened his features, making him

look younger than his seventeen years.

Zhen swung his legs over the side of the platform bed, silently crossed the room, and unlatched the latticed window near the

empty cot where he was supposed to sleep. Climbing out was the only way to leave without alerting the guards standing watch

by the chamber doors.

Outside, the courtyard was dark and silent. The trees stood still and ominous, skeletal arms raised to the sky. Zhen stealthily made his way to the back of the compound where an elm tree grew close to the outer wall, its spreading branches reaching over the top.

He shut his eyes and concentrated. This time, the transformation hurt more because of his healing internal injuries from Deng's

beating. His bones re-formed and his body lengthened while his limbs retracted...

When he had completely changed, he turned his serpentine head from side to side. Behind him, his white dorsal scales gleamed,

pearlescent in the darkness.

Something pricked at Zhen's senses; he felt as if he were being watched by an unseen gaze. But when he checked his surroundings,

he couldn't see anyone. As a python, his eyesight in the dark wasn't sharp, and in the past year, Qing had helped him navigate

at night. Pit vipers were nocturnal hunters, and Qing could locate prey through their body heat.

He began climbing the trunk. Unlike lizards, Zhen didn't have feet to help him ascend vertically. But his scales clung to

the rough bark, allowing him to push himself upward. He halted briefly at the top of the wall, listening for vibrations and

movement. His forked tongue flicked out, detecting the faintest scents in the air: woodsmoke, crushed grass, night dew.

He descended the wall outside the royal manor. The white marble terraces of the palace camouflaged him well, and he kept close

to the shadows that fringed the buildings as he slithered to the southern gates that led to the outer court.

Even with his poor vision, he saw the towering wooden frame stark against the night sky. A limp figure sagged between the upright posts, his tied wrists hanging from the overhead beam. His flayed back gleamed black with dried blood.

Zhen glided around the platform. Deng's face was contorted in a grimace, and his shoulders were rotated at an unnatural angle.

The painful pressure seemed to compress his chest, making his breathing shallow, labored.

Deng's eyes opened—and filled with horror when he saw Zhen. He let out a high-pitched, keening noise but didn't cry out, perhaps

fearing more punishment for causing a disturbance.

The quickest way for Zhen to reach Deng's bound wrists was by climbing up his body—but it would be pointless if Deng died

of fright after surviving forty strokes. Zhen slithered up one of the posts instead. He slid along the top beam and coiled

around the rope that led to Deng's wrists.

Deng gazed up at him, whimpering and shaking.

Zhen sighed. It came out as a hiss, which seemed to terrify Deng even more.

Zhen bit at the knots, tugging them loose. He couldn't risk untying them, since Deng might try to escape, which would get

him into worse trouble. Zhen only hoped to relieve the strain on Deng's arms and chest, making it easier for him to endure

until dawn.

As the rope slackened by a fraction, Deng finally appeared to realize what Zhen was doing. His expression changed from fear

to disbelief to confusion. His arms twitched—they had probably gone numb from hours in that agonizing position.

Zhen glided down from the platform. He couldn't linger. The outer court was vast and bare, with no trees or bushes for cover. He had to get back before Xian woke up and realized he was gone.

He returned to the royal manor, scaled the wall, and transformed into his human form behind the elm tree, where he had left

his clothes. He quickly got dressed, fastening the sash around his waist as he crossed the courtyard toward Xian's chamber—

"Going somewhere?"

If Zhen had been a snake, he might've literally jumped out of his skin.

Fahai was seated on a stone bench in the courtyard. Zhen had been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed his silent presence.

"Oh—I needed to, um, relieve myself." Zhen's heart was hammering so loudly he was sure Fahai could hear it. "I didn't want

to disturb the prince, so I, uh, climbed out the window instead."

He realized, too late, how ridiculous that excuse was. He squinted at Fahai's face, but the shadows masked the older man's

expression.

"Next time, use the door. You might be mistaken for an intruder." Fahai's tone gave nothing away. "It's good to see that you

seem well enough for the hunting trip the prince has planned for tomorrow."

Zhen nodded despite the trepidation that roiled in his stomach.

"The prince is worried about your health," Fahai added. "I have some knowledge of herbs, and he asked me to look into preparing

a decoction that might help you."

"Thank you, Counselor Fahai." Zhen hastily offered a small bow. "Good night."

As he hurried inside, he could still feel the taciturn court adviser watching him.