Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Capital, O Capital—He Has Returned

The bodyguard Wang’s hair stood on end. The painter before him was no longer the weak wretch who had once clung only to the Seventh Prince.

When he fled from the Seventh Prince’s residence, he had sworn that one day he would kill him. But with one eye ruined, and with the Seventh Prince even trying to have him silenced, he had been forced to escape to Golden City.

Life there had not been easy. Who would hire a one-eyed man as an assistant? And with the little skill he possessed, not even the martial troupes or escort bureaus would take him in. Left without a choice, he became a mountain bandit.

Even after all that, it was only today that he learned this painter had come here as well, and had been here for three whole years.

Rage surged through him. If not for the fact that this man had taken one of his eyes, he would never have been driven from his home, never have gone all these years without seeing his wife and children.

Painter Yu had ruined his life. Bodyguard Wang ground his teeth in hatred. Seeing that death was only moments away, he suddenly threw caution to the wind and drew a dagger from his chest.

Yu, who had just taken the sword, froze. Clearly, he had not expected such a move.

“Painter Yu! Today I’ll drag you down with me!”

With a shout, Wang kicked off hard with his back leg and shot forward like a rabbit.

In that instant, the Seventh Prince sprang up and blocked Yu’s front. Ye Fang had not anticipated this; just as he was about to move to stop Wang, he suddenly heard a wet, tearing sound.

It was the sound of a blade sinking into flesh. Ye Fang’s heart leapt into his throat, terrified that something had happened to the prince.

But the Seventh Prince only looked down blankly. Wang’s dagger was still three inches short of his abdomen.

A long sword, however, had passed through the prince’s clothing and, skimming his waist, driven straight into Wang’s body.

Time seemed to stop. Yu’s hand was locked around the hilt without the slightest tremor, his eyes cold and fierce as they fixed on the look of stunned disbelief on Wang’s face.

Then he slowly withdrew the sword. The blade grazed the Seventh Prince’s skin and drew a cut. It was not a fatal wound, but blood still flowed heavily.

The prince instinctively clutched at his waist. Ye Fang stared at him in horror and rushed over to support him.

“How dare you wound His Highness?” Ye Fang snarled.

Yu lowered his eyes slightly to look at the blood on the blade, then at Wang, who lay clutching his belly and crawling along the ground after being stabbed.

He walked toward Wang step by step, like a demon emerging from hell. The once warm, handsome face was now full of darkness. With a cold laugh, he said, “I was saving him.”

“Don’t come near me!” Wang screamed at the top of his lungs. At this point he was already nothing but meat laid out on a chopping block, to be carved away piece by piece.

That helpless terror stripped him of all pride. Like a dog, he dropped to his knees before Yu and begged for mercy.

“Painter Yu! Painter Yu, I know you don’t kill people! Spare me! I swear I’ll change my ways!”

Yu crouched in front of him, tapping the sword against his face again and again, frightening him so badly he did not dare move.

“I never wanted to be a good man... I just want to know why! There were so many people that day! Why did you kill only him!”

His voice rose uncontrollably.

Wang trembled all over. Blood kept streaming from the wound in his abdomen.

“That... that was the mountain bandit chief’s order!”

Yu’s brows drew together. “Where is the bandit chief?”

Wang stammered, “De... dead.”

Yu’s expression turned icy. He rose, raising the sword high. Wang crawled desperately toward the door, but Yu brought the blade down with such force that it pierced Wang’s left leg.

Wang let out a shriek of agony. The Seventh Prince looked at Yu and could not believe that the person before him, so fierce and ruthless, was the same Yu who had only moments ago been obediently nestled in his arms.

He seemed possessed by a vengeful ghost. If he were to learn now that the Seventh Prince had once struck a bargain with the bandit chief to have Ah Liu killed, then this version of Yu would probably drive that sword into his body without a second thought.

Without the slightest mercy.

While the prince was still thinking, Yu had already stabbed Wang five times. By then Wang was little more than a corpse.

Yet Yu’s expression grew even madder. He showed no sign of stopping, as though he meant to hack Wang into mincemeat. The Seventh Prince was frightened by the sight.

He shook off Ye Fang’s supporting hand and suddenly threw his arms around Yu from behind. Yu, eyes blood-red, struggled fiercely to break free.

The Seventh Prince held him tighter and whispered into his ear, “Enough, Ziliang. Enough. He is already dead.”

Only after hearing those words did Yu gradually calm. Looking down at the corpse beneath his feet, he seemed dazed, then let the sword slip from his hand and stared at the blood on the ground, at a loss.

“Ziliang... enough... calm down.”

Yu’s breathing steadied. Only then did the Seventh Prince slowly loosen his hold. Seeing the large amount of blood flowing from the wound he had just slashed, Yu’s face changed and he hurriedly pressed a hand over the prince’s injury.

The Seventh Prince smiled and covered Yu’s hand with his own. “Ziliang, I’m fine.”

“Sorry...” Yu said with a frown.

The prince looked at Yu’s aggrieved, self-reproaching expression with fondness, then lifted his other hand to Yu’s cheek and said with solemn tenderness, “Promise me you won’t kill anyone again.”

Yu froze.

He thought back to when he had killed Wang. He had only felt anger, and then his hand had moved on its own. And when he saw the blood, what he felt was not fear, but excitement.

A terrible fear rose in him: was there another person living inside his body?

The Seventh Prince drew him into his arms. “Go back... your family misses you too. I won’t force you anymore. The choice is yours.”

As he spoke, he placed the jade token that had accompanied him through these three years of longing back into Yu’s hand.

For three years he had survived on that token, clinging to the faintest shred of hope, and at last he had waited for Yu’s return.

Yu looked at the purple jade token in his hand, his heart surging with complicated feelings. The Seventh Prince truly loved him too deeply. Now he felt both fortunate and unfortunate.

What virtue had he ever possessed to deserve the unshakable devotion of a prince whom women themselves could only long for?

After handing over the token, the Seventh Prince and Ye Fang left.

Yu knelt once more before Ah Liu’s grave and thought through the night. There was already nothing left worth staying for. Better than lingering here would be to return to the capital.

At the very least, his friends were there. He bid farewell to the people of Bai Feng Village and was about to set off when Qi Feng called out to him.

“Ah Liang!”

Yu was clearly sensitive to that form of address. He turned back, then after a brief look of disappointment said, “So it’s Young Master Qi.”

“Ah Liang! Where are you going?” Qi Feng asked.

Yu looked at him, then followed him into a tavern.

Qi Feng was a good person. Yu considered him a friend, so he told him everything that had happened.

“So... your surname is Yu?” Qi Feng stared at him wide-eyed.

Yu nodded. “Yes. I have to go back now.”

“You mean from the Yu family painting society?” Qi Feng still had not recovered from the shock.

Yu nodded again, a little impatiently. It was no wonder Qi Feng reacted like this. The Yu Family Painting Society and the Jade Forest Painting Society were the imperial court’s own painting establishments, and Yu Ming himself had been personally appointed by the emperor as an imperial painter.

These were people that the tiny Wenchuan Painting Society of Golden City could never hope to compare with.

Looking at Yu, Qi Feng suddenly thought of something. “Um... if your surname is Yu, then what is your relationship to Yu Ming?”

Yu said flatly, “Father and son.”

Qi Feng looked as though he had choked on something, eyes bulging and mouth hanging open, unable to imagine that Yu was actually the son of an imperial painter.

No wonder his painting was so good.

Yu seemed to have grown tired of his reaction and calmly lifted his tea to take a sip.

Then Qi Feng suddenly dropped to his knees and, with overwhelming solemnity, knocked his head to the floor before Yu.

“Painter Yu! Please take me as your disciple!”

Yu spat tea all over his face. Then he hurriedly grabbed his sleeve to wipe him off. “Sorry... get up quickly.”

Qi Feng remained rooted to the floor like a pillar, no matter how Yu called, he would not rise.

At last Yu said helplessly, “I don’t take disciples.”

Qi Feng looked utterly crestfallen. “Why not?”

Yu gazed sadly out the window. “I am observing one year of mourning for my deceased wife. No celebrations.”

Qi Feng was dumbfounded. He knew what mourning without joy for one year meant: during that year, the mourner could not engage in happy affairs such as receiving promotion and honors, marrying or having children, or ceremonies of apprenticeship and discipleship.

But who was this deceased wife? When had Yu ever married?

Qi Feng asked foolishly, “I... mistress?”

Yu shot him a look. “I never took you as a disciple. Don’t call me nonsense.”

Qi Feng grinned dumbly. “Ah Liang! Doesn’t that mean once this year is over, you’ll accept me? Right... my master’s... sister-in-law, who is the sister-in-law?”

“Ah Liu.”

“Who?” Qi Feng thought he had heard wrong. Ah Liu? He had met him before; he was a man.

Yu’s face chilled, as if to say, So what? “Yes... I am devoted to men.”

Qi Feng’s mind went blank. He stared at Yu for a long moment. “Really?”

Yu ignored him and drank his tea.

“Well... even if you are devoted to men, I won’t despise you...” Qi Feng said haltingly, cheeks reddening a little.

Yu suddenly rose. “All right, I’m leaving. If fate allows, we’ll meet again.”

Qi Feng, in his anxiety, actually grabbed his hand on his own initiative, then snatched it back at once as though he had touched a scalding potato.

“Do you still have business?” Yu asked.

Qi Feng said, “A year from now... I’ll go to the capital. Brother Ah Liang, you must take me in.”

Yu sighed and smiled. “We’ll see how stubborn you are.”

With that, Yu left, and Qi Feng was left alone, flustered and utterly bewildered.

The carriage jolted along all the way back to the capital, and Yu never forgot how prosperous this city was.

By the time he returned, it was already dark, with only a quarter hour left before the gates closed. Though late, the streets still glowed with lantern light and wine-sweet revelry, bright as day.

It was truly a city that never slept.

Yu moved through the crowd, casually taking in the surroundings. After three years away, seeing this place again made his heart swell despite himself.

He had intended to return to the Yu household, but then thought that at this hour his father would probably already be asleep. Waking the old man would not be wise. Better to find an inn first.

He asked someone where the nearest inn was and headed in the direction indicated, only to pass by the Tower of Radiant Splendor.

Once again Yu was drawn in by the riot of colors. He paused there for a moment, and even had young ladies toss handkerchiefs at him. Yu could only let the kerchief drift past his ear before turning and walking on without looking back.

The moment he turned, however, someone crashed straight into him. The boy was strong, sending him spinning. He looked to be only in his teens, still a child. After colliding with him, the boy tossed out a quick “Sorry” and left.

He must have been in some kind of hurry. Yu frowned, thinking whose child had so little manners, when a familiar voice suddenly drifted over, jolting him to attention.

“Guichun! Slow down!”