Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

"Hmm." Pei Zhihui closed his eyes and spoke softly, "This carriage is more comfortable than the chair in the Golden Palace."

Shen Qiongju's fingers, which were turning the pages of the book, paused.

For ten years, he held absolute power, controlling life and death. He could have become a renowned minister, remembered throughout history. Now, he's a sickly man whose arms ache even after holding a child for a long time.

"Are your hands tired?" Shen Qiongju put down her book and reached out to take Nian'an's hand.

Pei Zhihui avoided her hand.

"It's not sour. I can carry it."

He stubbornly tightened his arms, protecting his daughter in his embrace.

Shen Qiongju didn't force him. She took a hot towel and wiped the fine sweat from his forehead.

"Do you regret it?" she asked softly.

Pei Zhihui opened his eyes.

He watched the city walls rushing past the window. The city, a symbol of the highest power in the Great Sheng Dynasty, was shrinking smaller and smaller in his view.

"What is there to regret?" He looked away, at his daughter in his arms, and then at his wife beside him.

"I, Pei Zhihui, have already held everything I've ever wanted in my arms."

He freed one hand and placed it on the back of Shen Qiongju's hand.

The fingertips were slightly cool, yet the pressure was reassuring.

Shen Qiongju grasped his hand in return.

"When we get to Jiangnan, I'll take you to eat squirrel-shaped mandarin fish," she said. "The chefs in Liangzhou Prefecture can't make it well; only those in Jiangnan are authentic."

"Okay. I'll do as you say."

The carriage was filled with the sweet aroma of goat's milk.

The calm before the storm, in this small space, crystallized into a rare moment of warmth for the family of three. Completely detached from the turbulent, unpredictable capital city behind them.

Ah Hu sat in the carriage at the back.

Du Hengniang peeled an orange and stuffed it into Ah Hu's mouth.

"Eat. When we get to Jiangnan, your godmother will buy you a big house." Du Hengniang pinched Ah Hu's chubby face.

Ah Hu chewed on an orange and mumbled, "Looking for my sister..."

"Your little sister is fast asleep in the car up ahead. Don't bother her."

The convoy traveled south along the official road.

The remaining snow along the roadside is gradually thinning. The green of early spring is faintly visible among the withered grass.

Pei Zhihui leaned on Shen Qiongju's shoulder, his breathing gradually becoming steady.

He fell asleep.

Shen Qiongju did not move. She remained in one position, letting him lean against her.

She looked at the dark circles under his eyes that hadn't completely faded.

Shen Qiongju gripped his hand tightly; from now on, it was her turn to protect him.

The carriage traveled to Shili Pavilion on the outskirts of Beijing.

Along the official road, withered grass shivered in the cold wind.

Pei An rode a black horse at the head of the procession.

His hand rested on the hilt of the Embroidered Spring Blade. His gaze swept around like that of a hawk.

"Whoa—"

Pei An suddenly pulled on the reins.

The black horse reared up on its forelegs and let out a neigh.

The convoy came to a sudden stop.

A person stood in the middle of the official road ahead.

He was an old Taoist priest wearing a tattered robe.

His hair was gray and disheveled, like a chicken coop. He carried a filthy gourd of wine in his hand.

He reeked of alcohol; you could smell it from ten steps away.

The Taoist priest let out a burp. He swayed and raised a worn-out writing brush in his hand.

"Get out of the way!" Pei An shouted in a deep voice, "You've offended someone important, how many heads do you have?!"

The old Taoist priest ignored Pei An.

His cloudy eyes were fixed on the gray-blue carriage.

Suddenly, he opened his mouth and started shouting incoherently.

"The Purple Star dims, the Emperor's star is about to fall!"

His voice was hoarse, yet possessed a strange power that seemed to pierce the eardrums.

Inside the train carriage.

Pei Zhihui suddenly opened his eyes.

Shen Qiongju put down her travelogue, her brows furrowed. "What's going on outside?"

"Don't move." Pei Zhihui pressed her hand down and pulled Nian'an closer into his arms.

Outside the car, the old Taoist priest's shouts continued.

He pointed at the carriage with his worn-out pen. He stumbled forward two steps.

"You in the car! You think you can escape the wrath of heaven by hiding in Jiangnan?"

Pei An drew his sword.

A gleaming blade reflected a cold light.

"Take one more step forward, and you'll die." Pei An's murderous intent was fully revealed.

The surrounding assassins simultaneously gripped their sword hilts, their killing intent locking onto the old Taoist priest.

The old Taoist priest acted as if he hadn't seen the knife.

He looked up at the gloomy sky. Suddenly, he burst into laughter.

The laughter was harsh and shrill.

"If you wish to defy fate, you may ask this pen in my hand!"

The words fell.

The old Taoist priest suddenly threw the worn-out brush in his hand at the carriage.

The pen moved with incredible speed, whistling through the air, bypassing Pei An's defenses and heading straight for the carriage window.

"Master!" Pei An exclaimed in alarm, raising his sword to block.

Too late.

With a sharp "thud," the worn-out brush plunged deep into the sandalwood of the carriage's exterior wall.

penetrating.

The end of the pen was still trembling violently.

Inside the carriage. Shen Qiongju stared at the pen tip, which pierced through the carriage wall and was only half an inch away from her. Her breath caught in her throat.

The gentleness in Pei Zhihui's eyes vanished instantly.

That long-lost sinister and murderous intent, belonging to the regent, crept back into his eyes.

He handed Nian'an to Shen Qiongju.

Hold her tight.

He lifted the carriage curtain. A gust of cold wind rushed in.

Pei Zhihui sat in the carriage, looking at the mad Taoist priest blocking the road.

"The Way of Heaven?" Pei Zhihui's voice was very soft, yet it clearly echoed throughout the Ten-Mile Pavilion.

He stretched out his hand, with its distinct knuckles and pale as paper, and grasped the worn-out pen stuck in the car wall.

With a forceful bend.

With a crisp "crack," the pen broke in two.

He threw the broken pen into the snow.

"My life, Pei Zhihui's life, is not to be taken by Heaven. Who do you think you are, daring to question me?"

The old Taoist priest looked at the broken pen on the ground. His smile faded.

A chilling glint flashed in his cloudy eyes.

"The red pill prolongs life, but it severs the very foundation of an emperor." The old Taoist stared at Pei Zhihui. "Do you think you can live in peace by choosing her? This world is in chaos because of you. The cycle of cause and effect continues; Jiangnan is your final destination."

Pei An roared, "Insolence! Seize him!"

Four assassins pounced on him.

The old Taoist priest neither dodged nor flinched. He raised his wine gourd, tilted his head back, and took a swig of wine.

"puff--"

He exhaled a mouthful of alcohol mist.

The moment it came into contact with the air, the alcohol vapor turned into a thick cloud of white smoke.

The assassin rushed into the white smoke, only to find nothing.

The white smoke dissipated. The official road was deserted.

Only the broken pen on the ground proved that what had just happened was not an illusion.

Pei An's face was ashen as he knelt on one knee beside the carriage. "This subordinate has failed in his duty. Please punish me, Master."

Pei Zhihui looked at the broken pen on the ground. He didn't say anything.

Shen Qiongju, holding Nian'an, leaned out.

"What does he mean by the 'red pill to prolong life'?" She stared at Pei Zhihui's profile.

When Ghost Hand Zhang gave the medicine, he only said that the red pill could help one live to seventy or eighty years old. He didn't mention anything about "the foundation of an emperor."

Pei Zhihui lowered the carriage curtain, shutting out the cold wind from outside.

"You believe the words of a charlatan?" He turned his head and leaned back against the cushion.

His tone was flat, without the slightest ripple.

But Shen Qiongju saw his hand hidden in his sleeve.

The knuckles turned bluish-white from exertion.

The carriage restarted.

Heading towards the unknown Jiangnan region.

The wheels rolled on, crushing the remaining snow at Shili Pavilion. But they could not crush the prophecy that seemed like a curse.

The carriage was deathly still.

The phrase "Jiangnan is your dead end" was like an invisible noose, tightening around everyone's throat. Nian'an slept soundly in Shen Qiongju's arms, completely unaware that the adult world was already rife with undercurrents.

Shen Qiongju's gaze kept drifting involuntarily to the wooden wall pierced by the worn-out pen. Just a half-inch away. The mere thought of it made her heart tighten, as if gripped by an icy hand.

Pei Zhihui leaned against the cushion, his eyes closed. His face was so pale that it seemed devoid of any life force, as if the confrontation with the mad Taoist priest had exhausted all his energy.

He wasn't asleep; his long eyelashes cast two faint shadows under his eyelids, trembling slightly with the bumps of the carriage.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Shen Qiongju, feeding the child without looking up, said, "Think about what that Taoist priest said."

"The red pill prolongs life, but it severs the very foundation of an emperor." She returned this statement verbatim, her tone as calm as if discussing the weather. "What do you mean?"

Pei Zhihui remained silent.

The only sound in the carriage was Nian'an swallowing goat's milk.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Ghost Hand Zhang's medicine uses dragon energy as a guide."

Shen Qiong was taken aback.

"The dragon vein energy of Dasheng has stretched for thousands of years. I was once the regent and chief minister, and I am most heavily tainted by the dragon energy." Pei Zhihui spoke slowly, as if stating something unrelated to himself. "He used this energy to keep me alive. But energy is finite; if a portion is drawn from the dragon vein, the dragon vein weakens by a fraction. The fate of the nation will naturally be affected."

Shen Qiongju's heart sank.

"Therefore, the Taoist priest said, 'The world is in chaos because of you.'"

"Yes," Pei Zhihui answered frankly.

"Then why did you..." Shen Qiongju's voice trembled slightly, "...why did you still eat?"

Pei Zhihui turned his head and looked at her. Those peach blossom eyes that had once stirred up countless bloody storms were now crystal clear, reflecting her panicked face.

"I ate it," he said. "So, I am no longer the Regent."

He gave her the military seal of the Zhenbei Army, handed over the administration of the court to Lin Qingyuan, and headed south with his wife and daughters. He deliberately severed his connection with that dragon vein.

In this way, he told that ethereal "Heavenly Way" that he no longer wanted this empire. He only wanted the person in front of him.

Shen Qiongju couldn't speak. She felt like there was a lump of cotton stuck in her throat, both sour and swollen.

"You're a lunatic," she finally snapped after holding it in for a while.

Pei Zhihui smiled. This smile aggravated an old wound in his chest, causing him to cough softly.

Shen Qiong hurriedly put down the bottle and frantically patted his back. Her hands patted his back, and his slender shoulder blades hurt her palms.

"Stop laughing." Her eyes were red-rimmed. "If you keep laughing, you'll cough yourself to death."

Pei Zhihui finally caught his breath and leaned against the soft pillow, a hint of tears welling in his eyes. He looked at Shen Qiongju like a child who had just gotten candy.

Were you worried about me just now?

Shen Qiongju glared at him, turned her face away, and continued feeding the child. "I'm afraid that if you die, Nian'an will have no father."

"Oh," Pei Zhihui drawled, "Ah Hu also has a father. How about we let Nian'an recognize Du Hengniang's husband as her godfather?"

Shen Qiongju: "..."

She took a deep breath and told herself not to argue with a patient.

The caravan was not moving fast. After noon, Pei An reported from outside that there was a post station ahead where they could stop for a meal and rest.

The carriage came to a stop. Shen Qiongju, holding the sleeping Nian'an, was preparing to get out of the carriage.

Pei Zhihui suddenly grabbed her sleeve.

"I'm not going down."

Shen Qiongju, thinking he was unwell, asked anxiously, "What's wrong? Where do you feel unwell?"

Pei Zhihui shook his head. He glanced at the food box that Pei An had handed in from outside; it contained dried rations and dried meat provided by the post station.

He frowned, looking disgusted: "The food is terrible."

Shen Qiongju was stunned.

She looked at the man before her. He was dressed in a simple cotton robe, his long hair was casually tied up with a wooden hairpin, his face was pale, and his lips were almost bloodless; he looked exactly like a down-on-his-luck scholar.

But his expression at this moment, that picky, that self-righteous arrogance, was even more infuriating than when he sat on the throne in his four-clawed python robe.

"Lord Pei," Shen Qiong said with a forced smile, "you're no longer the regent. When you're traveling, you're lucky if you can even get something to eat."

"I am your husband," Pei Zhihui said weakly, leaning back on the cushion. "I'm sick. The doctor said I need to eat something good."

Shen Qiongju laughed in exasperation. She realized that this man wasn't sick, he was just being dramatic.

"What would you like to eat?"

Pei Zhihui thought for a moment, then began reciting dishes: "The roasted venison at the old shop at the foot of West Mountain, you need the hind leg. The crab meat lion's head at 'Yipinju' in the east of the city has to be made with hairy crabs from Yangcheng Lake. And the 'Zansi Guoshao' made by the imperial chefs in the palace is all about the perfect cooking time."

Shen Qiongju's temples throbbed with pain.

"Pei Zhihui, do you think I can't swear?"

Pei Zhihui blinked, looking completely innocent: "Weren't you going to Jiangnan to eat squirrel-shaped mandarin fish? I want to try something else beforehand."

This person not only acts out, but has also learned to cheat.

Shen Qiongju couldn't do anything about him. She handed Nian'an over to the wet nurse who was waiting nearby, and got out of the car herself.

She walked to Du Hengniang's carriage at the back and lifted the curtain.

"Hengniang, bring out the small kitchen and ingredients we brought."

Du Hengniang was holding Ah Hu and gnawing on a chicken leg when she heard this and was taken aback: "What's wrong? Don't you like the food at the post station?"

Shen Qiongju said expressionlessly, "Your Grand Secretary is hungry."

Looking at Shen Qiongju's expression and recalling Pei Zhihui's sickly appearance, Du Hengniang instantly imagined a touching scene of "a sickly husband disliking the food, and a virtuous wife cooking it herself."

"Oh dear, look at this man, no matter how high his rank, he's like a child when he's sick." Du Hengniang said, while deftly directing the servants to move things, she winked at Shen Qiongju. "You wait here, I'll help you out. We'll cook him a good meal and cheer him up; that's better than any medicine."

So, an hour later.

In the backyard of the post station, a row of stoves had been set up. The best cooks from the thirteen merchant houses were busy cooking, their brows covered in sweat.

Meanwhile, the distinguished Grand Secretary was reclining on a chaise longue covered with three layers of fox fur, covered with a blanket, holding a cup of hot tea in his hand, watching leisurely.

Shen Qiongju sat opposite him, holding a small silver spoon, scraping apple puree spoonful by spoonful, preparing to feed Nian'an when she woke up.

Without even lifting her eyelids, she abruptly asked, "Lord Pei, are you satisfied with this display?"

Pei Zhihui took a sip of tea and said slowly, "It's acceptable."

He paused, then added, "It's just a bit windy, it's giving me a headache."

The silver spoon in Shen Qiongju's hand fell into the bowl with a "clatter".

She looked up at Pei Zhihui's serious face and suddenly felt an urge to smear the apple puree in her hand on his face.

In the end, she simply stood up, took a cloak from the guard beside her, walked over, and covered Pei Zhihui's head with it.

"Now, the wind isn't so strong anymore, is it?" she asked through gritted teeth.

The cloak covered Pei Zhihui's face, revealing only a pair of smiling eyes.

"Hmm." His muffled voice came from under the cloak. "Much warmer. My lady, you are very kind."