Chapter 54

Chapter 54: Exposed, Drunk

Time slipped away on quiet feet. By the time the sun sank, candles were lit throughout the Little Academy.

There were no extra rooms for Chu Yao. Shen Tang immediately offered to give up her own—she could sleep anywhere for one night and figure things out tomorrow. But Chu Yao refused. He was thin and older; it didn’t feel right to shove him into a side alcove or leave him on the corridor.

In the end, Qi Shan told Chu Yao to share his room.

Shen Tang was quietly thrilled. She wasn’t eager to sleep under the same roof as two men who looked at each other like they wanted to bite.

After dinner, delivered by the old woman, Chu Yao carried his thoughts outside to the courtyard. Night air cooled his skin. Somewhere nearby, water splashed.

He followed the sound and found a shadow curled in the corner.

It was Shen Tang, sleeves rolled up, washing a basin of green plums.

“Wu Lang,” he asked, “what are you doing?”

She looked up and straightened, thumping her sore waist with a fist. “Washing plums. I’m going to make salted plums and brew green-plum wine. When winter comes and snow covers the city, we can drink while we watch the view.”

Chu Yao stared at the plums bobbing in the basin and sighed. “What a waste. Will you regret it?”

Shen Tang blinked. “…Why would I regret it?”

Chu Yao’s gaze sharpened. “Sir Qi Shan didn’t stop you?”

“Why would Yuan Liang stop me?” Shen Tang asked, genuinely confused.

For a moment, anger churned beneath Chu Yao’s calm. It wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed elsewhere.

Shen Tang leaned in, exasperated. “Then tell me what you mean. Why would I regret it?”

Chu Yao’s expression shifted—surprise, then something complicated. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

He let out a long breath like he was swallowing words. “Fine. With your situation… it’s not that it can’t be done.”

Shen Tang stared at him, seething. He kept doing this—half a sentence, then silence, like he wanted to strangle her curiosity slowly.

Still, he helped her finish washing the plums. Together they handled the early steps of salting. Brewing the wine itself was simple: clean plums into a clay jar, Du Kang Wine poured in, and Shen Tang tossed a handful of malt sugar on top.

“No rock sugar here,” she muttered. “This will do.”

They sealed the jar. In a month or so, it could be opened.

When the work was done, Shen Tang bathed and changed into clean clothes. She sat under the corridor, towel in hand, drying her long hair as it dripped onto the stones.

Her mind drifted to Zhai Le drinking earlier that day—head tipped back, eyes shining, careless and alive.

Moonlight. Wine. Damp hair drying in the night air. It sounded like a scene from someone else’s life.

She decided to steal it anyway.

She fetched a ceramic bowl from the kitchen, whispered a word-spirit, and Du Kang Wine filled it to the brim. The fragrance rose strong and clean.

She sniffed once, then tipped it back and drank it in one go.

Warmth bloomed in her belly and surged up through her veins. It hit her head fast—hot, dizzy.

Inside the room—

Chu Yao and Qi Shan were locked in a silent board battle, piece after piece placed with controlled precision. Both men looked mild on the surface, but the undercurrent ran deep.

Chu Yao’s play was sharper, more ruthless—side cuts and killing moves, pressure piling like stormclouds. Qi Shan’s position began to crumble.

Finally, Chu Yao spoke. “Wu Lang is ignorant. Why didn’t you stop her?”

Qi Shan let out a short, incredulous laugh. “How exactly was I supposed to?”

He tapped the board once, hard. “I only found out later Wu Lang carries a state seal. And who could’ve guessed the feudal lord path would awaken so early, so easily?”

Chu Yao didn’t respond. Qi Shan continued, voice turning colder.

“Chu Yao. Chu Wu Hui. One of Chu State’s Three Talents—once so famous you shook the northwest. And yet in just a few years, one died by five-horse dismemberment, one hanged himself in prison, and one vanished without a trace.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you were hiding in a tiny place like Xiao City.”

Chu State had been small, barely worth calling a country, yet it had produced monsters—three men with rare Literary Hearts, aligned in ambition. If they’d been given time, Chu State might have become something real.

But neighbors didn’t wait for threats to grow.

They strangled the seedlings in the dirt.

Chu Yao’s brow twitched. Qi Shan’s tone sharpened like a blade.

“You’re following Young Master Shen because you think he can help you rise again?” Qi Shan asked. “Too bad his feudal lord path—”

Chu Yao cut in, voice low. “Xiao City may be small, but news isn’t sealed. The name Qi Yuan Liang isn’t unfamiliar to me.”

His gaze pinned Qi Shan. “I only don’t understand one thing. I stayed in Xiao City to wait for fate. Why did you appear on Madam Gong’s exile road? Why are you here at all, instead of the Central Plains, where the strong states gather?”

Neither man looked away. The room felt smaller, tighter—like a cage.

Then—

A heavy thud sounded from outside. Something hit the ground hard enough to shake the corridor boards.

The two men froze, exchanged a glance, and rushed to slide open the paper door.

Shen Tang lay sprawled on the corridor, unmoving.

“You Li!”

“Wu Lang!”

The board and the argument vanished. Chu Yao dropped to one knee, fingers on her pulse. Qi Shan checked her breathing.

Steady pulse. Strong. Healthy.

They both paused, baffled.

Then Chu Yao noticed the ceramic bowl beside her, stained with wine. He lifted it and sniffed. “Du Kang Wine.”

Qi Shan’s face went blank. “She drank?”

So she’d been taken down by the wine she conjured herself?

Before either of them could decide whether to be angry or relieved, Shen Tang suddenly sat bolt upright like a corpse rising. Her eyes snapped open, wide and bright in the candlelight.