Chapter 0253: A Thousand Readers, A Thousand Hamlets

Xie Chengze stepped through the doorway and slowly walked toward the inner chamber.

Xie Jinyu lay on the bed, eyes tightly shut in deep slumber. His slightly furrowed brow seemed to be凝结着 some unspoken worry, casting a shadow of melancholy and vulnerability over his entire being.

Xie Chengze stood before the bed, gazing down at the unconscious young man with an inscrutable expression, his eyes flickering between shadow and light.

His feelings toward this Crown Prince younger brother were undeniably complex. When he first arrived, relying on the original story’s context, he had simply viewed Xie Jinyu as a somewhat deep-minded royal youth who hadn’t fully matured yet. He believed that by establishing a warm fraternal relationship, he could freely navigate the imperial palace in the future.

But later, as childhood memories of the original host flooded back, he developed a heartfelt ache for Xie Jinyu’s suffering. Especially when he saw the young man covered in scars, he felt compelled to protect him and help him ascend the throne. He was willing to become the blade in Xie Jinyu’s hand, clearing away all the scum who coveted the throne or gnawed at the court’s foundations.

He wasn’t oblivious to the obsession and dependence Xie Jinyu harbored for him deep down—an obsession that could potentially cloud the sound judgment required of an emperor. He attempted to correct this, maintaining distance while protecting him like an ordinary elder brother, yet keeping him at arm’s length. He hoped Xie Jinyu would gradually adapt to this distance and become a wise ruler unswayed by emotions.

But he had forgotten.

If even he couldn’t sever ties with his own parents, what right did he have to demand that Xie Jinyu cut off his dependence on his elder brother?

Xie Chengze also tried to convince himself: Why not let it be? After all, Shen Yuan was guarding the court, and he himself wouldn’t turn dark. So what if Xie Jinyu was a bit yandere?

It wouldn’t hinder him from being a good emperor, nor would it prevent him from giving the people a peaceful and prosperous era.

But…

Xie Chengze lowered his gaze, his long, dense eyelashes trembling slightly, unable to conceal the suspicion and evasion in his eyes.

Emperor Jian was dead.

Xie Chengze didn’t understand political schemes; his only experience came from reading a few political intrigue novels. He simply believed that poisoning must be the work of villains or those desperately eager to seize the throne.

It had to be either Sheng Shihai or the Cao family.

So he had sent Wuhen and Wuji to investigate, but the results showed no clues linking either of them to the crime.

Wuji said the poison Emperor Jian ingested was a slow-acting one. Because it was slow-acting, Emperor Jian could suppress it with his internal energy, so nothing seemed amiss to ordinary observers.

According to the nature of such slow-acting poison, it shouldn’t have taken effect so quickly. The only possibility was that Emperor Jian already had underlying health issues, and the chronic poison accelerated his pre-existing condition, causing the toxicity to erupt prematurely and ultimately leading to his sudden death.

Upon careful reflection, this made sense. Sheng Shihai didn’t have fully trustworthy military power—how could he poison Emperor Jian and shorten his own preparation time for rebellion?

As for the Cao family, not to mention that they had never resorted to poisoning in the original story, if they had regularly administered slow-acting poison to Emperor Jian, they would inevitably have left behind clues related to personnel or substances. And Wuji, who excelled at finding clues, wouldn’t have failed to uncover the poisoner.

After eliminating the most likely suspects, only the impossible remained.

He had suspected other ministers, suspected Xie Zimiao, and in the end, even suspected Shen Yuan.

After all, a thousand readers see a thousand Hamlets.

In his understanding, the Crown Prince had once been a gentle-natured person unwilling to involve himself in court politics. Yet in reality, Xie Shoujun sought to overthrow the Xie family bloodline, his hidden resentment unnoticed by anyone.

Then, did The Powerful Minister, who once held sway over the court, also harbor discontent after his rebirth? Did he resent the Crown Prince he had sincerely followed for personally killing him, and rage at Emperor Jian’s inaction and favoritism in his previous life, which plunged the court into a decade of turmoil and left the people unable to live in peace and prosperity?

Thus, he poisoned Emperor Jian.

Thus, in this life, he chose not to stand by the Crown Prince’s side.

He pondered countless possibilities, and finally, his gaze settled on Xie Jinyu.

Or perhaps, was it the Crown Prince who administered the poison?

During his past life travels to the north, while staying at a guesthouse, the landlady had remarked that although he appeared aloof and detached, his nature was somewhat sensitive, adept at reading people’s expressions.

A child deprived of love is always sensitive.

And can easily detect changes in those similar to himself.

Xie Chengze sat by the bedside, leaning forward slightly, his right hand gently stroking Xie Jinyu’s weary and gloomy left cheek, his fingertips lightly brushing the corner of his eye.

At first, his touch was impossibly tender, but gradually, the pressure intensified, pulling at the young man’s eye until it reddened and contorted. Xie Chengze’s gaze grew increasingly somber, and after a long while, his voice emerged as cold and detached as ice water, “Xie Jinyu, are you still pretending to sleep?”

Beneath his hand, the young man’s long, dark eyelashes trembled faintly before slowly opening.

His eyes were dark and deep, like pools of ink, swirling with uncontrollable emotions akin to a stormy sea—brooding, melancholic, and silently hysterical.

Like an impenetrable net, they tightly ensnared that exquisite face. Within those pitch-black, sinister pupils, all traces of gentleness and dependence had vanished, leaving only the madness and destruction befitting a tyrant.

Xie Chengze’s heart trembled, and he instinctively tried to withdraw his hand, but the other seized his wrist. Pale lips lightly brushed over the faintly pulsing vein at his wrist, while Xie Jinyu’s gaze remained fixed on the beautiful young man, now tinged with a provocative, teasing defiance.

“Second Brother.”

His voice was hoarse, “As expected, nothing escapes you.”

Xie Chengze feigned composure, “Since Cao Que dared to let me in alone, it couldn’t be because he was confident I wouldn’t assassinate you.”

So naturally, it was because you were already awake that he felt so assured.

He gripped the hair at Xie Jinyu’s temple, forcing the young man with his fierce expression to look up at him, and pressed, “Xie Jinyu, have you… been reborn?”

The nineteen-year-old Xie Jinyu would never have such a gaze.

Xie Jinyu let out a soft laugh, the frenzy and gloom in his eyes unraveling layer by layer, transforming into gentleness and softness. Like a runaway black cat returning to its owner’s embrace, he displayed all his vulnerability and dependence, hoping his master would take him home.

“Second Brother, don’t abandon me.”

He nuzzled lightly against Xie Chengze’s palm, adopting a pitiful expression, “I waited for you for so long, so very long. When you didn’t come, I had no choice but to seek you out.”

“But I still arrived too late.”

He shouldn’t have killed Shen Yuan so early, allowing him to seize the advantage of rebirth and take Second Brother away.

Xie Chengze’s hand trembled slightly.

What did he mean by that?

Had he come from their past life?

A deliberate rebirth? How could that be possible?

Steadying his mind slightly, Xie Chengze suppressed the shock within him, his gaze heavy as he stared at this young man who, even after shedding his fierce aura and disguising himself as an innocent kitten, could not conceal the madness emanating from his very bones. “I will only ask you two questions.”

He opened his mouth, and after a long while, finally spoke. “Was it you who poisoned our father?”

A faint smile curled at Xie Jinyu’s lips, his sickly gaze resting on Xie Chengze’s face as he slowly replied.

“It wasn’t me.”

“It was the nineteen-year-old Xie Jinyu.”