Chapter 78: Different

Ye Fang signaled to the guards behind him, urging them to quickly carry out Guard Li. Standing by the Seventh Prince’s side, he murmured, “Your Highness… so that means Alyu is dead as well… The painter Yu might have learned about it and misunderstood Your Highness…”

The Seventh Prince rubbed his temples, taking a deep breath before replying, “Impossible. If Ziliang knew Alyu was dead, with his temperament, he would have left at once.”

Ye Fang was helpless; the Seventh Prince seemed beyond saving. He went off with a few guards to search for Er-Mazi, only to discover that Er-Mazi had vanished without a trace.

Strangely enough, Er-Mazi’s disappearance shouldn’t have meant that even his wife and children had no idea where he’d gone. The guards said that while Er-Mazi was greedy, he wasn’t heartless to such an extreme. As they delved deeper, Ye Fang did find some clues.

Er-Mazi had been found dead in a grove south of the city. When the Seventh Prince heard the news, he deduced that Alyu must still be alive. If Yu Hualiang learned of this, perhaps he truly wasn’t lying when he said he was going to look for Alyu.

Could it be, then, that Yu Hualiang truly wasn’t dead? Even Ye Fang began to doubt. After all, there was no body, no proof of death; it was as if he had vanished from the world. Alyu, too, could have gone anywhere—heaven and earth were vast, and the Seventh Prince might never find him, even in a lifetime.

Moreover, even if he could find Alyu alive, there was no guarantee he would ever find Yu Hualiang alive as well.

Ye Fang worried for him, thinking perhaps it would be wise to invite a Daoist priest to exorcise evil spirits for the Seventh Prince.

Lately, the Seventh Prince seemed much improved. He had moved from the main hall to sleep in the side chamber where Yu Hualiang once lived; the room was filled with Yu Hualiang’s paintings.

Most of the paintings were of himself, along with some strange things Yu Hualiang had drawn. The Seventh Prince took out the painting of the Azure Dragon Crescent Blade, unable to imagine Yu Hualiang wielding such a weapon.

He found another sheet depicting a watermelon, likely drawn when Yu Hualiang craved one, even though it had been winter at the time.

There were also paintings of flowers, each blossom rendered so delicately it seemed they might bloom before his eyes. The Seventh Prince leafed through the stack for some time, when suddenly he came upon a piece of calligraphy by Yu Hualiang.

He admired the writing—each stroke was like a bamboo shoot, clear and graceful. Upon the paper was a poem:

Mountains and waters shrouded in distant clouds,
Plum blossoms blooming in the chill, enchanting all.
From dawn to dusk, songs of fields are sung in praise,
Fair hands gently pluck fresh tea leaves to fall.

The smile slowly faded from the Seventh Prince’s face. He set down Yu Hualiang’s calligraphy and sighed inwardly, realizing Yu Hualiang had yearned for such a life.

If only he had more time, he surely would have taken Yu Hualiang to retreat into the mountains for such a life. Even now, he could not believe Yu Hualiang had truly never loved him.

“Your Highness… the Fourth Prince is here,” Ye Fang came in to report.

The Seventh Prince nodded and went out to greet the Fourth Prince.

The Fourth Prince beamed with joy, bowing in congratulations: “Congratulations, Seventh Brother, on your triumphant return! Why does our nation’s great hero look so glum?”

The Seventh Prince’s face was expressionless. When the Fourth Prince finished speaking, he turned away, saying, “If you’ve come to congratulate me, then perhaps another day would be better. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Huh?” The Fourth Prince folded his fan and called after him, “What’s with you? Did you quarrel with your little painter again? Where is he?”

The Seventh Prince stiffened. Ye Fang wanted to scold the Fourth Prince—after all, the Seventh Prince had only just begun to recover, and now the Fourth Prince had come to rub salt in his wounds.

Ye Fang frowned, quietly reminding the Fourth Prince, “The painter Yu… he jumped off a cliff in Fanhe… took his own life.”

Ye Fang tried to utter the words as softly as possible, afraid of provoking another outburst from the Seventh Prince.

This time, however, the Seventh Prince seemed calm. The Fourth Prince was incredulous. “He… died?”

“Fourth Brother… if there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave. I’m tired.” The Seventh Prince didn’t spare the Fourth Prince another glance and walked back to the small courtyard where Yu Hualiang had lived.

“Hey! Seventh Brother!” the Fourth Prince called to no avail, looking vexed. “I had wanted to show him a book my painter illustrated.”

Ye Fang confessed, “Fourth Prince, you really should try to persuade the Seventh Prince. He’s so obsessed with the painter that he’s lost himself. The painter jumped off the cliff right before his eyes, but he refuses to believe it.”

“Wait, what exactly happened?” the Fourth Prince asked.

Ye Fang recounted the events in full. The Fourth Prince sighed in pity: “He may have been just a painter, but he had a backbone—no ordinary man. For Seventh Brother to be doing only this much after his death is already commendable.”

“What?” Ye Fang was helpless. Though the Fourth Prince was not the Seventh Prince’s blood brother, they had grown up together. Was this really something an elder brother should say?

The Fourth Prince handed Ye Fang a small booklet, flicking open his fan, “Give this to the Seventh Prince and ask him to have a look.”

Ye Fang agreed. After the Fourth Prince left, Ye Fang, curious, glanced at the booklet and instantly blushed scarlet. The booklet was filled with explicit illustrations of two men intertwined.

The drawings were exquisitely rendered—such skill, yet used for such things. What a pity, he thought.

The Fourth Prince hummed a tune as he strolled back to his courtyard, wandering leisurely toward the side chamber. He, too, had arranged for Wang Ji to stay in the side hall, copying the Seventh Prince.

But the Fourth Prince was, after all, not like his seventh brother, nor was Wang Ji as fortunate as Yu Hualiang. When Wang Ji first arrived, the Fourth Prince was polite enough. However, within a few days, he ordered Wang Ji to illustrate his bedroom affairs as erotic art.

For an artist of Wang Ji’s standing, being forced to paint such scenes was a grave insult, an unspeakable shame.

At first, Wang Ji refused to yield, even if it meant death. After a severe beating, he finally gave in. Never had he imagined serving such a master.

A sense of hopelessness overwhelmed him—his lofty ambitions shattered. He even attempted suicide by poison, but Ye Hao, who was watching over him, discovered him in time and saved him.

Li Yuzhe, also a prominent member of the Qionglin Artists’ Society, naturally came to check on him. The Fourth Prince did not stop him—after all, this was General Ji’s son, and face must be given.

“How are you?” Ji Yuzhe asked, seeing Wang Ji’s ashen face.

Wang Ji said nothing. Already slight in stature, he had grown even thinner, looking utterly exhausted. He lowered his head, clutching his teacup, and began to weep.

“What’s wrong? I heard the Fourth Prince beat you—so you tried to kill yourself?” Ji Yuzhe guessed, unaware of the matter with the erotic paintings.

At this, Wang Ji sobbed even harder. Li Yuzhe realized he would get nothing from asking further and exchanged a glance with Ji Yuyun, who shook his head, signaling him to stop.

Ji Yuzhe sighed, “Qingyi, at least the Fourth Prince let you live in the side hall—an honor for any artist.”

Swallowing his sobs, Wang Ji replied bitterly, “The Fourth Prince is only copying the Seventh Prince.”

Ji Yuzhe felt his grievance. Indeed, if that was the case, Wang Ji had every right to feel wronged. Even he could see the Seventh Prince had truly treated Yu Hualiang well.

“Did you try to resign?” Ji Yuzhe asked.

Wang Ji replied, “Resign? Even the slightest disagreement with the Fourth Prince earns me a beating…”

Ji Yuzhe felt sorry for him. It was with good intentions that Yu Hualiang had recommended Wang Ji, never expecting it would harm him so. Thinking Yu Hualiang should be back soon, Ji Yuzhe decided to find him and discuss what to do next.

“For now, stay safe here at the Fourth Prince’s residence, and don’t do anything rash. We’ll go find Brother Yu and see what he advises.”

At the mention of Brother Yu, Wang Ji ground his teeth in resentment. Were it not for him, Wang Ji would never have ended up like this.

When Ji Yuzhe left, Wang Ji did not see him out. Ji Yuzhe understood—he knew Wang Ji was in no mood and didn’t blame him. Still, he was distracted as he left and ended up running straight into the Fourth Prince.

He collided with the book in the Fourth Prince’s arms. Frightened, Ji Yuzhe immediately knelt and pleaded, “Fourth Prince, I deserve punishment. Please, do not be angry…”

He reached to pick up the book, but as it had fallen open, he caught sight of the illustrations—two naked figures entwined in passion.

Strictly raised, Ji Yuzhe had never seen an erotic painting before. He turned crimson, stifling his shock as he returned the book to the Fourth Prince.

The Fourth Prince found his reaction amusing, barely suppressing a laugh. “Get up, I’m not angry. You’re Ji Yuzhe, right? When you return, send my regards to General Ji for me.”

Ji Yuzhe nodded, face still red, then grabbed Ji Yuyun and hurried away. Once outside, Ji Yuyun tugged at him. “Brother, why is your face so red? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, no, let’s just go find the Seventh Prince and Brother Yu first,” Ji Yuzhe muttered, clearly flustered, making Ji Yuyun even more concerned.

He blocked Ji Yuzhe’s way and pressed, “Brother, what’s wrong? Was it that book? What did you see in it?”

Embarrassed, Ji Yuzhe clicked his tongue. “Don’t ask! I didn’t see anything!”

Ji Yuyun didn’t believe him, placing a serious hand on his brother’s shoulder. Ji Yuzhe could only sigh in defeat—his brother really was hard to appease.

He lowered his voice, “Yuyun… do you know what an erotic painting is?”

Ji Yuyun paused, then realized why Ji Yuzhe’s face had turned so red. Unconsciously, he found his brother rather endearing.

Unable to help himself, he burst out laughing. Ji Yuzhe was annoyed—having blushed so fiercely from seeing one, now even his own brother was laughing at him.

“Oh, so you dare laugh at your older brother!”

Ji Yuyun backed away, holding in his laughter, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Hmph, such disrespect… It’s not as if you’ve ever seen one either!” Ji Yuzhe huffed ahead, Ji Yuyun closely following behind.

The Fourth Prince looked down at Wang Ji, still kneeling. “Get up, don’t be so formal.”

“Yes,” Wang Ji answered, carefully sitting down.

The Fourth Prince tossed him the erotic booklet. “Here, I’ve finished admiring it. Qingyi, your work is exquisite. I’m very pleased. Come to the main hall tonight.”

Wang Ji frowned deeply, wanting to refuse, but seeing the way the Fourth Prince slowly folded his fan, he dared not voice a single complaint, so he could only agree.

That night, the sounds of passion echoed from the Fourth Prince’s chambers, disturbing all who heard. Wang Ji, overwhelmed with shame, delayed his entrance for as long as he could.

Unable to bear the sight, he heard the Fourth Prince call out as he entered, “Qingyi, look! Make sure to capture it well… paint it beautifully for me.”