Chapter 22: Why Is It You?

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After ordering two plates of spiced cakes from the waiter, Jiang Zhuo placed one plate in his room. Just as he was about to head to the Bamboo Chamber, he suddenly heard the tinkling of a bell in the corridor. Through the hazy veil of gauze, a beautiful woman hummed a tune as she passed by Jiang Zhuo.

The familiar yet unique scent of exotic spices stirred memories within him.

Jiang Zhuo stopped and turned around.

It was Shule Guli.

In his past life, she was the woman who taught him the whirling dance.

But why was she on the official ship?

Noticing Jiang Zhuo’s gaze, Shule Guli, veiled lightly, also turned back and smiled brightly.

“Young master, do you need something?”

At this moment, Shule Guli shouldn’t recognize him. Jiang Zhuo realized this and merely smiled politely. “Nothing, miss. Your beauty simply caught my eye for a moment.”

Suddenly, Shule Guli leaned closer, gazing into his eyes with an even more radiant smile.

“The lady’s beauty is also remarkable—she is the most beautiful Han woman Shule Guli has ever seen.”

In a soft voice near Jiang Zhuo’s ear, Shule Guli revealed that she knew the lady’s true identity.

Then, abruptly stepping away, she winked playfully at Jiang Zhuo and turned, stepping away lightly.

Holding the cakes, Jiang Zhuo smiled helplessly and turned to knock on the door of the Bamboo Chamber.

“Is anyone here?” Jiang Zhuo cautiously inquired. “The other day at the dock, I thanked you for retrieving Mu Li for me. Today I heard we are on the same ship, so I came to visit.”

Jiang Zhuo knocked three times, but there was no response.

Just as he was about to give up and return to his room, the door suddenly opened.

A familiar face appeared before Jiang Zhuo.

A honey-toned complexion weathered by the cold winds of the battlefield, a sharp jawline like a perilous peak, and dark, icy eyes identical to Jiang Zhuo’s. The sharply broken eyebrows added a hint of fierceness to the man before him.

Not the masked man he had imagined, Jiang Zhuo was slightly taken aback.

“Jiang Zhuo? What are you doing here?”

The man who opened the door furrowed his brows and questioned him.

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Only then did Jiang Zhuo realize that this man standing before him was his cousin, Jiang Lie.

“...Father passed away, and the Empress Dowager granted me permission to return home to pay respects,” Jiang Zhuo replied.

Despite all his plans, he hadn’t expected to mistake the person. He felt embarrassed—he and his cousin had been separated for many years, almost forgetting that Jiang Lie had also been fighting in the northern front.

“Is that so?” Jiang Lie eyed his long-unseen cousin with suspicion. “I just heard you mention something about a ship... something about leaving a ship?”

Recalling his earlier words, Jiang Zhuo quickly covered up awkwardly.

“I-I just heard downstairs that the spiced cakes in the ship’s hold are exceptionally delicious. Once we leave here, we won’t be able to get them, so I specially brought some for you!”

He hurriedly showed the box of snacks in his hand.

“How did you know I was staying here?”

Jiang Lie crossed his arms, refusing to take the box. Blocking Jiang Zhuo at the door, he continued his questioning, clearly unappreciative.

“I heard downstairs that the newly appointed Inspector heading south came back from the northern battlefield. Maybe you are on the same ship as us, so I guessed it might be you…”

Feeling guilty, Jiang Zhuo’s voice grew quieter.

“Are you really that clever?”

Jiang Lie pressed on, challenging him.

“...So, do you want to eat it or not?” Jiang Zhuo, irritated and embarrassed, retorted.

“I want to eat! Of course I do!” Jiang Lie stepped aside to let Jiang Zhuo in, smiling ruefully. “My good uncle said I lack talent for officialdom and often blocked my promotions. I didn’t expect my cousin, though in the enemy’s camp, still cared for me after all these years. You really are my dear sister. Seems I wasn’t wrong to care for you.”

When Jiang Lie came of age, family elders had urged Jiang Dun to help him secure a quiet official post in the capital, just to live a safe and respectable life.

But Jiang Dun firmly refused, saying the capital did not nurture idle officials, and if the younger generation had real talent, they wouldn’t need to rely on backdoors.

At that time, Jiang Lie was impulsive and went to the border to join the army, determined to carve out his own path.

Through desperate and bloody battles, Jiang Lie had finally made a name for himself these past few years. Jiang Zhuo recalled that his cousin had once been a provincial military commander. Now, with their father deceased and no battles at the front, the emperor had likely summoned Jiang Lie to the prosperous and stable south to serve as Inspector—a form of consolation to their family.

Jiang Lie had always favored his strikingly beautiful sister. Every festival visit, he would bring her trendy snacks and toys from home—until the stubborn Jiang Dun flatly refused his brother’s requests, and the two families ceased contact.

“Father used to say, capable people never fear obscurity. Outstanding talent is like jade; unpolished it cannot become a masterpiece. True gold must be refined by fire to reveal its sharpness. That’s why Father never regretted being a whetstone for his brothers.”

Jiang Zhuo tried to ease the mood while explaining their father’s philosophy.

The deceased are gone; past grievances forgiven.

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Jiang Lie nodded and lowered his head to unwrap the cakes, saying no more.

After so many years apart, their sibling bond had long since grown distant. Once inside, Jiang Zhuo felt somewhat awkward and began to examine the room’s layout to distract himself.

The Bamboo Chamber was similar in size and arrangement to his Orchid Chamber, only with some orchid wood carvings replaced by bamboo decorations.

Jiang Zhuo noticed there were no open windows, instead several heavy drapes hung.

The air felt a bit stifling.

“The waiter said you’ve been cooped up in your room these days and haven’t come out. Are you ill?” Jiang Zhuo asked, frowning.

“Ah this? Hmm—cough cough cough cough cough!” Jiang Lie was puffing his cheeks, eating the cakes, but froze when Jiang Zhuo asked, suddenly coughing violently as if choked by the snack.

“Slow down, no one’s snatching it from you,” Jiang Zhuo said quickly, handing him a cup of tea.

“...I’ve been seasick these past couple of days.”

“If you’re seasick, you should open a window and get some fresh air. Walk on deck more. Staying shut up in this room all day won’t help.”

At these words, Jiang Zhuo’s frown deepened. Taking initiative, he approached and unlocked the tightly shut window.

The vast, fresh river breeze swept in, mingled with the noisy shouts from outside, stirring the layers of curtains. Jiang Zhuo’s mood swayed subtly with the movement.

How did Jiang Lie die in his past life?

The wind made Jiang Zhuo slightly dazed, as if recalling the day Prince Jing was named heir—the Tianzhang Pavilion caught fire, and Jiang Lie, then the capital’s commanding officer, was accused by court officials of ordering his old troops to set the fire in revenge.

At that time, Jiang Zhuo was already inside the inner quarters of the Xie Guanlan estate, initially caught a chill, and his illness worsened thereafter.

What could he do for Jiang Lie in this life?

Or rather, could he truly change the fates of so many people by himself?

Gazing out at the river, level with the horizon, Jiang Zhuo’s thoughts drifted.

From inside the folds of the curtain came a faint rustling.

Jiang Zhuo turned his head.

A pair of deep black, cloud-patterned men’s boots appeared beneath the curtain’s hem.