Ch 119: Transmigrated to become a Koi Husband

Qin Zhao’s study was furnished simply.

The desk was divided into two sections: one part held books for the imperial examinations, while the other housed brightly colored storybooks. The two types of books placed together created a somewhat jarring contrast, yet the owner of the room had organized everything neatly, so it didn’t feel chaotic.

Behind the desk stood a modest bookshelf, slightly shabby in appearance. It was neatly stocked with some Confucian classics and medical texts, most of which were handwritten copies that looked somewhat worn.

“Master Deng, please have a seat.” Ah Qi poured him a cup of tea and placed it beside the chair.

Deng Tianyou withdrew his gaze and sat down as invited, casually asking, “How did you know my identity?”

Ah Qi’s movements paused.

When Deng Tianyou arrived, he had only introduced himself as “Deng,” without revealing his full identity. Ah Qi’s form of address had inadvertently given something away.

However, having followed Qin Zhao for many years, Ah Qi remained composed even in the face of unexpected situations. He replied calmly, “After the first round of the provincial examination, I went to the tribute academy’s gate to meet my master. I happened to see you there, sir.”

Deng Tianyou wasn’t surprised by the response and simply nodded. “I see.”

“I heard that the provincial exam’s top scorer has been bedridden. I was quite concerned and came to visit, hoping I haven’t disturbed you.”

Ah Qi replied, “We dare not say you have.”

“Even though he’s unwell, the top scorer still sent me a poem, which I deeply appreciate.” Deng Tianyou took out a slip of paper from his sleeve and placed it on the small table nearby. He asked, “This poem—you delivered it to the government office, didn’t you?”

Ah Qi responded, “Yes.”

“…Did he write it?”

Ah Qi fell silent.

Deng Tianyou lowered his gaze to the slip of paper on the table and said slowly, “Eleven years ago, when His Majesty ascended the throne and the era was named Yanguang, the emperor, being young, appointed a regent from a collateral branch of the royal family. In the third year of Yanguang, the regent selected the first batch of scholars for the imperial court. During the banquet celebrating their success, the top scholar composed a poem to honor the regent and express his gratitude for recognizing his talent.”

He tapped the paper on the table. “This is that poem.”

Ah Qi kept his head lowered and remained silent.

Deng Tianyou’s expression darkened as he coldly questioned, “Who exactly is Qin Zhao?”

This poem had been written by Deng Tianyou himself eight years ago. Although it wasn’t a secret, it had faded from memory over time since it wasn’t particularly remarkable. However, Deng Tianyou would never forget it.

Plagiarizing someone else’s poem at an imperial banquet was a grave offense, especially when it was Deng Tianyou’s work. He couldn’t believe that someone deemed the top scorer of the provincial exam—a figure praised unanimously by the Hanlin Academy—would make such an error.

There was only one explanation.

It was intentional.

“You could’ve just asked me directly. Why trouble my people?”

A voice came from outside the door, leaving Deng Tianyou momentarily stunned.

Qin Zhao stepped into the room.

The late autumn night was slightly chilly, and the man had wrapped himself in a windproof robe, making his thin frame appear even frailer. The flickering candlelight illuminated half of his handsome face. Seeing that face clearly, Deng Tianyou felt his blood rush to his head, a roaring sound filling his ears. He slumped back into his chair, unable to speak for a long time.

Qin Zhao raised his hand, signaling Ah Qi to leave.

When Ah Qi exited, he closed the study door behind him. Qin Zhao walked to the desk, sat down, and asked softly, “What brings Master Deng here at such a late hour?”

He indeed looked like someone who had not yet recovered from a serious illness. His face was still pale, and he was much thinner than before—so much so that he was almost unrecognizable.

Deng Tianyou stared at him, dumbfounded. “You… how are you…”

“Still alive?” Qin Zhao chuckled. “Why is it that everyone who sees me asks the same question? Are you all so eager for my death?”

“Of course not!”

Deng Tianyou abruptly stood up, only to lower his head when he realized his lapse in composure.

His feelings toward this man were deeply conflicted.

This was the man who had once selected him as the top scholar and brought him into his fold, teaching him with great care. On a personal level, Prince Rong was the mentor who had discovered his talent, a benefactor who had imparted everything he knew.

Yet, on an official level, Deng Tianyou had witnessed Prince Rong’s ruthless actions, including his indiscriminate killings, culminating in his execution by imperial decree for attempted treason. As a loyal subject, Deng Tianyou knew he should have severed all ties with such a traitor.

In truth, even before Prince Rong’s downfall, Deng Tianyou had distanced himself due to their diverging political ideals.

It was this estrangement that allowed him to remain in the emperor’s favor even after Prince Rong’s death.

But why? Why had this man not died?

Why was he here now?

“Strange. Didn’t you consider this possibility before coming here?” Qin Zhao asked with a faint smile, noting Deng Tianyou’s visible agitation.

Deng Tianyou didn’t answer.

His gaze fell back on the poem lying on the table. In a hoarse voice, he asked, “Why did you send me this poem?”

“You feigned illness and skipped the banquet today. By avoiding it, you could ensure that no one would recognize you—at least not until you entered the capital. Yet, you chose to use this poem.” Deng Tianyou paused, then continued, “You could’ve avoided meeting me, but instead, you deliberately used this poem to draw me here.”

“Why?” he asked coldly. “Why did you summon me?”

“Because I wanted to see you,” Qin Zhao replied candidly. “You’ve been serving in the capital for years, while I’ve been away for a long time. You’re a useful person to me, and I need you. It’s that simple.”

“You’re returning to the capital?”

Qin Zhao raised an eyebrow, countering, “Did you think I was taking the imperial examinations just for fun?”

“Deng Tianyou, I thought you knew me well enough by now,” Qin Zhao said. “I never do anything meaningless.”

Deng Tianyou’s face turned ashen as he looked away. “But I don’t know if the person I knew was the real you.”

He had been selected as the top scholar at the age of seventeen, the youngest in the dynasty’s history. Prince Rong had held him in high regard back then, and he had once seen the prince as his goal and inspiration. But as the prince’s time in power grew longer, their political differences deepened, and they eventually fell apart.

Looking back now, Deng Tianyou realized he had no idea whether the person he thought he knew was the real Qin Zhao.

“Don’t rush. We have time. We can talk over a cup of tea,” Qin Zhao said, his tone as calm as ever.

“No need. Let’s get straight to the point,” Deng Tianyou replied without wasting time. “Why did you call me here?”

On the desk, a cup of freshly brewed tea sat waiting. Qin Zhao took a sip but brought up another topic instead. “Do you still remember how this poem came about?”

“At the banquet celebrating your top rank in the imperial examination, I learned of your humble origins. I asked why you sought to gain official status—was it to improve your circumstances? You said no.”

“You said your goal was peace for the nation and well-being for the people.”

“You feared I’d think you were boasting, so you composed a poem on the spot to prove your resolve. You said that if one day you went against the principles expressed in that poem, I should take your life without hesitation. Do you remember how I responded?”

Deng Tianyou closed his eyes, recalling the words spoken to him all those years ago.

“You have courage and integrity. You’re truly the talent I value!”

The man, dressed in resplendent robes, should have been lofty and untouchable. Yet, standing before a much younger Deng Tianyou, he carried no airs of superiority.

After hearing the poem, he even descended from his seat of honor to personally hand Deng Tianyou a cup of wine. “I will always remember what you said today, and I will remember your poem. Tianyou, don’t let me down.”

Even now, recalling that moment, Deng Tianyou felt his blood surge with passion. The appreciation in the man’s eyes had been genuine. Deng Tianyou wanted to believe that, at least at that time, their aspirations had aligned.

But what about later?

Blinded by wealth and power, he began slaughtering the innocent, eliminating dissent, and gradually drifting further and further from the ideals Deng Tianyou had once admired.

Deng Tianyou asked, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I thought this poem was enough to prove everything,” Qin Zhao replied calmly. “Whether you believe it or not, I have never forgotten the words I said back then.”

This was why, despite knowing Qin Zhao had deliberately lured him into a trap, Deng Tianyou still chose to come alone.

If Qin Zhao truly intended to rebel, he wouldn’t openly participate in the imperial examinations. Nor would he, when he could have avoided Deng Tianyou altogether, deliberately use a poem to invite him to meet.

So, was it possible that the events of all those years ago had been a misunderstanding?

Could it be… that this person wasn’t as he had imagined?

Deng Tianyou couldn’t deny that the moment he saw the poem, this possibility overwhelmed his thoughts.

Or perhaps, he simply wanted to believe in it—

Even if the odds were one in ten thousand.

Deng Tianyou didn’t answer, but the flicker of hesitation in his eyes didn’t escape Qin Zhao’s notice.

Maintaining his calm and composed demeanor, Qin Zhao lazily raised the teacup in his hand. “It seems this cup of tea can continue, no?”

The night had grown late.

Ah Qi had disappeared somewhere, and a small koi darted through the corridors, slipping silently into the drainage channel by the courtyard.

It poked its head up, only to see the faintly flickering candlelight in the study from a distance. The conversation inside was too muffled to make out.

Why hasn’t it ended yet?

Jing Li anxiously swished its tail.

Qin Zhao had been talking with that magistrate for nearly an hour. Even the little fish fry, who had vowed to stay up until his dad came back to tell stories, had long since fallen asleep, clutching his tiny blanket. Still, Qin Zhao hadn’t returned.

Normally, this wouldn’t be such a big deal, but Qin Zhao had only recently recovered from a fever. How could his body endure such strain?

What on earth was that man named Deng talking about with Qin Zhao for so long?

Jing Li squirmed restlessly in the house, but not daring to interrupt their serious discussion, it shifted into its original form and snuck over to take a peek.

It waited in the courtyard for nearly half an hour before the study door finally creaked open.

Qin Zhao stepped out first, advising as he did, “What we discussed tonight stays between you and me. Not a word to anyone else.”

“I understand completely. Rest assured,” Deng Tianyou replied with a nod.

Qin Zhao, seemingly exhausted from the prolonged conversation, was hit by the night breeze and doubled over in a coughing fit.

The magistrate, dignified as he was, immediately reached out to steady Qin Zhao, his attitude unusually deferential. “Your health… I know a few renowned physicians. Once we’re in the capital, I’ll have them take a look at you.”

“We’ll see when the time comes.” Qin Zhao finally managed to suppress the cough and waved him off. “It was already a risk to summon you for this meeting. In the current situation, it’s best not to complicate matters further.”

Deng Tianyou let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’ll do as you say.”

Qin Zhao escorted Deng Tianyou to the gate, watching him leave before shutting the door and turning back. As he passed through the courtyard, he caught sight of a familiar shadow in the drainage channel.

A small koi lay there quietly, gazing up at him.

Qin Zhao froze mid-step.

It was impossible to discern expressions on a fish’s face, but somehow Qin Zhao felt an inexplicable chill.

He thought back. Did I… say anything wrong just now?

“X-Xiao Yu?”

For once, there was a hint of guilt in Qin Zhao’s voice. Before he could say more, the little fish swished its tail, leapt out of the channel, and darted toward the backyard without looking back.

Qin Zhao: “…”