The doors and windows of the Eastern Palace’s bedchamber were tightly shut. The warm glow of silk lanterns cast upon the folding screen revealed a silhouette of delicate curves behind it.

Liu Ying, the lady-in-waiting in charge, stood at the side holding a plain silk sash, her gaze falling upon her master’s slender, graceful figure before quickly lowering her eyes as if burned.

She had to admit, the noble figure before her was truly beautiful beyond compare. With a narrow waist, long legs, perfectly proportioned, and skin as luminous as white jade without appearing frail—even she, a fellow woman, would blush at the sight…

And now, she had to use this raw silk to bind and conceal this enchanting form with her own hands.

The raw silk wrapped around in circles, tightening, followed by layer upon layer of inner and outer garments until no trace of curves remained visible.

Binding the hair and placing the Crown Prince’s golden crown upon it, Liu Ying cautiously picked up a prepared silver needle.

Liu Ying’s face showed a trace of surprise, but she obediently brought the silver needle and special dye before the slender figure.

Delicate white fingertips extended, pinching the silver needle to prick beneath the corner of the eye.

After setting down the needle, the youth in the mirror calmly raised a finger to wipe away the drop of blood that had seeped from the corner of the eye. The dark purple robe accentuated the exquisite face.

Even Liu Ying was entranced, her eyes growing imperceptibly moist.

…

…

Truly worthy of being twins born of the same mother—the resemblance was uncanny.

Once that tiny crimson tear-shaped mole was applied, it was as if the Crown Prince had come alive before her eyes.

With no time for sentimentality, Liu Ying lowered her head and presented new black boots: “Your Highness’s height is half an inch and three points shorter than the Crown Prince’s. As per your instructions, I’ve added padding to the insides of all footwear.”

This was undoubtedly a high-stakes gamble. The slightest discrepancy would lead to complete failure.

No, “Crown Prince” stood up in the new footwear, facing the heavy closed doors as cold light spilled across her face.

She took a deep breath, collected herself, and raised her hand to push open the doors of the bedchamber.

In the early winter’s piercing cold, ravens flew in from outside the city to feed on carrion, now perched contentedly on the palace walls, tilting their heads to observe the clamoring crowd below.

At the Taiji Hall council, Liu Zhongcheng, the Imperial Censor, stood at the forefront of the officials. His sidelong glances surveyed the crowd, unable to suppress a look of satisfaction.

Ever since the Crown Prince had encountered danger on his way back from the temporary palace, he had remained behind closed doors. The entire Eastern Palace had been concealing something for months, clearly hiding some mystery. He had painstakingly fanned the flames at court, just to expose the Eastern Palace’s deception in the presence of all…

Only by establishing the fact that the Crown Prince was already dead before the Emperor today could they logically propose their master, Prince Yong, as the Imperial Heir Apparent.

“Your Majesty, even if the Crown Prince has some frailty, there’s no need for him to seclude himself for so long. Disappearing for months—who knows if the Crown Prince truly has a cold, or if there’s some secret that cannot be revealed?”

He raised his voice, feigning righteousness, “Little do you know, throughout the court and in the streets, people are saying that there is no longer a Crown Prince in the Eastern Palace—only an empty shell remains.”

However, it was true that the Eastern Palace gates had remained closed for months. Even those who rebuked Liu Zhongcheng harbored doubts and lacked confidence.

In the current situation, if the Eastern Palace heir did not make an appearance, it seemed the deception could no longer continue.

At this critical moment, a soft, youthful voice came from outside the Taiji Hall.

“This subject has heard that Liu Zhongcheng has been speaking ill of me again at court. Why not ask him directly what evidence he has that I am dead?”

With these words, the noisy officials instantly fell silent. The leaders among them exchanged glances, seemingly surprised.

The ravens took flight as the assembled officials automatically separated into two lines, turning to look back. A slender figure appeared before them.

The young Crown Prince’s black hair was bound low, completely wrapped in a snow-white fox fur coat that revealed only a small portion of his thin undergarment sleeves. The fox fur collar encircled his pointed chin, making his exquisitely fine face appear as white as jade, with an ethereal appearance like that of returning snow.

As if having just risen from a sickbed, faint weariness hung beneath his eyelids. A tiny cinnabar mole subtly appeared at the corner of his eye, displaying an androgynous fragility.

As the Crown Prince of the Great Xuan, his face was unusually delicate—the kind rarely seen in the world. Gathering his sleeves as he stood beneath the towering gate, he looked as though a gust of wind might topple him, truly embodying the male-with-female-appearance omen of a thin fortune and short life.

The youth walked through the bowing officials, his gaze falling upon a middle-aged, plump civil official who stood at the front. Raising his eyelashes slightly, his pupils appeared intensely black against the backdrop of his snow-white clothes and fair skin.

“Liu Zhongcheng seems very disappointed to see that I am still alive?” the youth asked with puzzlement.

The identified official lowered his head, defending himself: “Your subject has no such intention.”

Though his words could be considered respectful, in his heart, he felt defiant.

Everyone knew that this young Crown Prince was famously without temper, described kindly as “benevolent,” or less kindly as “weak.”

“Absolutely no such intention?”

The Crown Prince coughed lightly twice, then said languidly, “But in the Grand Secretary’s mouth, did the Great Xuan not ‘already lose its Crown Prince’? Perhaps I should pack up and abdicate early… to the master behind Liu Zhongcheng?”

Though the voice was soft and gentle, it was enough to startle Liu Zhongcheng into a cold sweat.

“Heaven and Earth bear witness, I have absolutely no disloyalty!”

His face changed color, and he instinctively cried out in protest, “Look at the current situation—the rebels from Sichuan are nearly at the imperial capital. Whether to fight to the death or relocate the capital to avoid battle, Your Highness, as the heir, must come forward to discuss and share the Emperor’s burdens!”

Using state affairs to apply pressure and divert the topic.

The young Crown Prince nodded silently, covering his mouth as he coughed several times before innocently and weakly responding: “To eat the sovereign’s salary and share the ruler’s burdens—is that not the responsibility of all ministers? If everything requires Father Emperor and me to take the lead, what use are all of you?”

“…”

Liu Zhongcheng, embarrassed and ashamed by the rebuke, turned pig-liver red.

The officials watched with trepidation, forgetting the provocative words they had prepared, fearing that the Crown Prince might turn pale if he couldn’t catch his breath. They could only plead repeatedly: “We are terrified! We beg Your Highness to prioritize your health above all!”

Amid the commotion, a clear chime suddenly rang out from within the Taiji Hall, producing a crisp echo.

The Emperor’s elderly eunuch emerged at the opportune moment, smiling ingratiatingly: “Crown Prince, His Majesty summons you to enter the hall and pay your respects.”

After speaking, he turned to the officials at the steps: “Gentlemen, you have all seen the Crown Prince—he is perfectly fine right here! If you have no other questions, please take your leave.”

With the Emperor’s command, how could the officials dare to cause trouble?

They hurriedly prostrated themselves and said in unison: “We take our leave.”

The conspiracy collapsed without a fight due to the Crown Prince’s safe appearance, leaving Liu Zhongcheng bitter beyond words.

Whether it was an illusion or not, today’s Crown Prince seemed somewhat different.

Yet the face was the same face, the characteristic tear-shaped mole as elegant as ever, and the appearance of frailty unchanged. Liu Zhongcheng couldn’t pinpoint what was different—it was truly strange.

……

Inside the Taiji Hall, hundreds of eternal lamps burned day and night.

Upon entering the hall, the fragrance of agarwood mixed with the smell of gunpowder from the furnaces hit Zhao Yān’s face, making her momentarily dizzy.

Through the floating curtains, she could see the Emperor in blue Taoist robes sitting cross-legged at the center of the hundred lamps, his eyes closed in meditation. A beautiful woman wearing a gold lotus crown and holding a duster fan accompanied him at his side—presumably Concubine Zhen, who had been the favorite of the harem in recent years.

Seeing the Crown Prince enter, this beautiful Taoist concubine nodded in greeting before rising and withdrawing on her own.

Servants quickly brought a woven mat. Zhao Yān lifted her robe and knelt down, summoning all her vigilance and patience, imitating her brother’s manner by properly kowtowing all the way to the ground, saying softly, “Your child pays respects to Father Emperor.”

“You’re able to go out and move about now?” the Emperor’s calm voice came from behind the curtain, showing neither joy nor sorrow.

Liu Ying had drilled Zhao Yān all morning, and she had prepared her answers well: “Thanks to Father Emperor’s great fortune, your child’s illness no longer poses a threat to my life. However, the Imperial Physician says that due to my prolonged illness, my body is still somewhat weak and needs some time to recuperate.”

She had prepared thoroughly before coming and deliberately lowered her voice, playing the role of her brother’s “frailty” to perfection.

Even if Father Emperor had eyes and ears everywhere and truly suspected the Eastern Palace, he would not bear to excessively trouble a patient.

Unexpectedly, the Emperor did not even raise his eyes, treating her with the politeness one would show a stranger: “Since you’ve improved, the studies you’ve neglected should be resumed. When you have time, continue attending lectures at the Chongwen Hall.”

Zhao Yān maintained her composure: “Yes.”

Then came a long silence.

Though the noble man in Taoist robes behind the curtain was her birth father, Zhao Yān knew little about him. She only knew that he had risen to power as the son of a concubine and had been diligent in governing during his first few years on the throne. Later, he became fascinated with seeking immortality from Taoist priests, favoring Concubine Zhen, which put him at odds with his birth mother, the Empress Dowager, who was devoted to Buddhism.

The Empress Dowager was defeated and relocated to the Huayang Temporary Palace, never to meet again.

Accompanying her to the temporary palace was the then nine-year-old Princess Zhao Yān.

More than six years had passed, and the Crown Prince had suddenly died. With rebel forces at the gates and Prince Yong’s faction eyeing the throne hungrily, Empress Wei, caught in a desperate situation, finally remembered her little daughter who had been “banished” to the temporary palace.

Summoned by a secret imperial edict, Zhao Yān was forced to impersonate the sickly Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace…

Lost in thought, Zhao Yān’s knees grew numb from kneeling. She lowered her eyes, counting the candlelight shadows on the floor tiles to distract herself.

Just as she counted to the sixty-first lamp, hurried footsteps were heard from outside the hall.

An elderly eunuch came panting, dropping to his knees outside the hall, exclaiming in a trembling voice: “Congratulations, Your Majesty! Auspicious snow has suddenly fallen—Heaven blesses the Great Xuan!”

The yellow curtains billowed, and the air carried a hint of icy snow.

The Emperor, who had been as still as a statue, finally came to life, clapping his hands and exclaiming: “Excellent! This is a sign from Heaven! The Sichuan rebellion must have had a turning point. Quickly summon Priest Shen Guang and Prince Su!”

Prince Su…

Hearing this name, Zhao Yān instinctively tensed. Her mother’s hoarse warnings from the night she entered the Eastern Palace still echoed in her ears.

Wielding great power at court and harboring wolfish ambitions, Prince Su Wenlin would be the most dangerous opponent she would face.

Was she going to encounter this formidable figure on her very first appearance?

She secretly clenched her fingers when, unexpectedly, the Emperor rose from behind the curtain and said: “You may withdraw.”

These words were directed at the Crown Prince.

Zhao Yān had not yet recovered from her surprise: after being on tenterhooks all day, she was being dismissed so easily?

There were many rumors about the Eastern Palace at court, yet Father Emperor hadn’t even given his “son” a proper look. Wasn’t this too careless?

Despite her doubts, Zhao Yān dared not linger and hurriedly bowed to take her leave.

Outside the hall, the ink-dark sky was indeed sprinkling flakes of snow.

Under the corridor, a eunuch was leading an old Taoist priest with a yellow cap and feather fan, striding forward—presumably the so-called “Priest Shen Guang.”

“Pitiful, at midnight, the seat before you is empty; you inquire not about the common people but about ghosts and spirits.”

Reciting Li Shangyin’s poetry, Zhao Yān tugged at the corner of her lips, lowering her gaze to cover the mockery in her eyes.

Liu Ying was still waiting below the Taiji Gate, her thin palace dress fluttering in the wind and snow, looking cold.

“Your Highness.”

She came forward, her face characteristically calm, but her tense voice betrayed her concern: “What did the Emperor ask?”

Zhao Yān made a sound of acknowledgment, saying concisely: “He asked if the Crown Prince had recovered, and if so, to attend lectures at the Chongwen Hall.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

Liu Ying also fell into confusion—this hurdle had been cleared much more easily than imagined.

The political situation was treacherous, and factions were numerous.

Zhao Yān had already encountered Prince Yong’s pawns, and as for Prince Su…

Fortunately, they had not met face to face.

“Wenlin.”

Zhao Yān carefully savored this name, trying to recall some memory of him.

Unfortunately, having been banished from the palace at a young age and raised alongside the Empress Dowager at the temporary palace where she practiced Buddhism, she was not well-informed about recent court affairs.

A military official commanding his own troops would likely be a ferocious figure, and she had heard that men in military camps often suffered from baldness due to wearing helmets constantly, which trapped heat and prevented air circulation…

Zhao Yān’s thoughts wandered, and she couldn’t help but picture a fierce, balding, crude warrior in her mind, making her shudder with disgust.

As the wind blew, the sky seemed to have sprung a leak, with the snow falling heavier and heavier, creating a dense white blanket before her eyes.

The Eastern Palace was still some distance away. With the snow making the paths slippery, they could not use the sedan chair. Since Zhao Yān was playing the role of the frail Crown Prince, she had to find a secluded place to shelter from the snow.

The snow showed no signs of stopping soon. Liu Ying frowned and said, “I will fetch an oil paper umbrella and a cloak. Please wait here, Your Highness, and do not wander far.”

Zhao Yān knew that Liu Ying was cautious and wouldn’t trust other attendants to enter the Crown Prince’s bedchamber or handle personal garments—she always took care of such matters herself.

She waved her hand in acknowledgment, then added: “Wait.”

Liu Ying stopped and turned to await instructions.

Zhao Yān reached out to feel the material of Liu Ying’s clothes: “Don’t forget to put on a cloak for yourself. You’re wearing too little.”

Liu Ying was stunned momentarily, then quickly lowered her head and bowed: “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Though the corridor provided shelter from the snow, it did not block the wind.

Zhao Yān cupped her hands and blew a breath of white mist. If she remembered correctly, at the end of the long corridor was a warm pavilion adjacent to the Eastern Palace, where one could rest.

The place was only about ten zhang away from where they were waiting for Liu Ying. Zhao Yān instructed the accompanying attendants to wait in the corridor while she climbed the steps and headed toward the warm pavilion.

Pushing open the door, the warmth from charcoal basins mixed with the subtle fragrance of agarwood greeted her, suddenly making it feel like spring.

Looking up, she saw bamboo blinds swaying in the wind, revealing a tall figure leaning by the railing. One hand supported his forehead while the other held a scroll, which he was reading attentively.

Surprised to find someone had arrived before her, Zhao Yān was taken aback.

On second thought, she was now the heir to the Eastern Palace and had no reason to show timidity before others. She straightened her back and quietly stepped into the warm room.

Bits of snow drifted through the blinds, melting into the pool water.

The man reclining in the chair was very young, about twenty-something, dressed in crimson court robes with a jade belt hook. His black hair was half-loose and half-bound, his long legs crossed casually as he sat. His long, jade-like fingers occasionally turned the pages, making a subtle rustling sound.

From Zhao Yān’s angle, she could see that his eyes were slightly closed, his long, dense eyelashes casting faint shadows beneath them. His eyebrows were long like swords, his lips pale and thin—his profile appeared quiet and gentle.

Beside him rested a fishing rod, its line hanging straight down into the pool covered with floating ice and snowflakes, without the slightest ripple.

Zhao Yān unconsciously lightened her footsteps, turning her head slightly to observe secretly.

Someone who could freely enter and exit the imperial palace and had the leisure to fish in the snow must be a member of the royal clan.

But the Great Xuan had layer upon layer of enfeoffed hereditary titles with too much power, and there were at least ninety if not a hundred princes and heirs who could enter the palace. Zhao Yān truly couldn’t recall which royal relative was such a fairy-like, elegant, and handsome man.

The man wore an ancient, dark-colored ring on his cold, white index finger, with a strange carving that looked like… some kind of bird of prey?

Zhao Yān unconsciously lifted the corner of the bamboo blind, trying to see more clearly, when she unexpectedly met a pair of deep eyes.

“Has the Crown Prince seen enough?”

The beautiful man had raised his eyes at some point and was looking at her with a smile.