Liu Ying noticed the empty wine cup beside Zhao Yān and was momentarily stunned.

She bent down and discreetly removed the crystal cup, asking in a low voice: “Did Your Highness drink the deer blood wine?”

Zhao Yān nodded: “Seeing the color, I thought it was grape wine.”

She wasn’t sure if deer blood wine had any effect on women, but since drinking that cup, she indeed felt a heat burning from her abdomen up to her cheeks, making her quite tipsy.

More embarrassingly, Zhao Yān constantly felt a gaze sweeping over her from beside her, impossible to ignore.

She simply raised her left hand to prop up her cheek, using this posture to turn slightly away, picked up a few side dishes, and ate slowly, trying to suppress the surging effect of the wine.

But it had little effect; she took a few bites and then stopped using her chopsticks.

“Your Highness has a special constitution and just took the medicine prescribed by Physician Zhang. I fear it might clash with the medicinal properties of the deer blood.”

Liu Ying handed Zhao Yān a cup of fragrant tea for rinsing her mouth, saying tactfully, “Would you like to summon Physician Zhang to examine Your Highness?”

These days, with the Imperial Lectures in session, Zhao Yān had to interact with numerous scholars and literati daily. For convenience, Zhang Xu had changed the original voice-altering decoction to pills, changing from once in the morning to twice daily, morning and evening.

…

…

The voice-altering medicine was already warming in nature, and deer blood was also highly nourishing. No wonder just one cup made her dizzy and hot.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Zhao Yān didn’t want to make a fuss, just pressed her slightly swollen temples and said, “It’s too stuffy at the banquet. I’ll go outside for some fresh air. I’ll be fine once I sober up a bit.”

As she spoke, Zhao Yān bowed toward the Emperor and Empress’s seats, then quietly rose and left.

Behind her, Wenren Lin’s gaze followed her departure, pausing thoughtfully with his cup.

Upon leaving Purple Cloud Pavilion, the cool night breeze caressed her face, dispersing some of the heat.

The full moon hung high, and the air was filled with the fragrance of osmanthus. Zhao Yān exhaled deeply and walked several paces along the side corridor when she saw someone standing by a red-lacquered pillar ahead.

Zhou Ji was still wearing the crimson official robes from his lecture, looking up at the bright moonlight on the palace eaves, completely unaware of the golden osmanthus blossoms scattered on his shoulders.

Hearing footsteps, he calmly came to himself and bowed properly to Zhao Yān: “Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yān nodded in return, greeting him.

“With such a brilliant moon, it indeed shouldn’t be missed. Lecturer Zhou has fine taste.”

Zhou Ji’s gaze swept over Zhao Yān’s flushed cheeks, and he lowered his eyes, saying: “Your Highness flatters me.”

Zhao Yān knew well that Zhou Ji always struggled with recognizing people, and such palace banquets requiring small talk with court officials were nothing short of torture for him; he must have come out to seek some peace.

This dull and aloof appearance was a stark contrast to his demeanor during the Imperial Lecture.

Mentioning today’s lecture, Zhao Yān had several comments bottled up all afternoon and felt she should speak them.

Standing at a moderate distance, she said: “Lecturer Zhou’s lesson today was excellent, and the theory of ‘developing revenue sources’ was quite interesting.”

Zhou Ji looked over quizzically.

Seeing his expression, Zhao Yān couldn’t help but raise her lips: “But I don’t entirely agree.”

Zhou Ji took matters of scholarship and political theory very seriously, and immediately focused his attention, humbly saying: “I would be honored to hear Your Highness’s instruction.”

“You and the Left Minister advocate developing revenue sources, encouraging farming, silk reeling, and textile production, striving to expand income to fill the national treasury. This should be a good idea, but have you considered that this ‘source’ might be fundamentally flawed?”

“What does Your Highness mean by this?”

“Those with granaries full of grain and meat are not the farmers who till the land; those adorned in silk are not those who raise silkworms.”

Zhao Yān laughed softly, then asked slowly, “Who does the silver earned from ‘developing revenue sources’ support? Would it be the hardworking common people?”

Her voice was low and soft, with the slight hoarseness characteristic of a young man, yet somehow carried a resounding force.

Zhou Ji’s expression remained calm as he said clearly: “Your subject understands Your Highness’s concerns. However, the current situation is as precarious as eggs stacked high; any disturbance could bring catastrophic disaster. The Great Xuan cannot withstand internal strife.”

So he, like his teacher, sought ways to ‘develop revenue sources’ while trying not to infringe upon the interests of those in power.

The moonlight was as cold as frost, shining on Zhou Ji, perfectly matching his temperament.

Zhao Yān had no intention of debating wins and losses with Zhou Wanlan; even in debate, she always maintained the proper distance between ruler and subject.

She just recalled the line from Zhao Yǎn’s last letter to his successor as Crown Prince: “Only seek to fulfill my unfinished aspirations, implement my unexecuted policies, and save the great mansion from collapse.” She remembered the contents of that scroll, foolish yet brave new policies, and suddenly wanted to say something on Zhao Yǎn’s behalf…

Harboring secrets, Zhao Yān couldn’t stand out at the Imperial Lectures. She could only do as she was now, under the influence of wine, speaking to a trustworthy and upright gentleman, conveying all those words Zhao Yǎn could not express.

“Trying to stop boiling water by adding hot water will ultimately mean ruling the country with the gentry rather than with the common people①.”

Zhao Yān made her point concisely, then switched to a milder tone, “I’m a bit drunk. If I’ve spoken out of turn, please don’t mind, Lecturer Zhou.”

With that, she nodded goodbye and continued strolling along the winding corridor.

Zhou Ji bowed respectfully to see her off, staring at his long shadow on the ground, lost in thought for a long time.

Perhaps she had debated too earnestly with Zhou Ji; upon relaxing, she realized that the wine’s heat was even stronger, making her feel as if she were walking on clouds.

She pressed the back of her hand against her crimson cheeks, walking through the long corridor in the breeze, turning a corner, and almost collided with someone waiting there.

Seeing the familiar fabric before her, Zhao Yān’s heart skipped a beat.

Before she could retreat, she felt a tightening around her wrist, and then she was pulled into a side hall.

The door closed with a creak beside her ear, the resulting breeze stirring the loose hair behind Zhao Yān’s ears, forcing her to blink.

The palace attendants were all serving at Purple Cloud Pavilion, leaving the side hall empty and dark.

Warm light filtered through the door cracks, casting a narrow line of orange-red in Wenren Lin’s eyes, seeping into the unfathomable depths of his gaze.

“Your Highness?” Liu Ying, left outside, knocked on the door with concern.

Zhao Yān quickly said: “I’m fine, just resting here for a while.”

Wenren Lin still maintained his posture with his palm against the door, leaning down to look at her, smiling faintly: “Your Highness is avoiding this Prince.”

Zhao Yān suddenly felt guilty, pressing against the door: “Not at all.”

“Then why does Your Highness run at the sight of this Prince? Could it be that there’s something about this Prince’s attentions that isn’t thorough enough?”

He emphasized the word “attentions” with particular depth, carrying a tone of unhurried interrogation.

“No such thing,” Zhao Yān said in a muffled voice.

Wenren Lin half-lowered his eyelids, saying leisurely: “It’s been several days, and you haven’t visited Heguai Pavilion… to see Snow Slave.”

“…”

Zhao Yān pressed her lips together, holding her forehead: “Next time, definitely next time.”

Wenren Lin gazed at her flushed cheeks and slightly rapid breathing due to the wine, understanding: “You drank the deer blood wine?”

Zhao Yān nodded honestly: “That wine is strong. I’m feeling a bit dizzy now, and quite hot…”

She paused, inhaling the faint woody fragrance from Wenren Lin’s body, her head suddenly becoming a mess, and could only say helplessly: “Maybe you should keep your distance from me.”

“That’s a good tonic for the kidneys. How can Your Highness eat and drink so carelessly?”

Wenren Lin spoke casually, but his arm didn’t relax for a moment; he even raised a finger to hook down the door bolt.

The sound of the bolt falling into place was particularly clear in the empty, pitch-black hall.

Zhao Yān’s heart skipped a beat: “You…”

Wenren Lin raised a finger to touch Zhao Yān’s burning cheek, then led her inside, pressing her onto the arhat bed meant for chess players to rest.

Frosty moonlight shone through the window paper, casting a clean white light on the floor.

Wordlessly, Wenren Lin turned his back to Zhao Yān and undid his belt with one hand, removing his crimson outer robe and draping it over the chair back, standing tall in just a snow-white inner garment.

The moonlight was bright, and Zhao Yān’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness; she could even make out the contours of his shoulder and back muscles beneath the thin white garment.

The rare two times Wenren Lin had been in bed, he had remained fully dressed. Zhao Yān had only been fortunate enough to see him bare-bodied at the Yuquan Palace bath, and truthfully, that physique was uncommonly lean and strong even among military officers, almost perfect…

It was all because of those miscellaneous books Wenren Lin had given her to read, teaching her various things, causing her thoughts to become strange.

Zhao Yān unconsciously swallowed, pressing her knees together.

However, Wenren Lin didn’t approach; he only turned around and sat in the chair opposite the arhat bed, tapping the armrest rhythmically with his fingers.

Zhao Yān waited for a long time without seeing his next move, becoming puzzled: “Aren’t you going to continue?”

Draped in moonlight like a deity from a cold realm, Wenren Lin asked in return: “Continue what?”

“…”

“What does Your Highness want this Prince to do?”

Wenren Lin’s eyes were tinged with amusement, like a crouching hunter patiently coaxing.

He was waiting for her to speak first.

“…”

Wine indeed could numb one’s mind, and deer blood wine even more so. Zhao Yān realized what she had been imagining earlier, and her blood rushed to her head.

“If you’re not continuing, I’m leaving.”

Once Zhao Yān’s stubborn nature surfaced, she rose to leave.

Rising too quickly in the too-dark room, she staggered dizzily and nearly collided with the foot of the bed.

Wenren Lin reached out to steady her, his long arm encircling her slender waist, and with a stifled laugh, drew her into his embrace, sitting together on the arhat bed.

“Taking medicine is somewhat harmful to the body, and having rushed to the banquet tonight, it wasn’t possible to bring those things. I can only trouble Your Highness to sample some appetizers to satisfy your craving for now.”

Wenren Lin spoke softly in her ear, raising his fingers to undo Zhao Yān’s jade belt.

Zhao Yān trembled suddenly, then relaxed somewhat, making no sound.

Her chest suddenly loosened as Wenren Lin withdrew his hand, his knuckles hooked around her plain white breast binding.

“Why are you undoing my…”

“Isn’t the Mid-Autumn Festival for moon-gazing?”

Wenren Lin’s tender gaze moved downward, lingering for a long time, suggestively saying, “How can the moon in the sky compare to Your Highness’s beauty?”

“You!”

The unfinished words abruptly ceased, submerged in short breaths.

“In summer, there’s an iced delicacy called ‘Cream Mountain,’ made by shaving milk into fine flakes, piled to resemble snow-capped mountains, then garnished with grapes and honeydew.”

Wenren Lin’s large hand cradled the Cream Mountain, his forearm hidden beneath her lower garments, saying in a deep voice, “This Prince thinks grapes are too sour; garnishing with a cherry would be just right. What does Your Highness think?”

“Why speak of such things…”

“These things, could that Zhou fellow do them?”

Wenren Lin sat perfectly upright, only his collar crumpled where she had clutched it, looking down at Zhao Yān’s face and asking gently, “What about this? Tell me.”

“Shut up!”

Zhao Yān finally understood—her conversation with Zhou Ji must have been entirely overheard by Wenren Lin. This scheming villain!

“Shh, it’s Your Highness who should be quiet.”

Wenren Lin’s dark eyes were like deep pools as he said unhurriedly, “This place isn’t far from Purple Cloud Pavilion; there might still be palace attendants passing by.”

Although she knew that with Wenren Lin’s people and Liu Ying on guard, it was unlikely outsiders would intrude, Zhao Yān still bit her lip tightly, breathing heavily with her eyes closed, refusing to look at him.

Wenren Lin suddenly remembered that the little Crown Prince didn’t like being watched. Although watching allowed him to take better care and provided some other pleasures, he still chuckled softly and lowered his head, earnestly savoring the sweetness of the Cream Mountain.

“…” Zhao Yān suddenly tensed and bit down on his arm.

It was as if a cup of clear water had been spilled on the arhat bed.

“So eager?”

Wenren Lin was somewhat surprised, looking at his wet hand—they had barely begun.

The moon’s shadow slanted westward, and Zhao Yān couldn’t speak.

“If you miss this Prince so much, why do you avoid me everywhere?”

Wenren Lin turned his palm in the moonlight, his voice in the darkness sounding deep and indulgent, “You little ungrateful one.”

Zhao Yān finally found a moment of clarity between breaths and said with annoyance: “Weren’t you the one who told me to always stay clear-headed and not have too many expectations of you?”

Wenren Lin remained silent.

Born to control everything, he would never say the words “I regret.”

“You’re just using this as an excuse, it makes no sense,” Zhao Yān frowned in conclusion.

Wenren Lin suddenly laughed softly, nodding: “Yes, so what?”

He raised a finger to kiss his lips, immediately staining them with a faint moisture, “This Prince, as such a treacherous minister, never speaks reasonably, Your Highness.”

Zhao Yān looked at his lips, her face heating up again. How could he be like this?

In terms of shamelessness, she could never match Wenren Lin.

However, the facts proved that a treacherous minister’s thoughts could be even more ‘wicked.’

“Reciprocity is proper etiquette. Now it’s this Prince’s turn,” Wenren Lin said, supporting himself with his palm over the wet spot on the bed, leaning in closer.

Turn for… what?

Zhao Yān’s eyes fell on the shadow of his tall figure, and she suddenly had an ominous premonition.