Wenren Lin was originally just teasing Zhao Yān. Watching the various expressions dance across her face was quite enjoyable.

But this time, the little Crown Prince wasn’t intimidated. She even graciously included him in her future plans, asking if he would accompany her to see the lanterns.

Wenren Lin never planned for the future; such words held no meaning for him.

Knowing this, he still leisurely calculated the days—there were still four months until next year’s Lantern Festival.

That would be soon enough.

Seeing him lost in thought without responding, Zhao Yān’s smiling eyes momentarily froze. She wondered: Perhaps these words had crossed a boundary again?

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she hesitated, wondering if she should change the subject when she heard Wenren Lin say in a deep voice: “I’ll do my best.”

Zhao Yān was momentarily stunned, realizing that these simple, calm four words were his answer to her invitation.

With a sudden lightness in her heart, Zhao Yān struggled to contain her upturned lips: “Prince Su can turn his hand to make clouds and rain, doing everything with ease, yet for watching lanterns with me, you must ‘do your best’? It’s hardly a dangerous task, yet you can’t even give a straight answer. You’re truly reluctant.”

Wenren Lin listened to her chattering, a very faint smile crossing his eyes as he tapped his knee with his finger: “Your Highness, don’t be smug after getting your way. I don’t make promises lightly, so I don’t disappoint people.”

…

…

“I don’t trust promises easily, so people don’t disappoint me.”

Zhao Yān naturally continued with the next line, pressing the tip of her nose against the brush handle and mumbled, “I understand.”

As soon as she finished speaking, a delicate “meow” came from inside Wenren Lin’s sleeve, as if in protest.

Only then did she notice that Wenren Lin’s high-quality wide sleeves were bulging, occasionally moving.

“You brought the cat?” Zhao Yān was surprised.

Wenren Lin lifted the hand that had been pressing down his sleeve, and the bulge wriggled up and down before a small head with messy fur emerged from under his wrist.

“Snow Slave!”

Zhao Yān’s almond eyes brightened, and she quickly put down her brush, standing up to take the cat.

The fur, smooth as snow satin, still carried the faint cold fragrance from Wenren Lin’s sleeves. Zhao Yān smiled: “It has indeed grown fatter.”

Wenren Lin quietly watched her caress the cat in her arms, her fingertips disappearing into the smooth, snow-white fur, making it hard to distinguish which was more luminously white.

He said: “I’ll leave it with Your Highness for a couple of days. The meat jerky and wicker ball have been sent over as well.”

Zhao Yān was about to ask why, but as she raised her head, she remembered it was the beginning of the month again.

There was no shortage of people to serve at the Hegu Pavilion and Prince Su’s mansion who could take good care of Snow Slave. Wenren Lin making this special trip might not have been primarily to entrust the cat to her, but rather to use it as a pretext to let her know and put her mind at ease.

Zhao Yān lowered her eyelashes, suppressing the desire to ask further questions, and said softly: “All right. When should I feed it the jerky?”

“Once at the Chen hour, once at the Shen hour, and once before sleep. Keep plenty of clean water available.”

Wenren Lin gave instructions methodically, adding, “This creature isn’t very well-behaved. It often causes mischief in the middle of the night. If it breaks anything, just keep an account, and I’ll compensate double.”

Zhao Yān held the cat with one hand while using her brush to write down Wenren Lin’s instructions on paper. Hearing his last sentence, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“All right, I’ll remember.”

Remembering something, she lowered her eyelashes again and twirled the brush handle, saying softly, “Um… Grand Tutor, please take care of yourself, too.”

After speaking, she realized her words seemed deliberate—she should have pretended not to know anything. As she lowered her head in regretful self-reflection, a shadow fell before her.

Wenren Lin raised his finger, and his cool fingertip naturally and slowly smoothed the furrow between Zhao Yān’s brows.

“Why is Your Highness frowning? I’m not going to die yet.”

His expression remained undisturbed, his lowered eyes carrying a smile, as strong and inscrutable as ever. “It’s just that if I don’t put on a show, some people might be unable to eat or sleep in peace.”

Zhao Yān seemed to half-understand, trying to piece together the few bits of information from his fragmentary words.

Wenren Lin was not entirely satisfied with her distraction. His fingertip moved downward, pressing against the corner of her lips as he naturally changed the subject: “What book does Your Highness wish to read tonight?”

Zhao Yān opened and closed her lips, feeling somewhat deflated: “We’re going to do night reading? Listening to the Imperial Lectures during the day is exhausting enough.”

She added, “Tonight I need to review other things. Could we skip those books?”

Wenren Lin looked at her uncomfortable, evasive expression and laughed in a way that defied interpretation.

He straightened up and glanced back. The small eunuch who had accompanied him presented a box, opened the lid, and took out several dishes of exquisite savory snacks, as well as a bowl of peanut sour yogurt garnished with dried fruit pieces.

The last time Zhao Yān had tried this sour yogurt with Wenren Lin, she found the milky fragrance appetite-stimulating and the texture smooth and silky—it was divine. Unfortunately, unless bestowed by the Emperor, even the Crown Prince couldn’t casually enjoy the imperial chef’s cooking. Throughout the imperial city, only Prince Su had this special privilege.

Perhaps it was because the Wenren family had been filled with heroic martyrs, and Wenren Lin was appropriately strong, that Father Emperor always placed extra reliance on him.

The rich, milky fragrance covered the faint icy scent in the air. Zhao Yān sniffed and asked: “For me?”

Wenren Lin took away the cat that was trying to steal food with one hand, using his eyes to indicate: Who else?

Zhao Yān’s eyes curved into a smile as she said: “Thank you, Grand Tutor.”

Just then, the Crown Prince’s steward came to deliver the organized account books. Zhao Yān picked up a thin silver spoon to eat small bites while examining the accounts.

Snow Slave circled the hall once, curiously surveying everything, before curling up beside Zhao Yān and purring itself to sleep.

The only sounds in the hall were the crackle of candle wicks and the occasional turning of pages. This tranquility captivated Zhao Yān. She unconsciously stretched her legs comfortably, changing from the Crown Prince’s standard kneeling posture to a side-sitting position.

Wenren Lin casually picked up one of Zhao Yān’s written commentaries on the classics to read, holding the scroll with one hand, his arm resting on the armrest.

Occasionally glancing up, he saw Zhao Yān sometimes frowning, sometimes serious. He put down the scroll and moved closer: “Why did you decide to check the accounts?”

Caught off guard as she snapped back from her comfort, Zhao Yān instinctively covered those overly sparse account books with her hand, her upper lip still adorned with a spot of sour yogurt.

“I’ve seen Your Highness’s undergarments before, what else could I not see?”

Wenren Lin’s gaze lingered on Zhao Yān’s lips. After a moment, he raised his finger to slowly wipe away the milky spot at the corner of her mouth, causing a tingling sensation like a feather brushing against her skin.

There was a very faint ripple in his eyes as he said, “Besides, the Eastern Palace’s account books are even cleaner than Your Highness’s undergarments.”

Zhao Yān’s ears grew hot. She wanted to retort but couldn’t find the words.

“Short on money?” Wenren Lin saw through her predicament at a glance.

Zhao Yān could only nod, “I’m calculating the Eastern Palace’s income to see if I can squeeze out some money.”

“Since the Crown Prince wants to implement new policies and gradually reduce royal family expenditures, he naturally had to start with himself, leaving no room for generating wealth.”

Wenren Lin removed her hand from covering the accounts and said in a deep voice, “However, I can help you.”

Zhao Yān was surprised, then shook her head: “I don’t want your charity.”

“Helping and giving charity have very different meanings.”

Wenren Lin patiently corrected her, smiling lightly, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to humiliate Your Highness by throwing money at you.”

He remembered that after Prince Yong was punished, all his family wealth and estates were confiscated by the state treasury to fill the gaps in religious ceremonies and the rebuilding of the Star-Picking Observatory.

However, several of Prince Yong’s supporters had not yet been convicted.

Wenren Lin had originally wanted to keep these chess pieces in reserve, to stir up trouble when necessary. But since the little Crown Prince needed them, he would sacrifice them.

After all, the world was chaotic enough already.

He couldn’t help feeling pleased: he was rarely doing a good deed without expecting anything in return. It would be a reward for the little Crown Prince.

……

Zhao Yān fell asleep at her desk before finishing the account books.

When she woke again, she was lying in the inner bedchamber, with the bedding neatly and completely covering her. Outside the moon gate, the candle stands had burned out, and the morning light was faint. Wenren Lin was no longer in the chair.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that Zhao Yān understood what Wenren Lin meant by “help you” the previous night.

This time it was Cai Tian who came, saluting Zhao Yān: “Your Highness, the Liu and Jiang families conspired with Prince Yong in rebellion and framed the Eastern Palace—unforgivable crimes. Their households have now been searched and dealt with. The inventory of assets is here, and according to the law, is to be disposed of by the Crown Prince.”

“To me?”

Zhao Yān doubtfully accepted the inventory Cai Tian handed over. As soon as she opened it, the accordion-folded list spilled to the ground, covered in dense, tiny characters stretching nearly ten feet long.

Li Fu and another small eunuch had to bow forward to help Zhao Yān hold up the trailing pages.

“The assets seized from Prince Yong’s mansion were the bulk, equivalent to a year’s income for the Great Xuan treasury. These are just a drop in the bucket in comparison. According to the Great Xuan law, those who frame a prince shall have their property confiscated and given to the prince as compensation for damages. There are precedents for this.”

Cai Tian explained the reason in a few words, then added, “His Lordship also said to consider it a reward for Your Highness’s contribution in eliminating Prince Yong’s faction, and for writing good commentaries on the classics.”

Commentaries on the classics?

Zhao Yān recalled the document Wenren Lin had read last night and said to Cai Tian: “Thank Deputy Commander Cai, and please convey my thanks to Prince Su on my behalf.”

After speaking, she quickly gathered up the ridiculously long accordion-folded inventory and handed it to Li Fu’s arms, then strode back into the hall and retrieved the essay Wenren Lin had reviewed the night before from her desk.

It was Zhao Yān’s spontaneous reflections after listening to half a month of Imperial Lectures, now filled with bold, sharp vermilion comments, with immature insights or improper use of allusions circled and annotated.

This was truly a casual essay, unworthy of the term “reward,” but Zhao Yān’s lips still curled upward uncontrollably, her smile reaching her eyebrows and the corners of her eyes.

“Your Highness.”

Li Fu, still holding the huge pile of inventories, asked for instructions: “How should we handle these?”

Zhao Yān collected her thoughts and pondered for a moment before saying: “The occupied lands, properties, houses, and so on—return them all to the local people. No one may occupy them again for any reason. Convert the gold, silver, paintings, and artifacts into currency and total them up; I have other uses for them.”

Although these two families couldn’t compare to even one finger of Prince Yong’s household, they were still official families that had sucked people dry to the bone, and the money retrieved was not a small sum.

Using unjust wealth for just causes shouldn’t violate her brother’s principles, right?

Zhao Yān silently thought: This money will be used to expand the Mingde Academy, selecting talent regardless of gender or status, bringing all heroes under heaven into my net…

Zhao Yǎn, please understand me.

……

Wenren Lin disappeared for two days, and the autumn rain in the imperial city did not cease.

Unable to go out in the rain, and with no need to set up Imperial Lectures on the Double Ninth Festival, Zhao Yān sat at her desk, reorganizing the inventory Li Fu had prepared, trying to use every two pieces of silver in the most needed places.

When tired, she would stretch her arms, waist, and legs, and hug Snow Slave for a stroke, leading a fulfilling and joyful life.

Now that Xu Maojun’s official career was ruined and the engagement canceled, it seemed unlikely to cause much trouble, but Zhao Yān still felt uneasy in her heart.

The Shenguang sect’s “Master” was dead, but Wenren Lin still took medicine for poison at the beginning of each month. The dark clouds of the Shenguang sect still hung densely over the imperial city, permeating everything like the autumn rain, chilling to the bone.

Zhao Yān trusted her instincts; there must be a hidden plot she had not yet seen through.

The secretly nurtured Xu Maojun was the strongest evidence.

Thinking of this, Zhao Yān rose and sat on the couch, opening the hidden compartment under the pillow. Inside lay a repaired green sandalwood mother-of-pearl inlaid jewelry box. Beneath the box were Zhao Yǎn’s final letter and the account book that had been half-burned.

She took out the Shenguang Master’s account book and looked through it for the umpteenth time. She could recite by heart the names and medicine names involved, but still hadn’t found any new clues.

Zhao Yān narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixing on a familiar name at the end.

Perhaps there was someone she could ask.