Inside the carriage sat Wenren Lin, as stable as a mountain, his handsome features set off like flawless cold jade by his dark, casual attire.

Zhao Yān’s heart involuntarily settled. She sat properly beside him, detecting a hint of damp moisture from his half-draped ink-black hair that indicated he had just bathed.

She unconsciously lightened her tone, “Today is a rest day. The whole city is climbing heights and appreciating chrysanthemums. I thought you wouldn’t return until tomorrow.”

Wenren Lin raised his hand to pinch the nape of her neck, then gently rubbed her earlobe, playing tirelessly for a while before finally giving an “Mm” and saying: “I missed my cat.”

Wenren Lin always called Snow Slave “little beast,” so Zhao Yān naturally knew that the “cat” in his words was not that cat.

It tickled a bit. She shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head: “May I ask you a question?”

“Related to the Marquis of Ningyang’s mansion?” His voice was soft and deep.

Zhao Yān paused, then sighed, resting her chin on her hand: “I knew I couldn’t hide it from you.”

Wenren Lin chuckled, then leaned forward, resting one hand on his knee: “Your Highness just came from the Marquis of Ningyang’s mansion, with your concerns practically written on your face.”

Zhao Yān instinctively touched her face and asked directly: “Does the Grand Tutor know which martial family Rong Fuyue, the Marquis of Ningyang’s wife, was previously associated with?”

…

…

Wenren Lin switched to pinching her other ear, until both her ears were flushed red and warm, before replying: “Not only do I know, but I’m very familiar with them.”

“Who?”

“My deceased elder brother, Wenren Cang.”

Zhao Yān was stunned.

She couldn’t help but recall seeing her aunt praying with incense under the Bodhi tree at the Spirit Cloud Temple during the Ghost Festival. Threading together those disconnected fragments, they slowly pieced together another untold story.

She seemed to guess the root cause of her aunt’s heart weakness, and also understood who the heart-protecting mirror hidden in the box had once belonged to.

“Then why did they…”

“My elder brother was young and impetuous. He argued with Rong Fuyue and left for the northern frontier to fight enemies before they could clear things up. I suspect he deeply regretted it, because whenever letters arrived from the capital, he was always the first to rush and check, then walk away with his head hanging in disappointment. That silk handkerchief embroidered with Rong Fuyue’s small characters was worn until the threads broke, yet he refused to throw it away.”

As he spoke, Wenren Lin snorted, “Later, he just died like that.”

Zhao Yān looked up. Wenren Lin’s expression remained calm, showing no ripples of emotion.

Perhaps autumn always brought sadness. She inexplicably felt a wave of melancholy, both for herself and for the Wenren family. She opened her lips, wanting to say something, but with so many thoughts, she didn’t know where to begin.

Zhao Yān lowered her eyelashes briefly, then quickly raised her head, her eyes clear and bright: “Take me back to the palace, Grand Tutor. I also miss… the cat.”

……

After the Double Ninth Festival, the greenery in the capital seemed to wither overnight, leaving only the rustling autumn chill.

The last Imperial Lecture was unprecedentedly grand. By the Chen hour, ministers had successively arrived at the Chongwen Hall, huddling around charcoal braziers for warmth and exchanging greetings.

Only the “Crown Prince” had a recurrence of his old illness and had taken leave to rest behind closed doors in the Eastern Palace for over half a month.

“The Crown Prince’s health tends to falter in autumn and winter.”

“Indeed. Last year, around this time, there was a commotion with rumors flying everywhere.”

“Ministers, be careful with your words. Have you all forgotten what happened to Liu Zong, who slandered the Eastern Palace last year?”

“Hush! His Majesty and Prince Su have arrived. Silence.”

Someone spoke in a low voice, and the ministers who had been scattered in conversation immediately composed themselves, carefully straightening their official robes, arranging themselves on both sides to bow.

Meanwhile, the “Crown Prince,” rumored to be bedridden with illness, was kneeling properly behind her desk in a robe, holding a brush and examining the paper before her.

Liu Ying entered the hall carrying food, stepping on a piece of fallen rice paper covered with characters interspersed with crossed-out ink blots, revealing the writer’s unsettled state of mind.

She quickly set down her tray and carefully picked up the paper. Looking up, she saw that from the desk to the floor was strewn with rice paper filled with writing. The Crown Prince sat among them in a robe, like an ascetic monk practicing amid paper and ink, occasionally poking her temple with the brush handle in deep thought.

The figure sitting in contemplation in a robe looked remarkably like the late Crown Prince Zhao Yǎn.

“Your Highness, the floor is cold. You shouldn’t sit for long.”

Liu Ying brought a soft cushion and gently placed it under Zhao Yān, then picked up the boots kicked aside and offered them for her to wear, asking, “Wasn’t Prince Yong’s matter already resolved? Why has Your Highness suddenly decided to review it?”

Having knelt for so long, her legs were quite numb. Zhao Yān carefully stretched her calves and frowned: “Don’t you think it was too smooth? So smooth that it was as if someone deliberately led the clues toward Prince Yong, carefully orchestrating a play for me.”

Liu Ying didn’t understand. After experiencing so many life-threatening assassination attempts and traps, how could it still be considered “smooth”?

But the Crown Prince was intelligent, and her intuition surely wouldn’t be wrong.

“Is there any news of the missing maid from Prince Yong’s mansion?” Zhao Yān asked.

“Not yet.”

Liu Ying replied, “Commander Gu Xing is still investigating with all his efforts.”

Zhao Yān nodded. She had indeed been increasingly uneasy lately. Before coming up with a new strategy, she chose to stay in the Eastern Palace under the pretext of recuperating, meticulously reviewing the entire case of Prince Yong and the Shenguang Master from beginning to end. Her thoughts were so detailed that she filled the room with papers and stained her hands with ink.

She finally extracted several doubts from this seemingly perfect victory.

For instance, the eunuch who attempted an assassination at the birthday banquet claimed Prince Yong had held his sister hostage, forcing him to act. But after Prince Yong was punished and all his property confiscated, no one found the allegedly detained maid.

For instance, if Prince Yong was the one who poisoned Zhao Yǎn with the forged letter, why didn’t he use such a remarkable poison again, instead choosing to have the eunuch stab him with a knife?

Who exactly was the person who spread the message that “Zhao Yuan’yu fell from his horse and became impotent, secretly caused by the Crown Prince”?

Moreover, if the Shenguang Master died under the arrow of the imperial guard, and if this was ordered by Prince Yong, why didn’t they take the opportunity to shoot another arrow and kill the “Crown Prince” who was present to silence her, but instead waited until she was returning to the palace to ambush her with wandering fighters?

Zhao Yān circled each of these doubts with a vermilion brush, and then asked: “Are there any major banquets or ceremonies coming up that require the Crown Prince’s presence?”

Liu Ying thought briefly and replied: “The fourteenth day of the tenth month is auspicious. The Emperor will lead princes and ministers out of the city to welcome winter, then return to the Western Garden for a feast. According to protocol, the Crown Prince must accompany them.”

The fourteenth day of the tenth month—it was approaching quickly.

Zhao Yān finished her evening meal and fell asleep at her desk from exhaustion.

In her drowsy state, she felt something wet on her knuckles, both itchy and cool. She lifted her eyelids, her blurry vision gradually focusing, then suddenly sat up straight. The large, dark outer robe on her shoulders slid down to her waist, and a piece of ink-stained rice paper was stuck to her cheek.

Wenren Lin sat in a chair, wiping her ink-stained hands with a damp cotton cloth, his movements light and slow.

Seeing her awake, he simply ceased his slow wiping, directly rolled up her sleeve, and pressed her ink-covered hand into a basin of warm water to soak.

“What time is it?”

Zhao Yān raised her other hand, absently peeling off the rice paper stuck to her face. Her delicate cheek, reddened from pressure, was now imprinted with ink, looking somewhat comical.

Wenren Lin wiped the ink off her cheek with a cloth and said leisurely, “The Hai hour, it’s still early, not yet dawn.”

He spoke without emotion, with a gentle, soothing quality instead. With each sentence from his thin lips, Zhao Yān lowered her head a little more.

During these days when she had taken leave from attending the Imperial Lectures at Chongwen Hall, Wenren Lin would arrive punctually at the end of the You hour, select one or two books from that large box of “birthday gifts,” explain them to her for an hour, and then leave.

Of course, on the occasional times when Zhao Yān was in good spirits, after finishing the regular lessons, he would make an exception and stay until late at night, teaching her something else before leaving…

Zhao Yān hadn’t expected that a brief nap would turn into a full hour of sleep. She raised her hand to press her sore neck and said softly, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Your Highness looked so beautiful while sleeping—fair skin, red lips, picturesque features—so I watched a while longer.”

As Wenren Lin spoke, he rolled up his sleeves higher, smiling with deep meaning. “It’s rare to see Your Highness sleep so soundly, not waking, no matter how I touched you.”

“You… how did you touch me?”

Zhao Yān was startled; her left hand, which wasn’t in the water, secretly felt her intact clothes. “Where did you touch me?”

Wenren Lin’s gaze passed over her lips, reddened from sleep, then naturally fell to her hand in the water. His cold, pale palm pressed in, gently rubbing away the faded ink stains on her fingertips.

The man’s knuckles were strong, his bone structure beautiful, the tendons on the back of his hand subtly protruding with the washing movements. To clean her more thoroughly, his long fingers directly passed through the gaps between hers, their five fingers interlocking as he rubbed, not missing even the edges and corners.

The splashing water sound brought an inexplicable tingling sensation that spread from between her fingers, causing her back to suddenly shudder.

This feeling was truly strange. She recalled how, not long ago, when Wenren Lin came to give her evening lessons, she had just finished bathing, her hair loosely tied on top of her head, her clothes thin and loose, revealing her damp, slender white neck—completely unguarded before his eyes.

Wenren Lin had glanced at her but said nothing at the time, holding the brush from behind to correct inappropriate parts of her essay, his voice deep and rich, calm and pleasant.

He was solemn, and Zhao Yān didn’t dare act improperly, listening very attentively, until she stretched after putting down the brush and realized he was pressed against her.

She suddenly turned her head, incredulous and embarrassed.

Wenren Lin had cast over his dark eyes without the slightest embarrassment or shame, instead coldly reproaching her for being distracted and inattentive, his face as austere and detached as a mountain deity.

As for what happened afterward, better not to mention…

Zhao Yān shifted uncomfortably. Wenren Lin noticed and looked up: “Why are you fidgeting?”

Before Zhao Yān could explain, she saw him pinch her fingertips as if in punishment: “Your Highness’s monthly cycle hasn’t ended yet. Be still.”

“…” Was that what she meant?!

Zhao Yān uncomfortably pinched her fingers, then released them again.

After a long while, she said softly, “Wenren Lin, why did your father feed you such medicine? Aren’t you blood-related family?”

She had finally broached the forbidden topic.

“Aren’t you blood-related family?”—This question seemed directed more at herself than at Wenren Lin.

Wenren Lin didn’t take issue with her bold use of his name. His knuckles soothed her unease as he called out leisurely: “Little Crown Prince.”

“Yes?”

“Deception is a game of human hearts. Don’t trust people easily.”

He wouldn’t stop Zhao Yān from investigating further, but he also couldn’t help her get caught in the turbulence. After careful consideration, he could only give this moderate reminder.

The little Crown Prince was intelligent; she would naturally understand.

……

The fourteenth day of the tenth month, the beginning of winter.

At the Yin hour, the sky was still a deep inky blue, but the Eastern Palace was already brightly lit.

Zhao Yān bathed and changed, bound her chest tightly, and allowed Liu Ying to dress her layer by layer, fasten her belt—everything just as it had been this time last year, when she had first returned to the palace disguised as Zhao Yǎn.

Fully dressed, she steadied herself, wrapped in a thick fox fur, and pushed open the hall doors, exhaling a breath of white mist under the eaves.

Stars sinking, moon setting, the night deep as water, impenetrably dark.

“Let’s go,” she said softly.