The street was crowded with pedestrians. Since Zhao Yān was wearing a veil, Wu Que’s group failed to notice her presence.

After Wu Que and his companions passed under the corridor bridge, the two men in military attire who had been standing by the stall watching the lanterns exchanged glances before following them from a distance.

Wenren Lin recognized those two faces, and a hint of interest appeared at the corner of his lips. “Are they His Highness’s men?”

“They are Gu Xing’s subordinates. Last year, in the secret passage of Jinyun Manor, they accompanied me in pursuing Zhao Yuan’yu. They are loyal and reliable men.”

Zhao Yān closed her hand around the hawthorn berries and paused before saying, “These Northern Wu fellows appear and disappear unpredictably every day, which is quite suspicious. I can no longer openly instruct Gu Xing to do things, so I can only exchange intelligence under the pretext of collecting items today.”

At dusk, outside the Eastern Palace gate, she reached out to press on Gu Xing’s sword, slipping the note she had prepared earlier on the road underneath it.

Gu Xing understood her intentions and presumably had mixed the clues he had gathered in recent days into that box of books and scrolls.

These subtle actions naturally didn’t escape Wenren Lin’s eyes. He lazily praised her: “Your Highness has quite a few little schemes.”

If other women had experienced such major setbacks, they would likely have been frightened out of their wits or would have let down their guard, indulging in the bustling lantern festival throughout the city. Yet she could calmly seize every opportunity and continue to push forward with her plans.

“Those close to ink become black—it’s all thanks to the Grand Tutor’s teachings,” Zhao Yān responded with a smile.

…

…

Wenren Lin glanced at her sideways and repeated: “Close to what?”

“Those close to vermilion become red! Vermilion!”

Zhao Yān, with a mischievous smile, deliberately pronounced this word very clearly. She raised her hand to block Wenren Lin’s approaching figure and said, “The continuous pressure from Mingde Academy has already made Father Emperor grow wary. If there’s more commotion, it might backfire. Regarding the marriage alliance, we may still need to start by dealing with the Northern Wu people.”

The words “marriage alliance” caused Wenren Lin’s eyes to darken.

Zhao Yān looked at him and silently stopped pursuing that line of conversation.

Fortunately, Wenren Lin’s expression remained calm as he said casually: “If Your Highness is unwilling to deal with the northern barbarians, simply refuse them directly. While this prince is still here, Your Highness should just move forward without hesitation.”

This was the second time today he had told her to “move forward.” Zhao Yān looked up at him, not immediately understanding what he meant.

“But if I’m too direct, it might lead to war.”

“If they want war, then let there be war.”

These deep and unrestrained words made Zhao Yān’s heart tremble.

She turned to look at Wenren Lin’s eyes. His eyes were hidden behind the silver mask, dark and unfathomable, his emotions unreadable.

If time could be turned back nine years, Wenren Lin would surely have been a proud, unbridled son of heaven in splendid attire on horseback. But hadn’t he said that he would never fight for the Great Xuan again?

Moreover, war was never as simple as those two lightly written characters in history books. Below the corridor bridge, the city was filled with lantern lights and prosperity, smoke rose from kitchen chimneys, and people walked back and forth chatting and laughing, completely undisturbed by the turmoil of state affairs.

“I promised to let you see the changes in Great Xuan before the Lantern Festival. Now the court has come together to fight as one. Though it’s not perfect, there is still hope.”

Zhao Yān struggled for a moment, then smiled calmly. “I won’t back down. Before that, I need to figure out what Northern Wu wants.”

Her bright and determined eyes were the look that Wenren Lin was most familiar with and also most captivated by.

He raised his hand and gently caressed her cheek through the veil, silently indulging her.

From the end of the corridor bridge came a prolonged hawker’s call—a peddler carrying a pole with floating yuan zi① passing by.

Zhao Yān had a plan in mind, but as she was still under punishment, she was short of money. She leaned over and asked softly: “Do you have any silver left?”

This question was quite unnecessary—how could the dignified Prince Su ever be short of silver?

Wenren Lin glanced at his attendant, who immediately untied a heavy money pouch and respectfully handed it to Zhao Yān with both hands.

Zhao Yān opened it, picked out the smallest silver piece she could find, and walked straight toward the peddler.

Wenren Lin followed her at a leisurely pace with his hands behind his back, his elegant and noble bearing unmistakable even behind the mask.

After walking only about twenty paces, they were stopped by three young women in blue attire. They were pushing and shoving each other playfully, their faces flushed as they bowed in greeting—presumably handmaids of some official’s daughter.

Wenren Lin raised his eyes slightly and indeed saw a woman in light lotus-colored formal dress peering from behind the railing at the end of the corridor bridge. When she saw him look up, she shyly hid behind a red-lacquered pillar.

He frowned slightly, showing some impatience.

Zhao Yān bought two bowls of hot wine-soaked floating yuan zi. Neither she nor Wenren Lin particularly liked sweet foods, so both bowls were without filling.

Unexpectedly, just as she turned around holding the enamel bowls, she saw the broad-shouldered, long-legged Prince Su being blocked by the blue-clad young women, who were chattering away, asking him something.

“Young master, which family do you belong to? Even in the capital, such bearing is rarely seen.”

One of the slightly older handmaids smiled and bowed, saying, “There’s an excellent spot for viewing lanterns upstairs. If the young master doesn’t mind, you could follow this servant up for a brief rest and some tea and snacks.”

Zhao Yān stood in place, raising an eyebrow.

She had seen enough. She handed the two bowls of floating yuan zi to her attendant, then clapped her hands as she stepped forward, suppressing a laugh as she called out: “Husband.”

The word “husband” came out loud and clear.

The handmaids were stunned, and Wenren Lin also froze for a moment, lifting his silver-masked face.

His lips were curved in a barely perceptible smile; that form of address had pleased him.

Zhao Yān walked past them, took Wenren Lin’s arm and said: “I apologize, my husband has a speech impediment and is rather slow-witted. If he has unwittingly offended you ladies, I apologize on his behalf.”

When those handmaids who had been sent to scout heard that this tall, elegant man was already married, and moreover was a mute who merely had a good appearance, while his wife was so young, beautiful, and understanding, their expressions changed several times, all feeling somewhat ashamed.

“It is we who have offended you.” They hurriedly bowed and quickly left to report back.

“What a pity,” Zhao Yān shook her head and sighed lightly. “There will likely be one more poor maiden on the corridor bridge whose heart has awakened to love only to be broken.”

Before she finished speaking, Zhao Yān felt her knees give way as she was lifted horizontally.

“What are you doing now?” Zhao Yān asked, eyes wide.

Wenren Lin steadily carried her toward the stairs of the corridor bridge, his arm supporting her knees, his long fingers gently touching her knee, as if asking: With your knee hurting like this, how will you go down the stairs?

Zhao Yān’s knee had been aching all day. Going up stairs was manageable, though painful and difficult, but going down would likely cause her to collapse and tumble down.

So she could only continue playing the role of “one-day wife” and said nothing more.

Around them came a chorus of kind, admiring voices, and many glances were cast their way. Zhao Yān’s cheeks burned hot as she buried her face in Wenren Lin’s chest like an ostrich hiding its head, and as hoped, she heard his muffled laughter resonating in his chest.

The night had grown deep, and those who had come to view the lanterns were gradually dispersing.

Inside the carriage, the attendant placed the two still-steaming bowls of floating yuan zi on the small table, then swiftly withdrew, leaving the small space entirely to the two masters.

Zhao Yān took off her veil. “It’s already late. We’ve seen the lanterns and eaten floating yuan zi. Now it truly feels like celebrating the festival.”

Wenren Lin rarely ate these sticky snacks, but he did not refuse.

He casually set his silver mask aside and reached out to accept the bowl.

Zhao Yān observed that Wenren Lin had a habit peculiar to military men: when drinking soup, he didn’t carefully hold the bowl like others, but instead spread his five fingers to grip the rim—his palm was broad, his fingers long, easily covering the enamel bowl before bringing it to his lips for a shallow sip, revealing a domineering strength that seemed to control everything.

The carriage moved very slowly and steadily.

Zhao Yān was taking small sips of the floating yuan zi, with the carriage filled with a faint sweet wine fragrance. Halfway through, she noticed there was no movement beside her. She instinctively looked up and saw that Wenren Lin had somehow finished his bowl, with the empty bowl and porcelain spoon placed on the small table.

He ate quietly and gracefully, but always quickly.

Seeing him tapping his knee with his finger, silently gazing at her, Zhao Yān blinked and pushed her half-finished bowl toward him: “Would you like some more?”

Wenren Lin didn’t take the bowl of floating yuan zi. Instead, he took Zhao Yān’s hand and extended his index finger to write something on her palm, stroke by stroke.

It felt both numb and ticklish. Zhao Yān couldn’t help but curl her fingers, trying to withdraw her palm, but couldn’t move an inch.

Wenren Lin held her wrist, unfolding her slender curled fingers one by one, and patiently continued writing word puzzles on her palm.

Zhao Yān really couldn’t stand it anymore and laughed so hard she almost spilled the bowl in her hand: “You… just say directly what you want to say, don’t torture me anymore.”

Only then did the “mute husband” release his restraint, magnanimously showing her mercy.

He pretended to think for a moment, then leaned forward and said: “I want to taste something else.”

Zhao Yān rubbed her tingling palm, not immediately understanding: “What?”

Wenren Lin moved even closer, half-lowering his eyelids, and raised the finger that had been writing on her palm to touch her lips: “I want to taste this.”

“…”

He tilted his head and leaned in. Zhao Yān didn’t refuse.

Lantern shadows passed repeatedly through the carriage curtain, as if the time and place were perfect. Her heart pounded heavily, like surging tides that wouldn’t cease. She held her breath and lowered her eyes, unable to distinguish whether it was anticipation or something else.

“Mmm…”

Her hands and feet grew weak, and she trembled, barely able to hold the bowl of floating yuan zi.

Wenren Lin leaned forward to press his lips against hers, taking the troublesome enamel bowl from her hand and placing it on the small table with a thud. Though he seemed unhurried, his kiss was deep and long. Zhao Yān couldn’t help but have tears forming at the corners of her eyes, with the carriage ceiling swaying and blurring.

When the kiss ended, her breathing was completely disheveled.

Wenren Lin remained composed, stroking her flushed cheek and pushing his luck by whispering in her ear: “I want to caress Your Highness.”

“…”

Zhao Yān had allowed him to speak, but she hadn’t allowed him to say such wanton words!

She glared at him with feigned severity but inner weakness. Wenren Lin, however, still smiled as he played with a strand of her loose hair. Gone was his usual divine appearance, replaced by that of a soul-devouring demon.

Before she could voice her protest, it was completely blocked. Zhao Yān’s entire body grew hot as she tried to counterattack, only to have her wrists pinned down as he took advantage of the situation.

When they first met two years ago, she had mistaken Wenren Lin for a gentle and proper gentleman; after the Hairpin Banquet, she thought Wenren Lin might be a bit of a scoundrel but still a proper gentleman; but now, he wasn’t even pretending to be a proper gentleman anymore…

“Wen…”

“One more kiss.”

The rumbling of the carriage wheels completely covered those subtle sounds.

During the long kiss, Zhao Yān’s eyelashes became moist, and all the kissing principles from “Dongxuan Zi” were completely forgotten in her mind.

Her scattered consciousness pieced together one thought: it seemed that Prince Su’s self-control wasn’t as strong as she had imagined.

① Floating yuan zi: A traditional Chinese dessert made of glutinous rice balls floating in sweet soup or wine.