Not difficult?

Jingxian was curious and quite interested. He immediately poured himself a cup of tea.

He held the teacup and gently fanned it a few times. The tea’s fragrance was refreshing and pleasant. He brought it to his lips and took a sip.

Quietly waiting for Muruo to continue!

But that young fellow was in no hurry to elaborate. Instead, he picked up iron tongs, clamped a piece of black charcoal, and tossed it into the brazier. The black charcoal landed with a soft thud, sending up sparks. While poking at it with the tongs, he said, “In a few more months, winter will arrive. I wonder when this year’s first snow will fall? Will it be the same as previous years? Or will it be delayed? Why don’t you guess and see if your guess is accurate.”

“Your true intentions lie elsewhere.”

“How disappointing. I asked you to guess, so just guess. It won’t cost you a piece of flesh.”

Jingxian was speechless.

He wasn’t so bored as to guess when it would snow.

But Muruo just smiled, set aside the iron tongs, let out a breath, and with a faint smile on his lips, looked at the pale-faced Jingxian. His expression turned serious. “Originally, Jingrong might never have been able to return to the capital in this lifetime, yet he still came back. This is his fate—fate dictates it so, and no one can prevent it. No matter how far he flees, he cannot escape this predetermined struggle in his destiny. So this time, I believe he will certainly seize the initiative before Prince Yi and solve the dried well case. This is just like… the heavy snow at the winter solstice every year—it’s destined to fall, but the timing is uncertain. He’s destined to win, but how he wins is uncertain.”

Philosophical wisdom from a drunkard’s mouth!

But—

Jingxian smiled faintly. “Since when did you start believing in fate?”

“I don’t believe in fate—I believe in the person within that fate.”

“The person within fate?”

He nodded. “Have you forgotten? That Master Ji by Jingrong’s side—she is the person in his fate.”

The implication being: with her present, Jingrong would certainly win.

This was a form of trust!

Jingxian fell silent, seemingly pondering Muruo’s words carefully. After a while, a trace of a smile curved at the corners of his mouth, but it was instantly concealed by the teacup brought to his lips, barely visible. He took a sip without much thought, only feeling the tea was somewhat warm but had no flavor at all. His throat bobbed as he pursed his lips with effort before gently setting down the teacup. His gaze fixed on the half cup of tea rippling in the cup as he murmured.

“Factional struggle, factional struggle… what does it matter if one wins?”

Yes indeed!

What does it matter if one wins?

Hearing this, Muruo exhaled and said, “When all is said and done, you still have the most leisure—reading and writing here all day. When bored, you can even amuse yourself with those few beautiful pigeons you keep. It’s far better than circling endlessly in factional struggles. So this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“Yes! At least here, there are no disputes, no ambitions for court power. Though it’s somewhat desolate, it’s better than exhausting one’s schemes to fight for something that doesn’t belong to oneself at all.”

Though a trace of desolation crossed his face, his eyes flowed with a tranquility of being above worldly strife.

However—

Muruo spoke with hidden meaning: “When the snipe and clam grapple, the fisherman profits.”

Uh!

Jingxian’s eyes deepened. He opened his lips. “You and I have known each other for ten or twenty years. If you have something to say, speak plainly.”

He’d seen through him!

Muruo said seriously, “Haven’t you always wanted to leave the palace?”

“And so?”

“No matter who ascends the throne in the future, you, as a prince, cannot possibly continue staying in the palace.”

Indeed!

Whether Jingyi or Jingrong—whichever of them took the throne, he as a prince could be enfeoffed with his own manor.

Which meant—leaving the palace.

At this moment, the charcoal fire in the brazier burned very vigorously. Sparks popped and crackled like firecrackers, flying out of the brazier. Several landed right on the back of Muruo’s hand. He quickly withdrew his hand, tucking it into his sleeve.

His brow furrowed tightly from the pain.

Yet he made no sound!

Jingxian looked toward the doorway. He saw leaves falling continuously, several drifting inside and landing at the entrance, only to be lifted by a breeze and carried back out again.

He smiled bitterly, propped himself up, and walked with difficulty to a large bookshelf. His gaze searched through the books on it before he reached up and pulled one down. He turned to a page, and his originally powerless eyes gradually focused.

That page was filled with dense, elegant handwriting.

His slender fingers gently rubbed across a line of text.

“Do not contend with them, the hegemon gains no advantage.”

These eight characters gradually enlarged in his vision…

“In the end, whoever can ascend the throne and become emperor—to me, it’s nothing more than… the beginning of another factional struggle.”

The air fell into prolonged silence!

Until suddenly a pigeon flew to the windowsill and broke it.

“Coo coo coo…”

The pigeon flapped its wings, pacing on the windowsill. Its small head raised high toward Jingxian, its tiny eyes exceptionally sharp, almost like human eyes.

Jingxian’s brow suddenly furrowed, but he instinctively glanced sideways at Muruo sitting by the brazier. Only then did he close the book in his hands and walk over, picking up the pigeon and stroking its smooth feathers.

“Are you hungry?”

“Coo coo coo.”

Its pointed beak kept pecking.

Muruo stood and walked over, teasing as he did, “After not seeing you for several months, the pigeons you keep have gotten fatter and fatter. What do you feed them every day?”

“Just some grains of rice.”

“Indeed, one must eat plenty to thrive.”

Just then, a second pigeon flew over. It paced back and forth on the windowsill very cheerfully.

Constantly cooing.

Muruo’s playful nature suddenly erupted. He grabbed a handful of rice from a small container nearby and scattered it on the windowsill grain by grain.

After pecking one grain, the pigeon could only watch helplessly. Having been teased several times, its wings flapped wildly, as if it wanted to rush over and snatch the rice.

Muruo laughed heartily.

“The pigeons I raise can bite people. If you continue teasing it like this, be careful you don’t get bitten.” Jingxian warned.

“Pigeons can bite people?”

“No matter how docile an animal is, once pushed to desperation, it will bite.”

These words only earned a chuckling laugh from Muruo.

“Don’t make me laugh. You expect me to believe this little fellow can bite people?” He hooked his finger at the pigeon’s pointed beak, then asked curiously, “These pigeons of yours are messenger pigeons, right?”

“Are they?” Jingxian didn’t know. “I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps.”

Who would have thought that Muruo would turn his head and ask him seriously, “Tell me honestly—you’re raising these messenger pigeons, could it be that you want to communicate with someone outside the palace?”

Uh!

Jingxian’s hand stroking the pigeon in his arms suddenly froze.

His eyes widened slightly.

He was clearly stunned for a moment.

Unable to speak.

Muruo studied him, as if discovering some new continent. He reached out and patted him, asking, “Why are you so nervous?”

Jingxian’s expression instantly returned to calm.

A faint smile.

“Am I nervous?”