Ming Yue said, “Your Highness, today both Elder Wang’s and Prime Minister Qiu’s residences sent people to the Eighth Prince’s manor. They stayed for a full hour before leaving – this is the second time.”

Xuan Pei hummed acknowledgment, continuing to dip his brush in ink and write his characters with complete indifference. Chao Yang and Ming Yue exchanged glances. Though palace maids shouldn’t discuss their master’s affairs, Ming Yue was someone Xiao Shao had assigned to help Xuan Pei, while Chao Yang was also a palace veteran. The struggle for succession wasn’t merely a fight between two princes – it was a battle between two factions. When one side lost, all their supporters would fall with them. Thus succession struggles often ended in rivers of blood, with all the sacrifice and cruelty merely for that one position. As people beside Xuan Pei, the confrontation with Xuan Li was inevitable – that day of direct conflict would surely come. What needed to be done now was simply to gain more winning advantages before that day arrived. Xuan Pei’s attitude of detached indifference would seem unreliable and unworthy of following to those unaware of the situation. Compared to Xuan Li’s vast network of retainers and advisors, Xuan Pei’s methods of recruiting talent… should be said, he’d never actively recruited talent at all. Anyone willing to pledge allegiance could come; if they didn’t, so be it.

Look now – Elder Wang and Prime Minister Qiu had originally supported Xuan Pei secretly, but with the emperor’s current coldness toward both princes and Xuan Li’s growing faction, while Xuan Pei showed no movement and never offered any benefits to ministers who came to pledge allegiance, people gradually drifted away. Elder Wang and Prime Minister Qiu were themselves a major force, and by this appearance had already switched to Xuan Li. With more and more people leaving their side, Xuan Pei remained completely unworried.

“Your Highness,” Chao Yang felt somewhat anxious, “Elder Wang and Prime Minister Qiu were clearly your people, yet they still left like this. This is really too much like burning bridges after crossing.”

Xuan Pei smiled but remained unmoved. Though Ming Yue was also quite puzzled, she knew this youth was no dull person – his scheming and patience exceeded ordinary imagination. His actions must have purpose, so she said, “Your Highness seems completely unconcerned.”

Xuan Pei finally finished his last stroke, then took a long breath, set down his brush, and looked at Ming Yue: “What are your doubts?”

Xuan Li treated her more strictly than Chao Yang because she was Xiao Shao’s person, yet valued her more because many tasks required her execution – her nimble skills could accomplish things better. Hearing this, Ming Yue knelt down: “This servant doesn’t understand why Your Highness doesn’t actively recruit worthy talent, doesn’t entice those who come to pledge allegiance with benefits, and doesn’t understand why at this crucial moment, with the Eighth Prince moving frequently, Your Highness merely stays in his room without acting.”

“You have too many questions.” Xuan Pei looked at her slowly, playing with the thumb ring on his hand, then suddenly smiled: “But I’m in a good mood today, so I can answer you. However, for Xiao Shao’s person to not even know these basic things truly opens my eyes.” Xuan Pei always found ways to disparage Xiao Shao whenever he got the chance. Ming Yue had heard this often and merely took it as childish spite, not taking it to heart.

Seeing Ming Yue’s expression unchanged and showing no anger, as if he found this somewhat boring, Xuan Pei coughed and said, “Worthy talent cannot be actively recruited. Do you think if I were to contend with Xuan Li, what I most need supporting me are worthy talents?”

Ming Yue said nothing. At any time, whether during succession struggles or not, a wise ruler would always try to select and promote the capable. Talented people were naturally what rulers competed to win over. But Xuan Pei smiled faintly: “Wrong. Worthy talent, the reason they’re worthy is because they need a wise ruler’s appreciation. This isn’t a peaceful prosperous era, nor a time of good governance – this is a life-or-death struggle, a high-stakes gamble where one careless move could lose everything. I believe that while worthy talent is important, it’s far less crucial than ambition.”

“Ambition?” Ming Yue asked in surprise.

“Ambition.” Xuan Pei sat in his chair. His body was thin and not yet fully developed, looking somewhat awkward in the large chair, yet his long sleeves and robe hem flowed down from the chair and spread across the floor with endless languid grace. For a moment, this made Ming Yue feel dizzy, as if sitting before her wasn’t a youth not yet of age, but a mature, wise man.

“A thin, hungry wolf and a well-trained hunting dog,” Xuan Pei said calmly, “in peaceful times when there’s nothing to compete for, a clever hunting dog is certainly good. But when facing situations requiring robbery and murder, bringing along a thin hungry wolf would be much better. Your so-called worthy talents are hunting dogs, while ambitious people are hungry wolves. What I face is a battle of life and death, only blood-to-blood combat. Whoever is more ferocious is more beneficial to me. You can use meat to recruit hunting dogs, but you can never recruit hungry wolves with meat, because what they want is to destroy their opponents utterly.”

Ming Yue was silent for a while, then asked, “Hungry wolves are indeed fierce, but they might eventually develop bestial nature and devour their master.”

“There won’t be that opportunity.” Xuan Pei said.

Ming Yue was startled, hearing Xuan Pei’s voice from above: “After the prey dies, hungry wolves have no reason to exist – naturally one must find an opportunity to kill them.”

Hearing this, Ming Yue couldn’t help but tremble. She hadn’t expected this youth to be so decisive in killing, speaking so easily of disposing of loyal servants once they’d outlived their usefulness. Though these words were despicable and cruel, they were indeed the best beginning for an emperor’s path. That Xuan Pei had such courage already surprised her, but he also possessed such resolve. Xuan Pei glanced at the dazed Ming Yue: “Ambition is only used against enemies. If someone has ambitions toward my possessions and secretly covets them, their ambitions must be permanently eliminated.”

Chao Yang stood far to one side, naturally hearing every word of Xuan Pei’s speech, her heart tightening involuntarily as she forcibly suppressed the oppression in her heart. She’d always known this Thirteenth Prince was extraordinary, but hadn’t realized his intellect and methods had already far reached the level of a future heir apparent. His age was no longer a defect – it might even become excellent camouflage.

“Then why doesn’t Your Highness offer terms?” Ming Yue asked. “With terms, wouldn’t it be easier to recruit ambitious people?”

“How do you think my power compares to Xuan Li’s?” Xuan Pei asked.

Ming Yue was stunned, quickly recovering. She knew Xuan Pei was a person of clear understanding – lying would be pointless, so she honestly replied, “The Eighth Prince’s power is superior.”

“Exactly. His power is superior. If I offer terms and he learns of them, he need only raise them slightly and naturally succeeds. With his power, he can accomplish this. Those moved by my terms, seeing higher terms, would certainly follow. Conversely, waiting for offers, isn’t a priceless treasure better? Let them never know their own value, always have expectations for the future – they’ll work even harder. These people bought with priceless treasures can never be purchased by Xuan Li with tangible terms.”

Ming Yue listened with partial understanding, hearing Xuan Pei continue: “You think Xuan Li having more and more followers is good for him, but do you know this isn’t necessarily beneficial?”

Ming Yue nodded, then shook her head.

“The same stakes divided between two people brings much greater benefits than divided among ten. Xuan Li has many supporters, but the more people there are, when Xuan Li achieves his goal, each person’s share of credit becomes smaller. Conversely, I don’t have many supporters – if I succeed in the future, those people will receive greater benefits. In other words, those standing behind me are all driven by great interests. These people driven by great interests can never be swayed by Xuan Li’s small benefits. Because there are no set terms, they’ll develop gambling mentality from their own efforts. Have you ever seen someone quit halfway through gambling? Generally not. Everyone behind me has a gambling mindset, making them the most stable foundation.”

Ming Yue felt enlightened yet vaguely surprised and confused. She looked at Xuan Pei: “But Elder Wang and Prime Minister Qiu…”

“These are people driven by small interests. Even if they didn’t leave today, someday they’d bring me harm for immediate benefits. Better to kick them out early. Such short-sighted blades – I believe even if Xuan Li holds them, he’d find them unpleasant.” Xuan Pei suddenly thought of something and smiled again: “Moreover, do you think having more and more people behind Xuan Li is truly a good thing? I imagine Father Emperor’s heart is now full of anger. Imperial wrath isn’t something anyone can bear.”

“His Majesty…” Ming Yue was shocked. The emperor currently seemed indifferent to both princes, showing no strong reaction to establishing a crown prince. Could he still be secretly monitoring this matter?

Ming Yue thought, then said, “Since His Majesty is watching this, and Your Highness’s actions in Qing’an County are now widely criticized with endless impeachment memorials making His Majesty furious, perhaps harboring some displeasure toward Your Highness, shouldn’t we find ways to refute or seek opportunities to impeach the Eighth Prince?”

Before Xuan Hua’s birth, the emperor had greatly valued Xuan Pei for a period, often asking his opinions on court matters. When Qing’an County suffered severe snow disasters, the emperor had asked Xuan Pei, who wrote a memorial on disaster relief that was standard but had some novel elements. Though not overly brilliant, it was ultimately adopted by the emperor. Recently, news came from Qing’an County that Xuan Pei’s methods hadn’t been very effective. The Eighth Prince’s people immediately seized this opportunity, impeaching Xuan Pei for being young and playful, treating people’s livelihood as a joke. Naturally, among those ministers were veteran officials who’d served the emperor for years – each memorial was written with deep anguish, as if Xuan Pei had committed some unforgivable crime. Being impeached by so many people inevitably left a bad impression in the emperor’s mind. Ming Yue felt uneasy thinking of this.

“Arrange some people. Tell my supporters to also submit memorials for me.” Xuan Pei casually shook his sleeves.

“Also impeaching the Eighth Prince?” Chao Yang couldn’t help asking, her expression showing some joy. In her view, the Eighth Prince’s people had acted too dishonorably in kicking someone when they were down – they deserved fierce retaliation. But Xuan Pei shook his head: “Impeach me.”

“What?” Chao Yang cried out, then realizing her impropriety, quickly knelt to beg forgiveness. Ming Yue also frowned, not understanding Xuan Pei’s reasoning.

Xuan Pei smiled slightly, slowly moving his lips. Ming Yue was startled, then felt somewhat cold. She looked up again at the youth in the seat. This youth had half his body sunk into soft cushions, carelessly supporting his chin. Outside the window, sunlight opportunely dimmed, and half the youth’s body fell into shadow like a silent stone statue – solid and heavy, as if separated by layers of curtains, blue tiles and glazed roof, sitting on a high throne, lonely yet cruel as an emperor.

A true emperor.

He smiled: “Everyone follows Xuan Li. Let him see whose world this truly is.”

…

The sun quickly moved west. Early spring darkness came early, and soon the sky had darkened. Jiang Ruan and Qi Feng left a street-side shop and headed back to the prince’s manor. Perhaps because Jiang Ruan truly hadn’t been out for a long time, or perhaps because Qi Feng was naturally amusing, they got along very well. They’d not only visited Yi Bao Pavilion but also browsed other shops. They’d also checked the shops Xuan Pei had given her during the wedding. Jiang Ruan had no ulterior motives – though Xuan Pei had given these shops to her, she didn’t lack money now and only wanted to manage them well before returning them to Xuan Pei someday. If Xuan Pei ever truly ascended to that position, or even if he didn’t, his circumstances destined him to need these things more than Jiang Ruan. In Jiang Ruan’s eyes, Xuan Pei would always be her child.

After touring shops with Qi Feng, buying various things, and even eating at outside establishments, they returned quite late. When they reached the manor gates, it was already very dark. Qi Feng carried an armful of miscellaneous items Jiang Ruan had purchased today. To avoid suspicion, they hadn’t taken a carriage. For some reason, Jiang Ruan was in high spirits today and bought many things – it must be said that shopping without worrying about money was truly satisfying. This left all the heavy carrying to Qi Feng, who held everything in his arms. At the manor gates, Jiang Ruan smiled: “Give them to me. You’ve worked hard today.”

Qi Feng smiled ruefully: “Not hard at all. Whatever Third Sister-in-law commands, I wouldn’t dare refuse even if it meant working like an ox or horse. If I didn’t, I’d be scolded by Third Brother later.”

Jiang Ruan was startled. Qi Feng realized he’d misspoken and stood awkwardly in place, not knowing what to do. Jiang Ruan reached out to take the items from Qi Feng, but her foot slipped. Qi Feng hurried to support her, things scattering noisily to the ground, but he caught her. Qi Feng grasped Jiang Ruan’s hand, looking at the woman so close before him and feeling somewhat dazed.

His recent departure had been a form of escape, fearing he’d sink deeper. While Jiang Ruan could maintain casual composure, he absolutely couldn’t. This close contact left him momentarily stunned. Though this scene was an innocent accident, it appeared rather intimate to observers.

They heard a familiar “Young Master has returned!” accompanied by the sound of opening gates. Steward Lin poked his head out, couldn’t help being shocked seeing Jiang Ruan and Qi Feng, perhaps more shocked by their posture. Jiang Ruan looked up to see Xiao Shao standing several feet away, quietly watching them. In the dim evening light, with manor gate lanterns swaying, his expression was cast in unclear light and shadow.

Qi Feng stepped back, smiling: “Third Sister-in-law, be more careful next time. Well, since Third Brother has returned, I’ll go.” He waved gracefully and turned to leave.

Jiang Ruan glanced at Xiao Shao. Steward Lin’s expression was rigid. Jiang Ruan simply pushed through the gates, saying as she passed Steward Lin: “Please pick up those things and send them to my room. Thank you, Steward Lin.”

After Jiang Ruan left, Steward Lin instructed servants to collect the scattered items, intending to approach Xiao Shao with conciliating words. But Xiao Shao passed by wordlessly, his aura frighteningly cold – clearly not from outside frost and snow. Steward Lin shivered, feeling somewhat helpless. How had the usually distant Young Madam become so close with Qi Feng? Qi Feng’s behavior was also inappropriate – didn’t he understand the principle of not trifling with a friend’s wife? No, no, Qi Feng was the master’s senior disciple – he’d never do such unconscionable things. This must be a misunderstanding. But damn it, why did they have to encounter this at just this moment?

This was the first time the couple had met at night since their cold war. Usually when Xiao Shao returned at night, Jiang Ruan was already resting, naturally having no opportunity to speak. Who knew Xiao Shao would return so early today? After washing up, Jiang Ruan didn’t see Xiao Shao in the room. When she asked Tian Zhu, she was told Xiao Shao was in his study.

These past days, Xiao Shao had been busy with unknown matters – perhaps he truly had business in the study. But today’s incident made his retreat to the study seem strange. Probably Xiao Shao was sulking. Normally, Jiang Ruan would find such behavior somewhat endearing, but after the Jin Er and Lu Zhu incident, she instinctively assumed Xiao Shao didn’t trust her. No woman could accept her husband’s suspicion, especially regarding her virtue. Jiang Ruan was also stubborn – she merely hummed acknowledgment and went to bed, having no intention of talking in the study. Steward Lin, who’d hopefully waited outside all night for reconciliation and intimate companionship, waited in vain.

…

That night, above the Yao family residence in the capital, with heavy curtains and bamboo creating patterns, pleasant zither music drifted from Miss Yao’s courtyard. Every decoration in this courtyard was magnificently exquisite, displaying elegance everywhere. Even the carved koi sculpture by the pond strived for lifelike realism. This courtyard was designed by Miss Yao Niannian herself, and Lord Yao clearly demanded perfection from craftsmen, creating this ingeniously crafted garden that showed Yao Niannian was definitely Governor Yao’s treasured daughter, worthy of such grand efforts to fulfill her wishes.

The current zither music matched the courtyard’s scenery. Yao Niannian was extraordinarily clever and naturally skilled in music, chess, calligraphy and painting, though not deeply proficient. If Jiang Susu had been the capital’s talented woman, Yao Niannian was everyone’s ideal of the wisest woman. The wisest woman’s musical skills might not be the best, but inexplicably commanded more respect than mere talented women.

Two maids standing outside whispered: “This melody is truly beautiful. Why haven’t we heard Miss play it before?”

“Silly,” the other maid said quietly, “it must be her own composition. Our Miss is so clever – if this music reached outside, even the capital’s first courtesan would have to yield her title.”

“What nonsense! What status is a courtesan? How can she compare to our Miss?” the smaller maid said. “Recently Miss increasingly enjoys playing zither in the courtyard. I wonder why – could it be…” She thought of something and quickly stopped, her expression showing uncontainable worry.

In the courtyard pavilion, the woman’s long sleeves fluttered, her robes revealing intricate silk thread patterns that dazzled the eyes. A pair of slender hands danced over the strings, the melody like tinkling spring water, pleasant to the ear, seeming to penetrate the heart.

After a moment, the piece ended, but Yao Niannian didn’t withdraw her hands. Her jade-like fingers remained on the strings, her expression calm but her eyes containing something indescribable, as if able to see into one’s heart. Her lips curved slightly as she looked at the strings before her, seemingly thinking of other things. In the remaining ashes on the ground lay discarded practice papers – Yao Niannian always demanded perfection of herself. Within those ashes seemed to be other things too, but those unfamiliar handwritings mixed with the ashes, vanishing with the flames and leaving nothing behind.

Yao Niannian slowly spoke, unclear whether to others or herself: “Heart like stone, heart like stone. When two stones collide, both are damaged. Jiang Ruan, someone who guesses people’s hearts?” Her smile gradually took on contemptuous meaning: “Ridiculous.”

There were indeed people in this world who could manipulate hearts. She’d originally thought that since Jiang Ruan had such reputation, she must have special qualities. Now it seemed she was merely benefiting from false rumors – that woman was vulnerable and not worth fearing. Human hearts had many dark places, perhaps harmless normally, but when those dark places were infinitely magnified at the right opportunity, they could cause irreparable damage.

“The bait is cast, the small fish are hooked,” Yao Niannian extended one hand to lightly stroke the strings, but when she reached the last string, she suddenly applied force. The string made a sharp cry and snapped. Yao Niannian unhurriedly picked up the broken string, smiling lightly: “We can begin.”