“A concubine…” The response sounded less like an answer and more like a question. The speaker herself seemed lost in confusion, her gaze distant and dreamy in that murmur.

Listening to that voice so soft it could be dispersed by the steam, Feng Zhiwei felt there was something strange about how this woman spoke—or perhaps her own question had been inappropriate? She smiled, using her fingers to lift up that undergarment with a hint of mockery, frowning as she handed it back to Manchu, saying, “Trouble… Madam.”

As soon as the word “Madam” left her lips, she frowned again, that sticky feeling rising once more in her heart.

Hearing that “Madam,” Manchu’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing. Taking the silky-smooth undergarment, her fingers carefully traced over the finely embroidered figures.

This set of clothes… was hers.

A few days ago, His Highness had casually asked if anyone in the mansion was skilled at embroidery. She said she could perhaps manage it adequately. His Highness then ordered her to embroider a set according to the most fashionable market styles, ensuring it was done with special care.

At that time, His Highness reclined on a long couch, toying with a letter, his gaze drifting faintly toward the western side of the prince’s mansion.

His jet-black hair spilled down below the couch. Amid that long hair, his features were transcendently pure. For the ten-thousandth time, she was captivated and amazed by such elegance, and for the ten-thousandth time, she lowered her head, deeply concealing her infatuated gaze.

She knew that if she revealed even the slightest trace of longing or obsession, by tomorrow Manchu would never again be permitted within a step of him.

She accepted this task respectfully and distantly, her expression as cold as before. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the letter between his fingers—as expected, it was a confidential memorial from the current Minister Wei submitted to the Inner Cabinet. His Highness always paid special attention to Minister Wei’s memorials. When she attended to the study’s writing materials, Minister Wei’s memorials were always on top. She had grown accustomed to seeing them.

He didn’t look at her. Leaning back with bent knees, his slender fingers rested on his knee in a casual posture, yet his eyes carried a smile.

She heard him say softly, “Mm… the dress should be pale apricot, nothing too eye-catching. The cloak should use that crepe gauze from Jianghuai, the kind that’s translucent against lamplight. On a spring night with gentle breezes, amid the chaotic tide of human shadows and flower shadows, approaching through light gauze and shallow mist, treading on fragrance and shattered moonlight—that would surely make for a beautiful scene.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if imagining something. The smile in his eyes gradually spread to the corners of his lips, making even the large white camellia blooms on the screen opposite lose their color.

“…For the inner garment… though deep red is nice, it’s inevitably vulgar. Deep purple is too cold, smoke-blue not noble enough… let it be goose-yellow… that complexion paired with that color… like a bright moon adorning a white jade doll…”

He pondered slightly. His upturned chin flowed with smooth determination, like a length of white stone soaked in a thousand years of moonlight, splashing fine scattered starlight across the sky.

Suddenly turning back, he smiled at her.

Like wind passing over snow-covered mandala flowers, rustling down a ground full of crystalline brilliance.

She immediately blushed uncontrollably.

White jade doll…

Before being sent into Prince Chu’s mansion by the Crown Prince, she had been the leading courtesan of the Northern Thirteen Provinces. Because her skin was like snow and her voice smooth and fluid, she had always been called “Jade Doll.”

She also loved goose-yellow most.

She also lived in the western part of the mansion.

Suddenly recalling encountering Guard Ning a few days ago—that man had been sitting on the roof tiles with his knees drawn up, also gazing toward the west of the mansion. She heard him murmuring, “Just take her as a concubine and be done with it. Why all this fuss?”

Though Guard Ning hadn’t been much in His Highness’s favor lately and wasn’t even allowed to attend him personally, he was still the first person at His Highness’s side. What he said often represented His Highness’s intentions.

Could it be…

His Highness was famous for his romantic affairs throughout the Imperial Capital, but whether he was truly romantic outside, she didn’t know. Within Prince Chu’s mansion, however, things were absolutely not what they seemed. The concubines gifted by various princes couldn’t even enter His Highness’s inner residential quarters. Though His Highness would sometimes visit the concubines’ courtyards—such as her Xizhao Tower, which His Highness visited three or four times monthly—what happened after he came… better left unsaid.

She sometimes wondered if the other concubines were also… the same as her?

Perhaps.

Once she accidentally came upon His Highness at Jinhuan’s place. At that time, the two sat facing each other before the dressing mirror. His Highness was smiling as he painted her eyebrows and arranged her hair. The small tower’s silk curtains hung low, with a sprig of misty apricot blossoms leaning askew from the dressing table. In the mirror’s reflection, the woman was delicate and the man refined—truly an extremely beautiful and romantic scene.

Yet when she bowed down, she noticed the back of Jinhuan’s neck was rigid, blue veins protruding, her entire posture stiff.

The next day, Jinhuan disappeared.

Another time, the boldest and liveliest Xiuyun wore a set of Western tribute thin gauze and gold-thread skirt with a tight waist, exposing large expanses of snow-white skin. Pretending to sleepwalk and lose her way, she burst into His Highness’s sleeping chambers.

That night passed without incident. The next day Xiuyun was sent back to her own courtyard. Everyone assumed Xiuyun had won His Highness’s favor and would soon become a secondary consort. They were all restlessly eager to imitate her. However, nothing came of it, and Xiuyun withdrew from society, never emerging again.

Half a year later, she accidentally encountered Xiuyun and was shocked to find her sallow and emaciated, her expression dazed. When she tried chatting with her, Xiuyun’s answers were completely incoherent. Growing more puzzled, she walked away but then turned back to find Xiuyun staring blankly at the water, skipping stones across it, murmuring, “…vomited on me…”

That disconnected phrase made her break out in a cold sweat. Those skipping stones flew far across the water surface, creating brilliant arcs of light that gleamed for an instant before sinking—like these flower-like women, beautiful for a moment, then instantly annihilated.

Later, Xiuyun’s body floated in that same lake where she had skipped stones. She had committed suicide.

From then on, she never thought about certain things again. After the Crown Prince’s death, she had even less need to think. She only needed to do well herself—if this life was destined to be lonely, that was better than floating silently in the lake.

Last year, she had caught His Highness’s attention during a dispute with another concubine.

She had pushed that unreasonably troublesome, coquettish concubine into the water, laughing coldly amid the other woman’s screams. Turning around, she saw His Highness standing in the lakeside pavilion, watching her from afar.

At that moment, His Highness’s gaze was distant, with a smile tinged with reminiscence.

She thought she was doomed and knelt silently without a word. He watched her silently for a long time, saying nothing. She knelt in the mud, stubbornly refusing to speak. Her soaked hem and the cold moonlight penetrated to her bones. Faintly, a cold fragrance approached—his robe hem had already silently brushed past her side.

She heard his voice tinged with melancholy, that single soft phrase:

“No one is you…”

You? Who was “you”? Was he saying she was unique? Or?

She couldn’t understand, but from then on he treated her somewhat differently. The coldness and sense of boundaries she displayed seemed to please him greatly. Several things she had done were meticulous and reliable. He gradually gave her some measure of trust.

As time passed, she thought—perhaps before, they had all been wrong. For someone like him, simpering beauties offering gentle pleasures couldn’t capture his heart at all. Only those who could work for him could earn his regard.

Now… had she earned his favor?

She was so happy, so very happy.

On those nights, she worked by lamplight making the clothes, setting them aside during the day. She knew that everything he assigned, even if he didn’t specifically order secrecy, must be handled with care. It was precisely because she understood these things that she was allowed to approach him slightly.

During those nights spent making clothes, she didn’t feel tired.

Only felt boundless joy blooming densely, like these fine stitches of colorful silk thread, soft and continuous. The gentle sound of the needle piercing the brocade fabric bloomed into a five-colored, dreamlike web in the night.

Her heart was like a double-silk net, holding a thousand knots within. Each knot was a romantic dream, frozen in ice yet no less brilliant.

Her eyes reddened from working under the palace lamp, yet they rippled with smiling intent, with the feeling of making her own wedding dress.

She didn’t believe these clothes would be worn by anyone else. His Highness frequented the pleasure quarters outside, but never brought courtesans into the mansion even one step. His Highness had countless concubines in the mansion, but besides herself, none had truly gotten close to him even a fraction. Besides her, no other woman appeared at His Highness’s side.

His Highness always acted so circuitously… she smiled faintly, rubbing her numb fingers.

The inner garment was embroidered most carefully. At the happiest, most important moment of a woman’s life, she should naturally be adorned in the most beautiful undergarments, shown only to the one she loved most.

The woman embroidered on the undergarment was her pose as a leading courtesan taking the stage years ago. Though past glories would eventually fade, that dignified yet seductive bearing from her former life—she felt it would enhance bedroom pleasures.

She imagined brocade curtains and golden hooks with candlelight swaying red, reflecting on her jade-colored skin like rosy clouds reflecting on deep snow. At that moment, the scene at her chest would be like a beauty graciously inviting, making him deeply intoxicated.

That was her small flirtation behind her cold beauty. She hoped he would understand.

By today, he didn’t understand, but she did.

She had always thought there was no woman in his heart. Always thought no one could stand at his side. Always thought that being able to work for him meant being worthy of him.

Yet today, the moment she entered the door, seeing that set of clothes, seeing his expression when beside her, hearing his light yet concerned tone, looking at that woman—her appearance ordinary yet her bearing noble, her movements and conduct possessing an air similar to his, carrying that distant, noble quality of one long accustomed to high position. Yet it wasn’t the gentle nobility belonging to women, but rather that kind His Highness possessed—the nobility of one accustomed to directing court and country.

She suddenly understood everything.

He didn’t want assistants and subordinates.

He wanted a woman who could walk beside him or even conquer him, like a pair of dragons and phoenixes soaring in the heavens, dancing across the four seas, looking down upon the mortal world.

Those gentle, romantic pleasures and coquettish tricks, those seeming games of advance and retreat that women play—they couldn’t stir the naturally proud blood in a king’s body, couldn’t surge the heart tide frozen solid for many years.

So that was it… how it was.

She laughed bitterly.

Holding the intimate undergarment she had thought belonged to her, she moved forward.

In the most popular market style, this undergarment only covered half the chest, exposing half while concealing half. Connected to it were no fewer than dozens of silk ribbons that bound from the neck, under the arms, and around the waist. The goose-yellow ribbons crisscrossed intricately, binding delicately around the exquisite body, carrying a peculiarly masochistic seductive provocation, most able to stir the aggressive heat in men’s natural instincts.

Manchu placed the undergarment’s neck ribbon around Feng Zhiwei’s neck. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed her earlobe—smooth and clean, without ear piercings. But getting extremely close, she could vaguely see that where the ear piercings should have been seemed covered by something of the same color.

Manchu’s gaze flickered darkly, then turned away. Slowly, she pulled the ribbon tight.

The ribbon had a slip knot—pulling backward would loosen it, pulling forward—would create a strangling knot.

Fingernails stained with deep red polish slid along the ribbon, sliding to the back.

At her fingertips, a flick.

Feng Zhiwei suddenly smiled.

“These clothes… are yours, aren’t they?”

That sudden phrase floated in the still-undispersed steam. Manchu’s fingers froze. Slowly, disbelievingly, she raised her eyes.

Feng Zhiwei didn’t move, nor did she mind that the fine ribbon was wrapped around her neck, with a woman standing extremely close, long fingernails right beside her neck pulse.

“Your movements were very gentle and cherishing when you touched these clothes,” Feng Zhiwei said lightly. “Your fingertips have many marks from needle pricks.”

Manchu lowered her eyes. This woman hadn’t looked at her even once, yet just by listening to her movements and looking at her hands, she had already understood everything.

There was a type of person who, without doing anything, made you understand the distance between yourself and them—as deep and far as a chasm.

“Clothes, no matter how carefully or eye-catchingly made, are ultimately just clothes. They will eventually wear out, become old, be discarded and no longer remembered,” Feng Zhiwei said serenely and peacefully. “What endures in this world is only the heart.”

Manchu trembled again.

But Feng Zhiwei had already turned back with a smile, lightly taking the undergarment. Without Manchu’s help, and disregarding that these ribbons were meant to be tied all at the back, her fingers moved with extreme dexterity, quickly binding all those ribbons at her sides and waist. The goose-yellow ribbons formed a fine net at both sides of her waist, between which her skin showed like bright moonlight—moonlight adorning a white jade doll.

Manchu stared blankly, having to admit that this unique method of binding at the waist sides also looked beautiful—something she had never thought of.

This woman, behind her gentleness lay natural dominance, cautious yet not lacking in free spirit, unbound by convention, unshaken by turmoil—like a streak of rosy clouds, beautiful yet distant in the heavens. Only upon glancing up did one discover that radiance was captivating.

So this was the kind of woman he wanted.

After Feng Zhiwei finished dressing, she glanced sidelong at Manchu, sighing silently. Just as she was about to take the silk skirt, she suddenly heard movement behind her.

She froze, thinking: I rarely show kindness to enlighten you, and you still don’t understand?

Turning around, she was shocked to see that cold, beautiful woman kneeling on the water-splashed bluestone floor behind her.

Feng Zhiwei raised an eyebrow, a cold light flashing in her eyes, but she didn’t immediately step forward to help her up. While slowly putting on the silk skirt, she said, “Why is this, Lady Shi?”

Her form of address had already changed back. Manchu still showed no reaction. Suddenly prostrating on the ground, she kowtowed three times to her.

Then she said softly, “Miss, I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re his beloved… I beg you, I beg you… if you cannot follow him, then abandon him.”

This time Feng Zhiwei’s hands truly froze. She grasped the apricot upper garment, slowly turning around.

After a long while she said, “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“You do understand!” Manchu bit her teeth, her voice low but resolute, stabbing out like a nail, determined and without regret. “His Highness has been different these past few years from before. I originally thought it was worry over court affairs. Only today did I realize—it’s because of you… and can only be because of you!”

“Oh?” Feng Zhiwei smiled.

“Look at you,” Manchu smiled miserably. “You really do resemble His Highness… the same type of person… hiding all your thoughts in the deepest places, no idea can be dredged out. Even the world’s most soul-stirring romance cannot move your expression. Indeed it’s you… if he hadn’t fallen in love with someone like you, how could he have grown haggard and thin, with old injuries recurring frequently these past two years?”

Feng Zhiwei frowned, repeating, “Haggard and thin, old injuries recurring?”

“The thirteenth year of Changxi, winter. That year it snowed heavily. His Highness returned to the capital from Nanhai. For some reason, after returning to the capital he didn’t return to the mansion. Three days later Guard Ning brought him back. That time… he fell gravely ill, yet still struggled to handle court affairs, unable to show the slightest trace of fatigue. During that period he grew terribly thin. In such hot weather, he padded cotton into his single robe to prevent people from seeing that thinness…” Manchu smiled bitterly. “Last year when he went to the grasslands for the war against Da Yue, His Highness shouldn’t have been able to go as military supervisor. Minister Xin absolutely disagreed with His Highness leaving the capital. That night… the two had a huge argument. In extreme anger, Minister Xin threw a cup at him. His Highness didn’t dodge. The cup struck his chest and he immediately coughed up blood, frightening Minister Xin. I was present attending at the time. Minister Xin looked up at the heavens with a long sigh, tears streaming down, saying, ‘I saw you were ruthlessly self-controlled, worthy of great enterprise, so I wholeheartedly assisted you. Yet will you ultimately fail me?’ His Highness said, ‘Having already failed all under heaven, what harm in failing my teacher one more!’ Minister Xin angrily said, ‘If you fail all under heaven yet refuse to fail her, one day you’ll die at her hands!’ and left with a flick of his sleeves. Afterward, Minister Xin did not hesitate to personally request assignment to the Yuzhou main camp, so His Highness could go as military supervisor to the main camp. Again spending several days and nights without sleep arranging court affairs, with the mansion’s swift guards coming and going without pause for twelve hours transmitting news from the capital, only then daring to leave the capital…”

Feng Zhiwei remained silent, light shifting in her eyes. After a long while she smiled and said, “I don’t understand any of these things you’re saying.”

Manchu ignored her, continuing on her own, “Besides that phrase I heard at the time, everything else I reasoned out myself later. At the time I didn’t understand Minister Xin’s phrase about failing all under heaven yet refusing to fail her—whether it referred to a man or woman. I even thought it was a man. Who would have thought… it was you.”

She took a deep breath, tears welling in her eyes. “This past year, His Highness’s spirits have been heavy. His old injury actually hadn’t recurred for many years, but last year it kept troubling him. This year after returning from the border, his spirits improved somewhat. I was just rejoicing when that major case erupted. Those two days he didn’t return to the mansion, spending entire days and nights outside, running between the court, the palace, and various departments so much the guards’ legs nearly broke. They said that in a single day, he went to the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, the Censorate, and the Inner Cabinet—even managed to get into the palace once. After the guards rested in the evening, His Highness disappeared again, returning at dawn covered in night frost, even his eyebrows damp, his face terrifyingly pale… Helped onto the bed, he rested only half a watch before rising to go to the Ministry of Justice for the Three Judicial Offices’ joint trial. After he left, I tidied his bedding and found a blood-stained handkerchief at the foot of the bed—only then knowing his condition had recurred. I didn’t even know the cause. He didn’t say either. I hoped he could rest and recover properly—his old injury, with proper care, could heal. Yet he never rested, not for a moment… Every day I found those blood-stained handkerchiefs—at the foot of the bed, under the window, beneath the desk… and still haven’t stopped…”

Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes.

The steam gradually dispersed, condensing at the window edge, slowly dripping down like tears that couldn’t be suppressed.

The two women faced each other in silence, each sinking into their own tempestuous waves.

“I always thought there was no woman in his heart, always thought no one in this world was worthy of walking alongside him…” After a long while, Manchu laughed lowly, almost chanting, “…but it turned out the woman existed, only disguised as a man, deceiving the world… and deceiving… this mansion full of infatuated women…”

Feng Zhiwei’s face sank into the pale yellow lamplight, her features impassive both before and behind the mask, not moving a fraction.

After a long while she lowered her eyes, saying lightly, “You… already know who I am?”

Manchu looked at her, smiling miserably, holding her neck straight up, unhesitatingly saying, “Yes.”

All the abnormalities, the timing of Ning Yi’s changes, the secretly indicated connected events—all led this clever woman who constantly accompanied Ning Yi’s side to guess everything.

A woman deep in love possessed divine-like acuity.

A trace of pain flashed through Feng Zhiwei’s eyes. “Why did you do this?”

If she had wanted to act against her, there might not have been consequences. But knowing secrets she shouldn’t know, and then speaking them aloud—that outcome had only one end.

This Manchu was an extremely clever and perceptive woman. Why…

Manchu smiled strangely, prostrating on the ground, saying lowly, “Someone must say for him those things he doesn’t want to say.”

Feng Zhiwei trembled.

“Minister Wei, Marquis Wei,” Manchu’s smile was coolly desolate, swaying like crabapple blossoms under moonlight. “You with your jade hall and golden horse, renowned throughout the realm, you enjoy acclaim in court and country, beloved by the people. You’re truly above all others. As a woman you’ve stirred wind and clouds, toppling both the realm and His Highness’s heart. But you yourself have no heart.”

Feng Zhiwei’s fingers rested coolly on the clothing. The garment was thin silk, smooth and cool, yet her hands were several degrees cooler than the clothing. Spring night breezes penetrated through the window lattice cracks. Her clothing disheveled, she should feel cold, yet she forgot to continue dressing.

“You and he see each other nearly daily, spending dawn to dusk together. You and he have weathered storms together, experiencing these treacherous court waves together. You more than anyone should understand his suffering and difficulties, should understand that in this environment surrounded by enemies on all sides, even doing the smallest thing requires enormous effort. You should be able to guess how much he’s done for you. Yet you just don’t understand—is it that you truly can’t think of it, or you simply don’t want to?”

“A clear-headed person playing dumb is more detestable than a genuinely confused person,” Manchu sneered, hands braced behind her. “You don’t feel heartache for his suffering, but I do. I ache until I can endure no more. I ache until tonight when I saw you, I suddenly understood everything. Some things he’ll never say, so I’ll say them. Even if you want to play dumb, I won’t allow it. I’ll make you remember today’s events clearly and completely, unable to forget for all your life. I’ll make you think of tonight, think of me every time you’re cruel-hearted. Think that once in this world, someone begged you like this—love him, or let him go.”

Her voice grew lower and lower. Feng Zhiwei suddenly leaped up like a startled wind, reaching out to grab her shoulder.

Her hand landed on Manchu’s shoulder, the force not yet exerted, when Manchu suddenly pitched forward, falling into her arms.

Feng Zhiwei slowly lowered her head.

Manchu’s back.

A dagger gleaming with crystalline light bloomed amid a riot of vivid red, glaring brilliantly in her field of vision.

Manchu’s body had been half-hidden behind the bathing tub all along. Her final action was to send the dagger into her own heart from behind.

I’ll make you think of tonight, think of me every time you’re cruel-hearted. Think that once in this world, someone begged you like this—love him, or let him go.

She used her life, forever ending this night, to make Feng Zhiwei unable not to remember her.

Not to remember her, but to remember that final plea she made for the one she loved and felt heartache for.

Blood gushed out, spreading across the floor into a thick pool of blood. Feng Zhiwei stared blankly in that blood shadow, saying softly, “Why did you do this?”

This was the second time she said this phrase, her voice desolate.

“Approaching you… exposing your identity… I was already destined to die,” Manchu struggled out a pale smile. “I didn’t want… to die at his hands… if I must die… let it be worth something.”

Her body, in Feng Zhiwei’s hands, grew cold inch by inch, like moonlight retreating from the room’s darkness inch by inch.

Her life’s final words were:

“If ultimately you cannot love.”

“Please tell him that once someone loved him like this.”

Feng Zhiwei held the body growing cold in her arms, staring blankly in the darkness. For an instant her heart was completely blank, not knowing what to make of it, not knowing where it led.

A pile of brocade and luxurious clothes lay scattered before her, yet she only stared, in a chestful of shock and upheaval, surging and churning, scorching and forest-cold, forgetting her disheveled clothing, her outer robe still not put on.

There was a slight sound at the door. Only then did she awaken with a start. Her body spun and her arm swept out. The pale silver crepe gauze cloak rippled out a dreamlike, starlight-like color in the orange-yellow dim light, then leisurely settled over her shoulders.

Ning Yi stood at the door.

Hearing the sound, he pushed the door open to see silver light unfurling like moonlight. Within that moonlight, a jade-vase-like exquisite form flashed. Faintly visible amid the tender goose-yellow was skin as pure as countless moons, so eye-catching in its horizontal and vertical web that it caught one’s breath.

After that catch of breath came the heavy scent of blood.

His heart trembled. All amorous thoughts vanished instantly. He strode over, asking urgently, “You’re injured?”

But in an instant he stopped, seeing Manchu on the ground. Light flashed in his eyes.

Feng Zhiwei slowly raised her eyes to look at him, saying lightly, “She killed herself.”

Ning Yi silently regarded the corpse. After a long while he said, “She was very clever.”

A slight chill rose in Feng Zhiwei’s heart, knowing Manchu had indeed been very clever—being summoned tonight to attend her had been a death sentence from the start.

Perhaps Ning Yi wanted to test this “concubine’s” character, or perhaps felt she was too clever and knew too much, or perhaps… there were other thoughts. He had merely given a light order, and that beauty came resolutely, knowing the outcome yet resolutely dying, before death still doing everything she could for him.

In this world, as many people bore groundless hatred, just as many people loved without complaint or regret.

Half-wrapped in her cloak, Feng Zhiwei put on her outer robe. With a corpse lying before them, neither had any romantic mood left. Only after finishing dressing did Feng Zhiwei notice that Ning Yi had also changed clothes—an apricot-colored long robe, dignified and refined, with a particular air of pale moon and sparse clouds.

Standing together like this, though wearing others’ faces, merely their bearing made them seem harmonious and well-matched.

Feng Zhiwei suddenly reached out, removing Ning Yi’s mask, carefully examining his face.

Ning Yi was somewhat surprised by her sudden action. Touching his own face, he raised an eyebrow, “Did a flower grow?”

Feng Zhiwei examined him seriously for a long while, then nodded, “Grew a flowery bump.” Ignoring the half-laughing, half-exasperated Ning Yi, she put the mask back on him. After thinking, she said, “This matter is dangerous. As a prince of first rank, you shouldn’t personally venture into dangerous territory. See who you trust and have them go with me.”

“Even if you’re willing, I’m not,” Ning Yi smiled. “In this world, besides me, no one can pretend to be married to you.”

Like a considerate, gentle husband, he helped Feng Zhiwei out the door.

The faint scent of blood was scattered by the wind.

In the distance, the night watch drum sounded, breaking through the night’s confusion and chill.

Past the second watch.

The Second Prince’s night banquet would begin at the third watch.