Meng Tinghui sighed softly, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and offering it to her. “Don’t torment yourself like this. There are many good men in the world, even Captain Di from before…”

Shen Zhili slapped her hand away forcefully, her entire body trembling.

The horse bells jingled softly as a servant from the Shen household peeked out from behind the carriage. “Young Miss.”

Meng Tinghui withdrew her handkerchief, noticing that Shen Zhili’s expression was unlike her usual self, with tears rolling down her powdered face. She was momentarily at a loss for words, wondering what the Shen household servants might think upon witnessing such a scene.

Shen Zhili raised her sleeve to wipe her cheeks, took a deep breath in the cold wind, and then strode forward. Before boarding the carriage, she glanced back at Meng Tinghui, but ultimately said nothing, merely lifting the curtain and departing.

Someone from the Liao household approached to inquire if she would like a carriage to take her back to the officials’ residence.

Only then did she realize her hands and feet were ice-cold. She vaguely felt that she shouldn’t have known any of this, yet by some twist of fate she had learned it all. Feeling somewhat annoyed, it took her a moment to turn around and respond, accepting the Liao family’s carriage to return home.

The night market at West Jin Street had just opened, its lights as bright as day. The calls of vendors from various stalls carried from afar, and the night breeze mingled with the fragrance of fruits and meats, making her feel somewhat dazed.

The carriage passed over the East Market Bridge, beneath which the river flowed silently. Small ripples created mirror-like reflections of light, making the night seem even deeper.

The city was so prosperous, presenting a scene of peace and prosperity. Everyone on the streets was smiling; young girls and boys held hands, running and playing mischievously. Adults would buy them a gold-threaded plum candy from a night market stall, making them dance with joy.

She suddenly felt somewhat out of place.

She was just an ordinary person, yet she had never experienced such an ordinary life.

She didn’t know who her parents were and had never known family happiness. For so many years, she had lived alone with a solitary lamp, dwelling in isolation.

At the banquet in the noble mansion, although she had been smiling the whole time, in her heart she could never truly blend in with those privileged inheritors of illustrious family backgrounds.

In this vast world, whom could she rely on?

Even something like Shen Zhili’s willful drunkenness and tears over love was something utterly unreasonable and impossible for her.

She, a person who had nothing, had fallen in love with the one who held the entire world in his hands.

To shed tears because she couldn’t have him would be nothing more than an extravagant and useless act.

What right did she have to be heartbroken over not being able to have him?

The wind blew against the carriage curtain, and with a creak of its wheels, the carriage suddenly stopped.

Looking through the gap in the curtain, she saw they were near the examination compound outside the Vermilion Bird Gate. The bustling market was behind them now, and the road was wide but dark. A palace eunuch was stopping the carriage, saying: “By the Crown Prince’s verbal order, Left Remonstrator Meng Tinghui of the Chancellery is to immediately enter the Eastern Palace for an audience.”

The Liao family’s servant loosened the reins, unsure what to do.

Meng Tinghui had already lifted the curtain and alighted from the carriage. She sent him back, then said to the eunuch, “Please lead the way.” The eunuch walked swiftly, turning to proceed, and she followed behind. After passing the Imperial Street, she asked, “May I inquire how the Crown Prince knew I would pass by here?”

The eunuch glanced at her but didn’t answer, only quickening his pace.

Thus, they proceeded against the night wind directly through the palace gate. As they approached the Eastern Palace, she raised her hand to touch her hair bun, adjusted her robes, and then followed up the steps.

The hall inside was overwhelmingly warm.

As the door closed behind her, she bowed to the seated figure and said, “Your Highness.”

Ying Gua sat at an angle, one hand rapidly flipping through memorials on his desk. Without lifting his eyes, he asked, “Was the wine at the Liao household excellent?”

She knew he must have known she went to the Liao residence, otherwise he wouldn’t have had someone wait for her at the examination compound. She also knew his question wasn’t really about the wine but carried a deep tone of reproach as if her visit to the Liao household had been some improper act.

So she lowered her gaze and remained silent.

He asked again, “What is the role of a Left Remonstrator?”

Even if she were a fool, she would know that she must have somehow angered him. She stepped forward slightly and said softly, “To remonstrate, admonish, and advise. For any deficiencies in court governance, inappropriate appointments of officials from high ministers to lower ranks, or errors in the Three Departments or Hundred Offices, all may be corrected through remonstration.”

He finally raised his eyes to look at her. “You’ve been in the Chancellery for less than three months, and you’re already attending banquets at Liao Congkuan’s residence?”

She pressed her lips together and remained silent.

Suddenly, he raised his hand and threw a memorial at her feet, saying coldly, “I see that since joining the Chancellery, you no longer remember who you are.”

Without saying much, she bent down to pick up the memorial. Before even looking at it, she had a vague understanding of its contents. After a glance, she closed her eyes, the corner of her mouth curling into a cold smile.

The memorial was submitted by Attendant Censor Yan Sou from the Censorate, accusing her of being too close to Secretary Liao Congkuan of the Central Secretariat. Since remonstrating officials of the Two Departments were most forbidden from associating with Attendants-in-Waiting and Secretaries, he proposed that she be restricted from entering the Inner Court and other places of governance and that she should not be allowed to enter or exit the Central Secretariat through the main gate.

She closed the memorial, thought for a moment, then said, “The officials of the Censorate look for issues at the end of each month to draft impeachment memorials; otherwise, they cannot complete their ‘assignments.’ Your Highness should understand this better than this official. I assume Your Highness doesn’t intend to restrict this official according to this memorial’s recommendations, but this official doesn’t understand why Your Highness is so angry.”

His eyebrows rose sharply, his words rolling like a cold tide: “Count how many female officials there are at court. Who else has risen to the fifth rank within one year of entering court? You can enter and exit the Central Secretariat and Chancellery, and you have the right to remonstrate in the Inner Court. How many people in these two departments must be hoping for you to make a misstep, to watch you fall hard? Do you know this or not!”

Her expression remained calm as she nodded slightly, then said, “This official certainly knows. But what this official doesn’t understand is, that even if this official were to fall hard, that would be this official’s affair. Why is Your Highness angry?”

Ying Gua’s face stiffened, his brows furrowing tightly. After a while, he pushed away his desk and rose to walk down.

She stood with her sleeves drawn together, head lowered, watching those black boots approach and stop half a step in front of her. She couldn’t help but raise her eyelashes and say, “If Your Highness is angry because this official is close to Liao Congkuan, then follow Yan Sou’s memorial and restrict this official from entering the Inner Court and other places of governance. This official will not defend herself.”

Attendant Censor Yan Sou had been promoted by Gu Qin and had been part of the Eastern Faction for many years. Although this impeachment memorial criticized her for being too close to Liao Congkuan, its hidden meaning was directed at the excessive favor His Highness showed her. She did not believe that Yan Sou had drafted this memorial without someone’s instruction behind the scenes.

If even she was suspicious, how could he not be? Given his currently tense relationship with the senior officials of the Eastern Faction, he couldn’t possibly agree to Yan Sou’s request to restrict her from places of governance.

He remained silent, and she continued to hold her head slightly bowed, though the light in her eyes gradually cooled.

Although she served in the Chancellery and was quite close to the Crown Prince, she had never thought of truly opposing these Eastern Faction court officials—after all, they served the same court, and differing political views shouldn’t lead to factional strife. Yet she hadn’t expected these people to see her as someone easy to bully and oppress. Did they think one or two impeachment memorials would frighten her away?

Lost in her thoughts, she spoke again: “Your Highness, this official…”

His stern brows suddenly relaxed as he interrupted her: “You may withdraw.”

She couldn’t help but raise her head.

Just like last time, his anger came and went, his emotions changing as swiftly as the wind.

She began to wonder why his attitude toward her had been so variable these past few times, but she dared not think too deeply, fearing she might be presumptuous.

He was so much taller than her that when he looked at her, his eyes gazed downward. The unusual color in his pupils increasingly bewitched her heart, involuntarily bringing to mind her earlier thoughts in front of the busy market street.

Suddenly, she felt somewhat at a loss.

She coughed lightly and tried asking him, “This is not a major matter. Your Highness could have simply sent someone to reprimand this official. Why summon this official to the Eastern Palace at night?”

His expression changed slightly, but he didn’t answer, though his gaze never left her face.

Meeting his eyes, her voice instantly softened as she slowly said, “Your Highness, earlier on my way back, I passed over the East Market Bridge and saw that the night market at West Jin Street was very lively… I was thinking, how nice it would be if I could visit it with Your Highness.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, filled with a coolness that kept people thousands of miles away. His lips moved slightly as if about to speak.

Before he could, she raised her lips and quickly said, “This official was merely daydreaming, speaking nonsense. Please don’t rebuke this official again.”

Indeed, he did not reproach her. Instead, he fixed his gaze on her and slowly asked, “Why do you want to go with me specifically?”

She couldn’t bear his penetrating gaze, immediately lowering her eyes, her heart trembling. After a long while, she finally opened her lips and smiled, “This official would like to answer Your Highness’s question, but this official dares not violate the taboo of His Majesty and Prince Ping’s names.”

With his intelligence and thoughtfulness, he couldn’t possibly fail to understand her meaning. Yet he turned his head away and after a long time said, “You’ve had too much to drink at the Liao residence. Go back early to rest.”

She had anticipated this response, so she lightly acknowledged it, drew in her sleeves, bowed, and slowly retreated from the hall.

Outside, the night fog was thick, obscuring the sparse stars above and the abundant trees below. It soaked her heart, making it damp and heavy with deep emotions, each one touched with cold.

Inside the hall, the candles blazed brightly, illuminating the tightly closed high doors and the long memorial on the desk, casting his face in alternating light and shadow—two vermilion characters, each stroke domineering.

Xi (喜), Huan (欢).

She had said—

She liked him.