Zhang Qingyue and his wife stepped past the screen and into the inner room, to find Zhang Rong sitting on the couch, the blanket pulled up over his legs.

Zhang Rong looked up at them, his face pale and drawn in the candlelight. The young man’s hair hung loose, his clear eyes damp, his gaze toward them dazed and rigid.

Zhang Qingyue’s heart softened at once.

This was, after all, the beloved son in whom he’d placed so much hope, and Zhang Rong was still so young—what could possibly be beyond teaching him?

Only that nightmare remained lodged in Zhang Qingyue’s heart like a thorn.

Zhang Qingyue said, “You’ve grown up now, spread your own wings—and when your own parents come to see you in person, you won’t even rise from bed or bow properly?”

His wife chided him. “You promised me you wouldn’t argue with Feiguang…”

Zhang Qingyue said, “I’m just having a discussion, not an argument.”

Sitting on the bed, Zhang Rong answered with perfect composure. “Father, Mother, I’m unwell and cannot rise.”

Beneath the blanket, his legs were being brushed, again and again, by the breath of the girl hidden there, growing hotter by the moment. He tried desperately to convince himself she was simply an ignorant little kitten—but what cat behaved like this?

He was a young man in the full vigor of youth, and she kept doing this to him…

Zhang Rong’s face alternated between flushed and pale.

His mother grew instantly concerned. “Didn’t you say it was just a chill? Would a chill really keep you from getting out of bed?”

Zhang Rong bowed with cupped hands, reassuring his mother while insisting he truly could not rise.

His mother, worried, moved to sit at the edge of the bed; Zhang Rong recoiled in alarm. He was terrified she’d discover the person curled against his knees, but his mother took this reaction as a sign her son was upset with them.

Wounded, his mother turned back to her husband, her eyes full of reproach.

Zhang Qingyue coughed.

Zhang Qingyue said, “As for the matter of the Princess—are you truly unwilling to budge even one step?”

Zhang Rong said softly, “Father, as Grand Tutor, you need only concern yourself with His Majesty’s studies. Why must you hound a young girl so relentlessly? What harm could there possibly be in her reading a bit more?”

Zhang Qingyue said, “The Emperor is young, and so is she! The Emperor takes nothing seriously, while she is far too eager—that is exactly the problem!”

Zhang Rong said, “A girl, raised deep within the palace, with a frail mother above her who understands nothing of state affairs, and an unruly, mischievous younger brother below her, the entire court held hostage by powerful ministers… what would you have the Princess do?

“She has no other agenda. She only wants to shoulder some of her brother’s burden. If you or I were in her position, we’d have no choice but to do the same.”

Zhang Qingyue laughed coldly.

And curled against Zhang Rong’s legs, hidden beneath the scorching blanket, Li Lingge listened to every word he spoke.

Distantly, the young man’s clear, calm voice seemed to drift from somewhere far off, like a song carried across the river on a spring day.

Li Lingge listened quietly to that spring-borne voice.

Later, Li Lingge would think that her improper feelings toward her teacher must have begun that very night.

As she huddled against her teacher’s knees, listening to Grand Tutor Zhang scold her, then hearing her teacher defend her in turn, her eyes grew faintly damp:

Who else had ever spoken up for her?

Her mother listened only to the ministers; her brother, too young to understand anything, and even her own marriage lay beyond her control.

Who would ever speak up for her?

Only Zhang Rong.

Zhang Qingyue continued speaking at length with Zhang Rong.

Zhang Rong refuted him point by point.

Zhang Rong simply couldn’t understand it: “Shouldn’t His Majesty be the one Father, as Grand Tutor, is most concerned with? Why does Father always fix his attention on the Princess instead?”

Zhang Qingyue blurted out, “Because she has feelings for you—”

He’d meant to say that Li Lingge harbored improper designs on him, but looking into his son’s clear, puzzled eyes, he felt suddenly embarrassed, unable to get the words out.

To be so consumed with doubt and worry over a single dream really was rather absurd.

Zhang Qingyue thought: perhaps the Princess isn’t at all like that vile figure from my dream…

And yet, in reality, every aspect of the Princess matched that woman who eventually ascended the throne in his dream, so precisely!

At last, Zhang Qingyue said, “So, you still intend to keep teaching her?”

Zhang Rong said yes.

Zhang Qingyue said, “And if she marries?”

Zhang Rong paused, then said, “If the Princess herself tells me she wishes to marry and no longer wants to study under me, I’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

He thought of those obscene, illicit picture books the Princess had been reading, thought that if Li Lingge grew more drawn to worldly romance between men and women, could he really bind her to himself, refuse to let her marry?

Something flickered in Zhang Qingyue’s eyes—clearly he’d begun scheming something else entirely.

After some thought, Zhang Qingyue’s tone softened. “Very well. I won’t interfere with your teaching the Princess any further. But I have one condition.”

Zhang Rong asked what it was.

Zhang Qingyue said, “Starting tomorrow, you’re to begin meeting prospective brides from the great clans.”

Zhang Rong was taken aback.

Even his mother, listening nearby, was startled.

Because just last year, Zhang Qingyue had proudly declared that no woman in the world was worthy of his son, that there was no rush to settle Zhang Rong’s marriage, that it could wait until he’d come of age.

And now Zhang Qingyue was pushing his son to marry?

To resolve the awkward situation, and above all to get his parents out of the room as quickly as possible—since his legs, brushed by the girl’s breath, kept growing hotter and hotter, and any longer like this would surely betray something improper—Zhang Rong agreed to his father’s terms.

His parents offered a few more words urging him to rest well, then left, thoroughly satisfied.

The moment the door closed, Zhang Rong threw back the blanket, and a boneless little “kitten” emerged from beneath his knees.

After leaving the palace, she’d changed into simpler, more elegant makeup and clothing, but after huddling under the covers for so long, the pins in her hair had all come loose, askew every which way.

Having pressed against his legs, hidden for so long in that cramped, airless space, now that she’d suddenly crawled back out, her cheeks were flushed a deep red from the heat, her eyes glossy as though brimming with water, her lips bitten to a vivid crimson.

Disheveled. Dazed.

Li Lingge gazed at him in a daze, like some peach blossom spirit come to life, her look at him entirely inappropriate for the moment.

Zhang Rong’s heart beat a little faster.

He forced himself to steady his mind.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but she looked, in this state, nothing like a noble Princess Imperial, and rather like—like the delicate beauty from classical poetry, “helped up by her maids, too faint with tenderness to stand on her own.”

Zhang Rong lowered his head, not daring to look further.

But Li Lingge threw herself at him.

He hastily raised a hand to stop the overwrought Li Lingge.

Clinging to his stiff, burning arm, the overwrought Li Lingge tilted her face up and murmured, “Teacher, I won’t marry, I’ll keep studying under you, don’t send me away, don’t give up on me, please?”

Zhang Rong’s heart raced even more chaotically.

But he possessed the composure expected of a great clan’s son.

He steadied himself, forcing his attention elsewhere, refusing to keep staring at the Princess’s disheveled state.

Zhang Rong nodded at her. “If you apply yourself to your studies, naturally I won’t send you away.”

Li Lingge blinked up at him.

She thought: surely not—this man really is this proper? Even in private, this is all he gives me, not even a hint of a smile?

Was he truly some old man reincarnated?!

Zhang Rong said, “You just heard my father’s words yourself. He’s letting you off, for now. If you keep reading that kind of trashy material, I’ll wash my hands of you, and you’ll have no choice but to marry.”

Li Lingge didn’t necessarily think marrying would be so bad.

But she did, vaguely, sense that marrying would cost her a great many possibilities.

She beamed at him, the picture of obedience. “I won’t marry, I don’t want a consort, I only want to study with my teacher.”

She even raised her hand and swore an oath. “I’ll never look at those trashy picture books again!”

Inwardly, she pulled a face: as if.

She thought: I just need to make sure you never catch me at it. I am the Princess Imperial, after all—hiding a few books is nothing at all.

Zhang Rong looked at her, helpless.

He could tell this was no easy, obedient Princess.

But still…

He said nothing about the cunning glint he’d caught in her eyes.

A lively, mischievous Princess was, after all, far more endearing than one who’d given up on everything and resigned herself to marriage.

After Li Lingge finished making her promises to Zhang Rong, curiosity got the better of her. “Teacher, are you really going to start meeting prospective brides? What’s a matchmaking banquet even like? Are you going to get married?”

Zhang Rong glanced at her, expression stern. “What business is that of yours?”

Li Lingge said, “None at all, I was just asking.”

Zhang Rong said, “Have you finished the assignment from the other day? Where have you gotten to in your reading review? The two of you must have had quite a merry time these past few days without me—did you drag His Majesty along to skip lessons…”

Li Lingge immediately clapped her hands over her ears. “I take it back, I take it back! Teacher, stop lecturing me!”

A flicker of a smile rose in Zhang Rong’s eyes.

Li Lingge, who’d been privately grumbling about his rigidness, happened to glance up just then and caught that flicker of a smile.

It was like starlight shifting, like a silver vase suddenly shattering—she could almost hear the sound of stars falling into a lake.

Li Lingge stared, transfixed.

But his smile vanished as quickly as it had come; catching her staring, he resumed his usual courteous, composed, tranquil bearing.

Dazed, Li Lingge let herself be shooed off the bed.

Her heart pounded furiously.

She couldn’t stop thinking about that smile.

…Why wouldn’t he smile at her like that?

Li Lingge said softly, “Teacher, I’ll go now, I’ll have Little Sister Wenbi take me out. Once you’re well again, I’ll see you back at the palace.”

She turned toward the door.

Zhang Rong opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, then finally sighed and gave in. “Your Highness, wait a moment.”

Li Lingge, still dazed, stopped in her tracks, and watched, bewildered, as Zhang Rong rose from the bed and walked toward her. Tall and graceful as a solitary crane, each step he took toward her sent the young Princess’s heart fluttering wildly.

He stopped before her, bent his head, and reached out to touch her hair, adjusting something.

Zhang Rong said, gentle. “Look up.”

Li Lingge tilted her face up to look at him.

He bent down and straightened her tousled hairpins, then fixed her disheveled robes. He couldn’t let Li Lingge leave his chambers looking like this—couldn’t give anyone room for misunderstanding.

But he never noticed the way the girl gazed up at him.

Once he’d finished, he stepped back two paces and looked her over. “Your Highness may go now.”

Li Lingge bit her lip, gazing at him for a long moment, then gave an embarrassed little laugh, waved to him once more, and went off to find whoever was waiting to escort her out.

From that moment on, a hazy, half-formed dream began to take root in Li Lingge’s heart.

She never noticed it happening.

She only knew that seeing Zhang Rong made her happy.

Zhang Rong soon returned to resume teaching the two siblings. Li Mingshu wailed endlessly, while Li Lingge was overjoyed beyond measure.

Li Mingshu continued his battle of wits against his tutor, still scheming to drive him off; Li Lingge, meanwhile, settled down and devoted herself to whatever books Zhang Rong assigned her.

She’d always been a diligent student, and now she found herself looking forward, day and night, to the hours when her teacher came to the palace to give his lessons.

While Li Mingshu kept as far from Zhang Rong as possible, Li Lingge racked her brains trying to find ways to sit close beside him. She only had to watch him correct her assignments, chin propped in her hand, gazing at his profile, to feel utterly absorbed.

And Li Lingge kept right on reading her romance novels.

She simply made sure Zhang Rong never found out.

The little Princess, outwardly compliant while secretly defiant, had her first dream about Zhang Rong—and it startled her badly.

In the dream, Zhang Rong held her in his arms, eyes full of warmth, and bent to kiss her.

Waking with a start, the Princess clutched her blankets, trembling all over: how could she have had such a dream! How could she defile her own teacher this way!

How could she harbor such feelings for her own teacher!

She felt so filthy.

Feeling utterly disgraced, Li Lingge went, hesitant and troubled, to wait for her teacher at the Vermillion Phoenix Terrace. When she saw Zhang Rong climbing the steps once more, the Princess propped her chin in her hand, watching him without blinking.

She realized her teacher truly was remarkably fine-featured and graceful.

Ordinarily she only ever saw him stern and unsmiling, but she noticed now how fair his skin was, how thick and long his lashes, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow. Bathed in the morning light, seated where dappled tree-shadows danced around him, sunlight fell wavering across him as he sat before the desk, leafing through scrolls, arranging the day’s lessons—soft, gentle lines seemed to wrap around his whole form, or perhaps he’d simply always been this gentle by nature. He was that fleeting ray of spring sunlight one could never quite catch in one’s hand…

Li Lingge gently reached out a hand, tracing the outline of Zhang Rong’s silhouette in the empty air.

Zhang Rong suddenly turned to look at her. “Isn’t Your Highness reviewing your lessons?”

Li Lingge withdrew her hand.

She smiled at him. “Right away.”

She gradually grew less afraid of him, gradually learned how to handle this teacher of hers.

Li Lingge thought: harboring feelings for my teacher probably isn’t such a terrible thing. He’s just so handsome, after all—there’s no harm in looking a little more.

Li Lingge relaxed, and let herself indulge in her fondness for Zhang Rong.

Zhang Rong soon noticed exactly what was on Li Lingge’s mind.

With his family pushing so many prospective brides on him, even a man as inexperienced in romance as Zhang Rong had begun, inevitably, to take notice of such things.

The first time Zhang Rong caught Li Lingge stealing glances at him while her back was turned, he was utterly stunned, momentarily at a complete loss.

He didn’t know how to handle it.

If he wanted to put an end to the Princess’s romantic fantasies, the obvious solution would be to reduce contact with her. But Li Mingshu was so unmanageable, and every other Grand Tutor had already failed in turn. Zhang Rong had previously fought to secure Li Lingge’s chance to study; if he now refused to teach the Princess, others would likely take it as a bad sign for her standing.

So Zhang Rong chose silence instead.

In that silence, he worked hard to widen the distance between them, worked hard to grow more distant with Li Lingge.

But this process proved deeply tormenting—

She laughed and chatted, utterly unbothered by his coldness, trailing after him all day, calling out “Teacher, Teacher” in the sweetest of tones; whenever she found the chance, she’d try to press close beside him, tried to catch his hand, tried to sneak in an embrace…

Zhang Rong evaded every attempt, relying on his martial skill and quick reflexes.

But he too grew utterly exhausted—not only did he have to teach, he also had to constantly guard against the little Princess’s designs on him.

He didn’t dare let anyone else learn of the Princess’s feelings. If his father found out, he’d only push once again to marry Li Lingge off—his father would never allow the Zhang family to become entangled with the Princess in any way.

And this exhausting process brought Zhang Rong another kind of sensation entirely, one at odds with the composure he’d cultivated over years—

He knew she liked him.

He knew about the secret fondness she’d developed for him.

He saw it plainly, and yet had to pretend he knew nothing at all.

One evening, Zhang Rong finished his lessons, thoroughly exhausted.

Li Mingshu lay sprawled across the desk, already fast asleep, dead to the world. The young Emperor had defended himself earlier, insisting he was still young and needed his rest, and Zhang Rong hadn’t bothered arguing with him today.

Zhang Rong only wanted to leave the palace as quickly as possible.

Li Lingge’s sweet voice sounded beside him. “Teacher!”

Zhang Rong’s elbow, propped against the desk, went rigid.

Li Lingge settled down beside him; he pretended to be adjusting his sleeve, pulling his elbow back so her hand couldn’t land on it.

Entirely unbothered, Li Lingge only sighed wistfully. “Teacher, tomorrow’s your day off, isn’t it? You won’t be coming to teach?”

Zhang Rong nodded.

His heart relaxed—finally, a whole day free of the little Princess.

Li Lingge said, pleading, “But I’ll miss you, Teacher. I’m so eager to learn, I want to study with you every single day.”

Zhang Rong thought: surely that’s not really it.

He said, expression neutral, “If Your Highness is so eager to study, I’ll simply leave you more assignments.”

Li Lingge choked.

But she kept right on smiling. “That’s not what I meant. I mean—Teacher, why don’t I sneak out of the palace tomorrow and come find you?”

Zhang Rong startled.

Zhang Rong said, “Find me for what?”

Something flickered in Li Lingge’s eyes. “Um, well… to study, of course.”

Zhang Rong urged her, “Being diligent is admirable, but you also need rest. Your Highness needn’t push yourself so hard.”

Li Lingge said, righteous, “This is just how eager I am. Does that worry you, Teacher?”

Zhang Rong said, calm, “I’m merely offering advice.”

Li Lingge seized the opening at once. “If Teacher doesn’t want me to be so eager, then tomorrow, when I leave the palace, why don’t you take me out to have some fun instead?”

Zhang Rong said, “I never engage in idle amusements.”

Li Lingge’s eyes crinkled with a smile like peach blossoms. “Perfect, then—we’ll match perfectly.”

Zhang Rong said, “I’m not familiar with anything outside my own household.”

Li Lingge said, “Exploring together is half the fun.”

Zhang Rong said, “I intend to rest at home tomorrow.”

Li Lingge said, “I’ll grind your ink for you, keep you company while you work, I won’t disturb you at all.”

Zhang Rong: “…”

At last he lifted his eyes, looking directly at her.

He sighed.

Zhang Rong said, “You’ve latched onto me, haven’t you?”

Li Lingge burst out laughing.

Li Lingge teased, “You’ve stopped calling yourself ‘this humble servant,’ haven’t you?”

Li Lingge declared, “Either way, I’m going to leave the palace, and I’m going to go find you at the Zhang estate. If you won’t have anything to do with me, I’ll just let Grand Tutor Zhang catch me there instead, and let him scold me for being ‘reckless,’ ‘improper,’ ‘without precedent for any Princess wandering off on her own like this.'”

Zhang Rong looked at her.

Something suddenly stirred in his mind—an idea had come to him.

Zhang Rong said, “As it happens, I won’t actually be at home tomorrow.”

Li Lingge said, “Ha, you were lying just now!”

Zhang Rong neither confirmed nor denied it. “Tomorrow I’m attending a matchmaking banquet.”

Li Lingge went still.

Zhang Rong said, “If Your Highness wishes to follow along, then follow along.”

Li Lingge smiled. “Teacher, do you think I wouldn’t dare?”

He caught something odd in her tone, faintly cold.

He turned to look at her, but she’d already resumed that same carefree, sweet expression of a girl without a worry in the world, smiling at him. “I think you’re lying to me, but I’ll go anyway.”

Fuming, Li Lingge nonetheless chose to slip out of the palace the next day to find Zhang Rong.

Zhang Rong, as it turned out, hadn’t lied to her at all—he really did bring her along to a matchmaking banquet. Since she couldn’t reveal her true identity, Zhang Rong invented a cover story for her, presenting her as a neighbor’s cousin.

Li Lingge sat at the banquet, seething with resentment as she watched so many young women cast admiring glances at Zhang Rong.

At the banquet, she also overheard some gossip: word was that the Zhang family wanted to form a marriage alliance with the Shen family. For a great clan like the Zhangs to extend an olive branch to a military family like the Shens was more than the Shens could have hoped for.

The Shen family’s difficulty was that they had no daughter of suitable age… but they were already combing through the family register, searching every distant branch of the clan for some girl who might serve as the bride for this alliance.

From the way people spoke of it, the Shen family had apparently already found someone…

Li Lingge’s eyelid twitched: this could not be allowed to happen.

The Zhang family was already this powerful; if they joined forces with a military clan of the Shens’ standing besides, the threat to the imperial house would become far too great. With the Dowager utterly powerless and her brother still so young, if the Zhang family kept expanding its power like this… the court would become the Zhang family’s own private domain, and she and her brother would truly have no way out.

The Zhang family’s rapid expansion had to be stopped.

It really was a curious thing.

In teaching Li Lingge, Zhang Rong had held nothing back, hadn’t limited her to simple poetry and verse. Whatever coursework he assigned the Emperor, he held Li Lingge to the very same standard.

Because Zhang Rong was, after all, a man.

And Li Lingge had never once claimed she didn’t understand, or didn’t want to learn any of it.

Without meaning to, Zhang Rong had cultivated in Li Lingge a sharp instinct for statecraft—and it was this very instinct that set in motion everything that followed.

Li Lingge decided to sabotage the marriage alliance between the Zhang and Shen families.

Her own position was weak; her only real advantage lay in the fact that the intended groom was her own teacher, Zhang Rong.

Even more to her advantage: she liked him.

Li Lingge thought: if she could lure her teacher down from his pedestal, seduce him into loving her, get him to refuse the marriage alliance, then the Zhang family’s rise to power would be stalled for a time, and her teacher would become hers as well.

If she could truly be with her teacher, if he were willing to come down to her level for her sake, that would truly be… the most exquisite joy in the world.

And so Li Lingge began, with increasing deliberateness, to hint at her affections toward Zhang Rong.

Zhang Rong found this a headache—he’d thought that bringing her to the matchmaking banquet would make her realize the distance between them, make her give up on him.

Li Lingge pressed the matter. “Teacher, there’s something I want to tell you…”

Zhang Rong thought: she can’t be allowed to say it.

He shot a burst of inner energy toward the drowsy, yawning young Emperor, waking him at once; the little Emperor leapt up, shouting, “Who hit me! I’ll have him killed!”

Li Lingge puffed her cheeks out.

Once again, she’d lost her chance to confess to her teacher.

It seemed she was always losing her chance to confess to him.

Every time she found an opportunity to speak privately with him, some careless maid would appear, or a guard would show up, or her brother would suddenly cause a scene, or the Zhang family would suddenly have some urgent matter to attend to…

The most absurd instance of all: just as she was about to finally get the words out, a cat leapt down from a tree, straight into Zhang Rong’s arms, cutting her off completely.

Li Lingge nearly burst into tears.

In autumn, the court held its autumn hunt.

Though the young Emperor obviously couldn’t draw a bow on horseback, at least he was excused from lessons, and Li Mingshu was more delighted than anyone. Enthusiastically pushing for a grand autumn hunt, Li Lingge, harboring her own private motives, egged her brother on.

The young Emperor’s words did carry some weight, after all.

Li Lingge accompanied them out to the hunting grounds beyond the capital.

Zhang Rong was there too.

Li Lingge thought: with no lessons to worry about now, surely I’ll finally find a chance to confess to my teacher.

That morning, Li Lingge waited outside Zhang Rong’s tent.

Zhang Rong emerged, and Li Lingge said, “Teacher, there’s something I want to tell you…”

A guard approached. “Young Master, it’s your turn to compete in the hunting contest with the other young men.”

Li Lingge, startled, said, “Teacher, you have to compete too?”

Zhang Rong answered, “I am, after all, my father’s only son.”

As he spoke with the guard, he glanced back at Li Lingge. “Your Highness, what did you want to see me about?”

How could Li Lingge possibly interrupt his official duties?

She had no choice but to shake her head.

By midmorning, Li Lingge finally caught Zhang Rong on his return.

She hurried after him, offering water and a cloth, praising him sweetly. “Teacher must have been magnificent out there!”

Zhang Rong said, “Oh? You watched?”

Li Lingge stammered, “Well, no…”

She’d been too busy rehearsing her confession in her head to watch anything at all.

Zhang Rong smiled faintly.

Li Lingge said, “I wanted to tell you—”

A young woman came rushing over, breathless. “Young Master, Young Master! We’ve met before, we know each other…”

Li Lingge was jostled aside by the sturdy young woman, nearly stumbling. Fortunately Zhang Rong caught her in time, sparing the little Princess from bursting into furious tears.

The young Princess glared, watching the woman chatter on eloquently, trying to claim acquaintance with Zhang Rong.

Zhang Rong glanced at her, silently asking: what was it you wanted to tell me?

Li Lingge, thoroughly stifled, said, “…I’ll tell you later.”

Argh!

After listening to a total stranger confess her feelings to him, how could Zhang Rong possibly have the mood to hear another confession right after!

The atmosphere was utterly ruined!

That afternoon, still shaken, Li Lingge had the guards clear the area and sent for Zhang Rong.

Bashfully, Li Lingge began, “Teacher, I feel extremely…”

A guard called out urgently from outside. “Trouble! His Majesty has an upset stomach, Your Highness—”

Li Lingge: “…”

Zhang Rong said, “Let’s go see to him.”

That evening, Li Lingge dined together with Zhang Rong.

Li Lingge glanced left, glanced right—there seemed to be no one else around. She’d had people watching the Dowager’s quarters, instructed the guards near her brother, and confirmed through Little Sister Wenbi that nothing was amiss at the Zhang estate either… Li Lingge had even had the guards surround the tent, just to guard against any careless intruder.

Cheeks flushed, Li Lingge said, “Teacher, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Zhang Rong said, calm, “Let’s eat first.”

Just as Li Lingge was about to protest, her usually reserved, composed teacher moved first, stuffing a piece of pastry straight into her mouth.

Li Lingge: “…”

Too embarrassed to spit it out, yet unwilling to refuse her teacher’s occasional gesture of care, she had no choice but to swallow the pastry.

She tried to speak again.

Zhang Rong said, “One shouldn’t speak while eating or sleeping.”

Li Lingge: “…”

Her teacher really was insufferable!

He was doing this on purpose, surely!

The thoroughly stifled Princess finished her silent meal, then opened her mouth—and let out a small burp.

Instantly mortified, she clapped a hand over her mouth, on the verge of tears, gazing at Zhang Rong with damp eyes.

Privately, Zhang Rong couldn’t help but laugh, finding her flustered, wronged expression rather endearing.

But he still had to reject her, mercilessly.

And so, glancing warily left and right, Li Lingge tried once more. “Teacher, there’s something I need to say…”

Zhang Rong sent a burst of inner energy flying.

A guard outside, dozing against a post, yelped and stumbled straight into the tent.

The guard, flustered, apologized profusely for his lapse.

Li Lingge choked back her fury.

She was on the verge of fainting from sheer frustration.

That night, Zhang Rong was once again occupied discussing state affairs with the other ministers.

Li Lingge lingered outside, waiting.

She waited until the ministers had all left, refusing to give up, determined to go in and see Zhang Rong.

She found the young man slumped in exhaustion, eyes closed, forehead propped against one hand. The desk before him was piled high with memorials and books—the siblings’ coursework, along with a great mountain of official business.

Li Lingge’s heart softened.

She bent down, gazing at his closed eyes for a long moment, then whispered, “Go to sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

She turned and left the tent.

Behind her, the young man opened his eyes, watching her departing, dejected figure in silence.

The next day, Zhang Rong emerged from his tent, startled to find Li Lingge waiting right outside.

Dawn hadn’t yet broken; the little Princess, having come to catch him, had grown so drowsy waiting that she’d curled up outside his tent, wrapped in a cloak, fast asleep.

The Princess’s maid glared at the young Grand Tutor. “Our Princess said she’d rest a while, and that when you came out, this servant was to wake her.”

Zhang Rong said, “No need to wake her.”

The maid said, “Hmph. Our Princess is clever—she anticipated exactly this. She said, ‘Teacher won’t have the heart to wake me.’ Our Princess truly understands you well.”

Zhang Rong paused, faintly startled.

He lowered his eyes, and in the dim morning light, studied the small figure curled up asleep beneath the cloak.

His gaze was gentle, and yet conflicted, faintly dazed.

The maid said, “Here—something our Princess left for you. She said if you didn’t want to wake her, you should read this note instead. She has something to say to you.”

Zhang Rong hesitated, not taking the note.

The maid threatened him. “Our Princess said, if you won’t take it, I’m to read it aloud for everyone to hear!”

Zhang Rong’s eyelid twitched.

Steeling himself, he took the note.

He’d already braced himself—surely the note would be filled with declarations like “though mountains crumble and heaven and earth merge as one” and other such flowery professions of love. He’d need to be ready with how to refuse her, if the little Princess was finally confessing to him.

But when he unfolded the note, it held only a single line—

“Teacher, are you toying with me like a falcon in training?”

In the pale light of early dawn, everyone watched as Zhang Rong, holding that little note, broke into a faint smile.

Being moved was never a single moment.

It was the slow, ceaseless seeping in, year after year.

Falling was never a single moment.

It was the endless, ever-present temptation, chipping away moment by moment.

Who could stand forever at the mountain’s peak, never once glancing down the slope below?