The autumn hunt was, on the whole, a pleasant affair.

Li Linge no longer trailed after Zhang Rong all day, which let him relax, though it left a faint, hard-to-name strangeness in his heart.

That strangeness was called loss, though he did not yet realize it.

No longer clinging to her tutor to confess her feelings, Li Linge—setting aside her status as Imperial Princess—was truly a lovable girl.

Zhang Rong taught her to ride, taught her to shoot. When he had no time, she waited obediently; when he had time, she welcomed him wholeheartedly. Never willful, Li Linge made Zhang Rong’s tenderness toward her grow, day by day.

A princess raised deep in the palace, with no one to share the favor bestowed on her—in another age, she might have grown into the very model of a spoiled, willful princess. But Li Linge was not like that. Her greatest virtue was precisely knowing when to read the room and let things be.

Knowing that her tutor perhaps did not favor her, she stopped confessing, and retreated back into the role of student.

Only, Zhang Rong harbored some worry: was she really that well-behaved?

The Li Linge who appeared so perfectly obedient, a few nights before the hunt was to end, attended a bonfire gathering together with Zhang Rong.

Everyone at the autumn hunt was having a wonderful time. At the bonfire banquet, dancing girls brought along by noble households wore costumes with a distinctly exotic flavor, circling the fire in dance. They were young and lovely, slender-waisted and fair-skinned, their flowing gazes not born of seduction but of simple, unguarded joy.

The atmosphere was truly wonderful.

Li Linge stayed close by Zhang Rong’s side. While her tutor watched the liveliness of the banquet, she watched only him.

At the height of the festivities, when the dancers circled in their dance, it was not only the onlookers who applauded—even Zhang Rong, standing at the edge of the crowd, was coaxed into laughter, clapping his hands twice.

Li Linge immediately turned to look, wanting to see what was so special about these dancers that they could make her ice-mountain of a tutor break into a smile.

Li Linge asked, “Teacher, are you happy?”

Zhang Rong withdrew that trace of laughter from his eyes.

Having become a Grand Tutor at such a young age, he had, in order to command respect, cultivated the skill of never smiling easily, of remaining stern and detached. The young Emperor was already so unruly, and Zhang Rong himself was already so young—if Zhang Rong were any more good-tempered, he feared he would fail to keep the young Emperor in check.

As a result, Zhang Rong never smiled in front of Li Linge either.

But tonight, in this moment, that fleeting smile vanished as he answered Li Linge: “Tolerable.”

Li Linge said, “Teacher, do you want to sleep with those beautiful dancing girls?”

Zhang Rong froze.

It took him two breaths of delay before he realized that Li Linge’s “sleep with” was not simply about sleeping.

He looked down at her in shock, at her upturned face.

He was severe: “Didn’t you tell me you’d stopped reading those nonsensical storybooks of yours?”

Li Linge, all innocence: “I haven’t read them anymore. But I have a good memory. Teacher, you can’t delete the memories already in my head, can you?”

She put on a wronged expression: “Teacher, do you think I’m filthy? Do you dislike me now?”

Zhang Rong stared at her in silence for a long while.

In the end, he had no choice but to sigh at her: “Go back and copy characters as punishment. Two hundred pages, hand them to me.”

Li Linge grinned, answering crisply: “Okay.”

But Li Linge would not let it go: “Then Teacher still hasn’t answered my question.”

Zhang Rong fixed his attention on the banquet and ignored her.

Li Linge reached out to tug his sleeve.

He shifted away to the side.

Li Linge raised her voice a notch: “Teacher, do you want to sleep with them?”

That voice… drew the attention of the maids and guards nearby, who glanced back at them.

Meeting Zhang Rong’s rigid stare, Li Linge blinked and smiled: Teacher, if you don’t answer, I’ll say it even louder. I’m not afraid of losing face, but you are.

Zhang Rong had no choice but to answer: “It’s not what you think.”

Li Linge pressed on: “Then why were you staring at them? Do you think they’re pretty?”

How could Zhang Rong possibly answer that?

He brushed her off: “Their dancing skill isn’t bad.”

Li Linge suddenly seemed to understand.

Li Linge muttered, vexed: “But I don’t know how to dance.”

Something in Zhang Rong’s heart caught.

He vaguely grasped the competitive urge in her heart, and couldn’t help a faint smile: a princess, wanting to compete in dancing with dancing girls… just to please him?

Zhang Rong said, “Your Highness’s status is noble; there was never any requirement for you to learn to dance. And even if, ten thousand steps aside, Your Highness did know how—in this world, I doubt there is anyone worthy of receiving such a condescension as Your Highness deigning to dance.”

Li Linge said, “Why wouldn’t there be? What if I were married off to a foreign land…”

Zhang Rong said, “As long as I remain at court, I will not let Your Highness fall into such circumstances. Besides, Your Highness and His Majesty share deep sibling affection—His Majesty would never allow such a thing to happen.”

Li Linge secretly rejoiced.

She paced a few steps.

The tree shadows were dense with leaves, swaying and scattering. In the dimness, Li Linge stepped into the tall shadow Zhang Rong cast upon the ground.

Standing within her tutor’s shadow, it felt as though he were embracing her, willing to extend a hand toward her.

Li Linge said, “If I knew how to dance, I could dance for my future husband. That wouldn’t be a condescension, wouldn’t be beneath me, would it?”

Zhang Rong said nothing.

Li Linge, determined to make him speak, pouted: “Teacher, you’re ignoring me again. Whenever there’s something you don’t want to say, you pretend not to hear. Whatever you say, I always answer you. But whatever I say, you always pretend not to hear.”

Since she’d put it that way, Zhang Rong had no choice but to answer: “If Your Highness dances for her husband, that is naturally good. What else would you have me say?”

Li Linge felt stifled: he didn’t show even the slightest hint of jealousy! He was completely calm, completely indifferent—did he really not like her at all?

Li Linge puffed her cheeks.

After a long moment, Li Linge said, “Teacher, on the last night before the hunt ends, I want you to keep me company.”

Zhang Rong was silent.

Li Linge said, “You’re not allowed to refuse. Whatever business you have, just push it off. I don’t believe you can’t spare even a little free time for me—why do you keep wearing yourself thin against me like this? You like ‘training hawks,’ but what if the hawk gets worn to death by you? Won’t you feel even a little bit sorry?”

The ripples that had risen in the lake of Zhang Rong’s heart gradually settled at her words.

He thought to himself: yes, why did he always want to hide, why wouldn’t he face things directly.

If Li Linge truly confessed to him, he could simply refuse her to her face. Even if the teacher-student bond grew awkward afterward, he would find a way to arrange another tutor for her, and devote himself entirely to teaching the young Emperor’s lessons…

At worst, that was all it would come to.

He truly did not need to keep hiding like this.

He truly should not keep wearing Li Linge down like this.

Her youthful years, with a bright future waiting ahead of her—he shouldn’t be enjoying this ambiguous, indulgent feeling born of her admiration for him.

Zhang Rong agreed to Li Linge’s request.

On the last night before the autumn hunt ended, Zhang Rong went to keep his appointment with Li Linge.

Just before he left, autumn rain fell in a drizzle. Zhang Rong opened an umbrella and stepped out, and the guard he left behind clicked his tongue: young master looked like he was heading to his own execution.

Strange.

Wasn’t he going to meet the Princess? Why did he look like he was going to be put to death?

Candlelight flickered, lantern light dim.

By a pool of standing water, Zhang Rong came upon Li Linge, who had long been waiting there.

The rain fell thin and intermittent, not too heavy. Li Linge, in a pink skirt and plain silk, held a black umbrella, standing with her back to Zhang Rong.

Her waist was slender, her shoulders narrow, huddled beneath the umbrella, her plain white shoes lightly tapping the puddle, her head bowed as she did something he couldn’t quite make out. A gust of wind passed, and the guards accompanying the Princess all looked away, careful not to look at the Princess’s skirts as they billowed in the wind.

For the first time, Zhang Rong noticed the flushed, red-eared state that other young men fell into on account of the Princess.

Zhang Rong thought, she had already grown slender and graceful.

Soon she would grow taller still, and more beautiful still.

What kind of husband would she have, what kind of wonderful life awaited her?

Burdened by his family, though he could not answer her feelings, he was willing to help her rise even higher, to protect this young princess and see her granted a lifetime of happiness and fulfillment.

Li Linge turned from beneath the umbrella and saw Zhang Rong gazing at her.

Her smile bloomed like scattering peach blossoms, light and delicate, tinged with coyness: “Teacher, you’ve come.”

She said, “I thought, with the rain falling, you’d send someone to tell me you weren’t coming.”

Zhang Rong answered, “An appointment with Your Highness—I will always keep it.”

Li Linge’s eyes curved with her smile.

She hid away the increasingly fierce longing in her heart: she wanted her teacher to keep every appointment with her for the rest of his life, but would he be willing?

Zhang Rong asked, “Your Highness asked me here—was there something you wished to discuss?”

He braced himself, waiting for the confession, then waiting for himself to refuse, then waiting further still for her to cry.

Li Linge said, “I don’t need to say it. I’ll show you instead.”

Zhang Rong’s eyelid twitched.

He looked at her, puzzled.

She raised the umbrella higher, revealing her own slender, youthful figure in full bloom.

Li Linge suddenly turned shy, biting her lip as she smiled: “Teacher, watch me.”

And so Zhang Rong stood there holding his umbrella upright, and watched, just like that—

Watched the girl hold her umbrella, twirling its long handle, turning her waist before him, stepping unsteadily through the puddles, dancing a dance.

She hummed softly under her breath.

The thin autumn rain occasionally splashed onto her fluttering lashes.

Her lashes looked like mercury under moonlight.

Her shoes and hem stepped lightly through the water, tapping upon its surface, and belatedly, Zhang Rong realized this must be a dance the young princess had learned by rote from a book—

The “Treading Song Dance.”

Ah, yes.

Who would ever teach a princess to dance? Who would dare let a princess dance for their own pleasure? Who could ever win a princess’s heart?

This truly was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Zhang Rong could not bear to interrupt her, and simply lost himself in watching.

He could not see the rain, could not hear the wind—before his eyes there was only a girl, only her dance, and her soft humming.

Li Linge was not very good at dancing.

She had only taught herself a few moves before coming to show off to her teacher. She hadn’t danced more than a few steps before her left foot caught her right, and she tripped over herself.

She was tremendously annoyed, yet harbored a cunning little thought—look, I’m about to fall!

Wouldn’t some kind soul catch me?

Just as she stumbled and began to fall, an arm caught her around the waist, pulling her back from behind, saving her from meeting the ground.

Li Linge seized the moment to fling away the umbrella in her hand, and as Zhang Rong caught her, she twisted around, wrapping her arms around his neck, letting her whole body fall against his chest.

Li Linge’s cheeks flushed crimson, her heart pounding wildly, as she clung lovingly to Zhang Rong’s neck, hanging on him, and she heard, too, that his heart was not beating slowly either.

Li Linge quietly glanced up: oh?

Your heartbeat…

Zhang Rong said, “Let go.”

Li Linge pouted.

She huffed, and obediently released the arms wrapped around her teacher’s neck. The moment she let go, Zhang Rong stepped back two paces, out of her reach entirely.

Li Linge: “…”

Infuriatingly, the black umbrella he held shielded his face, so she couldn’t see his reaction clearly.

Zhang Rong’s voice was composed: “Is this the reason you called me here?”

Li Linge said, “Yes. I wanted to dance for you… but I don’t know how yet. I just learned my first dance, and I wanted Teacher to see it. Once I’ve learned the whole dance properly, I’ll dance it for you again—is that all right?”

Zhang Rong did not respond to this.

Li Linge could only see his pale white chin, and the veins faintly trembling along the hand gripping the umbrella from the force of his grip.

Zhang Rong said, “Is there nothing you want to say to me?”

Li Linge feigned ignorance: “Say what? What do you think I want to say?”

She thought to herself, laughing inwardly: how could I ever give you the chance to refuse me?

Li Linge leaned close, her voice sweet: “I only wanted to dance one dance for you… Teacher, aren’t you about to get married soon? Once you marry, you’ll surely have to avoid impropriety—you might not even teach me anymore… But even then, even when you’re very, very old, and I’m very, very old too, even if you’re no longer my teacher… on that day, you’ll still remember that a princess who couldn’t dance once danced a dance for you.”

The innocent girl cast her spell on him:

“Teacher, you will never forget me for the rest of your life.”

Zhang Rong fell silent.

After that, the tutor and student seemed to pass a stretch of peaceful, uneventful days.

So peaceful that Zhang Rong nearly forgot the young princess’s affection for him.

But one evening, after Zhang Rong finished grading lessons and was putting away his writing implements, Li Linge, sitting beside him, seized the moment when he wasn’t paying attention and suddenly leaned in.

She pressed close to his ear: “Teacher, I like you.”

Zhang Rong went rigid on the side she leaned against, his eyes widening uncontrollably.

He almost immediately turned to look at her, his throat working, the refusal—”I don’t like you”—nearly bursting from his lips.

But Li Linge was faster than him.

The moment she finished speaking, she fled.

She sprang up like a nimble rabbit, dashed over and grabbed the dawdling Li Mingshu, and dragged him out of Phoenix Terrace, leaving behind a trail of joyful laughter.

Zhang Rong sat frozen in place, letting the setting sun swallow him whole.

A bashful smile rose in his eyes, and his face slowly flushed red.

But he quickly hid his smile away again.

Yet from that day on, Zhang Rong carried a secret in his heart.

It turned out that hearing someone say they liked you felt entirely different from merely guessing it yourself.

But what was he to do?

Zhang Rong redoubled his effort at silence.

Li Linge, however, wanted no response from him at all.

Whenever he tried to put on a stern face and discuss the matter with her, she would clap her hands over her ears: “I won’t listen, I won’t listen, I won’t listen—I only want to hear you teach, I don’t want to hear you say anything else.”

Li Linge blinked: “Teacher is so annoying except when he’s teaching.”

Zhang Rong said, “For being so annoying, Your Highness has certainly suffered.”

Judging that he had no intention of pinning her down to refuse her affections, Li Linge dropped the hands covering her ears and smiled sweetly: “I’m happy to suffer it.”

Li Linge did not want to hear her teacher refuse her, but she also could not bear to see him wronged.

One day, Li Linge heard from a palace maid that the Zhang family, in searching for a bride, had once again picked out someone—this time from a family named Gao. They were said to be a perfect match, but the young lady of that family had, with arrogant pride, written a letter privately refusing Zhang Rong.

Li Linge stamped her foot in anger: even I can’t have Teacher, and you dare refuse him!

The next day, seeing Zhang Rong in the palace, and seizing the moment before her little brother arrived, still yawning, Li Linge pressed Zhang Rong for details.

Zhang Rong had stayed up late the night before, his complexion somewhat poor, looking rather unwell, very much like a man troubled by love.

Zhang Rong said, “Ah, yes, there was such a matter.”

Li Linge fumed: “How dare she! On what grounds did she refuse? And Teacher never even courted her, did he? Did she simply assume Teacher must have taken a fancy to her? Writing to you directly, bypassing both families’ elders—that young lady has no sense of propriety at all!”

Zhang Rong glanced at her.

Zhang Rong said, “I actually admire her quite a bit. A young lady bold enough to defy her family—such a person is rare indeed in this world.”

Li Linge said, “But she refused you without ever having even met you… I curse her to marry a man far, far inferior to Teacher!”

Zhang Rong smiled faintly.

He should not have smiled.

But with his eyes lowered, he failed to hide that smile.

He listened to Li Linge rail on for a good while, and only said, “Your Highness is a princess; you shouldn’t use such coarse language.”

Li Linge paid him no mind.

Her teacher was dignified and upright, gentle and refined—the closest thing to a perfect man in this world. She had never once seen him weep or laugh loudly, never seen him speak ill of anyone, never seen him do anything the slightest bit improper.

He was a man so pure, his bearing so elegant, so gentle as jade, that the mere sight of him brought joy.

She wanted, more than anything, to have him. She carefully, cautiously employed every means at her disposal, hoping to win his favor, hoping to win his love—

She had tried so hard, had been so careful not to damage this man she cherished—how could any woman refuse him?

Li Linge was displeased.

Since Zhang Rong wouldn’t speak ill of that Miss Gao, Li Linge scolded her on his behalf.

He ended up laughing despite himself.

Leaning back, relaxed, the corner of his mouth curved in a smile—the sight sent Li Linge’s heart racing. To earn that smile, she pulled out every trick she had.

Zhang Rong waved a hand: “Enough, enough, Your Highness shouldn’t behave like this.”

Afterward, when the young Emperor arrived, Li Linge reined herself in, and only then did Zhang Rong settle, careful not to let his composure slip.

But Zhang Rong knew full well that he had, in fact, lost his composure.

That night, having returned home from the palace, Zhang Rong lay on his bed gazing up at the blue canopy, his mind filled over and over with the image of Li Linge, laughing and lively, vivid and alive.

Merely thinking of her made his heart race.

He reached up to touch the corner of his own mouth, and realized he couldn’t help smiling.

He reached up to feel his own heartbeat, and admitted that he was falling for her, day by day.

Recognizing this irreversible turn, his heart filled with confusion, and he knew he had to make a decision soon—he could not go on sinking like this.

He had once used silence to resist Li Linge’s affection, but now it seemed that had failed.

Yet how could he dare continue sinking further?

The Zhang family was a great dye-vat of intrigue, ruled entirely by his father’s word. Every step he took was heavily constrained. Newly risen, just entering court, wanting to become his father’s equal, wanting to be able to counter his father—this alone was already difficult enough.

And Li Linge’s status was so uniquely delicate. Above her, a widowed mother; below her, a young brother; between ruler and subject, an inherent contest of wills. Standing on the losing, precarious side of the imperial family, how to navigate relations with the great clans, through the long years, until Li Mingshu grew up—this was Li Linge’s difficult burden to bear.

Zhang Rong did not want to make things more complicated than they already were.

At eighteen, Zhang Rong told himself: I cannot accept the princess’s affection. I cannot protect her. I cannot shield her through the struggles between the court and the imperial house and see her through unscathed. I cannot be the one to harm her.

A man, if he were to have a lover of such complicated station, and could not protect that lover—what face would he have to stand tall between heaven and earth?

And so, Zhang Rong found himself an assignment that would take him away from the capital.

Flooding had struck the south, and hands were needed; the capital was dispatching officials for disaster relief, and Zhang Rong volunteered to go.

Li Linge did not try to stop him, nor did she cry or make a scene.

Instead, Li Linge slipped off to the Zhang household to help pack his things for the journey, insisting on bringing him plenty of clothing for the long trip.

Zhang Rong: “…”

Zhang Rong tried to stop her: “This isn’t something Your Highness should be doing, is it?”

Li Linge said, full of righteous confidence: “Your household has no lady of the house, and I’m your student—what’s wrong with helping my teacher think things through? Surely Teacher isn’t so grown that he still needs his mother to pack his bags for him—that wouldn’t be proper, would it?”

Zhang Rong said, “Can I not manage it myself?”

Li Linge smiled: “You’re a man, not as careful as I am.”

Li Linge counted on her fingers, practically bouncing with excitement: “You get to travel far away… how nice.”

She herself would likely never be able to leave the capital in her whole life.

If she ever did leave… it could only mean she’d fallen out of favor, exiled to some fiefdom. And what future would a princess sent back to her fief have? By then, she would likely have lost everything.

Zhang Rong said, “I am going to provide disaster relief, not to sightsee.”

Li Linge said, “But on your way back, you could sightsee, couldn’t you?”

Li Linge sat beside him, pleading: “Teacher, go sightseeing, won’t you?”

Zhang Rong, expression unmoved: “Why?”

Li Linge said, “That way, wherever you go, you can tell me all about it afterward. If you travel across every inch of these mountains and rivers, it’ll be as if you took me along with you… When you come back and tell me about it, it’ll feel as though I were there myself, accompanying you.”

Li Linge said, “Won’t you?”

Li Linge said, “Don’t you care for me anymore? Don’t you like me anymore? Won’t you grant your most understanding student even this one small request? You’re so mean.”

Zhang Rong couldn’t help but laugh.

How could there exist such a strange, teasing little troublemaker of a princess in this world!

She had him leaning against the wall, struggling to hold back his laughter. He tried desperately to convince himself that he was her teacher, that he shouldn’t keep smiling in front of her like this… yet there she was, tilting her face up as though about to leap straight into his arms…

Zhang Rong could only hold out a hand to stop her: “Mind your manners.”

But in the end, he gave in and agreed to her: “If I have the time to climb mountains and see the sights, I’ll tell you about it.”

Li Linge was satisfied.

Li Linge said, “Will you miss me?”

Zhang Rong: “No.”

Li Linge said, “Then I’ll miss you enough for the both of us. I’ll count the suns and moons every day in the palace, waiting for Teacher to come home.”

Zhang Rong’s smile faded, and he lowered his eyes in silence.

Li Linge asked, “Are you angry with me?”

Zhang Rong looked at her in surprise.

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes: had she frightened him away? Did he hate her, was her affection troubling him so much? Was he too embarrassed to say so, and so planned to leave instead? His leaving was only temporary, wasn’t it—not an ending, not something permanent, right?

Zhang Rong’s heart softened.

Zhang Rong said slowly, “I have some troublesome matters… I need to think them through. These matters have nothing to do with Your Highness; you needn’t blame yourself.”

Li Linge said, “Then may I be a little willful, just this once?”

Before Zhang Rong could finish saying “What—,” Li Linge suddenly straightened and leaned toward him. As he went rigid all over, Li Linge wrapped her arms around his neck, embraced his waist, and buried herself in his chest.

She held him.

She murmured softly, “Teacher, let me hold you, just this once, then you can be angry.”

One breath passed.

Zhang Rong: “Let go.”

Li Linge whimpered, her breath brushing against his ear, something that sounded like a muffled “no.”

Two breaths.

Sweat beaded on Zhang Rong’s forehead: “Let go.”

Li Linge said, “So stingy. Just a little longer.”

Three breaths.

Zhang Rong closed his eyes, his voice hoarse: “I really am about to get angry.”

Only then did Li Linge pull away.

She put on a woeful face: “You can be angry now. You can strike my palm, you can punish me with copying texts.”

Zhang Rong left.

In the end, he never punished her for anything at all.

At that moment, he could not yet name exactly what was in his heart, could not yet fully understand—

That if, one day, he truly had the chance to travel across every mountain and river, tread every path and gaze upon every water, the one he would most wish to have by his side was Li Linge.