The Prince of Dongping rushed anxiously into Yong’an Palace, his face unable to conceal his anxiety and unease. After waiting in the flower hall for quite some time, he finally saw Song Chuyi approaching. He stepped forward a few paces to stand before her. “Sister-in-law, Imperial Grandfather’s illness…”

He paused, looking at Song Chuyi’s expressionless face, then suddenly stopped mid-sentence—Song Chuyi seemed a bit too composed. Did she truly not notice anything, or was she already prepared?

In that moment of distraction, Song Chuyi had already spoken: “What about His Majesty’s illness?”

The Prince of Dongping was brought back to his senses by her question. He calmly recounted the incident with the young fire tender: “I’m concerned that Imperial Grandfather’s illness this time is somewhat suspicious. You should all be extra careful. They’re probably coming after you.” He sighed: “Last time I told you to be careful of the people around the Celestial Master…”

He was afraid Song Chuyi wouldn’t trust his words and grew somewhat anxious: “I truly mean no harm. Now you and I are grasshoppers on the same boat. Even if I die, I would never acknowledge that shameless scoundrel Han Zhengqing as my father!”

He was so agitated that his face had turned completely red. Qing Ying glanced at him and felt rather moved. Who could have imagined back then that someone they thought would be their mortal enemy would now become an ally?

Song Chuyi’s focus was on the young fire tender who had been arrested by the Imperial Guard: “You just said Han Zhengqing sent her to take you away? And said the capital was about to descend into chaos?”

The Prince of Dongping was startled, then quickly nodded: “Imperial Grandfather has always been in good health. Even though there have been many matters recently, it doesn’t make sense for him to fall into a coma just like that. The imperial physicians can’t find anything wrong—they can’t even explain why Imperial Grandfather fell unconscious, can they?” He was genuinely worried: “There must be something suspicious here, Sister-in-law. I mean no offense, but… the Crown Grandson’s position as heir is awkward…”

When the Emperor fell ill, Zhou Weizhao’s position as heir naturally became somewhat awkward.

Song Chuyi didn’t leave the Prince of Dongping anxious for too long. She glanced at him and nodded: “The capital is indeed about to descend into chaos, but Your Highness need not worry.”

The Prince of Dongping looked up at her in astonishment, seeing only her eyes bright and clear as autumn water, then quickly lowered his head, still unable to process what he’d heard.

How could he not worry? Was Song Chuyi being somewhat too overconfident?

“Your Highness should take good care of the Crown Prince,” Song Chuyi said, her words seemingly disconnected: “It will all be over soon.”

The Prince of Dongping had never liked people speaking in riddles to him, never liked those who spoke in half-sentences and concealed things. His mother had often spoken only half of what she meant, doing things that couldn’t be undone. But as he looked up at Song Chuyi’s utterly calm eyes, he couldn’t voice any of his questions. With a dejected expression, he lowered his head and murmured an acknowledgment.

“No matter what happens, no matter what becomes of us next, Your Highness should not worry,” Song Chuyi had no intention of leaving him to struggle alone for too long. She sat down in the seat of honor, watching as a palace maid came forward to refill the Prince of Dongping’s tea before respectfully withdrawing. “It’s just that right now I need Your Highness to do me a favor.”

The Prince of Dongping listened in confusion but still instinctively nodded in agreement: “What favor?”

“Write a letter.” Song Chuyi’s lips curved slightly. Her eyes, which had been utterly calm moments before, suddenly erupted with a storm, becoming extraordinarily bright and making it difficult to look directly at them: “Write a reply to Han Zhengqing. Tell Han Zhengqing that you’re willing to acknowledge him as your father, but you disdain sharing an ancestral hall and a father with the son born to Little Madam Fan. So you want him to open the ancestral hall, bring out the genealogy, strike Han Zhi’s name from it, and smash Little Madam Fan’s memorial tablet.”

The Prince of Dongping drew in a sharp breath, suddenly gripping the armrest of his chair tightly. He stared at Song Chuyi with wide eyes, unable to form a complete sentence for a long while.

“What are you…” He looked at Song Chuyi in utter bewilderment, completely at a loss: “What’s the point of doing this?”

Was she trying to set him up, having him write this letter and then using it to frame him as Han Zhengqing’s accomplice, catching them all in one net? Otherwise, why would she have him write such a letter out of the blue?

Song Chuyi seemed able to see through his thoughts. Holding a cup of tea in both hands, she watched the steam rising and said softly: “Don’t be afraid, Your Highness. If I intended to harm you, I wouldn’t need to go through so much trouble now. Don’t you agree?”

The Prince of Dongping’s expression became somewhat complex. He had to admit that although the court’s situation was currently unstable, once Emperor Jianzhang fell ill, Zhou Weizhao became the legitimate heir who could act on behalf of the Emperor. If they wanted to frame him with false charges, they wouldn’t need to go through so much trouble at all.

He smiled bitterly with some helplessness: “Then Sister-in-law, can you please tell me plainly what you’re trying to do?”

“Make Han Zhengqing die.” Song Chuyi smiled, her face blooming like flowers, but her eyes were frozen like ice: “As long as you write this letter, Han Zhengqing will get his retribution.”

The Prince of Dongping had already forgotten the instructions that Qian Ying and Huang Yiqing had repeatedly given him before he came—to not ask too many questions and just convey the message. He stared at Song Chuyi and asked again: “But why?”

He looked at Song Chuyi with a very sincere expression: “I don’t understand.”

Fortunately, Song Chuyi didn’t utter something infuriating like “you don’t need to understand” to shut him up. She placed her teacup on the table, watching the white porcelain cup emit a faint tea fragrance on the mirror-bright huanglimu wood table, then smiled and raised her eyes: “Your Highness fears Han Zhengqing, but do you fear Han Zhi?”

Han Zhi?! The Prince of Dongping suddenly felt all his teeth aching. This unexpected question left him dazed. He stood up and looked at Song Chuyi, his heartbeat involuntarily quickening: “Han Zhi?!”

But Han Zhi was already dead! What does this matter have to do with Han Zhi?!

Song Chuyi’s lips held a smile, but her eyes remained ice-cold without any trace of mirth, as if smiling were merely a habitual expression for her—something that required no effort, so she simply smiled. She looked at the Prince of Dongping: “If Han Zhi hadn’t died and saw this letter, would he go mad?”

She watched the Prince of Dongping, whose eyes had widened as he retreated several steps before regaining his footing. She lowered her head and smiled: “When he goes mad, it seems quite frightening.”

Of course it was frightening. Thinking of Han Zhi’s methods of dealing with enemies in the past—those methods that had struck terror into people’s hearts—the Prince of Dongping shuddered. Then he looked at Song Chuyi in disbelief, unable to close his mouth for a long time.

Han Zhi wasn’t dead? Why wasn’t Han Zhi dead? If he wasn’t dead, then who were those people who burned to death on the boat that day? How did Song Chuyi know that Han Zhi wasn’t dead?

He couldn’t figure it out, but goosebumps had already spread across his entire body.