In fact, it truly was Lai Chenglong who told Zhou Weizhao. He didn’t want to get involved with the Eastern Palace, but he didn’t mind selling a favor to the currently prominent Crown Prince—if the Crown Prince already knew about the Song family’s scheme against the Chen family, he could demonstrate that he had no intention of spreading it around. If the Crown Prince didn’t know… he could also be considered to have given the Crown Prince a heads-up. It wasn’t that he intentionally wanted to trip up the Song family, but he believed that given the relationship between the Crown Prince and the Song family, even if he knew, nothing would come of it.

As if seeing through Song Chuyi’s thoughts, Zhou Weizhao smiled, revealing two dimples: “Indeed, it was Commander Lai who told me. Rest assured, I haven’t been constantly planting informants around you.”

That’s right—Qing Zhuo, Han Feng, Qing Luo, and Han Yan had all been openly sent by him. Song Chuyi lifted her eyes to glance at him, then sullenly lowered her head again: “Uncle Lai is the Imperial Guard Commander. Isn’t he afraid of having his head chopped off by His Majesty?”

Speaking of which, this was actually something Song Chuyi had taught Lai Chenglong—to be a pure minister, but also not to offend everyone at every turn. The reason previous Imperial Guard Commanders had met bad ends was entirely because they were obstinate and self-willed, using their authority to offend nearly everyone, so they all came to bad ends. But she hadn’t expected Lai Chenglong to learn so thoroughly, immediately turning around and applying this lesson to her.

“Commander Lai was being kind in reminding me, and incidentally selling a favor.” Zhou Weizhao smiled, then said thoughtfully: “Although the relationship can only go this far, in the future when we meet, there’s still this favor between us. If we can let each other off, we will.”

Indeed, Zhou Weizhao at such a young age had already grasped in his hands the way of officialdom that Chief Minister Chang had pondered his entire life—in all matters, rare confusion is truly valuable. The most confused person is actually the most astute, for when water is too clear, there are no fish.

Seeing Song Chuyi not speaking, the pearls on her delicate earlobes gleaming with lustrous radiance under the lamplight, the smile on Zhou Weizhao’s face deepened. He stopped and looked at Song Chuyi, asking: “Won’t you ask me why I said those words to you? Whether I truly like you, or whether I value your experiences, intelligence, family background, or even your fate?”

Song Chuyi’s beautiful pupils reflected Zhou Weizhao’s face. She slightly widened her eyes, looking up at Zhou Weizhao, exclaiming in astonishment—these questions she had already asked herself countless times and pondered countless times since hearing Zhou Weizhao’s confession. Now that Zhou Weizhao brought them up without any concealment, for a moment she didn’t know how to react.

After a moment, she finally struggled out of such flustered emotions, trying her utmost to appear composed: “Since Your Highness has brought it up, then I’ll ask now. How about Your Highness answer me—why did you say those words to me about seeing how you are? Is it because I can foresee the future, or because I’m clever enough to be helpful, or because of my fate that’s extremely inauspicious yet also extremely noble?”

She thought about it—she could accept any of these reasons. The Crown Prince was right. He was different from Ye Jingchuan and Shen Qingrang. He was an extremely intelligent person, not only intelligent but also very excellent. She and he always had endless things to talk about, and they shared deep understanding. Being with him, as long as they followed established plans, it would be difficult to lead a poor life.

She paused, pressed her lips together, then immediately continued: “But I must honestly tell you—if it’s because of my dreams that can predict the future, my dreams ended when I died. I can no longer accurately guess everything that comes after. If it’s because I’m clever enough… there are many clever young ladies in this world. If you encounter someone cleverer than me in the future, you mustn’t regret it. And if it’s because of my fate… Your Highness must think clearly. Although there’s the prefix of ‘extremely noble,’ in the end it’s the Seven Killings Star governing fate, which sounds quite frightening.”

She felt Zhou Weizhao’s proposal was truly quite good, and Zhou Weizhao himself was indeed the best possible choice. However, the ugly truth still needed to be stated upfront. Otherwise, if someone was after one of these benefits, only to discover later that things weren’t as wonderful as they imagined, they would inevitably shift blame onto you. How many resentful couples in the world existed because the other person wasn’t the same as the perfect image they had imagined? They grew to despise each other, ultimately becoming resentful spouses rather than happy matches.

“Unfortunately, none of these are the reason.” Zhou Weizhao definitely shook his head, stopped in his tracks, and looked at her seriously and solemnly, speaking with sincere earnestness: “I desire none of these from you. I know you’re very afraid of giving your feelings, but Xiaoyi, I feel I must try, because I truly do like you very much.”

Song Chuyi abruptly lifted her head, stammering unable to produce a complete sentence, nearly about to turn and run again—Zhou Weizhao’s words truly left her unable to cope. When she met his eyes she hurriedly looked away—never before had anyone looked at her with such eyes. Shen Qingrang needless to say, even Ye Jingchuan had never looked at her with such deeply loving and distressed eyes, so direct that one need not think to know the affection contained in that gaze.

She was so nervous her palms were sweating, even her eyes slightly moistening with emotion. But more than that was terror and lingering fear. She retreated two steps and stood firm, only lifting her eyes to look at him after striving to calm her emotions.

But she almost immediately lowered her eyes again. His eyes were practically glowing—he was waiting for her to give a response.

But what could she say? Some shadows and pain she herself had instinctively piled in the darkest, most sunless places of her heart, terrified that one day they would become savage beasts devouring her rationality. These dark thoughts she herself avoided like savage beasts, wishing never to dig them up and think about them again. How could she speak aloud these things she herself felt ashamed of and tell Zhou Weizhao?

She suddenly felt she had nothing to say. Looking at Zhou Weizhao, she kept shaking her head, retreating several steps then several more. Only when her back pressed against the cold pillar did she suddenly come to her senses. Her instinctive reaction was to turn and flee.

Zhou Weizhao had never seen her shed tears before. The corners of her eyes and brows were shrouded in a faint layer of sadness. The next moment he had already unhesitatingly reached out to grasp her sleeve, pressing his lips together as he followed her sleeve to grip her hand, speaking with firm and profound tone: “I admire you—this concerns only my heart, not any benefit. As for your past, I don’t mind it in the slightest. Even Buddhism speaks of cause and effect, and Daoism speaks of karmic retribution for good and evil. That you could awaken from your dream means you’ve already severed all ties with your past. Even if you haven’t severed them…” Zhou Weizhao looked at her seriously, reaching out to wipe away her tears: “Even if you haven’t yet severed them, I don’t mind. I’ll accompany you. No matter how much time you need, I’ll wait for you.”