Jing Hengbo was sprawled across Gong Yin’s chest.

The palanquin was narrow. When she had crashed in, Gong Yin had nowhere to hide and could only use his chest to receive her enthusiastic momentum.

However, he had timely crossed his arms in front of his abdomen, avoiding certain overly embarrassing contact.

Jing Hengbo wasn’t trying to take advantage. She grabbed Gong Yin’s face, looking left and right, saying curiously, “Eh, your complexion looks quite normal. There’s even a little flush.”

“Sit properly,” he said.

Jing Hengbo sat properly—on his knees.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said with a grin. “You were absolutely amazing today.”

“Not as impressive as Your Majesty’s heroic bearing,” he didn’t even lift his eyelids, casually picking up a book to read. “A thousand faces in one person, versatile in roles—from concubine to female knight to queen, all with perfect ease and flawless posture.”

Jing Hengbo blinked and sniffed around. “Eh, so sour, so sour.”

A hand reached over, gently sweeping to undo her hair bun.

“Do you know how ugly this looks?” he said.

Only then did Jing Hengbo remember she still had the married woman’s hair bun she’d hastily arranged to disguise herself as Yelu Qi’s concubine.

This guy with sky-high standards and ocean-wide jealousy had probably wanted to do this the moment he saw her. Holding back until now was a miracle.

“Does it not look good?” she nestled against his legs, hugging his neck. “Really not good? Then I’ll never wear my hair like this again, okay?”

“Of course…” he answered casually, then suddenly paused.

Jing Hengbo smiled mischievously.

“Really never again? No matter who asks, I won’t wear it like this? You said so.” She tapped his nose.

Gong Yin caught her hand and stared at her for a long moment. In the dim light, her cascading hair and cat-like eyes were gleaming, her tilted head sweet and charming in a way different from her usual glamorous allure. Before him now was a clever, delicate, uncontrollable little woman.

Both his heart and throat seemed to be sweetening, and at the peak of sweetness came emotions beyond his control.

“Hair in low, drooping buns, fine-drawn eyebrows thin and long.” Would she someday arrange her long hair, style drooping buns, paint her moth eyebrows, apply flower ornaments, her colorful robes flowing over jade steps in a ten-li wedding procession?

And the one holding colored silk with sleeves, smiling as he performed the ceremony—could that be… him?

Like surging waves rising, crashing against icy shores, he seemed to hear the sound of frost and snow shattering, falling in radiating patterns like broken armor.

His hand trembled.

“Your hand suddenly got warm.” She pressed her cheek against his hand, feeling the strange heat. He was always slightly cool, refreshing as new snow, so this warmth was truly surprising.

Fearing he had a fever, she tested with the back of her hand, but his forehead was normal temperature.

Relieved, she smiled brightly. “So you can warm up too. That’s wonderful—when you suddenly turned to ice before, you scared me to death.”

She had a vivid memory of that kiss with no proper place in the Tiannan palace, which had caused his whole body to freeze. She had always wondered secretly whether his Prajna Snow was like those in martial arts novels—forbidden from getting close to women? Otherwise, why would he freeze the moment he became emotional? Because of this, whenever she approached him, she always observed carefully. She hadn’t discovered this freezing phenomenon again since, and now he was actually warming up.

Did this mean he actually had no problems, no obstacles at all?

Her long hair fell down, strand by strand draping over the back of his hand, hiding the red spots that suddenly appeared on his nails.

His fingertips wound around her hair, as if tangling with his current indescribable emotions. He suddenly asked her, “Do you like me warmer?”

“I like both,” she hugged his waist. “As long as it’s you, anything is fine.”

He made a sound of acknowledgment, saying, “Indeed, you like quite a lot of things.”

She giggled, finding this jealousy quite sweet.

Neither spoke, and the palanquin swayed gently. Their bodies occasionally brushed lightly against each other through their clothes, experiencing each other’s warmth and softness bit by bit, time and again stirring sweet yet bittersweet feelings. She buried her face against his chest listening to his heartbeat while he carefully breathed in the clear fragrance of her hair. She thought his heartbeat was the most steady and wonderful in the world; he thought the hair he had personally washed was the softest and most alluringly fragrant.

Jing Hengbo felt warm and leisurely. Her earlier anger, confusion, tension, and dissatisfaction naturally melted away like ice and snow in this man’s embrace. He didn’t comfort, didn’t please, didn’t draw close, and even remained sharp-tongued, yet the moment she heard “State Preceptor arrives,” she felt nervous and joyful. Seeing his figure in the palanquin, her breathing steadied. Hearing his voice, she completely relaxed, seeing heaven and earth bright, all things radiant.

Some people make you feel you can entrust everything to them—heaven and earth, mountains and rivers, along with yourself, all within their embrace.

Was this love, or dependence born from lack of security? She didn’t yet know, but she knew she wanted moments like this to be more frequent, much more frequent, and she wanted such time to last longer, much longer.

In her drowsiness, she felt his slightly quickened breathing and couldn’t help smiling—with a woman in his arms, this novice was nervous again.

He’d get used to it.

Fearing he’d feel embarrassed and push her away, she played with his pearls, saying softly, “Thank you for today… I didn’t want to cause you trouble.”

He was quiet for a moment, then answered, “In future, spend less time with unrelated people.”

Jing Hengbo giggled. “Who?”

“You know yourself.”

“I don’t know.” Jing Hengbo blinked. “I only know that when I blow you a kiss, you wipe my hand. Unrelated people might include all the people of the capital. Are you sure you want to give me a long, long list? I’m worried it might be as tall as a bed…”

Her chatter was stopped by his finger. Jing Hengbo deeply regretted why it wasn’t his lips.

In novels, at moments like this, the flustered and angry male lead seemed like they should use their lips to silence their little temptress…

She sighed, gripping his finger tightly. He seemed uncomfortable again, trying to pull back, but of course she wouldn’t let him, threatening, “If you move around anymore, I’ll pounce on you!”

He indeed stopped moving, his finger standing somewhat stiffly in her grasp. Jing Hengbo wanted to burst out laughing—role reversal, dear!

CEO Jing smiled as she gazed at her awkward ice sprite, thinking of those who had witnessed his heroic moment of capturing the killer with one move upon exiting the palanquin. If they could see him now, how shocked they’d be…

“To stop someone talking, you shouldn’t use fingers—it’s so unromantic…” She smiled as she raised herself up.

“What should you use…” He seemed somewhat distracted.

“You should use…” She suddenly leaned forward, her lips meeting his. “Mmm, lips…”

His body stiffened.

Soft jade and warm fragrance, so sudden, offered by her.

Though it was only warm and soft, though what overwhelmed him was only her sweet fragrance, his lips and heart felt as if pressed by a sharp blade. A line of fire rushed down from his throat like a spark thrown into an already boiling oil field, igniting almost instantly with a roar.

Even fiercer, more intense heart-burning fire suddenly blazed, breaking through the twelve bright halls, shooting straight up to the tower!

A mass of crimson was about to burst forth!

His arms trembled, suddenly grasping her shoulders, his body turning to press her beneath him!

Jing Hengbo hadn’t expected that her playful kiss would trigger such an intense reaction from this iceberg. She stared wide-eyed in panic—no! She wasn’t ready for this!

Almost without thinking, she immediately raised her arms and pushed him aside with force.

Knowing his strength, in her panic she used all her might, but unexpectedly, when she pushed out, she met no resistance at all. His body was pushed aside, hitting the palanquin wall, and the entire palanquin shook violently.

When he hit the wall, he turned his face, his cheek hitting the deep purple brocade cushion behind him, pausing slightly.

The palanquin also stopped. Meng Hu’s worried voice sounded, “Master…”

“It’s nothing.” Jing Hengbo, her face burning with heat, immediately answered in panic. She asked Gong Yin quietly, “You’re okay?”

Gong Yin gave her a faint smile.

But Meng Hu seemed not to have left. The sunlight cast his slightly bowing shadow on the curtain, showing concern and unease.

Gong Yin supported himself against the palanquin wall, slowly sitting upright, leaning against the backrest. “It’s fine, continue.”

Hearing his calm voice, Meng Hu finally withdrew. Jing Hengbo exhaled in relief, feeling slightly embarrassed, talking to herself, “He’s really too careful.”

Gong Yin said nothing, slowly arranging his sleeves. Jing Hengbo’s face was hot, looking around, not knowing what to say.

Neither spoke, making the atmosphere strange. The stranger it became, the more uncomfortable Jing Hengbo felt, and the more uncomfortable she felt, the more resentful she became—clearly he was the one doing bad things, so why did she seem to be the guilty one? What kind of logic was this? Could it really be that the stronger one’s aura, the more justified they seemed? What nonsense.

Fortunately, after a while, Gong Yin finally spoke softly.

“What happened just now… I was presumptuous.”

Jing Hengbo inwardly cried out in dismay. Not talking was awkward, but talking was even more awkward. How should she respond?

It’s okay, I was presumptuous first?

Oh NO.

It’s okay, you being presumptuous wasn’t wrong, just the timing and place were wrong?

Oh NO.

…

“Cough, cough.” After her eyes rolled around in all directions, she finally found the most appropriate topic.

Talk business!

“By the way, I have a question.”

“Mm?” He seemed a bit lazy, speaking with a slight nasal tone that in this dim space sounded low and lingering, echoing repeatedly, making her heart itch as if touched by early spring shoots, unable to help remembering his strong arms, heavy body, and the infinitely approaching clear yet bewitching masculine scent…

Jing Hengbo raised her hand to cover her suddenly reddening face—stop, stop! If she kept thinking like this, she’d be presumptuous again!

“That… this…” She suddenly forgot the topic she’d thought of.

Gong Yin didn’t rush her. His particularly clear eyes seemed to hold faint amusement, flowing like glazed glass in the dim light, making her completely mesmerized. If she hadn’t glimpsed the palanquin curtain from the corner of her eye, she would have almost forgotten again.

“Right, earlier you said the killer placed a hidden weapon mechanism under your palanquin crossbar when passing by your palanquin.” Jing Hengbo finally asked the question that had been bothering her. “But I think that’s not very possible.”

“Oh?” He showed no surprise, rather his expression was encouraging. Emboldened, she immediately said, “Because when you later caught the killer, he was among the Capital Administration soldiers. From his position, even if he had passed by your palanquin, he couldn’t have gotten close to it. Moreover, the soldiers were marching in formation with people front and back—if he really tried to place a mechanism, who wouldn’t see? Even if he got close and was quick enough that no one saw, Meng Hu and Yu Chun weren’t far from your palanquin either. Could they really be that careless? Even if they were all careless, a mechanism capable of firing that kind of hidden weapon—how could it be so easy to install? What about the angle? The installation? The calibration? So conveniently installed and accurately aimed? If the killer had such skills, he wouldn’t need to hide in the crowd and shoot hidden weapons in the smoke to frame someone!”

“Very good.” He praised faintly. “Being with me for so long, you’ve finally become a bit smarter.”

“Could you be less narcissistic?” She spat at him.

“I learned this from you, thank you.” He answered quickly.

Jing Hengbo was too lazy to bicker with him. If they really started arguing, she’d probably lose most of the time.

“So? So?” She hugged his arm. “Am I right? Was this so-called killer setting up mechanisms something you arranged?”

“Yes.”

“Aha, but when did you arrange it? How did you have time?”

“On my way here, I had already sent people ahead to investigate the situation. After learning what happened, I made arrangements.”

“Wouldn’t catching the killer be enough? Why add this extra move?” This was what puzzled her most.

“Think about it.” He didn’t answer directly, throwing the question back to her.

She thought for a moment, then said uncertainly, “Zhao Shizhi?”

He nodded, saying lightly and easily, “Because I wanted to make him stumble.”

Jing Hengbo: “…”

What kind of reason was that?

Just as she was about to mock his childishness, she heard Meng Hu knock on the palanquin wall from outside. The palanquin stopped, and Meng Hu said quietly outside, “Reporting to Master. Zhao Shizhi has collapsed from a stroke. His family submitted a petition asking for sick leave.”

Jing Hengbo whirled around to stare at Gong Yin, who slowly curved his lips.

“Presumably caused by the shock of the assassin’s attack. Send a physician to treat him with full effort.” Gong Yin paused, his flat tone gaining a trace of mockery. “Tell him to take good care of his health. The Vice Minister position is still waiting for him to recover and take office.”

“Yes.” Meng Hu’s voice seemed to contain amusement, then he withdrew.

Jing Hengbo also wanted to laugh.

Zhao Shizhi would probably never recover in this lifetime.

Whether it was the Vice Minister position, soft resistance against Gong Yin, or using his influence in literary circles to rally scholars and civil official groups in protest—presumably he’d never be able to do any of these things again in this lifetime.

Gong Yin’s moves were always so meticulous and chilling, like the hidden snow-white fangs of a primordial beast, devouring all hope in a flash.

She looked up at the man across from her, but he had no intention of taking credit or currying favor. He casually picked up a book to read, his lowered lashes thick, serene as a sculpture.

Seeming to sense her gaze, he didn’t look up, only saying, “Many problems don’t need to be solved through direct confrontation and force. Placing oneself in danger is not what the wise do.”

She didn’t answer. He looked up in surprise, about to scold this wild cat to listen to the lesson properly, when she suddenly laughed joyfully and pounced over, hugging his neck and quickly kissing his cheek.

Before his heart could register the shock, she had already pulled back even faster, smiling as she watched him.

“Thank you,” she pressed her face against his shoulder, saying softly, “not for helping me, but for putting thought into it. I’m not angry or wronged at all now. I’m very happy, very warm, very joyful.”

His body was straight, but he didn’t immediately pull away from her. After thinking, he gently raised his hand, stroking her flowing, smooth long hair.

She wanted to look up at him but was stopped by his chin pressing against the top of her head.

Their breaths mingled, their embrace warm.

After a while, she heard him say softly, “Hengbo, I only wish for your joy to be eternal, and for you to understand more.”

…

The carriage stopped before the palace gates. Gong Yin’s demeanor had returned to normal as he had Jing Hengbo get out first. He called over the Yuzhao soldiers responsible for palace security and gave them a few instructions.

Jing Hengbo noticed that the soldiers in the square had increased again, knowing that Gong Yin had probably strengthened palace security once more.

She inadvertently turned around and suddenly saw what appeared to be a red mark on Gong Yin’s back. His clothes were snow-white, always spotless, making this mark particularly conspicuous.

“Eh, what’s on your back? Red paint? Is the interior cushion of the carriage dirty?” She immediately moved closer out of curiosity to look.

Gong Yin suddenly turned around.

Jing Hengbo nearly collided with his shoulder. Looking up in surprise, Gong Yin had already raised his hand to summon Yu Chun, saying, “I suddenly remembered something. You escort the Queen back to the palace first. Meng Hu, come with me.”

Yu Chun came over, blocking Jing Hengbo’s view. Meng Hu held a black cloak over his arm, draping it over Gong Yin. The black silk cloak fell heavily. Jing Hengbo peered out from behind Yu Chun, suddenly noticing that dressed in black, he looked somewhat gaunt.

She watched Gong Yin’s retreating figure disappear hastily into the soft palanquin, then looked up at the gradually darkening sky where layers of clouds were surging, rolling in.

…

After the house-buying incident, Jing Hengbo hadn’t left the palace for some time. The court and countryside had been restless lately. Zhao Shizhi had suffered a stroke, so the so-called Vice Minister position was naturally off the table, and the plan to unite scholars and civil official groups to denounce the Queen could no longer be realized. However, news of that day’s events still spread, gradually giving rise to some unfavorable rumors. Stories like the Queen trespassing in a minister’s residence, the Queen taking Madam Zhao hostage leading to her death, Minister Zhao falling and having a stroke while trying to save his wife—all were rumors unfavorable to Jing Hengbo. Some even brought up Zhao Shizhi’s passionate speech from that day, hinting that the Queen was tyrannical and immoral. These rumors reportedly originated from the Capital Administration Office but were confirmed by the Kang Long Army.

As birds of a feather flock together, the civil officials naturally sympathized with the stroke-stricken Zhao Shizhi. Zhao Shizhi was skilled at maintaining appearances and had good relationships with his colleagues. After his stroke, many came to visit, witnessing firsthand the gloomy atmosphere of the Zhao residence. Having lost his wife and fallen seriously ill, Zhao Shizhi had aged ten years overnight. His five sisters-in-law wept constantly, and this once grand and noble residence showed signs of decay in just a few days, which was alarming.

Many people saw their own future in Zhao Shizhi’s current state. They all felt that so far, everything and everyone connected with Her Majesty the Queen had met with bad ends. In just a few months, Sang Dong had been defeated by her, Cheng Gumo had lost his only son, and Zhao Shizhi had lost his wife and couldn’t even save himself. Especially the Sang family—a hundred-year-old wealthy clan with deep roots had fallen inexplicably. There was already gossip in court about the Queen being a “star of misfortune.” Following the Kang Long Army, Dahuang’s civil official faction also developed resistance to Her Majesty the Queen’s existence.

Not to mention those old ministers who defended traditional ways. Aside from Great Sage Chang Fang and a few others who insisted on defending the Queen, believing Dahuang couldn’t lack a Queen, most others felt the Queen was unorthodox, with a temperament vastly different from previous Queens. Observing her words and actions, she was indulgent and willful, definitely not someone who would be content, and her methods were complex, her behavior strange. They feared she harbored ulterior motives and posed a threat to Dahuang’s royal authority.

Corresponding to the court’s almost united disgust and unease was the people’s current supreme support and praise for Jing Hengbo. The life and death of important figures had nothing to do with common people. The people only liked those who took their lives to heart. The fate of Zhao Shizhi and his wife also made the people clap with joy—the Zhao residence had exploited the people, seized civilian homes, and used various means to deceive and extort poor families’ daughters, causing popular resentment to boil over long ago.

Of course, the better the popular reaction, the more displeased the ministers became. To some extent, the interests of the feudal scholar-official class and ordinary people had always been fundamentally opposed.

Conflicts and contradictions were so clearly laid out: contradictions between the scholar-official class and the people, between a Queen unwilling to be a puppet and ministers hoping the Queen would continue to follow rules, between military high command and the Queen, between civil official factions and the Queen… all gradually converging into sharp pressure, piercing into the very center of the capital.

Jing Hengbo didn’t directly face such pressure—many things were suppressed by Gong Yin. But she could feel the increasingly malicious gazes during court sessions, could see the ever-growing pile of sealed memorials on Gong Yin’s desk. These memorials sealed with fire lacquer were never shown to her by Gong Yin, but she could guess their contents—nothing more than attacks on the Queen or proposals to depose her.

Things were developing in an uncontrollable direction. The assassin captured at the Zhao residence had suddenly died during interrogation. When Meng Hu handed him over, he had repeatedly cautioned careful handling, but something still went wrong. Then more rumors emerged, saying the assassin was actually sent by the Queen—this was silencing witnesses.

Jing Hengbo could clearly sense Gong Yin’s pressure. Though he said nothing, he slept later, went out more, and summoned ministers more frequently. Sometimes the lights in the quiet courtyard burned all night, sometimes angry voices of officials could be heard at midnight. After each such angry dispute, one or two officials would be missing from the next day’s great court session, and that day’s court atmosphere would become even more heavy and murderous.

The tension was also reflected in palace guard adjustments. The Kang Long Army was removed from palace security, with the Yuzhao Army taking full control. Soon after, a considerable number of mid-level Kang Long Army officers were found guilty of embezzling military pay and exiled to frontier swamps. Gong Yin promoted a new batch of people from common backgrounds and began recruiting new soldiers among the capital’s citizens.

Moving against the Kang Long Army was undoubtedly Gong Yin cutting off his own arm, but reorganizing military leadership brought another round of tense atmosphere. No one could guess what Gong Yin intended to do, why he suddenly wanted to move against the Kang Long Army for no apparent reason, causing the capital’s situation to become tense. In everyone’s view, if the Queen was unqualified, she should just be replaced—it wasn’t worth such military upheaval. For Gong Yin, who always sat securely on the highest lotus platform, he only needed to sit high above and nod lightly.

The god who occupied the lotus platform now seemed to be slowly raising a blade. Whose head would the blade fall on next?

In Dahuang’s court and countryside, silent power struggles continued. Yet at the intersection of this power contest, there was a quiet vacuum.

That vacuum covered Jing Hengbo’s head.

She was better protected, more heavily guarded. Even the adjacent Zhaoming Office, after being struck by lightning, was not rebuilt to prevent another incident like Yelu Qi’s surprise attack.

Sensing the strange atmosphere, Jing Hengbo didn’t want to cause Gong Yin more trouble, so she lived obediently. The portrait studio was still purchased, and she arranged for Cui Jie to lead renovations. The Zhao residence was now too busy with its own troubles to cause more problems.

One day Cui Jie returned, saying the portrait studio was nearly completed and ready to open for business. Her worry was that the studio’s location was too remote, and being next to the troubled Zhao residence made it inauspicious—there might be no business.

Jing Hengbo thought for a moment, clapped her hands, and ran into the dressing room. After a while, she came out with a stack of photos, selecting among them. “Which one is good? This one! Ah no, too clear! This one! Ah no, he’s smiling—how can his smile be shown to others? This one! Ah, you can see the plaque of the quiet courtyard, no good… Ah right, this one!”

She pulled out a photo and handed it to Cui Jie. “A natural idol spokesperson!”

The photo had a slight overhead effect. In the foreground were dappled flower shadows, pavilions and towers. Deep in a grove of green shade were black tiles, white walls, and purple-red window lattices. Before the window stood a figure in white robes. Though the face couldn’t be seen clearly, one could tell the person was elegant as a jade tree, with hair like black sandalwood. The pearls at his collar gave off a faint golden glow, reflecting against soft red lips.

The colors were vivid and harmonious, the figure like frost and snow. Though only a distant silhouette, everyone couldn’t help staring at that figure, lost in reverie. With such bearing and grace, could this be an immortal?

“This photo really captures seven or eight parts of the State Preceptor’s divine bearing and temperament,” even Cui Jie couldn’t help admiring.

Jing Hengbo nodded repeatedly. She also felt that Gong Yin’s elegance couldn’t be directly captured by words or brushes. Even this highest-end photography technology from the modern era, transcending a thousand years, could only barely convey a fraction of it.

Those big stars and pretty boys from modern times that Jing Hengbo used to fangirl over—if they stood before her now, she’d point a finger and say, “LOW!”

“This is the one.” Jing Hengbo made the decision. “You can’t even see his face, but it’s full of flavor—the best advertising effect.”

“But there’s just one photo, and it’s so small. Where would be suitable to post it? You can’t even see it without getting close…”

“Go find the capital’s best painters.” Jing Hengbo carefully placed the photo in a box, instructing Cui Jie. “Have them paint a series of images based on this photo, painting layer by layer progressively. The first painting only shows dappled flower shadows, the second starts showing pavilions and towers, the third reveals the small window of the quiet courtyard among the flower shadows, the fourth shows a figure in the small window. Each must be painted well, trying to restore the scene in the image. Under each, prominently write ‘Elegance Endures, A Moment Captivates the City.'”

“Elegance endures, a moment captivates the city…” Cui Jie thought about it and smiled. “I really didn’t expect you could come up with such a phrase.”

“It’s plagiarized,” Jing Hengbo waved her hand. “Little Cake loves writing poetry, always going on about romantic nonsense, filling a whole notebook and locking it away from us. Hehe, what kind of person is your sister? I’ve already read it—sour, very sour, but this phrase can barely be borrowed… Oh right, my portrait studio will be called ‘Instant.'”

“Instant?” Cui Jie frowned, instinctively feeling this name wasn’t very auspicious.

“Right. Instant—capturing images in an instant, but memories last forever.” Jing Hengbo suddenly looked somewhat dazed. “In this life, what is eternal? Sometimes having that one instant of beauty is good enough.”

Her fingers gently caressed the photo, her eyes somewhat vacant.

Instant—this word too literary for her taste suddenly flooded her mind in an instant, and suddenly she felt that at this moment, this word couldn’t be more appropriate.

Transmigration was an instant, parting was an instant, all loss and gain were instants…

Like the inexplicable sharp pain in her heart right now—also an instant…

It would be fine, everything was just an instant…

“Da Bo…” Seeing her suddenly lost in thought, Cui Jie patted her shoulder understandingly. “Don’t think too much. We don’t need to worry too much about court affairs. The State Preceptor will arrange everything well.”

“Exactly,” Jing Hengbo immediately snapped back, waving carelessly. “Otherwise what are men for? Men are just for charging into battle and taking bullets for me.”

“What do we do with these paintings once they’re done?” Cui Jie brought the topic back.

“Take the paintings and walk forward, posting one at each intersection leading to our portrait studio, with arrow directions.” Jing Hengbo said. “Each painting will have blank space, making people curious to follow along. Finally, they’ll walk all the way to our door, and this precious photo—you frame it in crystal and embed it on our front door.”

“You really thought this up.” Cui Jie took the photo. Jing Hengbo kept instructing, “Don’t touch it with your hands! Be careful! Remember to return it to me after a few days of advertising!”

“Just hiring the best painters to paint so many pictures will cost a lot of silver.” Cui Jie felt sorry for the money.

“Spend what money! Go tell them you have the legendary, unparalleled, detailed, high-definition, realistic miniature paintings from the coronation ceremony, which you can let them appreciate, study, and copy, on the condition that they paint advertising pictures for us free for a month!” Jing Hengbo patted Cui Jie’s shoulder. “Believe me, they’ll run faster than rabbits.”

Cui Jie walked away shaking her head, feeling Jing Hengbo shouldn’t be Queen—she should be a cunning merchant.

She had walked quite far when Jing Hengbo still chased out, clinging to the door frame and shouting, “Remember! Don’t give money! No room and board! No providing brushes, paints, or paper! We’re poor—if possible, make them pay rent and viewing fees!”

In the distance, Cui Jie stumbled…

…

Jing Hengbo carried a jar of nourishing soup to show love to her man.

But she was stopped by guards at the entrance to the quiet courtyard.

“Reporting to Your Majesty,” the guard politely but firmly blocked her outside the side door. “The State Preceptor is about to receive important guests. It’s inconvenient. Please return to rest first. He said he’ll visit you when he has time.”

“I’ve heard this countless times.” Jing Hengbo frowned delicately. “I won’t disturb him, and I don’t expect him to find time to see me when he’s so busy. I’ll just sit to the side, not talking, not disturbing. Isn’t that okay?”

“Your Majesty, please don’t make things difficult for us.” The guard didn’t budge, saying the same thing over and over.

Jing Hengbo stood on tiptoe, looking over the guard’s shoulder toward the study in the quiet courtyard. She could vaguely see heads moving—he was indeed still busy. Recently she had few opportunities to see him. Sometimes it wasn’t that he was unwilling, but many occasions had Kang Long Army officers and his subordinate ministers present. Ever since a Kang Long Army officer had lost emotional control and tried to provoke her, Gong Yin had made great efforts to avoid her encountering those people again.

Jing Hengbo sighed and dejectedly carried the jar back.

The guard silently closed the side door, looking back toward the study corridor ahead where Meng Hu was emerging from inside, glancing this way.

The guard nodded. Meng Hu slightly inclined his head and went back into the study.

Several guards moving about in the study saw him enter and silently withdrew. The room was immediately empty.

Meng Hu walked behind the desk where Gong Yin usually sat, reaching under the desk to gently feel around. Then the wall behind him silently flipped over.

The moment the wall flipped down, a piercing cold air shot out. Meng Hu shivered, closed all doors and windows, and turned around.

The inner room was a world of ice crystals, the floor covered with scattered jade fragments. It seemed that just crossing one wall, autumn had become winter.

Above the broken ice, Gong Yin sat cross-legged. His snow-colored robes mixed with fine ice crystals, his complexion also white as snow.

Meng Hu closed the secret door, crouched down, pressing his palm against the ice crystals on the floor, shivering.

When he looked up again, his eyes held deep worry.

Gong Yin slowly opened his eyes. For an instant, Meng Hu thought he glimpsed red shadows in those eyes, but they vanished in a flash, like an illusion.

“Has she left?”

“Yes.”

Gong Yin slowly closed his eyes. His wrist hung over his knee, and on his middle fingertip, a faint thin line of blood extended upward to his wrist pulse.

Meng Hu saw it at a glance, his heart greatly shaken. In his panic, he blurted out, “Master, could it be that…”

Gong Yin raised his hand, stopping his words.

“It’s nothing. Don’t be so nervous.” He stood up, his snow-white robes sweeping over the fine ice crystals, making subtle crackling sounds. “The ice in this ice chamber is thousand-year profound ice from the Wilderness Dragon Field. It can help stabilize the Prajna Snow true essence. Guard it well.”

“This subordinate would die before letting anyone step foot inside.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Gong Yin actually smiled lightly. “In a while, perhaps even this profound ice will be useless…”

Meng Hu looked up at him. In the dim light of the inner room, he stood distant, vaguely still the youth who had once walked alone down from the snowy mountain, cutting through grudges with one sword, thereafter bound by ice and snow.

“How is the Kang Long situation?” Gong Yin asked.

“There seems to be unusual activity. Several newly promoted lieutenants are being heavily ostracized.”

Gong Yin lowered his thick lashes, seeming to contemplate. After a long while, he said softly, “Heaven’s will…”

Meng Hu pressed his lips together, his expression bitter.

Some sudden accidents completely destroyed the master’s original plans. Events rolled forward like a carriage down a slope, making people realize that before heaven’s will, no matter how meticulous the planning, no matter how thorough the consideration, all was powerless to resist, pale and weak.

Gong Yin raised his head, seeming to have made a decision. “Starting tomorrow, reorganize the Kang Long web. Send all those most secret web agents out of the capital.”

“Yes.”

“Yuzhao Dragon Cavalry Grand Commander Ying Bai—hasn’t he started frequenting gambling houses and taverns again recently?”

“As you know, Master,” Meng Hu’s lips curved in a helpless smile, “this is his old habit. He can do without parents and women, but not without wine and gambling. But all these years, he’s never ruined your affairs. Haven’t you already tacitly approved long ago?”

“Times change,” Gong Yin said indifferently. “Now, I don’t intend to permit it anymore.”

Meng Hu’s eyes widened.

“Order the web agents to collect evidence of Ying Bai’s violations and misconduct.”

“Master!” Meng Hu was shocked, lunging forward on his knees. When he raised his head, his expression was anxious. “Governor Cheng has already turned away. Commander Ying is now the only close ally you have in the military! You can’t…”

“When did you start managing military affairs?” Gong Yin’s voice was light as mist without coldness, but Meng Hu shivered and lowered his head.

“Withdraw.” Gong Yin sat cross-legged, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing. “I’ll meditate a while longer. When Tie Xingze comes, bring him in.”

Meng Hu silently withdrew. At the door, he hesitated and looked back.

Gong Yin was expressionless, his brow serene in the faint cold mist of ice crystals.

“Master…” Meng Hu finally couldn’t hold back, saying quietly, “When did love take such deep root, bringing such upheaval thereafter?”

In the cold misty light, that mountain-like man remained unmoved, silent.

Meng Hu sighed deeply and left. The door slowly closed, gradually merging light and shadow.

Gong Yin opened his eyes, red shadows flashing briefly in their depths.

He lowered his head, slowly opening his palm. A faint red thread passed through his palm, extending to his wrist, the rest hidden in his sleeve, its depth unknown.

That line was like a newly added palm line, strangely indicating human fate.

He was silent, black hair falling like flowing water.

When did love take such deep root, bringing such upheaval thereafter?

Who knows?

Perhaps it was that lick in the brothel of Dayan County.

Perhaps it was seeing that bright smile that never changed along the journey.

Perhaps it was that period of dawn-to-dusk companionship walking through mountain forests.

Perhaps it was that dance in Tiannan Palace.

Perhaps it was her desperate leap on the river boat in the palace.

Perhaps it was her protective sacrifice when Yelu Qi assassinated him in the tent during the hundred-li royal escort.

Perhaps it was her cunning rejection of Yelu Qi’s seduction by the small river.

Perhaps it was her radiance illuminating all of Dahuang at the coronation ceremony.

Perhaps it was her desperate killing when encountering assassins in the bedchamber.

Perhaps it was her mournful determination when she threw herself at the “headless ice crystal corpse” before Yuzhao Palace…

Love knows not its origin, need not know its origin. Unknowingly he had walked so far—looking back, the path was obscured by flowers. Every petal and leaf was her smiling face.

This mood was like tangled strings, stirring ripples in the heart’s lake. When would it be sorted clearly to listen quietly?

…

Carrying the jar, Jing Hengbo didn’t want to return to her own chambers either. Walking aimlessly, she unknowingly left her palace quarters. Walking to an artificial lake, her foot suddenly twisted. Looking down, she saw her high heel stuck in a stone crevice again.

She tugged twice without success, afraid of damaging the heel. In a fit of temper, she kicked off the shoe and simply sat barefoot on a nearby artificial rock, pulling the jar over and opening it to eat!

If he wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t mope back to pour it out or shed tears over the jar in the wind. She would eat more, eating back his portion too!

The sky was bright, the breeze gentle. Her Majesty the Queen sat barefoot on the rock, facing the distant quiet courtyard, drinking soup in large gulps.

The guards stood far away, wanting to laugh yet feeling the Queen was rather lonely.

Jing Hengbo finished the soup in a few swallows, patted her stomach, and set down the bowl. Just as she was about to hop over to put on her shoe, she suddenly saw a corner of pale yellow robes.

The robe corner stopped in front of her shoe. She looked up to see a man in yellow clothes looking down at her shoe.

“Hey, you…”

The man bent down to pick up her shoe. Jing Hengbo was about to remind him the shoe was stuck and not to pull hard when the man had already noticed. He smiled and pressed his palm against the stone slab. Jing Hengbo’s eyes widened as she watched the stone slab slowly sink, and the shoe fell free silently.

The man picked up the shoe, held it up to her with a smile. “Your Majesty, put on your shoe?”

The man was tall with brocade robes and jade belt, a yellow jade hair crown. His features were handsome though not absolutely beautiful, but he had an air of dignity—the type with great masculine appeal.

When he smiled, his brow was open and spacious, making one feel sky light and cloud shadows dancing, with all the sunlight suddenly cascading down.