After hearing these indecent sounds, Wenren Lin did indeed pause his steps.

Zhao Yān was not a man, after all, and was quite ignorant about marital affairs. She was afraid to get too close lest Liu Ji notice something unusual.

She discreetly exerted force, trying to regain control, but as soon as she extended her hand, Liu Ji grabbed her wrist and pressed it down.

Zhao Yān opened her eyes wide: This sister, how could her grip be so strong!

Outside, it was quiet, but she knew Wenren Lin had not left.

Indeed, after just a moment’s pause, Wenren Lin leisurely stepped in, lifting his robe to sit at the small table in the inner chamber. He even poured himself a cup of tea with refined taste and began to savor it slowly.

The bed curtains were dim, turning Wenren Lin’s silhouette blurry and indistinct, making it difficult to discern his mood.

Nevertheless, Zhao Yān could still feel Wenren Lin’s gaze piercing through the curtains toward her, silent, yet chilling to the bone.

Zhao Yān wanted to cry but had no tears: Why… why wouldn’t he leave?

…

…

Liu Ji also frowned, her face cold as she produced a tender voice, acting even more convincingly: “With Prince Su standing there, how can Your Highness proceed?”

Zhao Yān heard this and felt her scalp tingle, too embarrassed to imagine what expression Wenren Lin might be wearing.

The shadow sitting beyond the curtain remained motionless as a mountain. There was only the faint sound of a teacup being placed back on the table, which seemed particularly clear in the quiet bedchamber.

“This prince recalls that those who bewitch rulers with fox-charm are to be punished by death,” Wenren Lin’s calm voice drifted over lightly.

She knew Wenren Lin wasn’t merely threatening—he would truly carry it out.

Zhao Yān shook her head at the subtly angry Liu Ji, indicating that she should endure.

When Liu Ji released her restraining hand, she pulled her loose robe together and supported herself slightly, saying hoarsely: “I don’t have a habit of being watched. It’s late now. Prince Su should return to rest. Whatever matters can be discussed tomorrow.”

Wenren Lin used his deepest, most magnetic voice to speak the most audacious words: “The Crown Prince was too ill to get out of bed during the day, yet at night has the energy to seek pleasure with women—truly a medical miracle that leaves one speechless.”

Hearing this, Zhao Yān felt cold and stiff. She nearly fell from weakness and couldn’t help but let out a muffled groan.

This groan, hidden behind the bed curtains, carried an indescribable sensuality that provoked imagination.

Zhao Yān quickly bit her lip and decided to continue the pretense, forcing herself to reply: “Food and sex are human nature. This is not the right time for idle chat. If the Grand Tutor doesn’t leave, I really won’t be able to continue.”

Wenren Lin laughed, the light and shadow dividing his expression into an indistinct blur, making even his laughter seem unfathomable.

He made a gesture of understanding, selected a medicine bottle from Physician Sun’s medicine box, and his beautifully structured hand held the unnamed jade bottle, playing with it delicately.

“The Crown Prince may continue with his business. Just extend one hand for Physician Sun to take your pulse.”

Zhao Yān’s cheeks burned hot as she strained her voice: “My headache is almost healed. There’s no need to make a fuss and trouble the venerable Physician.”

Wenren Lin neither confirmed nor denied but changed the subject: “Then, will the Crown Prince come to Chongwen Hall for lessons tomorrow?”

Zhao Yān gritted her teeth, so anxious that her eyes nearly turned red. In the current situation, she only wanted Wenren Lin to leave as quickly as possible.

Having achieved his goal, Wenren Lin finally made a satisfied “hmm” sound, stood up, and adjusted his sleeves.

He walked a few steps, then stopped again: “Ah, right.”

Wenren Lin turned his head slightly and placed the medicine bottle on the table: “Remember to take this. It’s good for the Crown Prince’s body.”

His slender fingers tapped the medicine bottle, and this time, he truly left.

Only when that tall figure had gone far away, the hall doors closed, and even the sound of footsteps could no longer be heard, did Zhao Yān finally collapse, wrapping the cold, stiff body in bedding.

Liu Ji leaned on the couch watching her, as if examining her, but Zhao Yān truly had no energy to guess what she might be thinking.

Fortunately, Liu Ji soon averted her gaze. She somewhat rudely pulled at her cumbersome long skirt as she got off the couch, picked up the medicine bottle left by Prince Su, sniffed it, and then frowned.

Seeing her serious expression, Zhao Yān poked her head out from the bed curtains, keeping her body tightly wrapped inside, and anxiously asked: “What is this? Is it poisonous?”

Liu Ji said with disgust: “Xiaoyao Pills.”

“What pills?” Zhao Yān didn’t understand.

Liu Ji glanced at her and used another explanation: “For warming yang and nourishing the kidneys.”

“…”

This time, Zhao Yān understood. A battle she had just won was ultimately lost.

…

In the washing chamber, steam curled through the air. Zhao Yān sat hugging her knees at the edge of the bath, half her face submerged in water, only her delicate nose and rippling eyes exposed, allowing the undulating waves to wash away the lingering fear and fatigue from her body.

This brief moment in the day was the only time she could remove her disguise and be herself.

Before, at Huayang Palace, there were plenty of mountain streams and wild waters. A natural hot spring villa had even been built on the back mountain to suit the terrain. In her leisure time, she would take her palace maids for a soak. Life then was natural and free, unrestrained, unlike now, where each move required a countermove, each step fraught with anxiety…

Realizing she was beginning to long for past stability, Zhao Yān stood up and shook her head, her gaze becoming calm and determined once more.

Changing clothes and returning to her bedchamber, Liu Ji was no longer there.

Zhao Yān yawned and lay sideways on the couch to rest, waiting for two hours, but Liu Ying did not appear.

Usually at night, she would dismiss the palace attendants and come to light the lamps, checking Zhao Yān’s chest binding multiple times to ensure it was tight before withdrawing.

It was already midnight. Zhao Yān stopped waiting, pulled her clothes tight, covered herself with the bedding, and gradually closed her eyes.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through her mind. Sensing something amiss, she abruptly got up and put on her robe.

Calling the night-duty palace maid outside the hall, Zhao Yān asked: “Where’s Liu Ying?”

The palace maid replied: “This servant just saw Sister Liu Ying coming from the kitchen, heading to Cheng’en Hall.”

Cheng’en Hall was Liu Ji’s residence.

Zhao Yān’s heart tightened, and she further asked: “Has any messenger come to the palace?”

The palace maid nodded hurriedly: “A Lady Zhang from Kunning Palace came. At that time, Your Highness was bathing, and Sister Liu Ying said it was nothing important, that there was no need to disturb Your Highness, so she handled it herself.”

Zhao Yān remained composed. After the palace maid withdrew, she grabbed the fox fur from the lacquered clothes rack, hastily wrapped herself, and took a lamp out of the hall.

The corridor was winding, with lights meandering along. Liu Ying was carrying a tray across the courtyard.

Probably preoccupied, she hadn’t noticed Zhao Yān standing in the corridor.

“Liu Ying.”

Zhao Yān called softly, “It’s so late, where are you going?”

Liu Ying’s shoulders trembled as she looked up, unable to hide her shock and confusion.

She quickly lowered her head, standing in place as she said softly, “Liu Ji helped Your Highness out of a difficult situation. This servant is bringing her some wine and late-night food.”

Zhao Yān glanced at the still-lit Cheng’en Hall and asked: “Is this Mother’s wish?”

The subtle fluctuations in Liu Ying’s expression did not escape Zhao Yān’s eyes.

She understood in her heart, guessing her mother’s intention.

Liu Ji had been with her brother day and night for half a year, knowing his habits and even his body like the back of her hand. She was the biggest variable in this “bait and switch” plan.

Mother would not allow such a variable to exist.

If initially all they needed to do was send Liu Ji out of the palace, then after Prince Su’s surprise attack tonight, Liu Ji, who had close contact with the “Crown Prince,” could not be allowed to live.

After all, for the resolute and unsentimental Empress, only the dead don’t reveal secrets.

The cold wind stirred their robes. Zhao Yān lowered her eyes, a strand of half-bound hair falling from behind her ear. The bandage on her forehead outlined a somewhat sorrowful, sickly appearance.

She had no right to accuse her mother of being cold-blooded. After all, the path they walked was one of knife mountains and sword trees, paved with white bones.

She was just a bit sad.

Her brother must have truly respected and loved Liu Ji to tolerate her calling him directly by name, to give her an unobstructed token for protection. If he knew why Liu Ji would die tonight, he would probably… shed tears of sorrow from the Nine Springs below.

In the silence, Liu Ying’s head bowed even lower, her thin shoulder blades protruding from her back, the knuckles holding the tray turning ghastly white.

“I know you’re following Mother’s orders, thinking of the bigger picture. I’m not blaming you.”

Zhao Yān focused, those eyes identical to the late Crown Prince’s, tinged with the heaviness of night. “Put the things down. I’ll deliver them to her myself.”

Liu Ying’s lips tightened, and she didn’t move.

Zhao Yān’s lips moved slightly, revealing a smile that didn’t quite look like a smile: “Don’t worry, I know what’s important.”

Cheng’en Hall was arranged grandly and neatly, with books filling the room, and an ivory-carved bow hanging on the wall, not very much like a woman’s inner chamber.

A gauze lamp was left by the window. Liu Ji rested her hand on the windowsill, sitting with one leg bent behind the table, turning her head to gaze out at the clear, remaining moon hanging on the branch tips, her posture free and unrestrained, as if waiting for someone.

Liu Ying slowed her movements, placing the wine and night snacks on the table. Liu Ji’s gaze did not shift in the slightest.

The warm light illuminated her profile—her nose straight, her lips red, her earlobes clean without the ear piercings common to ordinary women. Her figure was not plump, nor did she have delicate curves. For a moment, Zhao Yān suddenly felt that if Liu Ji removed her makeup and dressed as a man, she would certainly be more handsome and dazzling than herself.

Zhao Yān also had no pierced ears.

According to the customs of the Great Xuan, on a girl’s fifteenth birthday, when she came of age, a female elder from her clan would personally pierce her ears and put on earrings, signifying that she could marry and become a wife.

Zhao Yān had always been defiant: Piercing ears to marry and have children, how was that different from livestock waiting to be sold, branded with a mark indicating they were ready for market?

Fortunately, hardly anyone in Huayang Palace remembered her birthday, so naturally, she was spared the pain of ear piercing. The only one who remembered her birthday and came across mountains and rivers was her foolish brother Zhao Yǎn…

And now, she couldn’t even protect her brother’s lover.

Zhao Yān gestured for Liu Ying to withdraw.

Liu Ying seemed about to speak but hesitated for a moment, then chose to obediently curtsy, carrying the tray and quietly withdrawing, closing the hall doors to stand guard outside.

Zhao Yān lowered her voice, gathered her robes, and knelt opposite Liu Ji, saying politely and gently: “For tonight’s matter, I must thank you for your righteous assistance.”

Only then did Liu Ji turn to look at her, her pupils appearing a very light amber color in the lamplight.

Her gaze, like her person, was bold, direct, without a hint of concealment. Just as Zhao Yān maintained her “Crown Prince” demeanor, pondering how to continue the conversation, Liu Ji suddenly snorted.

“I know you are not the real Crown Prince.” This was her first sentence.

Zhao Yān’s heart suddenly tightened, every hair on her body standing on end.

Cold wind blew in through the window, moonlight scattering shadows of withered branches on the ground.

“Where is Zhao Yǎn?” Liu Ji’s words were shocking once again.

Seeing the young boy before her remain silent, Liu Ji frowned, as if she had received an answer, her long, thin fingers tightening slightly.

“How… did he die?”

Her tone had lowered considerably, as if suppressing anger.

Zhao Yān stared at Liu Ji without blinking, the fur collar of her fox fur trembling slightly in the night wind from the window, brushing against her jaw.

Those who made their living in the palace mostly had minds like beehives. Zhao Yān knew very well that she wouldn’t be tricked into confessing so easily.

“What is Liu Ji saying? I don’t understand,” she said with an unchanged expression, displaying the Crown Prince’s trademark smile.

…

At the palace gate, a carriage stood silently, two lanterns casting three feet of warm light.

Wenren Lin stood in this light, cupping his hands toward the elderly man in the carriage: “For causing such a commotion tonight, I trouble the Master to make this journey with me.”

“You should know that this old man didn’t come for the Eastern Palace, but for you.”

Physician Sun, with his long eyebrows and beard, said with vigorous spirit: “If you die, how could this old man face General Wenren in the underworld?”

Wenren Lin straightened with a faint smile: “This prince doesn’t deserve your concern, Master. Those who have fallen into hell can no longer be saved.”

Physician Sun shook his head and sighed. The carriage he rode in soon left the palace gates, with the remaining moon hanging crookedly over the western tower.

Prince Su walked slowly along the palace path. His crimson official clothes were steeped in the night, turning them dark purple. With golden hooks and jade belt, he appeared magnificent and composed.

Zhang Cang followed from afar, full of questions.

“Doesn’t His Highness suspect something amiss at the Eastern Palace?” he couldn’t help but nudge Cai Tian beside him, whispering, “With such a good opportunity tonight, we just left like that?”

Just as he spoke, a completely black cat leaped nimbly from the wall of the side passage, taking small steps on the frosty ground, familiarly circling Wenren Lin to beg for food.

Cai Tian sighed, nodding toward the man and cat: “Do you know how cats hunt? After capturing their prey, they don’t rush to devour it but press on the prey’s tail, toying with it in their control, proceeding slowly.”

Zhang Cang looked confused: “What does that have to do with His Highness?”

Cai Tian looked at his colleague as if he were dull wood, saying steadily, “For His Highness, what’s interesting is not the result, but enjoying the process of laying out the trap and closing the net. Rushing for quick success would only bring self-destruction.”

Zhang Cang recalled His Highness’s words just now: “Those who have fallen into hell can no longer be saved.”

What had His Highness experienced in the past to speak such cold-hearted words at such a vigorous age?

“Meow~”

The black cat, having received some dried meat, contentedly rubbed against Wenren Lin’s palm.

Wenren Lin lowered his eyes to stroke it gently, his profile like a painting, his long shadow cast on the palace wall—a red-robed figure of unparalleled elegance in the moonlight.