The Crown Prince of the Great Xuan fell victim to treacherous people, his great enterprise unfinished before his untimely death, and this fact had been concealed for more than a year.

While his posthumous title and funeral arrangements were still undecided, the news that Princess Changfeng had been impersonating the Crown Prince spread overnight throughout the capital, once again causing a tremendous uproar.

Initially, only a few scholars at the Mingde Academy transcribed and circulated the story, but as one told ten and ten told a hundred, more and more scholars from humble backgrounds joined in.

For the first time, they attempted to strip away the outer garments of ritual propriety to touch the warmth of the truth within.

They rushed about crying out, engaging in verbal battles with the traditionalists. It was partly out of gratitude for the favors they had received, and partly because they saw an opportunity for humble scholars to break through the oppression of noble families, striving to use this case as a stepping stone to make the voices of common scholars reach the emperor’s ears.

“The ethical codes and moral principles, the iron law of the imperial court—how can they be changed because of one woman? You are forgetting your ancestors!”

“Did she harm anyone? When forced to impersonate the Crown Prince, did she seek any personal gain? Were any of the criminals she exposed not utterly heinous?”

“Knowing it couldn’t be done but doing it anyway—is this not an act of great righteousness? Princess Changfeng’s actions may be criminal, but her intentions are pitiful; the crime does not warrant death.”

“The things she did while in power, we scholars witnessed with our own eyes. Since it was for the sake of righteousness and the nation, forcing her to commit suicide—wouldn’t that chill the hearts of loyal subjects throughout the realm?”

At once, in academies, along roadsides, and outside the palace gates, people from both sides could be seen arguing until their faces turned red and their voices grew hoarse. In just a few days, it had spread like wildfire.

…

…

The debates at court were even more intense: the funeral arrangements for the late Crown Prince, whether the young prince should be established as the new Crown Prince, and whether Princess Changfeng should be executed all became difficult problems that accumulated without resolution.

These days, the Emperor attended court more frequently than he had in the entire previous year, constantly listening to his officials’ disputes until he was utterly exasperated. His headaches became increasingly severe, and he relied on elixirs offered by Taoist priests to gain momentary peace.

While humble scholars rushed about advocating, the guards outside Chaoyu Palace were ordered to remove all of Zhao Yan’s writing implements and strictly forbid anyone from visiting her.

Zhao Yan simply sat with a good temper until all the guards had left, then, accompanied by the clinking sound of iron chains, stretched her waist and pulled out two books she had hidden under her kneeling buttocks.

She crept to the bed, wrapped herself in quilts, and became engrossed in reading by the light of a small lamp.

But soon, she lost even this small peace.

Starting from the twelfth day of the first lunar month, Zhao Yan had to kneel for interrogation twice daily.

The topics of questioning invariably revolved around her “purpose in impersonating the Crown Prince, with whom she had private dealings, and what orders she had given them,” along with insinuations about “princesses sacrificing themselves for the country” and “women usurping power leading to great chaos in the world.” They turned these questions over and over, again and again.

After her initial statement, Zhao Yan did not speak another word.

The court’s eagerness to extract from her mouth evidence of “a hen crowing like a rooster” proved that the “ritual debates” among scholars had been effective, and that traditional ethical views were facing a great crisis.

Thinking of this, Zhao Yan’s attitude became much more composed. She ate when she should eat, slept when she should sleep, and refused to make herself suffer.

That night, the snow melted in the cold wind, and moonlight beat against the partition screens, spilling frost-like light across the floor.

Zhao Yan’s kneeling-injured knees ached dully, and the iron chains on her wrists were so cold she couldn’t sleep, so she wrapped herself in blankets and lay on the bed to read her hidden books. After turning just a few pages, she heard the subtle sound of someone prying at the window frame.

Zhao Yan became alert and hurriedly blew out the dim lamp by her bed.

Then, with a crack, the window was pried open from the outside, and someone poked their head in and slipped inside.

Zhao Yan gripped the bronze candlestick in her hand for self-defense and sat up quietly, wondering if an assassin had come. Then she heard the person who had poked their head in hiss and curse under his breath: “Damn it, I’m stuck!”

This voice was quite familiar. Zhao Yan was startled and, still holding the bronze lamp, got off the bed to look. She saw Zhang Cang wearing Imperial Guard armor, looking embarrassed as he was stuck in the window frame.

“…”

Their eyes met, and Zhang Cang uncomfortably coughed.

Zhao Yan hurriedly ran over with her clanking chains and helped lift the heavy window frame so that his strong, muscular body could pass through.

Zhang Cang landed on the floor and carefully restored the window frame’s wooden slats, then rotated his shoulders and moved his arms to work out the stiffness.

Zhao Yan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: “I’m being confined here! All of you should show a little more respect for the guards outside.”

“At the hour of Zi, the guards change shifts, leaving a gap of one tea’s time. With His Highness not in the capital, it’s not as convenient for this humble one to enter the palace as usual. I’ve been neglectful, Your Highness.”

Zhang Cang leaned against the door, listened to the movements outside, and, confirming that those changing shifts had not yet arrived, felt reassured enough to ask, “Has Your Highness been eating and sleeping well these past few days?”

Zhao Yan lit the bronze lamp and placed it back on the table.

“Quite well. The palace servant who brings me food and tea daily, the one with a burn scar on his hand—is he one of your men?”

Zhang Cang said, “That is His Highness’s hidden agent. The food he brings has all been tested for poison, so Your Highness can rest assured.”

“No wonder. I was wondering why he was so kind to a prisoner, not only with a friendly attitude but occasionally bringing snacks I like.”

Zhao Yan smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

She had been preparing for bed, so her hair was loose, and her voice had returned to feminine softness. Zhang Cang’s ears inexplicably grew hot.

“Your Highness, are you truly a woman?” he asked awkwardly.

Zhao Yan was surprised: “You didn’t know?”

Zhang Cang coughed uncomfortably.

“You and your master… You never suspected?”

“I had suspicions,” Zhang Cang scratched behind his ear and honestly replied, “This humble one thought the Prince had some special preference, and I was confused why someone with male tastes would use women’s medicine. I didn’t dare ask others, so I investigated many books on male romance… cough, now this humble one understands why Cai Tian always rolls his eyes at me.”

He had found those male romance books disgusting, yet curiously continued reading.

As a result, he had almost become interested in men himself, only to discover that the Crown Prince was a woman in disguise!

Hearing Zhang Cang’s peculiar journey of understanding, Zhao Yan wanted to laugh but feared alerting the guards outside. She could only hold her stomach as she sat back on the couch, with tears of suppressed laughter in her eyes, and asked: “You risked coming here just to confirm whether I’m male or female?”

Zhang Cang remembered his real purpose and hurriedly stood straight: “Of course not! The court winds aren’t favorable, and this humble one fears we can’t wait until His Highness returns to the capital. I want to rescue Your Highness first so you can go into hiding.”

Zhao Yan put on a cloak and asked: “How are the court winds unfavorable?”

“Prince Su’s household intelligence is always in Cai Tian’s hands, so this humble one doesn’t know much. The court has debated several rounds, but voices advocating for Your Highness’s execution still prevail. Those scholars are indeed campaigning and petitioning for Your Highness, restraining the court, but Left Chancellor Li Kexing has yet to express his position. He is a great scholar of this generation and a senior official who has served two emperors—he will likely stand on the ‘execute’ side. Once the old man makes his decision, Your Highness will be in danger.”

As he spoke, Zhang Cang stepped forward. “His Highness is still on his way back. Allow this humble one to break these chains and take Your Highness to safety.”

Zhao Yan shook her head in refusal: “Thank you. But I cannot leave, or all our efforts will be in vain.”

“But…”

“If I leave, that means I’ve lost. Do you understand?”

Speaking too urgently caused cold air to enter her lungs, and Zhao Yan covered her mouth and coughed lightly. “Don’t involve your master. Tell him to trust me.”

As she raised her hand, Zhang Cang saw the reddened, broken skin on her wrist where the black iron had rubbed against it. Against her delicate white wrist, it was heart-wrenching to behold.

“This injury… It’s far too severe!”

Zhang Cang clicked his tongue and said helplessly, “If His Highness knew Your Highness was in such a state, wouldn’t he be heartbroken?”

At these words, Zhao Yan’s heart softened, and she sniffled.

These days, she had deliberately suppressed thoughts of Wenren Lin, not daring to think of him. She feared she would involuntarily reveal weakness, but her forced resilience and composure nearly fell apart at the mention of his name.

Outside the hall, torches approached, and the voices of the changing guards could be heard. Zhao Yan composed herself, wiped the corner of her eye, and smiled: “You should go now, Deputy Commander Zhang.”

Seeing she was determined to continue her gamble, Zhang Cang had no choice but to give up, saying, “Tomorrow I’ll have that servant bring some silk handkerchiefs for Your Highness to cushion your wrists,” before nimbly climbing out the window and closing it again.

Almost simultaneously, the guards unlocked the door and entered, holding a lamp to look from a distance at Zhao Yan lying on the bed. Only then did they withdraw, reassured, locking the door again.

“Eh, why is this window frame loose?”

“Seal it up quickly—we can’t have any accidents. This weather is so cold it makes one’s bones ache!”

The moon was frost-like cold. Zhao Yan lay on her side on the bed, wrapped in blankets, listening to the sound of them nailing the window shut again, and slowly curled up her body.

She missed Wenren Lin.

For the first time, she missed him this strongly.

He was still in Luozhou, wasn’t he? She wondered how the rebel situation was being handled, and whether the nights in Luozhou were as cold.

…

“This year is wet and cold, with unusually heavy snow.”

Li Kexing, wearing a fur robe and leaning on his cane, stood in the corridor and looked up at the snow falling from the eaves. “Wanlan, I shouldn’t have recommended you as an imperial tutor for the Eastern Palace. Now that this has happened, you’re also suspended and under investigation because of it.”

“For a Teacher to say such things makes this student feel ashamed.”

Zhou Ji stood tall in a jade-colored robe with a moon-gray padded cloak over it. His hair was meticulously tied with a matching colored band, and his entire demeanor was like the flying snow under the eaves—pure and unsullied.

Li Kexing spoke slowly: “I hear that these past few days, you often go to listen to the Mingde Academy scholars debate ritual propriety. What is your view on Princess Changfeng’s situation?”

Zhou Ji replied: “Humble scholars want to use this opportunity to open a new path, while aristocratic families want to maintain their authority. This debate on ritual propriety no longer concerns merely the princess’s life or death, but has become a tug-of-war between humble scholars and aristocratic families.”

“Correct, you see through it clearly,” Li Kexing praised. “You have taught this girl twice, front and back. Do you also think she was wrong?”

Zhou Ji’s eyelids lowered slightly as he said softly: “She was wrong.”

“Wrong in what way?”

“Disregarding ritual and law, deceiving the world. As a woman, seeking… to usurp.”

Li Kexing nodded with satisfaction: this student of his was most upright and just.

“To be recognized, abandoning what one has upheld through ten years of diligent study, and instead supporting a woman who defies tradition—where is the integrity of a scholar in this?”

Li Kexing sighed, “In the end, it’s a pity she’s a woman who stood in the wrong position.”

This complex, long sigh had already revealed the great scholar’s stance.

Li Kexing turned around and raised his arm as usual to take Zhou Ji’s outstretched hand, but grasped empty air.

Li Kexing paused and turned to look, only to see Zhou Ji slowly walking to the bottom of the steps and kneeling in the swirling snow. The ice-pure young man, with his elegant features, almost merged with the frost and snow.

Li Kexing looked at the student he was most proud of, seeming to understand something.

“Wanlan, get up.”

But Zhou Ji clasped his hands and bowed deeply, with snow covering his entire body, maintaining his deep bow.

“Princess Changfeng’s conduct is indeed unacceptable by ritual standards,” he paused briefly and said evenly, “However, this student had the fortune to teach her twice and knows her character well. The princess is intelligent and righteous; apart from standing in the wrong position, her scholarship and sense of justice are not inferior to any man’s.”

“You want to protect her.”

“Yes.”

“Even knowing that her actions violate the principles you’ve upheld through more than ten years of diligent study, you still want to protect her?”

“…Yes.”

“Wanlan, you have a firm character, a clear sense of right and wrong, and never make decisions contrary to reason. Since when did you start judging based on emotion?”

Li Kexing gripped his cane tightly and, after a long while, hoarsely asked, “Do you want to debate with your benefactor teacher in court?”

Zhou Ji’s Adam’s apple moved slightly, and he closed his eyes: “This student has failed his teacher’s instruction, an unforgivable sin.”

“Sin? What sin do you acknowledge? Previously, you focused only on books and papers, detached from the mundane world, unaware of life’s joys and sorrows. Now that you can judge with compassion, I rather feel you’ve become a ‘person’ with flesh and blood.”

Li Kexing’s complex voice came from the corridor as he tapped his cane and said solemnly, “Though you studied under me, you need not conform to me in everything. What I worry about is that the emotion in your heart has already exceeded the measure of proper ethics, causing you to act impulsively. Before debating ritual with me, first debate with your own heart—are you protecting her for the sake of righteousness or for personal feelings?”

Li Kexing turned away, while Zhou Ji remained kneeling on the ground, thin snow covering his shoulders.

“This student was born struggling to understand people, indifferent to worldly affairs, and detached even from family and friends, not knowing what emotion is.”

Zhou Ji questioned himself inwardly.

“This student only knows that twice when teaching Her Highness, though her questions were tricky, this student did not feel offended. Rather, upon returning home, I felt more motivated to study extensively, finding great satisfaction in discovering a historical reference with which to refute her. Teacher, if Her Highness had used her position as ‘Crown Prince’ to commit evil and seek personal gain, this student would certainly not be kneeling here today, speaking even half a word in her defense.”

The response was a long sigh from Li Kexing.

In the courtyard, the steward approached with an umbrella and respectfully asked: “Master, there is a noble guest from the palace requesting an audience.”

With the court in constant debate, these days people continuously sent cards requesting the Left Chancellor to come forward and take charge of the situation.

Without thinking, Li Kexing instructed: “I have rheumatism and bone chills and am not fit to receive guests.”

“Does the Left Chancellor refuse to see even this palace lady?”

A cold female voice came through, and Li Kexing squinted his eyes while leaning on his cane, seeing a noble lady approaching through the wind and snow. He immediately composed himself and bowed.

“Empress.”

He said, “Are you also unsettled in the rear palace and have come to pressure this old official?”

“I have not come today to pressure the Left Chancellor, but to beg of you.”

With those words, this woman, mother of the nation, exalted and dignified, finally lowered her proud head, bent her knees, and performed a woman’s bow in the wind and snow to the white-haired old man under the corridor.

“How can Her Majesty bow to this official? What are you doing!”

“Zhao Yan was wrong in a thousand ways, wrong in caring too much for her brother, single-mindedly seeking to clear his name and reveal the truth; wrong in being too righteous, treating the safety of the Great Xuan as her responsibility…”

Her tone of pleading was almost resolute: “My son has already died for righteousness, and now my daughter has become a prisoner. I beg the Left Chancellor to have mercy on this failed mother. In the oral disputes of the court, please spare my daughter Zhao Yan’s life.”

…

At the city gate, several riders galloped in.

Wenren Lin did not change his clothes but went directly to the palace.

More than a dozen court officials had just come out of the Taiji Hall and were gathered in small groups, discussing the Crown Prince’s funeral and the disposition of Princess Changfeng.

Just as they reached the Taiji Gate, they saw a blade, bright as snow, fly toward them, brushing past their faces and embedding itself in the door nail of the Taiji Gate.

Looking carefully, they saw that the blade still carried a bloody head.

All present turned pale and fell silent, watching the man in black robes stained with blood, not knowing his intentions.

“Here is the head of the rebel leader who rose in Luozhou under the pretext of the deposed Crown Prince. Please, take a good look,” Wenren Lin tossed the empty scabbard back to a petrified guard nearby. His tone was calm but chilled people to the bone: “Also, His Majesty’s dragon body is unwell, so you all should not disturb the imperial peace with such small matters. From this moment, Princess Changfeng will be interrogated by this prince.”

The wind and snow howled, and no one uttered a sound.

Only after that dark figure had gone far away did someone ask softly: “Wasn’t he supposed to take at least two or three months? How did he… how did he return so quickly?”

“Looking at him covered in a murderous aura, how does he still seem human? This doesn’t bode well.”

“The Crown Prince is a woman, the young prince is underage—what a great opportunity. If he wants to overthrow the imperial system and take power himself, who in the world would dare stop him? I’d say His Majesty has nurtured a tiger that will bring calamity.”

“I think we should jointly submit a memorial…”

The officials inadvertently glanced at the head still swinging on the door, suspended by its hair, and all felt a chill down their spines.

Chaoyu Palace.

Zhao Yan’s monthly period had come at this most inconvenient time.

All the guards were men, so naturally she couldn’t ask them for feminine necessities. Fortunately, she discovered it early. She hugged her stomach, thought for a moment, and decided to cut up some of her undergarments for emergency use.

However, there were no scissors or other sharp tools in the room. She tried tearing with her hands for a long time, but couldn’t tear off a piece. In the end, she had to take apart several silk handkerchiefs that Zhang Cang had sent through the servant to wrap her wrists, using them temporarily as padding.

Without the handkerchiefs for wrapping, her wrists were painfully rubbed by the cold black iron, and her knees, after kneeling for two days, were bruised beyond recognition. Only now did she experience the bitterness of a prisoner whose dignity is trampled underfoot.

Zhao Yan, you must be stronger.

She pressed her lips together, tilted her head back to overcome the heat in her nose, suppressed her cough, took several deep breaths, and only then tidied her clothes and painfully stood up. Supporting herself on the screen and table, she slowly returned to the center of the hall to continue kneeling for interrogation.

Seeing that she wouldn’t speak, the interrogator went through the motions and left.

Shortly after, the door opened again, and an unfamiliar palace maid entered carrying hot food and tea to serve Zhao Yan.

Zhao Yan knelt behind the table and glanced at the palace maid: “Why are you bringing the meal today?”

The palace maid set out bowls and chopsticks for her and opened a nearby auspicious beast incense burner, saying: “In reply to Your Highness, the original eunuch who brought meals fell ill, so I was sent instead.”

Zhao Yan raised an eyebrow slightly and reached out to stop the palace maid who was trying to light the incense.

The cold iron chain fell on the palace maid’s hand, making her shudder.

“I’m very curious,” Zhao Yan smiled calmly and leaned closer. “For a prisoner like me, who doesn’t even have a charcoal basin for warmth, why am I being brought superior incense? Don’t you find that strange?”

The palace maid’s expression changed, and she insisted on lighting the incense with the fire she held, but Zhao Yan promptly knocked it to the ground.

Seeing that her plan was exposed, the palace maid decided to act decisively. She pulled a sharp hairpin from her hair and stabbed at Zhao Yan.

Zhao Yan grabbed the palace maid’s wrist and twisted it back. The palace maid cried out in pain, and the hairpin clattered to the ground.

She was incredibly grateful that she had learned some basic moves from Wenren Lin and wasn’t so dull as to sit and wait for death.

“You’re not the Emperor’s person. If Father Emperor wanted to kill me, it would take just one word—he wouldn’t resort to such means.”

Before alerting the guards, Zhao Yan picked up the hairpin and pressed it against the palace maid’s neck, demanding: “Your master, who uses poisoned incense—is it the Priest? Speak!”

The palace maid gritted her teeth and remained silent.

Seemingly thinking of something, she suddenly turned her head and thrust herself onto Zhao Yan’s hairpin, immediately causing blood to gush forth.

Zhao Yan hadn’t expected her to take her own life and gasped, immediately releasing her grip.

The palace maid seized the opportunity to break free and, putting on a terrified expression, covered her bleeding neck and stumbled away crying: “Help! The young princess has gone mad! The young princess tried to kill this servant!”

“Damn it…”

Zhao Yan tried to pursue, but her injured knees were painfully throbbing. As soon as she stood up, she collapsed to the ground, completely unable to move a step.

If she were labeled a “madwoman,” all the efforts at the Mingde Academy would be for nothing.

“The young princess has gone mad! She… ugh!”

The palace maid’s voice abruptly stopped, as if something terrifying had gripped her throat.

Zhao Yan looked up and saw the palace maid freeze and fall straight down, while a tall figure covered in cold snow strode in.

“Clean it up,” Wenren Lin said without stopping.

Zhao Yan stared in shock, and then her eyes slowly filled with tears.

Was she dreaming?

It must be a dream, right?

She held onto the table to stand up, as if to confirm something, but her knees weakened and she fell forward again.

This time she didn’t hit the ground. Her waist was firmly embraced, and she fell into a broad embrace as the chains on her wrists clinked.

“Your Highness, sit down, don’t move.”

Wenren Lin’s voice was hoarse and deep as he helped her slowly sit on the cushion and removed his fox-fur cloak to wrap around Zhao Yan’s cold body.

The cloak carried the smell of travel-worn dust and the cold scent of frost and snow. But it was warm—the warmest moment in the past ten days or so.

Zhao Yan buried her nose in the collar, pressed her lips together, and called out: “Wenren Shaoyuan…”

“Mm, I’m here,” he answered.

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhao Yan suddenly straightened and wrapped her arms around Wenren Lin’s neck, embracing him with all her might, as if entrusting her entire weight to him.

The iron chains on her wrists trembled with her breathing, and the girl’s breath fell hurriedly on his ear, restrained yet helpless.

Outside the hall, the snow stopped, and the wind ceased. No one came to disturb them.

Wenren Lin maintained his half-kneeling position, slowly patting her back, waiting for her to fully express her emotions.

He gently pulled down Zhao Yan’s hands, his gaze falling on the reddened, broken skin on her wrists, and in an instant, his eyes became like bottomless abysses.