Wenren…

The north wind blew strongly throughout the night, extinguishing most of the lantern lights across the city.

On the Tongtian Platform, two Taoist priests with cloth-covered faces were following orders to pour stockpiled medicinal ingredients into an alchemical furnace.

“Why did the Master suddenly order the destruction of all medicinal catalysts?” one asked.

The other, covering his nose and mouth, replied: “Who knows? The Southern Region Candle Snake is already endangered, and this is the last of our stock… what a pity, truly a pity.”

With a splash, an exotic fragrance filled the air as the precious medicinal catalyst worth one or two hundred gold pieces instantly turned to ashes in the furnace.

In Changsheng Hall, lamp shadows danced menacingly on the imperial yellow gauze curtains.

The Emperor awoke from a nightmare, throwing off his bedcovers to sit on the dragon bed, massaging his aching temples. His silk undergarments were soaked with cold sweat.

“Your Majesty.”

A gentle female voice came. Concubine Zhen wore a purple gauze dress with a golden lotus crown, holding a duster as she sat primly at the edge of the bed. The light from the eternal lamp fell upon her, making her appear like a divine consort descended to the mortal world.

“I dreamed of them again.”

…

…

The Emperor drank a cup of tea from Concubine Zhen’s hand and let out a long sigh. “Lately, I’ve been frequently dreaming of those departed souls, and my spirit grows increasingly weary.”

“Your Majesty has simply been overthinking and overworrying, exhausting yourself. You are the Dao Lord descended to the mortal realm, with the body of an immortal—no ghost or demon can approach you.”

Concubine Zhen’s delicate, seemingly boneless white hands gently massaged the Emperor’s acupressure points as she said softly, “Let me burn some incense for you to calm your spirit.”

The Emperor pinched the bridge of his nose and raised his hand, signaling her to go ahead.

Concubine Zhen moved with light lotus steps, kneeling at the table to purify her hands before accepting the elaborate and exquisite items—incense feathers, incense spoons—handed by the palace maid. She took the supreme incense powder, placed it in the incense pattern, and used the incense spade to clean and press it into a decorative pattern. Under the lamplight, her delicate features and moth-like eyebrows, her every movement was incomparably elegant.

In a moment, a line of milky incense smoke rose and diffused, penetrating the heart and lungs, truly giving a sense of ethereal immortal realms.

The Emperor felt much better. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and his agitated heart gradually became peaceful and stable.

The dead entangle, and the living are troublesome. In just a short month, only Wenren Lin could have beheaded the rebel leader and displayed his head as a warning.

But had the rebel army truly been pacified?

Did this sharp blade still belong to him?

When Wenren Lin’s first action upon returning to the capital was not to report to the Emperor, but to take custody of Princess Changfeng who was confined in Chaoyu Hall, the Emperor felt a crisis, as if being cut by the blade in his xhand.

“Over these years, I have not treated you poorly. I’ve given you everything I could. Even when court officials impeached you and criticized me as muddle-headed behind my back, I still did my utmost to protect you.”

Yesterday in the inner chamber of Jiying Hall, the Emperor, suppressing the itch in his throat, raised his head to examine at length this young man who stood tall and strong just like Wenren Jin’ping in his youth. Nightmarish tides surged, and his brain ached as if being cut by a knife.

The Emperor took a deep breath, glanced at the newly refined antidote in the red-lacquered medicine box, and said gravely: “I have gone to great lengths to seek and refine medicine for you, not for you to seek your death! Think clearly about what you want.”

These words almost laid everything bare. What had Wenren Lin said at that time?

“This subject wants the truth, and Princess Changfeng.”

He seemed to be smiling, yet not smiling, nor bowing in apology, nor showing any concealment or avoidance.

Years of guilt dissipated in that moment, the chains of control turning to sand between his fingers, no longer graspable.

The Emperor gathered his thoughts, his knuckles resting on his legs tightened slightly as he muttered a rebuke: “All of them, they’re all rebelling.”

Concubine Zhen’s hand paused as she prepared the incense, while Eunuch Feng, who was attending to the clothing nearby, was so frightened that he prostrated himself, trembling as he said: “This old servant is terrified. May Your Majesty take care of your dragon body.”

Only then did the Emperor realize his lapse in composure. Lately, he had been tired and increasingly unable to control his temper.

He straightened his posture and said evenly, “Enough, I wasn’t talking about you. Go, summon someone from the Ministry of War to see me.”

The ungrateful wolf cub had truly betrayed the imperial grace. Unfortunately, though the Son of Heaven could bestow supreme power upon the Wenren family, he could also take it back.

No matter how arrogant, he was but a dying man; what was there to fear?

At the same time, in Hegui Pavilion, the jade wind chimes beneath the window tinkled lightly in the breeze.

Wenren Lin gazed at the fading lantern lights of Penglai Hall in the distance, slowly scanning the secret report handed to him by Cai Tian before placing it in the charcoal brazier and setting it aflame. Having enjoyed the lantern festival with the young princess today, he was in a good mood, and even as he burned the report, he wore a faint smile.

“A dying man, nothing to fear.”

Wenren Lin calmly repeated, his eyes taking on the cold, unfathomable quality of the night. “I wonder if the Emperor sleeps soundly when saying such words.”

People in this world find it difficult to save themselves. How can they save the world? It’s a pity that the young princess has tried so hard for so long, only to be disappointed again.

After days of traveling, a sudden cold pain shot through his chest. Wenren Lin coughed lightly, his fist pressed against his lips.

When he removed it, there was a faint taste of blood in his lungs.

Cai Tian noticed something wrong with his complexion and quickly fetched a handkerchief, stepping forward: “Is Your Highness feeling unwell? It’s only been half a month…”

Wenren Lin didn’t seem particularly concerned. After pondering for a moment, he unhurriedly wiped his hands clean: “It seems we’ll need to trouble Physician Sun to modify the prescription again.”

…

The days following the Lantern Festival were consecutively fine. After the snow melted, the brown branches of late winter and early spring jutted out raggedly over the wall.

Since Zhao Yān was being educated by the Empress Dowager while under punishment and could not freely leave Penglai Hall, she decided to take out the box of books she had brought from the Eastern Palace.

In no time, she indeed found the intelligence clues that Gu Xing had inserted in her frequently read “Imperial Strategies” book.

The secret note recorded that during the half-month she was imprisoned, apart from entering the palace to pay respects and discuss the marriage alliance, the Northern Wu envoys had frequented the brothels and entertainment quarters.

Such places were a mix of all sorts, with a huge flow of people, making them quite difficult to investigate. But Gu Xing was loyal and reliable. Zhao Yān had asked him to pay attention to everyone who had contact with the Northern Wu envoys, and he had indeed recorded everything in detail.

Zhao Yān discovered that those who came and went around the envoys included dancing girls, musicians, female Taoist priests, and hidden prostitutes. Though they seemed indiscriminate, there was a pattern to follow.

For instance, they most frequently visited the music house next to Wanshou Temple. This music house was special; it harbored many young women of disgraced officials who had fallen into a base status. These young women had to be sold as slaves due to their families’ crimes.

It was quite strange for a group of foreigners to go to such a place for entertainment, singing and dancing with the musicians.

Zhao Yān’s mind filled with doubts. She held a book, sitting on the stone steps of the drooping flower gate, her skirt spreading gracefully, thinking about her next plan in the gentle winter sun.

Shi Lan was taking books out of the chest to air them in the sun. Seeing Zhao Yān sitting quietly with a book, she couldn’t help but say in her crisp voice: “After not seeing you for over a year, Your Highness has changed so much! In the past, when Master Zhou asked you to read, you always avoided it. Now you can sit quietly and read.”

Shi Lan had grown up with Zhao Yān since childhood. The mistress and servant had similar figures and equally lively personalities.

When in Huayang, Zhao Yān would often have Shi Lan impersonate her in the classroom, thinking Zhou Ji couldn’t tell them apart, while she slipped away to play.

Now hearing Shi Lan mention the past, Zhao Yān felt a momentary sense of being in a different life.

She held the book under her chin and replied with a smile: “You don’t understand. This princess has encountered a good teacher who insists on personal involvement, so naturally I’ve come to appreciate the joy of reading.”

Shi Lan tied up her sleeves with cloth strings and moved closer: “Is the ‘good teacher’ Your Highness mentioned, the Prince Su who carried Your Highness back on the night of the Lantern Festival?”

Zhao Yān glanced at her, but Shi Lan wasn’t afraid and continued: “This servant has heard it all! Prince Su is the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor, and although you were pretending… since you’ve performed the discipleship ceremony, shouldn’t he be considered half your ‘teacher’? Look, you’re smiling. This servant has never seen you smile like this before.”

They were mistress and servant, yet more like sisters, talking freely about everything, intimate and unrestricted.

Zhao Yān unconsciously touched the corner of her mouth and asked: “How am I smiling? Isn’t it the same as when I was in Huayang?”

Shi Lan also sat on the stone steps, cradling her chin and shaking her head, genuinely saying: “It’s different. Your Highness is smiling sweetly, the kind that makes bubbles rise in one’s heart just by looking at it.”

“Really? Nonsense.”

Zhao Yān deliberately kept a straight face, trying to suppress the corners of her mouth that had inadvertently turned upward. Yet in her mind, she was thinking of the Empress Dowager’s question on the night of the Lantern Festival:

“Then why are you so close to him, trusting him? What is the reason?”

Zhao Yān had an answer in her heart, but she couldn’t say it out loud.

That man was quite unreasonable; he allowed himself to retreat from his principles but wouldn’t permit her to abandon hers.

Speaking of which, she hadn’t seen Wenren Lin for quite some time.

When busy, one doesn’t notice, but once the mind is idle, she does miss him a bit…

Just as her thoughts were drifting, she saw Shi Lan flipping through the books on the lower level while muttering: “Why are all these books wrapped in silk cloth, hidden so carefully?”

Zhao Yān snapped back to reality, suddenly on high alert, and quickly called out: “Wait! Those books don’t need to be aired!”

“Why not?”

Shi Lan was puzzled, holding the silk-wrapped package, not knowing whether to put it down or not. “These books at the bottom of the chest are very prone to mold and insects.”

How could Zhao Yān explain to Shi Lan that her princess was no longer the same princess from a year ago?

These improper books were all from Wenren Lin’s “extra teachings” to her late at night, not meant to be seen in the light of day!

Zhao Yān couldn’t bear to look directly and had to press the book against her forehead, hastily making up a reason: “Those are books that only the ‘Crown Prince’ can touch; put them down quickly.”

Shi Lan thought they were some kind of confidential state documents and truly didn’t dare to meddle. She hurriedly and respectfully “returned” the books to the bottom layer of the chest.

Zhao Yān let out a sigh of relief. Just as she was about to get up and hide these packages more carefully, she heard the muttering of a group of people in the distance.

Looking up, she saw the Minister of Rites leading Wu Que and his group on a tour of Penglai Pool in the Northern Palace, appreciating the Great Xuan’s palace garden architecture with pavilions every five steps and scenic spots every ten steps. They happened to be passing by.

Zhao Yān, in a red gauze skirt, sat reading beneath the drooping flower gate. The winter plum sought fragrance, and the bare branches offered no obstruction, so the visitors quickly spotted her.

Wu Que asked the Minister of Rites a few questions, then, ignoring the dissuasion of those Han officials, strode toward Zhao Yān.

The weather had warmed slightly recently. Wu Que had removed his sable fur coat and wore only a tight-sleeved, turned-collar padded woolen barbarian garment. His collar opened very low, revealing his prominent collarbones and some of his deep, wheat-colored chest. His light-colored baggy trousers gathered like lanterns into his leather boots, his earrings jingled, and his striking white hair danced in the wind as he curiously examined Zhao Yān, stroking his chin.

Zhao Yān was just about to investigate what he was up to, and he had delivered himself to her door. She closed the book in her hand, stood up, and met Wu Que’s gaze.

“We meet again, little princess of Great Xuan! Tsk, this current appearance is more pleasing to the eye.”

Wu Que seemed to show great interest in the current Zhao Yān: in men’s clothing, she was like a beautiful jade in a box; in women’s clothing, she was like a bright pearl of a prosperous age.

His golden eyes sparkled as he stared straight at her, filled with the undisguised interest of a foreigner.

“Unfortunately, I find you displeasing to look at.”

Zhao Yān stood inside the gate, lifting the corner of her mouth and calmly countering, “Doesn’t the Thirteenth Prince know that Penglai Hall is off-limits?”

“Why? Because you broke Great Xuan’s laws by impersonating a man and are confined here?”

Wu Que was delighted to have found the girl who had left such a deep impression on him in childhood. He smiled lazily, “You’ll die if you stay here anyway. Why not agree to come with me as the Emperor wishes? I’ll protect you.”

Although Wu Que spoke fluent Han language, he was not proficient enough to know that subtle differences in words could reveal certain subtle clues.

“Father Emperor is still deliberating on how to deal with me. What makes you so certain I will die if I stay?”

Zhao Yān keenly grasped the key point, stepping forward with the book in her hand. “You’ve been in Great Xuan’s capital for barely a month, yet you seem to understand the court situation better than I do.”

Wu Que froze, quickly adjusting his expression, and muttered something in his native tongue.

Zhao Yān frowned: “Speak human language.”

“Han men are too arrogant and won’t leave a way out for women. But Northern Wu is different—each Northern Wu man only marries one wife, and women can also hold official positions and lead troops. They can soar like hawks over the oasis, without any restrictions.”

Wu Que narrowed his eyes, leaning forward to look down at Zhao Yān. “Would an intelligent and brave woman like you be content to be buried in a place like this?”

He leaned over and extended his hand, issuing a tempting invitation. Yet his gaze was like looking at a war trophy he could boast about, extremely aggressive.

Zhao Yān did not like such a presumptuous gaze. Her eyes fell on Wu Que’s outstretched hand, and she frowned slightly.

The cold wind suddenly rose, and a pale, cold hand grasped Wu Que’s overly familiar palm.

That hand was long and beautiful, with veins slightly protruding on the back. Though seemingly a casual grip, it made Wu Que’s eyes change dramatically, and he hurriedly twisted away to dissipate the force.

Wenren Lin withdrew his hand to stand protectively in front of Zhao Yān. The crimson royal robe moved without wind, his figure tall, steady, and reliable.

He seemed to be passing by, or perhaps had come here by chance, and unhurriedly said: “Where did this filth come from, polluting Your Highness’s eyes?”

Zhao Yān closed her eyelashes briefly. When she opened her eyes again, Wenren Lin’s cold, handsome face was still before her, his eyes deep and enchanting.

Her eyes curved into a smile, and the corners of her mouth, which she had suppressed after Shi Lan’s teasing, turned upward uncontrollably.

The “filth,” Wu Que, was not so happy. He held his wrist, his brows furrowed into the shape of the number eight.

Seeing their prince insulted, the Northern Wu envoys swarmed forward but were stopped by Wu Que’s raised hand.

He examined Wenren Lin, a crazy, bold idea surfacing in his mind. Suddenly, he wanted to verify the authenticity of the intelligence.

Wu Que’s eyes darkened, and without warning, he raised his palm to strike. Wenren Lin, with one hand still holding a handkerchief, met the attack with his other palm.

The two palms collided, creating a sharp wind. Wu Que, completely unprepared, heard the crisp sound of his wrist bones dislocating. Then a sharp pain in his left chest—he was struck back several steps. When he steadied himself, a faint taste of blood rose in his throat.

Just enough to make a point.

Wu Que looked at his soft, dislocated wrist, his expression complex for a moment.

He was a warrior ranked among the best in Northern Wu. Just now, he had used eight or nine-tenths of his strength, yet couldn’t even touch a piece of the other’s sleeve. The palm clash made him realize the gap in strength between him and Great Xuan’s war god…

And this was just raw strength. In terms of military tactics and formations, who knew what the outcome would be?

Could it be that the intelligence given to him was false?

This man did not seem like someone suffering from a strange poison at all.

Wu Que’s eyes changed several times. Zhao Yān, feeling vindicated, took the silk handkerchief from Wenren Lin’s hand and wiped it for him, mimicking his tone as she frowned: “Where did this filth come from, polluting Prince Su’s hand?”

Wu Que instead burst out laughing, not at all minding Zhao Yān’s mockery.

He raised his hand to twist his wrist back into place, pressed his chest with one hand in salute, and excitedly said: “During the last battle at the Shooting Palace, this prince didn’t get enough excitement, hence the offense. If there’s another opportunity, I hope we can have another battle of military tactics on the battlefield.”

Hearing this, though several officials from the Ministry of Rites were dissatisfied, for the sake of peace talks between the two countries, they could only endure.

Zhao Yān gripped the handkerchief tightly: These blood-drinking, northern barbarians, what do they think of war and human life?

Wu Que gave Zhao Yān a meaningful look before retreating several steps, leading his fierce-looking subordinates away to continue their leisurely tour.

Zhao Yān lowered her head and continued wiping Wenren Lin’s palm. She took his cool, long fingers, examined them back and forth, and asked: “I haven’t seen you for quite some time. What made you suddenly decide to come? Does your palm hurt?”

Wenren Lin allowed her to hold his hand and replied leisurely: “I wanted to see Your Highness, so naturally I came.”

The hoarse words, carrying a hint of indolence, made Zhao Yān’s heart suddenly tighten.

Wenren Lin’s voice was usually deep and pleasant, elegant and restrained. He rarely spoke in such a tone. She remembered that only during those few days at the beginning of the month would his emotions be externalized, revealing a somewhat self-destructive, lingering strangeness.

Zhao Yān gripped his fingers tightly and looked up at Wenren Lin’s cold face, accentuated by his red clothing. The smile in her eyes gradually disappeared.

It seemed that since the beginning of the Lantern Festival, his fingers had been somewhat cool when touching her. But at that time, in the intimacy of the carriage, Zhao Yān had no opportunity to notice this anomaly.

Wenren Lin coughed, his expression normal, but his lips showed an abnormal deep red.

This was the second time, after half a year, that Zhao Yān witnessed him suffering from the poison, catching her off guard.

Shi Lan had gone to make tea, the attendants were cleaning far away, and the Empress Dowager was still reciting Buddhist scriptures in the rear hall—no one was paying attention to the activity here.

The clear sky seemed covered with thick clouds. Zhao Yān pressed her lips together and, without a word, led Wenren Lin by the hand toward the side hall.

The side hall was arranged as a quiet, small study. Zhao Yān closed the doors and windows, then stood on tiptoe to press Wenren Lin into a chair. The man’s eyes appeared especially bright in the dimness, composed as he allowed her to arrange things.

Zhao Yān leaned in to smell Wenren Lin’s scent and said somewhat helplessly: “It’s only the end of the month, how can it be like this already…”

“This month, the prince stopped taking the palace’s medicine and recuperated at Yuquan Palace for several days.”

Zhang Cang, who had accompanied him, knocked on the door and entered, taking out a pill from a bottle to present it, explaining: “Princess, need not worry. This isn’t yet a full onset of the poison; enduring it for a while will pass. Originally, Physician Sun wouldn’t have allowed the prince to return today, but the prince himself couldn’t bear not seeing you.”

Zhao Yān’s heart seized; this explanation was worse than no explanation at all.

If this didn’t count as a full onset of the poison, what would a real attack look like?

The brown pill was not the dark red pill he had taken before, nor did it have that strange, cold fragrance.

“What’s going on?”

Zhao Yān heard her voice turn dry and asked with difficulty, “Is it Father Emperor who…”

“It’s this prince who doesn’t wish to let things drift.”

Wenren Lin took the pill and swallowed it, but it didn’t have the immediate effect of before. Feeling the cold pain spreading in his internal organs, he said: “Didn’t Your Highness urge this prince to live a long life? So this prince is trying different prescriptions, but the poison is too complex, and even Physician Sun finds it challenging.”

Zhao Yān stood silently, her eyes hot and stinging.

“Why has Your Highness become so still?”

Seeing her restraining herself from speaking, the dark currents in Wenren Lin’s eyes slightly calmed. He raised his arm to draw her close, his fingertips gently pressing her white, bitten lip. “Release it, don’t bite.”

“Wenren Shaoyuan, can’t you be a little kinder to yourself? Don’t always be like this…”

Zhao Yān’s breath caught, and she couldn’t continue.

Half a month of confined longing, intimacy under the lanterns, and these days of repeatedly pondering and suppressing the answer—all of it broke through the dam in this moment.

Wenren Lin quietly gazed at her distress, somewhat regretting coming to see her in this state. He lowered his voice: “Don’t worry, I won’t die. This prince has promised, moving forward, I’ll support Your Highness; stepping back, I’ll let Your Highness act coquettishly…”

Before he could finish, warm fragrance entered his embrace.

Zhao Yān hugged him tightly, pressing close, trying to dispel the coldness seeping from his bones with her body heat.

“You said to maintain reason and clarity with you. I’ve tried, but it seems I can’t do it. Why can you be unrestrained, while I must restrain myself? It’s truly unfair.”

Zhao Yān took a deep breath to hide her trembling voice, with a hint of gritted teeth, but more soft resilience.

She bent forward, looking at the rarely surprised Wenren Lin, and declared word by word: “Anyway, I never listen to you, and this time is no different. I’ve broken my promise, but not my heart.”

She raised her voice: “Wenren Shaoyuan, I think I have feelings for you.”