“Afraid they’ll recognize you…”

The chaotic, floating footsteps drew closer. Zhao Yān hid behind the curtain, holding her breath with nowhere to retreat.

When the visitor was only about ten paces from the door, she was suddenly stopped by an imperial guard: “This is His Majesty’s private chamber. Consort Shu is not permitted to enter!”

“I wish to see His Majesty.” It was the slightly weak voice of Concubine Xǔ.

Of course, since giving birth to a little prince on the same day as the Emperor’s birthday, her status had been elevated. Through her son, she had been promoted to “First-rank Consort Shu,” a position ranking just below the Empress and Concubine Zhen.

“His Majesty has already departed for Yuquan Palace to recuperate and is not in Taiji Hall. Please don’t put this humble servant in a difficult position, Consort Shu.”

“He’s already left the palace? So quickly.”

Consort Shu murmured, then raised her voice, “Matron Yang was my only family in the palace for many years, and she died so suddenly that I didn’t even get to see her one last time. Send word to His Majesty that I request an investigation into her death.”

She was commanding imperiously, emboldened by the favor she earned from bearing a prince. The captain was somewhat displeased but cupped his hands respectfully: “This servant will convey your request to His Majesty.”

“My lady, what are you doing here?” A palace maid hurried over to Consort Shu’s side and said anxiously, “You’ve only just completed your postpartum confinement and cannot afford to catch a cold. The wet nurse says the little prince has spit up again. Please go check on him quickly.”

…

…

“Can’t you handle a bit of spit-up? This is currently His Majesty’s only son. If anything happens to him, none of you will escape punishment.”

Consort Shu left in a huff, and shortly after, the imperial guards also patrolled away.

Zhao Yān let out a sigh of relief. Just as she was about to emerge from behind the hanging curtain, she heard another set of footsteps approaching.

The person wasn’t just passing by but walking directly toward the door.

Zhao Yān nearly failed to catch her breath: what day was it today? Why were there still people coming?

Seeing a blurry silhouette already cast upon the partition screen, Zhao Yān glanced around and spotted a nearby lounge bed used for resting. Without hesitation, she deftly lifted the imperial yellow silk mattress and curled herself underneath the bed.

Almost simultaneously, the door was pushed open, and someone walked in.

The footsteps were steady and unhurried, unlike those of palace servants or eunuchs.

Zhao Yān carefully turned her head to face outward.

The bedcover hung down from the edge, barely an inch above the ground. Through this narrow gap, she could only glimpse the identity of the visitor.

The dark boots were immaculately clean, with the hem of dark clothing reflected on the floor tiles. They looked somewhat familiar, but the gap was too small for Zhao Yān to see clearly.

As she was pondering this, the person pushed aside the hanging curtain and walked unhurriedly toward the inner chamber, stopping in front of the lounge bed.

The toe of the boot was less than a foot from her cheek, as though examining something.

Zhao Yān clenched her fingers tightly, and even her breathing stopped. Her back pressed against the cold floor tiles, breaking out in a thin layer of cold sweat.

A moment later, the boot toe turned unhurriedly, and the lounge bed sank. Zhao Yān’s eyes widened in shock—he was sitting down on the bed!

With the Emperor not in the palace, there weren’t even two people in the world who would dare to do this.

Zhao Yān vaguely guessed who it might be but didn’t dare to risk revealing herself, so she could only strain her ears to identify the person.

For a long while, there was silence.

Just as she was staring blankly, two light taps came from the edge of the bed, and a familiar, smiling voice leisurely reached her ears: “How long does Your Highness intend to hide?”

It was indeed that dark-hearted scoundrel!

Zhao Yān’s body went limp with relief. She tentatively extended her delicate white fingers, gripping the carved wooden panel at the foot of the bed to move herself. From beneath the bedcover, she emerged with an exquisite face that had turned red from holding her breath. She blew away the loose strands of hair from her eyes and glared at Wenren Lin’s incomparably handsome face.

Half her body was still under the bed when Wenren Lin stood up, restraining his laughter. He grasped Zhao Yān’s hand and pulled her out with gentle steadiness.

Her heart still pounding, Zhao Yān sat bewildered on the floor, reaching up to brush away the loose strands of hair at her forehead.

“How did you know I sneaked in here?”

As soon as the question left her lips, Zhao Yān knew it was redundant. She had people assigned by Wenren Lin secretly looking after her, so her every move was probably under his control.

She pressed her lips together and changed her question: “No, if you already knew I was in the room, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

She had been needlessly frightened.

“Get up first. The floor is cold.”

Wenren Lin pulled her to her feet and bent down to dust off the gray dirt on her green skirt. “Your Highness hid too quickly; this prince hadn’t yet had the chance to speak.”

“You’re lying. You did it on purpose,” Zhao Yān said in a lowered voice.

Wenren Lin gave a deep chuckle, neither confirming nor denying. He raised his other hand and placed it on Zhao Yān’s thin shoulder. “Don’t make a sound. In half an incense stick’s time, guards will patrol by. If Your Highness leaves now, you’ll encounter them at the front of Taiji Hall.”

Zhao Yān brushed the dust off her backside with her hand, coincidentally colliding with Wenren Lin’s knuckles as he was helping her dust off. Both of them paused.

Wenren Lin naturally took hold of her hand, his fingertips gently caressing—seemingly to comfort, yet also to tease—creating a somewhat forbidden atmosphere in the quiet, dim room.

Soon after, a squad of imperial guards passed orderly down the steps, patrolling away.

Zhao Yān was held tightly in Wenren Lin’s embrace, with only his steady heartbeat in her ears.

At the foot of Taiji Hall.

Zhao Yān clutched a tray to her chest, lowering her gaze and following behind Wenren Lin, striving to disguise herself as an inconspicuous little palace maid.

Taking a shortcut through Penglai Gate, Wenren Lin stopped and reached out to take the tray from Zhao Yān’s hands.

“What are you doing? When has a master ever carried things for a servant?”

Zhao Yān blinked, vigilant of their surroundings.

“Are Your Highness’s arms not tired?”

Wenren Lin glanced at her casually, skillfully tossing the tray in his hand. It spun several times in the air before landing steadily in his palm.

A casual display, yet performed with perfect elegance and ease.

“They are a bit sore,” Zhao Yān admitted.

The wind after the melting snow carried a chill. After some thought, Zhao Yān spoke softly, “I didn’t find the antidote.”

Her voice was low, unable to conceal her disappointment, perhaps mixed with other emotions as well.

Wenren Lin stood tall, placing the hand holding the tray behind his back. With his other hand, he lightly touched under Zhao Yān’s chin, making her look up.

Deep red walls topped with green tiles lined the long palace corridor. Wenren Lin didn’t laugh at her present failure but instead gazed at her quietly, his dark eyes calm as he said, “This prince has not solved this difficult problem for years. To burden Your Highness with this task would be incompetent of me.”

“It’s not like that.”

Zhao Yān knew well that a large part of the reason Wenren Lin hadn’t found the antidote in all these years was that he simply hadn’t wanted to live properly.

She didn’t expose Wenren Lin’s past, just as he protected her state of mind. Looking up with a smile, she said, “I also want to help you, but I still feel short. However, I won’t give up, and you should try your best too.”

Her smile always carried a kind of dynamic vitality that warmed the heart.

Wenren Lin laughed softly and said, “Very well.”

Upon returning to Penglai Hall, they happened to see a female historian from the Shangyi Bureau passing through a side door.

Zhao Yān immediately pushed Wenren Lin back to hide him against the wall, raising a finger to her rosy lips and making a shushing sound: “They’re already here. Entering through the front door would certainly run into them.”

Frozen peach blossoms occasionally drifted down from the wall. Wenren Lin lowered his gaze to look at the slender hand that had forcefully pressed him against the wall, and half-smiled: “If Your Highness fears running into them, why must this prince also hide?”

Zhao Yān had acted entirely on instinct just now. Coming to her senses, she whispered, “I’m afraid they might mistake you for my lover.”

“Am I not?” Wenren Lin raised the corners of his eyes slightly.

“…”

Zhao Yān was momentarily at a loss for words. Why was he so eager to lower his status?

“There’s no time to discuss this now. Those two female historians aren’t as naive as Zhou Wanlan; Shi Lan can’t hold them off for long.”

As she spoke, Zhao Yān stepped back and walked around the century-old peach tree by the wall. “Can you lift me…”

Before she could finish, she felt a tightness around her waist as her body soared upward. Wenren Lin had effortlessly lifted Zhao Yān with one arm, letting her sit on his forearm. He carried her like a child, helping her step onto the peach tree, then using it to leap onto the wall.

A gasp was suppressed on her lips as they landed steadily.

Her heart still racing, Zhao Yān sat on Wenren Lin’s sturdy forearm, still tightly clinging to his neck.

Peach blossoms fluttered down, showering them in a rain of flowers.

The fragrance was enchanting, but unfortunately, Zhao Yān had little mood to appreciate it. The female historians had already passed through the front courtyard and were coming this way.

She hurriedly shook Wenren Lin’s shoulder: “Quick, back to the room. I need to change clothes.”

Wenren Lin remained motionless, giving her waist and hips a measured pat. “Lower your head, and don’t move.”

As he spoke, he strode forward with long legs, steadily climbing onto the terrace, raising his hand to protect Zhao Yān’s forehead as they entered the side hall.

As soon as Zhao Yān landed, she removed her cotton jacket and long skirt. After a pause, she took out the “Supreme Secret Medicine” hidden in her bosom and placed it into a nearby sachet accessory—this was what she had stolen when sneaking into her father’s chamber, just before she restored the drawer.

Wearing only her undergarments, she dived into the wardrobe and pulled out a silver-red gold-speckled dress to put on.

The bright, soft fabric perfectly covered her snow-white skin. Wenren Lin watched the busy movement behind the thin gauze, as if appreciating a moving painting, suddenly experiencing something akin to the warmth of an “inner chamber.”

“I can’t tie this sash properly. Please help me, Grand Tutor.”

Zhao Yān helplessly pinched the edge of the gauze skirt as she stepped toward him, rising slightly on her tiptoes to show him the knotted sash. Under the pale, cold light, her slender white neck with a few strands of soft hair falling across it seemed almost luminous.

“Your Highness is used to wearing men’s clothing and cannot break the habit so quickly.”

Though Wenren Lin said this, he still reached out to untie her sash. His long fingers moved deftly, carefully tying an elegant knot, then helping her hang the sachet from it.

“There, all done.”

Zhao Yān removed the light blue hairband of a palace maid from her head and pinned on the hairpin ornaments and pearl flowers from the dressing table. She walked a few steps toward the door, then quickly returned, encircling her arms around Wenren Lin’s head to lower it, and rising on her tiptoes to plant a light kiss on his lips. She smiled, “If you have nothing to do, rest here a while. Wait for me to deal with them, and then I’ll return.”

With that, she released him, picked up her skirt, and turned to leave.

Cold light slanted in from the window. Wenren Lin raised his finger to touch his lips, unable to help but laugh softly: Wasn’t this backward? Somehow, it felt as if he were the one left waiting alone in the chamber.

In the corridor, Zhao Yān walked quickly while removing the hand warmer from her forehead. She asked Shi Lan, “How is it?”

Shi Lan reached out to touch her slightly reddened forehead and frowned, “It’s a bit too hot.”

“It’s fine; by the time we reach the hall, the temperature will be about right. Where’s Liu Ying?”

“She’s already gone to summon the Imperial Physician.”

Zhao Yān took a deep breath, slowed her steps, and, leaning on Shi Lan’s hand, entered the door with an unsteady gait.

“Your Highness is half an incense stick late,” said the female historian in the hall, her expression serious.

“I caught a chill yesterday and have been dizzy. I’ve kept the historian waiting,” Zhao Yān said.

Then, Zhao Yān demonstrated her consummate skill at feigning illness, coughing hoarsely, “It’s just a slight fever. I can endure it…”

Seeing her flushed face, the female historian hesitated for a moment.

The leading female official said, “This servant has been disrespectful,” and stepped forward to feel Zhao Yān’s forehead, which was indeed burning hot.

But this little princess had previous deceptions to her name—she had played the role of “Crown Prince” flawlessly. How could they know she wasn’t acting now?

“This servant will summon an Imperial Physician,” said the female official.

Shortly after, a young Imperial Physician arrived and bowed behind the screen: “This subject Zhang Xu pays respects to Princess Changfeng.”

Zhao Yān had once dreaded the daily routine of taking medicine to alter her voice, which made her sigh whenever she saw Zhang Xu. Now, seeing him brought an unprecedented sense of familiarity.

“Thank you for your trouble, Imperial Physician Zhang.”

Zhao Yān covered her mouth and coughed lightly, as if returning to her days of feigning illness in the Eastern Palace.

Zhang Xu’s expression remained unchanged as he placed a silk cloth on the slender white wrist extended from behind the screen. After taking her pulse for a moment, he knowingly said, “Your Highness has wind evil entering the body, causing acute fever. You will need to take medicine and rest for several days to recover.”

Hearing the Imperial Physician’s diagnosis, the female official finally set aside her doubts and bowed: “The marriage alliance between the two countries is imminent. We hope Your Highness will prioritize the Great Xuan’s national fortunes and take care of your precious health. This servant shall take her leave now.”

Zhao Yān frowned. Only after the female official had walked far away did she lift the covers and rise.

Liu Ying closed the door, rolled up the gauze curtain that was in the way, and then retreated to one side.

Even though Zhang Xu had always known Zhao Yān was female, he was still startled by the dazzling pearl-like young woman before him. The face was similar, yet entirely different from when she wore men’s clothing—bright and charming.

“It’s been a long time, Imperial Physician Zhang.”

Zhao Yān smiled and sat on the couch, “I didn’t expect you would still be willing to see me.”

Zhang Xu lowered his gaze: “This humble subject is merely a physician and does not care about differences in status. Your Highness’s words make this humble subject ashamed.”

“I have something to ask you.”

When palace ladies summoned Imperial Physicians to check their pulse, there were strict time regulations. Zhao Yān didn’t have much leisure to make small talk with Zhang Xu, so she went straight to the point, “Consort Shu’s nurse died suddenly from illness. Does your Imperial Medical Academy have any case records?”

Zhao Yān instinctively felt that Concubine Xǔ—no, Consort Shu, caring so much about this matter, might suggest something suspicious.

Zhang Xu replied: “Unless there is special favor from the Empress or His Majesty, inner palace servants are not under the Imperial Medical Academy’s care. However, most palace people are buried in the Western Mountain cemetery after death. If Your Highness is concerned, this subject can exhume the body for examination.”

“Let me think about it a bit more,” Zhao Yān nodded contemplatively.

After a moment, she untied the sachet at her waist, poured out the pill, and said, “There’s another matter. Please look at this and tell me if it is the same revitalizing secret medicine that Zhao Yuan’yu concocted?”

Liu Ying reached out to take it and presented it to Zhang Xu.

Zhang Xu carefully examined the pill in his hand, then brought it close to smell it. During the moment his eyes were closed, he had already filtered through the names of over a hundred medicinal herbs and catalysts, confirming confidently: “Your Highness is correct. This is indeed a revitalizing pill made with snake musk glands and virgin male pure yang heart blood as catalysts.”

Zhang Xu was an eccentric genius in the medical field. If he confirmed something, it couldn’t be wrong.

Zhao Yān’s heart sank like lead, and suddenly she found it difficult to breathe.

“Your Highness?”

Seeing her rosy complexion fade to pallor, Zhang Xu knew she was suffering from an emotional ailment—extreme anger harming the yin energy.

“I’m fine. I was just asking casually.” Zhao Yān tugged at the corner of her lips but couldn’t manage a smile.

It was as if in an instant, the brilliant sun had been covered by heavy shadows.

Zhang Xu thought for a moment and said, “This subject is recently developing a breath-suspending medicine. When taken, it can make one’s breathing stagnate, appearing as if dead. Once this subject’s experiments succeed, I will inform Your Highness.”

Zhao Yān heard the goodwill in his words, which warmed her heart. She spoke softly but firmly: “Thank you, Imperial Physician Zhang. However, this princess will not run away, nor will I ever run away.”

Zhang Xu said nothing more. He placed the pill on a nearby round table, bowed deeply, and, carrying his medicine box, took his leave.

Zhao Yān leaned forward on the couch, slowly interlacing her slightly cold fingertips.

Her father’s regular residence was as secure as a fortress. Even when she was “Crown Prince,” she could not enter without a summons. It was highly unlikely that someone else had placed the pill in the hidden compartment.

Besides, who would frame the Emperor?

Even for a setup, poison would be used rather than a secret medicine for revitalization and producing offspring.

Where did her father get this medicine? Was it confiscated from Zhao Yuan’yu?

No, impossible.

When Zhao Yuan’yu was executed, Concubine Xǔ was already pregnant. Her father did not need to take this medicine. Unless the “Supreme Secret Medicine” already existed when Zhao Yuan’yu first began concocting pills.

“Last spring during the hunting expedition, my son fell from his horse and injured his vital organ, rendering him incapable of performing marital duties and siring children! I had always thought it was a natural disaster, but I recently learned it was a scheme!”

“It was you who ordered the imperial guards to startle the horse, harming my son, forcing him to take the path of pill concoction for revitalization!”

Prince Yong’s anguished accusations before his execution still haunted her like a nightmare.

After eliminating the father and son who coveted the throne, who would be most relieved?

“…The golden pill is complete, the jade swallow has found its nest. This is heaven-sent joy.”

Upon returning from Yuquan Palace, what connection was there between the “golden pill” Concubine Zhen spoke of and “Concubine Xǔ’s pregnancy”?

Did her father know the origin of this golden pill, or was he kept in the dark?

He had been without offspring for over a decade, yet precisely at this time, he had a son…

The last shred of hope was demolished. Zhao Yān looked at her hand—she had just touched the “Supreme Secret Medicine” with this hand. If this pill truly contained the heart blood of countless young boys, if killing other people’s children was done just to produce a son for oneself…

A chill spread from her internal organs outward. Zhao Yān choked, nearly retching.

“Your Highness!”

Liu Ying and Shi Lan, who had been observing nearby, immediately came forward—one rubbing her back, the other pouring tea.

“Go fetch a basin of water, quickly,” Zhao Yān urgently said through gritted teeth.

Shi Lan immediately rose and soon returned with a basin of warm, clear water.

Zhao Yān impatiently immersed both hands in the copper basin, rubbing them vigorously as if trying to wash away the sins and sorrows that had tainted them, until her fingertips and the backs of her hands turned red.

“Your Highness, you’ll hurt your hands this way…”

“Both of you, go outside first.”

“Your Highness…”

“Leave. Let me be alone for a while.”

When upset, Her Highness always liked to hide away, internalizing her emotions. Shi Lan and Liu Ying exchanged glances and had no choice but to bow and withdraw.

The door wasn’t fully closed. Wenren Lin, who had been waiting for some time, chose this moment to stride in.

A tall shadow loomed over her. Zhao Yān looked up in a daze, her scrubbed-red fingers trembling slightly. She just stared at him silently, her lips pressed into a pale line.

Wenren Lin glanced at the pill placed on the round table, his gaze deepening. He understood everything.