Zhao Yān had never experienced intimate relations, nor was she a prince who had come of age. How could she have read such improper books?

Wenren Lin was using yesterday’s events as an excuse to make things difficult for her, utterly treacherous.

Zhao Yān understood this clearly, but couldn’t show it on her face. She just sat there with her sleeves gathered, her gaze remarkably clear and innocent.

Wenren Lin didn’t buy her feigned ignorance. His fingertips casually caressed as he slowly recited: “‘The man sits with legs spread, the woman straddles his thighs, her arms around his neck.’ This is precisely the position the Crown Prince used last night.”

Zhao Yān was originally confused and ignorant, but hearing Wenren Lin recite such explicit bedroom scenes in his deep, rich voice made the tips of her ears begin to burn.

Though the hall wasn’t hot at all, an inexplicable heat rose to her cheeks and rushed through her limbs.

Wenren Lin leaned back against his chair. His handsome, calm face showed no hint of lewdness or frivolity, as if he were merely discussing some difficult classical text: “The Crown Prince has always been knowledgeable and quick to memorize. How is it that you now pretend to be ignorant?”

Zhao Yān lowered her head, choosing the most suitable excuse according to Zhao Yǎn’s personality: “Grand Tutor Wen once taught me that a gentleman in this world should honor ritual teachings and study the works of sages. Therefore, I have never read such frivolous books.”

Wenren Lin gave a low “Oh”: “So the Crown Prince has achieved this without instruction.”

Zhao Yān was mortified, then heard this difficult and malicious man continue: “Although this position is easier for men, the Crown Prince is young and weak after all. Excessive indulgence will stunt your growth.”

…

…

Zhao Yān blushed, staring sullenly at the chessboard before her: “This student accepts your guidance.”

Then she looked up, her peach blossom eyes blinking lightly: “Does the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor even concern himself with such matters?”

Of course, the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor doesn’t normally concern himself with such things—it was merely a small vengeful pleasure.

Wenren Lin rested his forearm on the chair’s armrest, and that exquisite scholarly sleeve material cascaded down smoothly, without a single unnecessary wrinkle.

Having sufficiently observed the little Crown Prince’s “struggle for survival” anxiety, he finally tapped the chessboard with his bent finger, in good spirits.

The attendant immediately stepped forward to return the black and white chess pieces to their proper containers, his movements swift and light, not making the slightest harsh sound.

Li Fu, who had been following behind Zhao Yān, brought forward a hot soup that had been warming on a small stove nearby and brewed her a cup of tea.

The tea leaves had been slightly altered—drinking it would temporarily disrupt pulse patterns, allowing her to feign illness while also masking Zhao Yān’s natural female pulse. It had been prepared overnight by Imperial Physician Zhang Xu for contingencies.

But the days ahead were long, and she couldn’t always resort to feigning illness.

Fortunately, last night’s cramming session with Liu Ji had taught her roughly how to play Zhao Yǎn’s “Swallow Tail Formation.” Though her technique was raw, it was more than adequate for keeping up appearances.

After all, as the “young Crown Prince,” losing badly to the all-powerful Prince Su wouldn’t seem suspicious.

Sure enough, she was defeated miserably—the so-called “Swallow Tail Formation” couldn’t last seven moves against Wenren Lin.

Zhao Yān obediently conceded defeat, but inwardly she felt relieved, as if having survived a calamity.

He was reviewing military strategy for tomorrow’s lecture, demonstrating perfect multitasking.

Zhao Yān maintained a docile, self-reflective appearance, though her eyelashes trembled incessantly.

Wenren Lin tapped the upper right position with his scroll, his dark iron ring reflecting a cold light.

He said: “The Crown Prince only sees immediate advantages and falls into traps at the slightest temptation. When did you become so eager for quick success?”

Zhao Yān kept her head down and answered mildly: “It’s because I’m playing chess with someone as formidable as the Grand Tutor, so I’m a bit nervous.”

Wenren Lin looked over, his gaze falling on the small mole at the corner of her eye. After pondering for a moment, he said slowly, “One wrong move in chess can be played again. But if the Crown Prince makes a misstep in the Imperial City, there won’t be a second life to try again.”

Wenren Lin leaned in his chair, lightly tapping his palm with the scroll: “Please return to the palace and copy out the ‘Alliance Strategies’ chapter to temper your character.”

“The Winter Festival approaches, and the entire court will have seven days of rest. The Crown Prince need not come to Chongwen Hall these days.”

Wait!

Zhao Yān’s scattered attention suddenly focused as she looked up at Wenren Lin.

Could such a wonderful thing happen?

“That’s truly… a shame…”

Zhao Yān shook her head and sighed, momentarily reviewing all the sad events of her life to suppress her soaring heart.

Wenren Lin’s lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth, not bothering to expose her.

The bell rang right on time, ending the half-day lessons.

Zhao Yān gathered her sleeves to bow and bid farewell to the Grand Tutor. Only when the footsteps passed her and gradually faded until they could no longer be heard did she look up from behind her gathered sleeves and ask Li Fu: “Is he gone?”

Li Fu set down the cold tea cup and glanced outside: “Yes, he’s gone.”

Zhao Yān came alive.

With the New Year approaching, the capital’s sky was more often cloudy than clear. The snow had barely melted for ten days when the cold dampness of ice and snow returned on the north wind.

Only Zhao Yān was in high spirits, unable to stop her lips from curving upward during the journey back.

Remembering Liu Ji’s situation, Zhao Yān turned back to Kunning Palace to pay her respects and truthfully informed her mother about how Liu Ji had helped her deal with Prince Su, to set the Empress’s mind at ease.

By the time she returned to the Eastern Palace, it was dusk. Zhao Yān stepped down from the sedan chair holding a gilt hand warmer, and saw the Eastern Palace Guard Commander Gu Xing standing at a distance under Yongfu Gate.

Zhao Yān cleared her throat and instructed Liu Ying: “Prince Su ordered me to copy the ‘Alliance Strategies’ military text. Go find it for me.”

Liu Ying didn’t question and withdrew to carry out the order.

Zhao Yān went to the study and dismissed the attending ink servants. After less than half a cup of tea’s time, Gu Xing indeed arrived carrying an inconspicuous silk bundle.

“Crown Prince.”

He bowed, then carefully presented the contents of the bundle: “The books, paper, and ink that you asked this humble servant to fetch are all here.”

Zhao Yān asked nonchalantly: “Did you disturb anyone?”

Gu Xing replied: “I only said I was going home to get some things, without letting others know. At Mingde Hall, I sorted and organized them.”

“You handle matters reliably,” Zhao Yān was quite satisfied.

Gu Xing quickly lowered his head: “This is merely my duty, I dare not claim credit.”

Reliable, cautious, honest, and loyal—a useful person, Zhao Yān privately approved.

“Go attend to your duties. I’ll need you in the future,” Zhao Yān gestured for Gu Xing to withdraw.

She briefly looked through the items. Most of the books were for study, densely annotated with vermilion notes, showcasing the writer’s meticulous and serious nature.

There were a few letters. While Liu Ying had not yet returned, Zhao Yān hid the bundle within her large fox fur robe and quietly carried it back to her bedchambers.

Late at night, Liu Ying performed her routine check of the bedchamber, carefully tucked in the corners of her master’s blankets, extinguished the extra candles, then lowered the bed curtains and closed the door as she left.

Zhao Yān listened intently. When the door closed and the footsteps faded away, she got out of bed and, taking the small gauze lamp used for night trips from the bedside, went to the small room behind the screen.

She pressed down on the secret compartment at the bottom of the bookshelf and retrieved the Mingde Hall letters she had stored there earlier that day.

Zhao Yān sat on the floor, holding these few letters and writings left by her brother close to her chest. She took a deep breath before opening them with a slight pain of nostalgia.

The night lamp was dim, with only one person and one shadow for company.

[Tribute Student Wang Yu, humbly reporting to Crown Prince]

[Tribute Student Cheng Jixing, personal report]

[Shen Jingming’s letter]

The few letters contained concise insights on rituals, state laws, and current politics. They were all signed by scholars from Mingde Hall, presumably the like-minded companions with whom Zhao Yǎn had enjoyed deep conversations. Among them, Shen Jingming appeared most frequently, followed by Wang Yu and Cheng Jixing.

Shen Jingming was dead, but she didn’t know the identities of the remaining two. Zhao Yān recorded their names one by one on a slip of paper.

At the bottom were two folded notes. When she opened them, she found they were in Zhao Yǎn’s handwriting.

These must have been his replies to the scholars, left unsent and stored with the books.

Zhao Yān moved the lamp on the floor closer and continued reading.

I have read the letters from all scholars. As you say, without funds there can be no army, without an army the nation is weak. The Great Xuan Dynasty’s system for the imperial clan is old and cumbersome, the source of accumulated malpractices. When the dynasty was founded, there were hundreds of imperial relatives and meritorious officials. However, with princes, marquises, earls, and ministers, their descendants inherit titles generation after generation. Now there are over thirty thousand such people. These prominent clans live lives of luxury, adorned in pearls and jade. The national treasury is like a pond—more flowing out than coming in—and will be exhausted within three years…]

Zhao Yān became increasingly alert as she read, moving from initially skimming ten lines at a glance to finally savoring each word. Her peach blossom eyes were filled with unconcealed astonishment.

In her impression, Zhao Yǎn was someone whose good temper bordered on weakness, and she had assumed his writings would be flowery but insubstantial—decorative but lacking in power.

Yet these letters contained words like pearls and jade, powerful enough to penetrate the paper, dissecting and whipping the long-rotting interior of the Great Xuan Dynasty.

Her mother’s favoritism toward him was not without reason.

Had Zhao Yǎn lived, he would have become a wise and benevolent ruler.

Yet such a person died mysteriously, not even worthy of having the truth known.

Thinking of this, Zhao Yān tightened her grip on the silk paper, emotions surging in her heart, unrelenting for a long time.

Should she take this to see Liu Ji?

No, wait. Zhao Yān quickly rejected this idea.

Liu Ji still had reservations about her and the Eastern Palace, and wouldn’t reveal everything. She needed to leave her alone for a while and observe her attitude. Only when Liu Ji had thought things through and was willing to cooperate sincerely could Zhao Yān reveal her cards.

Having calmed down, she carefully folded the letters neatly and placed them back in the secret compartment.

Through a night of howling north wind and the whisper of snow particles, the Winter Festival quietly arrived.

The Great Xuan Dynasty traditionally placed great importance on the Winter Festival. Even the poorest commoners would wear new, decent clothes on this day to worship ancestors and visit friends. The palace arrangements were even grander—the Emperor hosted a feast to reward officials, nobles could bring female family members and legitimate sons to the banquet, and the feast extended from Yonglin Hall’s main hall down the long corridors.

It was said that the Governor of Liang Prefecture, who administered the Ba-Shu regions, had also sent a judge to the palace to discuss pacifying the Sichuan rebels. The grand, festive atmosphere of the feast was overshadowed by an ominous cloud.

For such an occasion, Zhao Yān, as the “Eastern Palace Crown Prince,” naturally had to be present.

The carriage stopped at Chengtan Gate. Zhao Yān wore purple robes and a golden crown, covered with a moon-white cape, perfectly embodying the frailty and nobility of the Eastern Palace Crown Prince.

“Has Your Highness memorized all the officials’ portraits and names in the register?” Liu Ying confirmed repeatedly.

Zhao Yān had kept that register by her bedside for daily review. Just memorizing the faces of dozens of people was no easy task. Fortunately, she had devised an unorthodox method, extracting distinctive features from each person’s face, giving them nicknames, which made remembering much easier.

She therefore answered with her sleeves gathered: “More or less. If I forget anyone, you can remind me.”

Liu Ying nodded: “I understand.”

She added a reminder: “There are many court factions, and it’s not easy to handle them all properly. After the ceremonial feast, Your Highness should find an excuse to leave.”

Zhao Yān made a vague sound of agreement as she walked through the Left Court Palace corridor.

She was still preoccupied with the matter of “study companions” and wanted to use this opportunity to understand the situation and identify potential candidates. Of course, this wasn’t something she could tell Liu Ying.

Lost in thought, she suddenly heard harsh laughter ahead.

Zhao Yān looked up to see a group of richly dressed young nobles approaching. The leader, about twenty years old, had an oily, powdered face with thin eyebrows and a tall, slender build. His face showed effeminate cruelty. Wearing a shimmering pheasant-feathered fur coat, he looked like a colorful fighting rooster among the crowd.

Zhao Yān recognized the rooster face immediately: Huh, isn’t this Prince Yong’s heir, Zhao Yuan’yu?

Prince Yong, as the Emperor’s brother, was the second heir to the throne after the Crown Prince—an undisputed fact at court. Prince Yong’s son had been raised as an equal to the Crown Prince from childhood, which had fostered his arrogant and unruly character. Since Zhao Yǎn was soft-natured, Zhao Yuan’yu had repeatedly ridden roughshod over the Eastern Palace.

If anything happened to Zhao Yǎn, Prince Yong and his son would be the direct beneficiaries. Zhao Yān stopped and quietly observed.

Zhao Yuan’yu had also spotted the little Crown Prince standing in the corridor, and his eyes immediately darkened.

His lips curved into a mocking smile. Far from avoiding her, he walked straight toward Zhao Yān, saying in a contemptible tone full of schadenfreude: “Well, the Crown Prince is still alive. How fortunate.”

Six years had passed, yet his face was still as nauseating as ever.

Zhao Yān lifted the corners of her lips slightly and retorted: “Indeed. If I had suffered any mishap, Prince Yong’s heir would be the primary suspect, facing execution of his entire clan. Now that I’m perfectly fine, Prince Yong’s household can remain perfectly fine as well. That’s certainly worth your celebration.”

Zhao Yuan’yu’s mocking words were completely blocked, causing his face to flush red with anger.

Now he looked even more like a fighting rooster.

“Like a woman, resorting to verbal tricks! Why don’t you go back to your Eastern Palace to embroider behind closed doors, short-lived wretch?”

Zhao Yuan’yu’s malicious curse was uttered very softly, but Zhao Yān heard it—heard it crystal clear.

The smile faded from her lips, and her five fingers holding the hand warmer tightened slightly.

The palace corridor was not spacious. Seeing that the usually weak and courteous little Crown Prince wasn’t yielding to him, his senior cousin, Zhao Yuan’yu, grew increasingly impatient.

He decided to force his way through, attempting to push the Crown Prince aside. But just as his arm touched the edge of the Crown Prince’s clothes, his foot caught on something and he stumbled, hitting his head against a red-lacquered pillar. Stars immediately exploded before his eyes.

His followers surged forward in an uproar—some helping him up, some shouting—attracting all the passing officials and their family members.

Zhao Yuan’yu clutched his forehead and glared back angrily, pointing at Zhao Yān: “You…”

Zhao Yān had already fallen onto a nearby beauty couch in the corridor, holding her forehead with one hand, appearing to endure pain.

“Your Highness!”

Liu Ying frowned anxiously, supporting Zhao Yān as she turned around and said sternly: “Prince Yong’s heir, even if the Crown Prince was in your way, you shouldn’t have pushed him so forcefully!”

Zhao Yuan’yu’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t push him! No, I didn’t use any force at all!”

Zhao Yuan’yu’s face turned crimson as he looked toward his entourage: “You all saw it. He fell on his own!”

His followers looked at each other, none daring to speak up.

They had indeed seen Prince Yong’s heir move to push the Crown Prince, using such force that he stumbled, after which the Crown Prince lightly fell. But since they earned their living under Prince Yong’s household, they couldn’t tell the truth, nor could they help bully the heir apparent. They therefore remained ambiguously silent.

Zhao Yān’s lips were tightly pressed as she supported herself on the beauty couch to stand up: “Indeed, I carelessly fell. It has nothing to do with Prince Yong’s heir.”

Zhao Yuan’yu laughed loudly: “You all heard it! He admitted it himself!”

But who would believe him?

With these two standing together, even a blind person could see the disparity in strength.

Yet the “Crown Prince” was good-natured, smiling weakly at the observing officials, seemingly downplaying the matter: “It has nothing to do with the heir… let’s just forget it. On such a festive day, we shouldn’t trouble Father Emperor…”

Her words were sincere and moving, touching everyone present.

By contrast, Prince Yong’s heir appeared utterly despicable.

“The Crown Prince has just recovered from a serious illness. How could he withstand such a push from the heir?”

“Indeed. No matter how powerful one is, a subject should never speak disrespectfully to the heir apparent!”

Among the observing officials, there were many righteous ones who came forward to express concern and comfort for the Crown Prince. Those with more upright temperaments directly criticized Prince Yong’s household for being too aggressive.

Zhao Yuan’yu’s eyes reddened. Dropping a “You wait and see,” he pushed through the crowd and stormed off.

On the gallery bridge ahead, curtains swayed in the wind, tassels dancing lightly.

Wenren Lin stood by the railing, a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth, taking in everything.