The Late Emperor had passed away, leaving behind a mess of unresolved matters.

The position of Liang Province Governor remained vacant; many details regarding North Wu urgently needed attention, and countless affairs awaited restoration. Zhao Yān had no choice but to change the old practice of holding court once every seven days to once every three days. Even so, the endless state affairs still manifested as memorials piling high on her desk.

It was early summer. The sunlight was warm but not scorching. In the Hanming Palace, the windows were half-open, and a gentle breeze rustled the pages, creating a pleasant atmosphere of being immersed in a sea of ink.

Huo Zhenzhen and Liu Baiwei entered the hall one after the other.

Remembering that Zhao Yān was now the Princess Regent, Huo Zhenzhen restrained her bouncy steps, pursed her lips, quickly performed a curtsy, and her delicate voice, accompanied by the tinkling of golden bells at her waist, drifted over.

“In this hot weather, why did you summon me? I was about to go to Penglai Palace to keep the Imperial Grandmother and the Empress Dowager company while they enjoyed the cool breeze.”

Liu Baiwei performed an official bow and said knowingly, “Your Highness has summoned both me and Princess Long Le together, is it about the Late Crown Prince?”

Zhao Yān had always appreciated Liu Baiwei’s intelligence. She put down her vermilion brush and smiled, “That’s right.”

“Why?”

Huo Zhenzhen opened her eyes wide in disbelief.

…

…

Liu Baiwei, with the spirit of youth in his brow, explained to her: “The only person who could have connections with both of us and be important enough for Her Highness to care about would be Zhao Yǎn. It’s not difficult to guess.”

Huo Zhenzhen looked suspiciously at Liu Baiwei: “What I mean is, as the Princess of Long Le, I grew up with the Crown Prince brother like childhood sweethearts. I am one of his closest people, so it’s natural for Zhao Yān to find me to discuss matters related to the Crown Prince’s brother. But you never associated with the Crown Prince’s brother, so why are you here joining in?”

Liu Baiwei: “…”

Zhao Yān’s eye twitched slightly as she realized that Huo Zhenzhen still didn’t know Liu Baiwei was Liu Ji.

“I know!”

Huo Zhenzhen seemed to remember something and suddenly said, “I’ve heard that your maternal family surname is Liu, and you look extremely similar to Liu Ji, so…”

Huo Zhenzhen put her hands on her hips and stared at Liu Baiwei’s face, forcing him to take a step back, his Adam’s apple unconsciously bobbing with nervousness.

“I am indeed Liu Ji.”

“You’re Liu Ji’s cousin!”

They spoke in unison.

An eerie silence followed as they stared at each other.

“Huh?”

“What?!”

They spoke simultaneously again, leaving Liu Baiwei completely speechless.

Huo Zhenzhen stepped back twice, shocked and incredulous: “You… you’re Liu Ji? How could the Crown Prince’s brother’s favored concubine be… a man! I can’t accept this!”

“I had no choice but to disguise myself as a woman. It’s not what you think…”

Seeing Huo Zhenzhen almost jumping with agitation, Liu Baiwei was unusually at a loss for words. He raised his hand to cover his forehead and said, “Forget it, Your Highness, you explain.”

Zhao Yān was already doubled over with laughter at her desk.

“Your Highness!” Liu Baiwei urged.

“Indeed… it was out of necessity.”

Zhao Yān propped up her chin, wiping away tears of laughter while briefly explaining how Liu Baiwei had hidden in Mingde Academy, how he had met Zhao Yǎn, and how he had disguised himself as a woman to deceive everyone for the sake of the young prince’s grand ambitions, secretly coordinating and planning matters for the Crown Prince.

Huo Zhenzhen finally caught her breath and said skeptically, “You sly fox Liu, back then you dressed up so seductively and fought with me over him, all to make a fool of me!”

Recalling how she had cried and thrown tantrums over this in the past, Huo Zhenzhen grew increasingly indignant and, with her hands on her hips, let out a heavy snort: “It’s clear that none of you are good people!”

“Yes, yes, I’m not a good person. Now, can we talk about the matter at hand?”

Liu Baiwei cleared his throat, making every effort to move past this awkward moment. “What does Your Highness wish to inquire about?”

The matter concerned Zhao Yǎn, so Zhao Yān put aside her joking manner and lowered her gaze to the memorial spread out on the desk.

“The Ministry of Works has selected a site north of the Imperial Mausoleum to build Zhao Yǎn’s tomb according to ritual protocols. Everything is being kept simple, and it will be completed in a few months. Yesterday, officials from the Ministry of Rites requested permission for the transfer and reburial of his coffin, but I haven’t responded yet.”

Zhao Yān frowned slightly. “I feel that Zhao Yǎn wouldn’t want to return to that cold imperial mausoleum, to be near those who harmed and abandoned him. Apart from my mother, you two understand and care about Zhao Yǎn the most, so I wanted to ask your opinions.”

With her words, Liu Baiwei understood.

“What did the Empress Dowager say?”

“Mother only wishes to enshrine Zhao Yǎn’s spirit tablet in Cihe Palace, so he can receive incense offerings and worship. She made no other requests.”

“I agree with Your Highness’s thoughts.”

Liu Baiwei said, “The Late Crown Prince once said he felt confined in the Eastern Palace, his spirit shackled by his sickly body, unable to be free. Although the tombstone on West Mountain bears no name, it is accompanied by mountains and waters, with like-minded companions nearby. One can sit and observe the floating clouds and blue sky, or look down upon the capital stretching for thousands of miles—it should be a place he would like.”

Huo Zhenzhen also added: “Crown Prince brother preferred tranquility and didn’t like being moved around.”

The three were of one mind. Zhao Yān nodded: “I thought we could make a cenotaph at the tomb site and leave it at that, without disturbing my brother’s peace. It would also save labor and expense.”

Liu Baiwei responded with perfect understanding: “At court the day after tomorrow, I’ll take the lead in submitting a memorial on this.”

With this matter settled, Zhao Yān felt considerably relieved. She picked up her brush to approve the memorial and then asked: “Now that my brother’s matter is decided, what about your affairs?”

“What affairs do we have?”

They spoke in unison again, and this time, even they found it amusing, their lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

“Why, your lifelong commitments, of course.”

Zhao Yān smiled, resting her chin on her brush handle. “If my brother were still here, he would surely wish for his best friend and his cousin to find their happiness.”

“I am still in mourning and not in a hurry for such matters.”

Liu Baiwei turned his head away, his tone somewhat stiff.

“I’m not in a hurry either. I’m only sixteen, and Father and Mother said I can take my time choosing over the next couple of years.”

Huo Zhenzhen sat down and picked a slice of fresh peach from the fruit platter. “Not everyone is like you, and your taste in men isn’t all that great anyway.”

Liu Baiwei’s lips curled upward as he agreed: “Exactly.”

These two, who usually bickered endlessly, found themselves in complete agreement when it came to matters concerning Wenren Lin.

Zhao Yān raised an eyebrow and deliberately asked: “What’s wrong with my man?”

“A man should be handsome and gentle, caring and considerate. Mother says such men are learned and cultured, and know how to cherish people.”

“Does General Huo know that’s what your mother says?” Zhao Yān laughed.

“My father may be a bit rough, but he listens to everything my mother says. Among military generals, he’s extremely tender toward his wife and daughter.”

Huo Zhenzhen snorted, “That Prince Su might be handsome too, but his gaze is so cold, like an unromantic god of death. Whenever I see him, I just…”

“Just what?”

A steady, deep voice came from the entrance of the hall.

The piece of peach fell from Huo Zhenzhen’s hand as she jumped to her feet in shock.

“I… I still need to pay my respects to Imperial Grandmother. I’ll go first.”

With a stiff neck, she fled like a golden bell-adorned oriole.

Liu Baiwei glanced at Wenren Lin as he walked in casually, and also didn’t linger.

Wenren Lin bent down to pick up a memorial and looked through it. The warmth of the sunlight penetrated the thin fabric of his clothes. Zhao Yān unconsciously sat up straight, feeling somewhat of the tension she used to feel during night readings in the Eastern Palace.

“During the half day I was at the camp, has Your Highness been sitting here reviewing memorials?” he asked.

Zhao Yān made no response and opened another document, circling something and saying, “There have been more matters lately, and since I’m new to governance, I’m working a bit slowly. Why don’t you sit for a while? I’ll finish this pile soon.”

Wenren Lin said nothing. He cleaned his hands and picked up a plate of fresh loquats glistening with dewdrops, then sat in a round chair and began peeling them meticulously.

His hands were very attractive, with proportionate, slender joints. The golden-yellow loquat flesh turned in his fingers with elegance.

“Open your mouth,” he held the cool fruit to Zhao Yān’s lips.

Zhao Yān took it from his hand, immediately narrowing her eyes with satisfaction and nodding repeatedly: “Delicious!”

Wenren Lin chuckled and picked up another one, peeling it slowly, occasionally feeding her.

After feeding her half a plate of loquats, he washed his hands and sat back in the chair, picking up a book he hadn’t finished reading the day before and continuing to read.

The sound of him turning pages was very soft; his fingertips caressed the paper, opened it, and pressed it down. He quietly kept her company, answering when asked, yet not overly interfering, just as he had done when teaching in the Eastern Palace, giving his beloved time to think and grow.

Zhao Yān particularly enjoyed this sense of mutual dependence and boundaries, peaceful yet warm.

Outside the window, the setting sun slanted. Li Fu led young eunuchs into the hall to light the lamps, then quietly withdrew.

When the last rays of sunlight outside the window had completely subsided and the lamplight became the only brightness in the hall, Wenren Lin put down the finished book, rose, and walked to the window to close the shutters and doors.

Zhao Yān had noticed the pattern: whenever Wenren Lin began to close windows and doors, walking around the hall to attract her attention, she knew it was time to rest. This seemed to be Wenren Lin’s unique way of signaling.

She spread out the last memorial, deliberately pretending not to notice, while listening intently to Wenren Lin’s movements.

Sure enough, not half a cup of tea later, Wenren Lin, having washed his hands again, came over, bent down to take the vermilion brush from Zhao Yān’s fingers, and said softly: “How long does Your Highness intend to review this one meaningless memorial?”

“Give it to me, it’s the last one.”

Zhao Yān reached out to grab the brush but was instead pressed against the desk by Wenren Lin.

The vermilion brush, wet with ink, slid from her fingertips. Wenren Lin embraced her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, and said slowly: “It’s time to accompany this prince, Yan’er.”

There were advantages to Wenren Lin’s long legs; for instance, each time they kissed, he could steady Zhao Yān on his lap at the most suitable angle for their lips and tongues to meet.

“Can you… Stop pinching me.”

Zhao Yān, feeling weak all over, glared at him with some annoyance.

Wenren Lin, his clothes perfectly neat, merely half-lowered his dense, deep eyelashes, his controlling hands squeezing and kneading as he said seriously: “Your Highness has bound your chest for too long; the blood flow is restricted. You should massage more often to relax.”

It was quite a good excuse.

Zhao Yān rested her forehead on his shoulder, unable to utter any words of protest.

It had been several months since Wenren Lin’s detoxification period required him to avoid irritability and abstain from desires. The cinnabar brush rolled to the ground, drawing a bright wet streak, but no one picked it up.

Wenren Lin maintained perfect composure, only his eyes darkening slightly as he found Zhao Yān’s lips, gently nipping them as he leaned over the desk.

Suddenly, Zhao Yān let out a muffled groan. Wenren Lin stopped and opened his eyes to ask: “What’s wrong?”

“My waist… hurts!”

Zhao Yān clutched her waist, her face somewhat pale, barely able to squeeze these two words through her teeth.

Wenren Lin paused, then his fingers undid the white sash at her waist.

“What are you doing?”

Zhao Yān frowned continuously as she drew in breath, looking somewhat pitiful. “I’m in this state and you…”

“Don’t move, let me see.” Though Wenren Lin’s tone was husky, he didn’t seem to have any frightening intentions.

In the inner chamber was a bed for resting. Zhao Yān lay somewhat embarrassed on the bedding, her waistline as white as jade. She heard Wenren Lin say, “The spine is fine with no bruising. It’s likely strain from sitting too long.”

He rose and went out, ordering someone to fetch a soothing, circulation-promoting ointment, warming it in his palms before personally giving Zhao Yān a massage.

At the first touch, Zhao Yān nearly leapt up.

“Bear with it.”

Wenren Lin held her shoulder down, his other hand following the exquisite curve of her waist downward, kneading again. “Once the congested areas are massaged open, it will be better.”

Zhao Yān could only nod with tears in her eyes, her hands desperately clutching the bedding.

Wenren Lin didn’t ask if she regretted becoming regent; he simply focused calmly on addressing the hidden pain beneath that soft skin. He knew that Zhao Yān was very satisfied with her current life: she had enough authority without having to endure the many constraints of imperial power.

Occasionally, Zhao Yān would feel that she could never find anyone who understood her better than Wenren Lin—even she fell short in comparison.

After enduring the initial pulling pain, her lower back began to warm under Wenren Lin’s precise massage, becoming so comfortable that her spirit seemed to float and her eyelids grew heavy.

In her daze, she suddenly recalled Huo Zhenzhen’s words from the afternoon. She turned to look at the impeccably dressed man, blinking slowly: “Hey, Wenren Shaoyuan. Huo Zhenzhen says a cold-hearted person like you wouldn’t know how to cherish someone.”

Wenren Lin merely raised his eyelids slightly, propping his hand on the bed and bending down to place a series of light, enchanting kisses on her smooth, snow-white back.

Zhao Yān hastily ate a few bites of dinner with Wenren Lin’s assistance, then curled up on the bed and fell asleep.

Half-asleep, she seemed to hear the sound of doors opening and closing in the outer chamber.

The official took away the approved memorials and delivered two new stacks about two feet high. Through the shadowy curtains, a solitary lamp could be faintly seen outside the screen. Someone rested an elbow on the chair’s armrest, sorting through the two stacks of memorials one by one.

When she woke the next morning, Wenren Lin had already gone to the military camp outside the city. The memorials on the desk were neatly arranged by category.

Zhao Yān, holding her still-sore waist, put on her clothes and got out of bed. She walked barefoot past the curtains to the desk and saw that the stack on the right consisted of screened-out meaningless memorials—the officials of the Three Departments and Six Ministries were so numerous that sometimes the same matter would be submitted by four or five different officials, and sometimes they would submit meaningless reports such as “Official So-and-so openly insulted Official So-and-so” or “Wishing Your Highness peace.” Nearly half had been filtered out.

The other half of the memorials were arranged from top to bottom according to urgency and importance, clear at a glance, just waiting to be reviewed.

Zhao Yān sat with her hair loose, resting her chin in her hand behind the desk, her eyes gradually filling with smiles.

Hmm, who said Wenren Shaoyuan didn’t know how to cherish someone?

① 札子 (zhá zi): A type of official document or memorial in ancient China.

② 诟谇 (gòu huì): To revile, slander, or speak ill of someone.