Zhao Yǎn had a dream.

He dreamed that after he died in his previous life, his sister Zhao Yān disguised herself as a man and moved into the Eastern Palace, taking his place to stabilize the precarious situation.

Surrounded by wolves and watched by tigers, his sister, pretending to be the Crown Prince, maneuvered among them but still could not withstand the plots against her. Just as her female identity was about to be exposed to everyone, she fled desperately but mistakenly entered another dangerous territory.

Prince Su Wenren Lin stood before her in crimson robes, looking at her with dangerous amusement.

The long shadow beneath Wenren Lin’s feet transformed into powerful dark hands, reaching upward, enveloping, until they controlled Yan’er’s slender body, then suddenly devouring her.

Zhao Yǎn awoke abruptly, breaking into a thin layer of cold sweat.

His vision focused as he pushed away the bedding and sat up, then experimentally curled his five fingers.

Thankfully, he was still in the Eastern Palace, still alive in this world, lost and regained.

But was that just a dream?

After his death, who truly sat in the Eastern Palace? Was Yan’er dragged into this chaos and harmed?

…

…

The deeper he thought, the more the trembling from his dream intensified. Zhao Yǎn coughed lightly and habitually called out: “Liu…”

Then he remembered that in this life, there was no Liu Ying by his side.

He sighed softly, grabbed the outer robe folded neatly beside his bed, shook it open, and draped it over his shoulders, listening to the gentle sound of falling snow outside the window.

In this life, he must be more rational and stronger to protect those he wants to protect.

After the bustling Lantern Festival, the snow melted and the ice dissolved. Spring leaped onto the branches, filling the city with magnificent flowers.

Zhao Yān had never enjoyed staying quietly in Kunning Palace, listening to the governess teach those trite clichés from The Admonitions for Women and needlework. She seized every opportunity to run to the Eastern Palace, where countless books were stored—whether on agriculture, construction, military tactics, or legal punishments—all available, vast as a sea of smoke.

Zhao Yān always felt that, compared to the restrictive The Admonitions for Women and Biographies of Virtuous Women, these texts that broadened one’s thinking were true “knowledge.” Zhao Yǎn never constrained her; he would even explain difficult passages to her and discuss them together.

Zhao Yān greatly enjoyed this.

Today, as usual, she sneaked to the Eastern Palace to play and found her twin brother sitting by the window in his robe, looking at a list of palace examination names, his delicate eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“What are you looking at?”

Over the winter, the young girl had grown taller, her figure beginning to show graceful curves. Wearing a brand-new scarlet spring garment, she tilted her head to examine the list in Zhao Yǎn’s hand.

Zhao Yǎn moved aside a bit, generously letting his sister see, and smiled bitterly: “The list of those who passed this year’s palace examination is exactly as I expected.”

“Is there a problem?”

Zhao Yān looked at the rows of unfamiliar names, not yet understanding the source of his worry.

Zhao Yǎn shook his head gently: “These successful candidates are all children of officials with connections.”

“People with connections?” Zhao Yān asked.

Zhao Yǎn nodded. The list was identical to the one from his previous life—names and rankings without a single difference.

It seemed that he hadn’t done enough, because the wheel of fate stubbornly wanted to return to its original direction.

After spring arrived, Zhao Yǎn became busy again.

According to his memories from his previous life, before his assassination, the Shu soldiers led by the Governor of Liang Prefecture were already stirring restlessly, which would inevitably endanger the foundation of the state. Therefore, Zhao Yǎn used the pretext that the tribute of Shu brocade was a month late, indirectly drawing his father’s attention to the Shu region.

In this life, his father’s mind had not yet been bewitched by the Shen Guang Religion. Following the direction Zhao Yǎn provided, he investigated and discovered that more than thirty postal stations under Liang Prefecture’s jurisdiction had been privately abolished by Governor Zhao Chengde.

With the postal stations abolished, the capital was cut off from information. Relying on the distance from the Emperor, the Governor of Liang occupied the mountains and declared himself king. Such a significant matter, yet the supervising magistrate sent by the court to Liang Prefecture never mentioned a word, clearly having been bought by Zhao Chengde. His disloyal heart was evident.

The Emperor was shocked and angry. He found a reason to summon Governor Zhao Chengde to the capital, giving this cousin from a collateral branch one last chance.

If he delayed coming to the capital, there must be something sinister afoot, and he could not be spared.

After the crisis in Liang was exposed, the thick shade on the wall gradually faded to a withered yellow. With a chilling wind, everything scattered across the ground.

Another year ended, and Zhao Yǎn welcomed Chou Zui back from death row.

He ordered people to clean and dress Chou Zui properly, providing him with indigo warrior’s robes for winter and a bamboo hat to cover his face. Just like in his previous life, he patiently taught him the etiquette of normal people, again and again.

Seeing Chou Zui becoming human again under his guidance, Zhao Yǎn smiled with satisfaction.

On this day of light snow, a thin layer of white covered the ground like salt or frost.

Zhao Yān, wearing a scarlet cloak trimmed with rabbit fur, entered the Eastern Palace and saw Chou Zui sitting on the stone steps at the entrance with his long limbs, slowly drawing something in the snow with his finger.

Looking closer, Zhao Yān realized he was clumsily drawing a flower—a plum blossom.

Zhao Yān tried to talk to him, but Chou Zui never responded. The murderous aura around him was like an invisible barrier, isolating him in his world.

In his world, he recognized only Zhao Yǎn.

“Princess Changfeng need not mind. Except for the Crown Prince, Chou Zui won’t respond to anyone,” said Ah Xing, a young man who somewhat resembled Zhao Yǎn—the Crown Prince’s shadow.

“When he was first assigned to my room, we slept together at night, and he nearly killed me as an enemy,” Ah Xing shook his head, seeming to still feel lingering fear.

Zhao Yān thought to herself that he was truly a strange person.

Hearing the commotion, Zhao Yǎn put down his brush and came out, waving to Zhao Yān who was making snowballs beside Chou Zui, calling: “It’s cold outside. Yan’er, come to your brother.”

Zhao Yān had a strong constitution and didn’t feel the cold, but seeing Zhao Yǎn standing at the doorway smiling and waving, she couldn’t resist quickly running toward the warmth.

With Zhao Yǎn present, even winter days seemed warm.

“Look, what does this resemble?” Zhao Yān showed him the snowball she had just made—two balls, one large and one small, stacked together with two long tree leaves for ears, and small stones thoughtfully placed for eyes and a three-petal mouth.

“A rabbit,” Zhao Yǎn couldn’t help but praise. “Snow-white and crystal clear, as cute as Yan’er. May I touch it?”

“Yes, but only for a moment.”

Zhao Yān handed over the snow rabbit she had made, stomping her feet from the cold that had seeped into her. “Although your health has improved a lot these two years, you still need to be careful in winter and not catch a cold.”

Zhao Yǎn smiled even more gently: “Alright.”

He extended his clean, youthful fingers, took the snow rabbit, examined it from all angles, adjusted the two uneven stone eyes, and then smiled: “May I place it by my window? This way, when I look up from reading, I’ll see the snow rabbit my sister made, and my mood will probably improve.”

Zhao Yān felt that Zhao Yǎn was truly a magical person. Even for such a small matter, he could give the most generous response.

Zhao Yān inexplicably felt a sense of achievement, and along with it, her depressed mood improved considerably. She waved her hand and said: “Of course, it’s not like it’s something valuable.”

So Zhao Yǎn excitedly went to place the snow rabbit in a position behind his desk where he could see it at a glance, meticulously adjusting even the smallest angle.

Zhao Yān was sitting by the charcoal basin warming herself when Zhao Yǎn also sat down beside her and asked: “Have you encountered something troubling?”

Zhao Yān’s eyes widened slightly, then she deflated, resting her chin on her palm. Her face, warmed by the fire basin, was flushed and cozy.

So this was the problem with being twins—their hearts were connected, and even the slightest emotional fluctuation couldn’t be hidden from each other.

Recalling the scene of “punishment” she had witnessed outside the Gate of Supreme Harmony earlier, the pathetic sight of the criminal official wallowing in fear and Wenren Lin’s unfathomably deep, beautiful eyes overlapped in her mind…

Zhao Yān’s delicate eyebrows slightly furrowed, unclear whether in resentment or annoyance: “I encountered someone who’s like a haunting ghost.”

Another spring arrived, and imperceptibly, they drew closer to that most crucial point of fate.

Zhao Yān discovered that Zhao Yǎn had been quite busy lately.

He often shut himself in his study, falling into deep thought over a draft of new policies that had been revised multiple times.

Zhao Yān was his twin sister. How could she not sense her brother’s current worries and struggles?

Zhao Yān took a book and quietly sat beside Zhao Yǎn, turning a page and saying: “This thing you’re writing will offend many people.”

Zhao Yǎn was startled.

His sister had been learning with him in the Eastern Palace these years, reading a wide variety of books. Zhao Yǎn knew she was intelligent, but hadn’t expected her to be intelligent enough to see through the essence of the new policies with just one sentence.

“But it should also save many more people,” Zhao Yān added calmly, supporting her chin.

“Yes,” Zhao Yǎn no longer concealed from her. “But doing things beyond one’s capability is like inviting fire to oneself. I’m not afraid of danger, but I worry about dragging those around me into an abyss of no return. That kind of pain… I dare not taste a second time.”

Although Wei Yan was no longer present, given fate’s stubbornness, who knew what other mishaps might occur?

Now he could understand the deep meaning behind Shen Jingming’s words from years ago: “In such times, being too clear-minded is a kind of suffering.”

The foreknowledge from his previous life had helped him avoid many dangers, but it also showed him the tragic endings of young men with unfulfilled ambitions. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he feared the wheel of fate would mercilessly crush them again, leaving him at the end with debts of gratitude unpaid and loved ones and friends dead.

“When I look at ancient myths, I often find them somewhat perplexing. For example, if Kuafu wanted to chase the sun to observe it, why not ask Houyi for help to shoot it down for a good look? Or like Jingwei carrying twigs to fill the sea, why not ask the Golden Crow of Fusang to boil the sea dry to avenge her drowning?”

Zhao Yān, with her beautiful, clear eyes half-lowered, casually concluded, “It seems that although they had great ambitions, they were too rigid and inflexible, not knowing how to adapt, which is why they became tragedies that make people sigh.”

Zhao Yǎn’s eyes widened slightly, then he turned his head and laughed: “Yan’er’s thoughts are truly novel. Who taught you this?”

“If there’s something you want to do, then do it. If one person can’t accomplish it, find several more people.”

After a pause, Zhao Yān fluttered her eyelashes, somewhat unnaturally saying, “But protect yourself well, don’t be defenseless with everyone. If something happens to you, I…”

I would be heartbroken.

“I would grab you by the ear and call you ‘Zhao Yǎn, the big fool’ a hundred times!”

With that, Zhao Yān put down the unfinished Songs of Chu and stretched her waist.

The spring breeze passed through the window lattice, fluttering the pages of the book. A line of ink characters was visible.

“What my heart desires, though I die nine times, I would have no regrets…”

Zhao Yǎn recited this line, his gaze clear, suddenly enlightened.

As long as the path is right, why fear walking it again?

Yan’er was right. This time, he couldn’t rely on hot-blooded actions but needed to learn to lie low and leverage others’ strength. In the entire court, those who were upright and could contend with the aristocratic clans were probably only the Wenren family…

No, Wenren Lin was too dangerous and was also his father’s favored candidate for Prince Consort.

He couldn’t implicate Yan’er. He should observe for a few more days and first visit old friends at Mingde Academy.

“I plan to leave the palace for a while,” Zhao Yǎn said.

Zhao Yān stopped stretching, her eyes bright: “Can you take me with you?”

Zhao Yǎn thought for a moment and apologetically said with gentleness: “I’m afraid not. The time is not yet ripe. Brother cannot make a big commotion as before, so I need to hide it from everyone.”

Zhao Yān was somewhat surprised: “Sneaking out of the palace?”

Zhao Yǎn was probably doing such an etiquette-defying thing for the first time, and he smiled shyly: “Yes. I am doing this out of necessity. Yan’er is a good child and shouldn’t learn from your brother’s example. However, there are daily lectures at Chongwen Hall, so I’ll have to pretend to be ill and absent for a few days…”

Zhao Yān raised her eyebrows, her lips curving upward: Well, well, Zhao Yǎn had learned to do “bad things” too—how rare!

She loved these rebellious activities!

“That’s simple,” Zhao Yān’s eyes moved as she pointed to herself. “I’ll disguise myself as you and sit in Chongwen Hall reading.”

Disguise… as him?

Zhao Yǎn suddenly recalled the strange dream he had two years ago, where Yan’er disguised herself as him to hold the Eastern Palace after his death, only to fall into Prince Su’s grasp…

“If you claim illness, the Imperial Medical Bureau will diagnose you, and Mother and Father will certainly find out. I look similar to you, and officials often mistake us for each other. Substituting for you won’t reveal any flaws.”

Seeing that Zhao Yǎn still seemed apprehensive, Zhao Yān’s eyes grew brighter, like small glittering galaxies flowing within, “Besides, brother goes to Chongwen Hall daily to learn governance, while I can only stay in Kunning Palace, reading those liver-irritating Biographies of Virtuous Women and Collection of Worthy Women, which is so boring. I also want to go to Chongwen Hall and hear how the sages’ brother studies differ.”

The longing in her eyes was almost overflowing. Zhao Yǎn always doted on his sister and ultimately couldn’t resist that crisp “brother.” He could only smile, sigh, and agree.

Fortunately, tomorrow’s literature class will be taught by Grand Tutor Wen.

This Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor had poor eyesight and needed to press his crystal spectacles against the pages to barely make out the characters when teaching. He wouldn’t likely recognize Yan’er’s true identity.

As for the martial arts classes, there were several teachers, and tomorrow afternoon, should be General Wenren’s turn to teach military strategy. The General had a habit of not looking up much when studying military books, so it wouldn’t be difficult for Yan’er to fool him…

But deceiving two respected teachers still felt unsettling.

Zhao Yǎn silently apologized in his heart, prepared all the lessons needed for tomorrow, and repeatedly instructed Zhao Yān to protect herself—even if exposed, she shouldn’t panic but wait for him to handle it…

With all preparations complete, he finally let her return to Kunning Palace.

At the Marquis of Dinyuan’s mansion.

Wenren Cang returned from the palace, holding his one-year-old son in one arm while caressing his wife Rong Fuyue’s beautiful face with the other as he strode toward the rear courtyard.

A handsome young man in a dark civil-military robe stood tall, wiping the black lacquered seven-stone-strength bow in his hand, his eyelashes neither fully lowered nor raised, casting a cold shadow.

Despite his extensive battlefield experience, Wenren Cang still couldn’t see through the intimidating aura his third brother occasionally emanated. This aura grew increasingly deep and rich as his brother aged. That feeling… was like a destructive soul wrapped in a gentle shell.

Wenren Cang unconsciously lowered his voice: “A-Lin, Father and I have urgent matters at the military camp. Could you substitute for the Crown Prince’s martial arts class for these few days?”

The young man didn’t even look up, saying in a light, deep voice: “I only teach archery.”

Wenren Cang said, “I know, but Second Brother is frivolous. I don’t trust him to substitute.”

The young man concentrated on wiping his fine bow without saying more.

Wenren Cang raised his hand and pressed his third brother’s shoulder, saying, “Thank you for your trouble,” then turned and left.

Wenren Lin smoothly bent the bow, nocked an arrow, and released. The arrow tore through the trembling air. Instantly, the grass target shattered, and the arrow embedded three inches into the wall. Spider-web cracks rapidly spread across the stone wall, while the arrow’s tail feathers still vibrated unceasingly.

Teaching the Crown Prince? Not very interesting.

…

The next morning, in the Eastern Palace.

Zhao Yān put on her brother’s clothes, bound her hair in a man’s topknot with a jade crown, and stood face to face with Zhao Yǎn, raising her hand to touch the small tear mole painted at the corner of her eye, asking: “Do I look like you?”

Even Shadow Ah Xing exclaimed in surprise: “Too similar! It’s like the Crown Prince is looking in a mirror! Chou Zui, look, doesn’t Princess Changfeng dressed as a young man look exactly like the Crown Prince?”

Chou Zui always remained detached from the group. He squatted on the steps for a long while before wrinkling his hawk-like nose and hoarsely muttering: “Smell… different.”

Wild beasts were indeed particularly sensitive to human scents. Ah Xing laughed: “I asked you to identify appearance, not smell. Besides, I can’t smell any difference.”

Zhao Yān was quite satisfied with her appearance and quickly immersed herself in the role, imitating Zhao Yǎn’s manner by speaking slowly and gently: “I’m leaving.”

Then, suppressing her naturally lively and beautiful eyebrows, she strode out of the hall.

“Protect Yan’er well,” Zhao Yǎn gently instructed Ah Xing as he changed into inconspicuous ordinary clothes, disguising himself as a eunuch, leaving the palace to make purchases. He turned to Chou Zui and said, “Let’s go too.”

At Chongwen Hall.

Grand Tutor Wen’s eyes were dim with age, and he indeed didn’t recognize Zhao Yān…

But the subjects he taught were excessively dull and rigid, not nearly as interesting as the classics Zhao Yǎn regularly explained.

Zhao Yān was greatly disappointed.

After barely enduring the literature class, Zhao Yān ate some salty yogurt and pastries specially provided by the Imperial Kitchen to satisfy her hunger. She asked Ah Xing, who was serving beside her, “What’s the next class again?”

Ah Xing poured tea and replied: “In response to Your Highness, it’s the military strategy class with the Marquis of Dinyuan.”

The Marquis of Dinyuan was the title conferred upon Wenren Jinping after he returned victorious from war.

Wenren Jinping… this shouldn’t be a problem.

Military officials weren’t so detail-oriented. Two years ago, when she encountered Wenren Cang and Wenren Mu at the ball court, didn’t they mistake her for the Crown Prince?

Just as she was thinking, a light, steady footstep sounded behind her, and a shadow encroached.

An ominous premonition rose in her heart. Zhao Yān, biting half a crab roe pastry, turned around and unexpectedly met Wenren Lin’s impassive, handsome face.

Misfortune!

Misfortune upon misfortune!

Why him, of all people!

Between this inexplicably designated Prince Consort candidate and that terrifying caning punishment below the palace gate… Zhao Yān nearly choked on her crab roe pastry. She hurriedly picked up the tea beside her, drank it all in one gulp, and forcibly swallowed the lump stuck in her chest.

Wenren Lin was composed and calm as he bowed: “The Marquis of Dinyuan has urgent military matters to attend to and has temporarily assigned me to teach military strategy these two days. May I ask the Crown Prince, where did the old man…”

His elegant, deep voice paused subtly, and he seamlessly corrected himself: “Where did Father teach yesterday?”

Thankfully, Zhao Yǎn had informed her before leaving. Zhao Yān didn’t dare raise her head and kept her voice low as she answered: “The Upper Strategy in The Three Strategies.”

Wenren Lin made no comment. Instead of sitting in the cold, hard Grand Tutor’s chair in the center, he dragged over a round-backed armchair, sat down with his hands on the armrests, and asked languidly: “Has the Crown Prince completed all his assignments?”

This Wenren Lin was not to be trifled with. His eyes were like those of a soul-stealing demon, always making people feel uneasy.

Zhao Yān nodded nervously, took out the military strategy essay that Zhao Yǎn had written in advance from the stack of books, and handed it to the ink-attending eunuch beside her.

Just as the eunuch was about to take it, a long-fingered hand reached out first and grasped the other end of the essay.

Zhao Yān froze, immediately let go, and secretly pinched her lower garment with her fingertips clasped on her lap.

A very faint, familiar yet unfamiliar sweet scent wafted in the air.

Beasts in human skin are particularly sensitive to smells, after all.

Wenren Lin lowered his eyes, looking at the “little Crown Prince’s” slightly trembling long eyelashes, then at the bit of crab roe pastry powder at the corner of her mouth.

He placed the essay on the desk but didn’t hurry to open it. His lacquer-colored eyes gradually infused with a hint of an unfathomable, shallow smile, as if discovering an extremely interesting puzzle.

“Your Highness has studied hard for half a day and must be hungry and thirsty,” he suddenly said.

Zhao Yān somewhat bewilderedly raised her head, not knowing why he suddenly mentioned this, and could only force a gentle fake smile: “It’s fine, I’m not very…”

Before she could finish, she saw the man slowly push the remaining plate of honey bean cakes toward her with his slender jade-like index and middle fingers.

“…hungry,” she struggled to complete the sentence.

“Your Highness need not be polite in front of me. Eat your fill to have energy for discussing military strategy principles.”

Seeing that Zhao Yān didn’t move, Wenren Lin rested his bent finger against his forehead and lightly asked: “Why doesn’t Your Highness eat?”

Zhao Yān didn’t like overly sweet things.

The one who had a sweet tooth was Crown Prince Zhao Yǎn.

She swallowed and was about to say “I’m not hungry” when she saw Wenren Lin reveal a slightly enlightened expression: “I almost forgot, the Crown Prince has a sweet tooth and probably thinks it’s not sweet enough to have an appetite.”

As he spoke, he considerately picked up the osmanthus honey beside him and, under Zhao Yān’s astonished gaze, slowly poured it, making the light amber-gold osmanthus honey flow in threads over the already extremely sweet honey bean cakes.

A tooth-achingly large amount.

“Please enjoy.”

Wenren Lin pushed the plate of osmanthus-honey-soaked bean cakes back in front of Zhao Yān, leisurely examining her, the smile in his eyes deepening.

Zhao Yān: “…”

Zhao Yǎn, save me.