The Luofu Spring wine had a sweet taste, and Zhao Yān indulged in one cup too many. Before long, a faint blush appeared on her fair cheeks.

Zhao Yǎn’s blood circulation had been poor, and drinking would never color his face like this—he never had such a vibrant complexion.

Under the occasional burst of fireworks, Liu Ji suddenly leaned across the steps over Liu Ying between them, narrowing her eyes to examine Zhao Yān carefully.

Zhao Yān held her wine cup, her eyelashes blinking slowly in confusion at Liu Ji’s sudden closeness.

Liu Ji mumbled as if half-drunk, then reached out to place her hand on Zhao Yān’s shoulder, “From now on, I’ll take care of you in his place.”

Even Liu Ying’s overly composed face had gained a hint of color. She intercepted Liu Ji’s unruly hand without mercy, frowning, “Please be mindful of your words and actions, Lady Liu.”

Liu Ji withdrew her wrist indifferently, then used it to prop herself up on the steps as she gazed at the night sky, dark as black ice, smiling with full provocation: “Liu Ying, you’re just jealous that the Crown Prince favors me.”

For a moment, Zhao Yān felt as if everything had returned to the time before that late summer tragedy—Liu Ji and Liu Ying unable to get along, with good-natured Zhao Yǎn caught between them.

The heavy rain at Huayang Summer Palace in late summer floated back into her mind, dampening her thoughts.

The golden hairpin falling to the ground, the young girl in a thorny red dress clenching her fists, her red lips opening and closing rapidly as she spoke those regretful, angry words to her twin brother in the rain…

…

…

Zhao Yān abruptly closed her eyes, preventing herself from remembering further.

After a moment, she opened her trembling eyes and looked at the wine-dazed Liu Ying beside her as if nothing had happened: “So, Sister Liu Ying, what did the Crown Prince say before he left?”

Realizing these two were working together to extract information, Liu Ying’s intoxication cleared instantly. She said, “This servant should go prepare the bed now,” and rose alertly.

She practically fled in disarray, but after walking about ten paces, her steps slowed.

“Her Majesty doesn’t want Your Highness to know too much, for Your Highness’s good.”

The fireworks had stopped, and the world suddenly became quiet, with only the fading lantern light still swaying gently under the eaves.

Liu Ji gently swirled the small wine jar, listening to the sound inside. “It’s not too late to give up now.”

She raised her eyes, shimmering with the effects of wine, and replied with just two words: “Never.”

After speaking, she gave a shallow yawn, placed the empty wine cup on the steps, and rose to head toward the bedchamber.

Liu Ji tilted her head back to finish the last sip of Luofu Spring wine, and the empty jar rolled down the stone steps. She raised her hand to her chest where, beneath her thick winter coat, she could faintly feel a piece of silk paper tucked between the layers of fabric—

The cold moon slanted down below the western eaves, and the eighteenth year of Tianyou, without Zhao Yǎn’s presence, silently arrived amidst the embers of fireworks.

Due to the Spring Soil Sacrifice ceremony, Zhao Yān’s New Year holiday was unbearably difficult.

Every day before dawn, she had to take a sedan chair to the Imperial Ancestral Temple, where ceremonial officials taught her ritual etiquette. After ten days, she was utterly exhausted.

“With so many trivial matters one after another, no wonder the Crown Prince’s illness worsened as it did.”

Zhao Yān sat on the couch, massaging her aching back, now understanding the difficulties Zhao Yǎn had faced in his position at the Eastern Palace.

“Tomorrow is the sacrifice ceremony. Your Highness needs only endure it, and then it will be over.”

Liu Ying wrung out a warm cloth for her to wipe her hands, and remembering the message from the female historian of Kunning Palace, said solemnly, “Her Majesty has received news that the Emperor has selected a lecturer to temporarily serve as Junior Preceptor, teaching Your Highness literary courses. All officials will gather at tomorrow’s sacrifice, and Your Highness will likely meet him there.”

One wave of trouble had not settled before another rose—one Wenren Lin was enough for her to handle, and now there would be another.

“Left Chancellor Li and Grand Preceptor Wen personally recommended him, though his identity remains unknown.”

Liu Ying’s voice lowered, seemingly worried, “With Concubine Zhen by the Emperor’s side, his attitude toward Kunning Palace has grown increasingly cold and suspicious. Her Majesty cannot gather intelligence as effectively as before.”

So the loss of her son was not only a devastating psychological blow to Mother Empress but also a catastrophe that threatened her position as Empress and foreshadowed national turmoil.

“I understand and will act with caution,” Zhao Yān reassured her.

She had already encountered the most dangerous person in the imperial city; whoever came next could not be more terrifying than the pale-faced, black-hearted Prince Su.

Tomorrow was the Lantern Festival, and the imperial city would lift its curfew. The streets were already adorned with colorful lanterns.

Under the lights of the winding, long streets, scattered snow drifted, and men and women holding paper umbrellas came to view the lanterns in an endless stream, as if a spring breeze had entered the city overnight, blooming with various flowers.

In the Jing Garden of the Left Chancellor’s mansion, the shadows of an old man and a young man playing chess were projected on the warm yellow window paper.

“Since you claimed the top spot in the palace examination in the sixteenth year of Tianyou, you have been serving as an official outside the capital for two years. This time, I requested His Majesty to recall you to the capital, firstly to temporarily serve as the Crown Prince’s Lecturer Scholar. Since it’s a short-term assignment, you needn’t worry whether your youth might affect your capability. As my prized student, you certainly possess the talent to be an Imperial Tutor.”

Left Chancellor Li Kexing placed a chess piece and said solemnly, “However, according to Grand Preceptor Wen, the Crown Prince’s ideas have changed significantly since his recovery. The Great Xuan has only this one heir, and if we wish to implement our policies, he is our only hope. You must guide and correct him well, not simply let matters take their course.”

From the other side of the chessboard, a refined and elegant hand reached out, placing a chess piece as he replied properly: “Yes.”

“Secondly, it’s a bit of my sentiment.”

Li Kexing recalled another proud and unrestrained prized student, his brow furrowing with melancholy, “You must have heard of your junior fellow apprentice Shen Jingming’s death. Though he was not as steady and proper as you, he was the last disciple I put my lifelong effort into teaching. Now his death is entangled with the Eastern Palace, unjust and suspicious. During your temporary appointment as Lecturer, if there’s an opportunity…”

“I understand the teacher’s meaning.”

The young man holding the chess piece in the lamplight was extremely young, about twenty years old, standing tall and elegant in flowing blue robes. Though his face could not be called strikingly handsome with sword-like eyebrows and star-like eyes, it was fair and clean. His every movement displayed the natural aristocratic etiquette of a scholar’s family, reminiscent of crystalline snow that never melts on high mountains.

“I, your student, and Jingming both received our teacher’s kindness. We are like brothers, and it is my duty.”

Li Kexing’s eyes revealed affection.

If not for that calamity on the Qixi Festival, Shen Jingming would be sitting here discussing classics and playing chess with Wanlan. One, a proper gentleman as pure as frost and snow; the other, an arrogant and talented romantic youth—what brilliant sparks they would have created in the literary world and even in the political arena.

Alas, one half of the “Twin Jades of Li’s School” was forever lost.

“I know your aspirations are lofty, and you wish to return to the Hanlin Academy to write books and establish your words. Being drawn into this arena of fame and profit is unfair to you.”

Li Kexing sighed deeply, collecting his pieces, “Prince Su serves as the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor; when working with him, you must be cautious and restrained.”

The young man rose, folded his sleeves, and performed a deep bow, saying each word clearly: “I, your student Zhou Ji, will heed the teacher’s guidance.”

…

The Spring Soil Sacrifice ceremony was to be held at the southern sacrificial altar.

At the fourth watch of the night, in the bitter cold of midnight, Zhao Yān was forced to change into formal dragon-patterned robes and follow the palace attendants to wait at the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

Upon arriving at the Imperial Ancestral Temple, she saw civil and military officials standing in dense rows, and realized she was among the late arrivals.

Yet looking up at the sky, it was pitch black without a hint of light—dawn was still far away.

Officials came to greet her one after another, including her maternal uncle, Marquis Ningyang Wei Yan.

“Uncle.”

Zhao Yān returned his greeting and then asked, “Where is Aunt?”

She remembered that noble ladies could also participate in this sacrifice, a special honor reserved for meritorious nobles and imperial relatives. Given Wei Yan’s devotion to his wife, it was surprising that he hadn’t brought her along.

Wei Yan explained: “Ayue is ill and still recuperating at home, so it’s not convenient for her to come.”

Only then did Zhao Yān recall that her aunt was also a delicate beauty, suffering from heart weakness, reportedly due to excessive emotional distress in the past that had damaged her foundation. She relied on rare medicinal herbs that Wei Yan went to great lengths to collect. Beyond the financial cost, the connections used and the effort spent were countless.

Yet the Marquis of Ningyang had cared for her meticulously for ten years without change. Even her father, the Emperor, who paid little attention to worldly matters, had once remarked that “the Wei family has produced a true romantic.”

Just as she was thinking this, Wei Yan’s gaze shifted beyond Zhao Yān, and he smiled, cupping his hands in greeting: “Chancellor Li.”

Rising from his bow, he looked at the young man beside the Left Chancellor: “If I remember correctly, this must be Zhou, the top scholar from the sixteenth year of Tianyou?”

Zhao Yān instinctively turned to look and was slightly startled upon seeing the familiar figure.

She thought she had mistaken the person until Li Kexing and his student walked into the bright light of the torches, the warm orange glow illuminating Zhou Ji’s ice-cold face, causing her heart to suddenly skip a beat.

Zhou Wanlan!

How could he be here?

In her shock, Zhou Ji’s gaze also turned toward her, pausing for a moment, seeming somewhat puzzled.

“Wanlan, quickly pay your respects to His Highness the Crown Prince,” Chancellor Li timely introduced.

Zhou Ji quickly regained his composure and properly bowed, saying: “Your subject Zhou Ji greets Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yān could only force herself to acknowledge him, saying in a suppressed voice: “Minister Zhou, please rise.”

Fortunately, the Emperor and Empress finally arrived fashionably late. Zhao Yān, Zhou Ji, and their respective groups stepped aside, kneeling in salutation, thus interrupting this extremely awkward meeting.

Setting off for the southern suburbs, in the carriage, Zhao Yān finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“The young official beside Chancellor Li must be Your Highness’s new lecturer.”

Liu Ying observed Zhao Yān’s expression and asked softly, “Your Highness seems troubled—do you find him problematic?”

“There’s no major issue, it’s just that…”

Zhao Yān found it difficult to express, also lowering her voice, “At Huayang Summer Palace, he once served as my tutor for a month.”

That month was truly unforgettable for Zhao Yān.

Before meeting Zhou Ji, she never knew a person could possess such infuriating patience.

When she sneaked into the kitchen to steal food, Zhou Ji would stand outside the window watching her.

When she climbed over the wall to go play, Zhou Ji would stand below the wall watching her.

When she skipped class to row a boat and pick lotus flowers, pushing aside the lotus leaves, she would see Zhou Ji walking along the shore, watching her.

Until she was willing to sit down obediently and follow his lessons in reading and writing. Once he decided to accomplish something, not even thunder and lightning could sway him.

The rolling of wheels covered the conversation between master and servant.

Liu Ying pondered: “If so, he is likely to recognize Your Highness. We cannot keep him close.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What does Your Highness mean?”

Zhao Yān’s lips curled into a smile: “Zhou Ji has difficulty recognizing people—he’s slightly face-blind.”

During the sacrifice ceremony positioning, Zhao Yān deliberately walked past Zhou Ji, and sure enough, he didn’t even glance at her, showing no reaction.

Despite this, the Empress was still uneasy when she heard about it.

Liu Ying brought the Empress’s message: “Her Majesty has already petitioned on Your Highness’s behalf. His Majesty, considering the Crown Prince’s weak constitution, has graciously allowed Your Highness to skip the feast following the sacrifice and return to the palace early to rest.”

Zhao Yān had slept only one hour the previous night and was indeed somewhat fatigued, so she nodded: “Prepare a lighter carriage. I’ll catch up on sleep.”

Liu Ying promptly went to make arrangements.

The carriage swayed as it entered the road back to the palace. Zhao Yān hugged an embroidered pillow, leaning against the carriage wall to nap.

Just as she was about to fall asleep, the carriage suddenly jerked to a halt. Caught off guard, Zhao Yān nearly tumbled forward, and quickly awakened, asking: “What happened?”

Gu Xing, leading the way ahead, reined in his horse, one hand on his sword, vigilantly scanning the surroundings: “Something’s not right.”

No sooner had he spoken than a hissing sound of arrows cutting through the air came whistling toward them.

“Protect His Highness!” Gu Xing shouted, slashing down an arrow in front of him.

In a flash, Liu Ying skillfully threw herself forward, shielding Zhao Yān tightly beneath her. Almost simultaneously, several arrows pierced through the carriage curtain and embedded themselves in the carriage wall beside Zhao Yān’s ear.

Liu Ying trembled imperceptibly, and Zhao Yān saw dark red blood continuously seeping from beneath her torn sleeve.

“Liu Ying, you’re injured!”

“Don’t move, Your Highness, I’m fine…”

Fine? The blood was almost dripping onto her face!

“Don’t be foolish, lying on top of me! Can you move your other arm? Give me a hand!”

Zhao Yān was now fully awake, all drowsiness gone, and instinctively picked up the small table from the carriage.

Understanding her intention, Liu Ying finally endured the pain to help, using the table as a shield against the carriage window to block the random arrows.

“Executing Heaven’s justice! Kill the dog emperor who sells out his people for glory!”

Denunciations rose from the roadside, and in the chaos, the two fine horses pulling the carriage were hit by arrows. In pain, they bolted wildly.

Zhao Yān was tossed about in confusion, and when she regained her senses, the carriage had already run more than a hundred yards away, leaving Gu Xing and the other guards far behind.

Worse still, Liu Ying had fainted, while the well-coordinated assassins were catching up.

Zhao Yān desperately crouched down in the carriage, stretching out her hand to try to control the reins, but with her internal organs feeling displaced from the jolting, it was completely futile.

Another arrow flew in, and the horses finally collapsed, foaming at the mouth and whinnying. Zhao Yān was thrown out of the carriage by the massive momentum, rolling onto the ground.

Masked bandits raised their swords, advancing toward Zhao Yān step by step.

Upon seeing a young man, the bandit was taken aback.

Inside the carriage earlier, Zhao Yān had heard them shouting something about a “dog emperor,” realizing these desperate men had targeted the wrong person.

She quickly prepared what to say, but just as she was about to speak to confuse them, she heard the sound of hoofbeats from ahead.

From one end of the street came a group of riders. The leader sat atop a magnificent black horse with white-speckled hooves, wearing a familiar long ink-colored robe with combined military and scholarly sleeves.

The arrival was not the Imperial Guards coming to rescue, but Prince Su, who happened to be on his way to the southern suburbs to meet the Emperor.

But the bandits didn’t see it that way. Instinctively, one grabbed Zhao Yān, placing his blade against her throat, using her as a hostage.

Since the arrow was already on the string, they needed to take someone’s head back to complete their mission. This youth looked weak, but his clothes were quite luxurious—if not the Crown Prince, he must be some prince or heir.

“Get out of the way! Or I’ll kill him!” the bandit shouted.

The cold blade pressed against her vulnerable neck, triggering an innate trembling. To say she wasn’t afraid would certainly be a lie.

Zhao Yān froze, swallowing with difficulty, her clear, innocent eyes staring unblinkingly at Prince Su, who sat high on his horse, looking as pitiful as possible.

The cold wind howled past, their eyes met, and Wenren Lin’s dark cloak fluttered vigorously.

The next moment, he calmly turned his gaze away, reining his horse to make way.

Yes, he averted his eyes, allowing the bandits to take the Crown Prince hostage.

As if the person trembling under the knife was just a stranger he had never met.

Zhao Yān’s vision darkened as she gnashed her teeth in anger.