“Hasn’t the Crown Prince’s health already improved? Why has it suddenly worsened again?”

“I heard that today the little Princess secretly lured the young Crown Prince out to play wildly, even making him climb trees for amusement. The Crown Prince caught a chill in the wind and returned with a fever that left him unconscious.”

“Alas, poor Crown Prince. They’re twins born at the same time with identical appearances, yet why is it our Prince who is so frail?”

“Don’t you know? When Empress Wei gave birth, the Crown Prince was born smoothly, neither crying nor fussing. But the little Princess was born in a sleep-like state, causing trouble for half the night, nearly bringing disaster upon the Empress… They say the little Princess must have been born with ill fortune, feeding on her twin brother’s vital energy in the womb. Otherwise, how could the Crown Prince be so weak from birth while the little Princess is robust as a dragon, never having suffered even minor illnesses?”

“Now that you mention it, no wonder the Empress isn’t close to the little Princess!”

“Exactly! If only our healthy one were the Crown Prince instead.”

The chattering palace maids moved away with their tea trays and fruit plates.

In the biting spring cold, young Zhao Yān raised her hand to wipe her eyes forcefully. Her fair, childish face had turned red with anger as she furiously kicked away a pebble at her feet.

The pebble struck a pair of embroidered four-clawed dragon boots before bouncing back with a soft thud.

Looking up, she saw that Zhao Yǎn had heard the noise and secretly gotten out of bed, putting on his clothes.

…

…

Little Zhao Yān clenched her tiny fists and had just turned to run when she heard Zhao Yǎn call out briefly: “Yān’er, wait.”

His voice was also gentle and soft, like a girl’s, and he began coughing as soon as he spoke, as if unable to bear it.

Likely not wanting anyone to hear, he forcibly suppressed the cough in his throat, his small shoulders trembling as he hunched over, looking somewhat pitiful.

Reluctantly, Zhao Yān stopped and lowered her head, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

Young Zhao Yǎn’s eyes curved into a smile as he took something from behind his back, carefully offering it to his sister.

It was a severely damaged kite—the one they had flown together in the garden that morning when Zhao Yǎn had secretly slipped out with her. The broken frame had been carefully repaired, still sticky with undried paste.

“This kite… *cough cough*… I retrieved it for Yān’er.”

Zhao Yǎn looked up, breathing heavily, breaking into a weak, gentle smile. “Next time we’ll play together again, alright?”

Zhao Yān was astonished. So he had secretly climbed the tree just to retrieve her favorite kite before anyone discovered it…

Just for a kite, he had caught a fever that wouldn’t break. Just for this thing, she had been unjustly scolded and punished by Mother Empress.

The anger from the palace maids’ gossip and the grievance of Mother Empress’s misplaced blame surged up. Zhao Yān snatched the kite and threw it down, shouting, “Zhao Yǎn, I hate you the most!”

Thunder rumbled at the Huayang Temporary Palace. A green sandalwood jewelry box cracked open, an exquisite gold hairpin fell to the ground, and in the rain mist, the boy’s figure became indistinct, receding further and further…

The unfamiliar bed curtains billowed, and a lingering, faint medicinal fragrance hung in the air. This was the Eastern Palace in the imperial city, not the Huayang Temporary Palace thousands of miles away.

Zhao Yān hugged her bedding, her chin resting on her knees, her hanging hair concealing half her face.

She exhaled slowly, retrieving a jewelry box from a hidden compartment beneath her pillow. The green sandalwood box inlaid with mother-of-pearl carvings was exceptionally beautiful, but on closer inspection, one could still see the cracks from where it had been repaired.

Opening the lid revealed a brilliantly luminous gold hairpin.

That day was Zhao Yān’s fifteenth birthday. Zhao Yǎn, returning from summer retreat to the capital, had secretly changed his route to visit her at the Huayang Palace, where she had been banished.

Zhao Yǎn presented the birthday gift he had prepared long ago—a gold hairpin he had personally designed and crafted.

Half of his clothes were soaked through, yet he seemed completely unaware, smiling good-naturedly as always, congratulating his sister on her coming-of-age ceremony.

After six years away from the palace, seeing Zhao Yǎn’s pale face after his arduous journey, all the grievances and resentments that had accumulated in Zhao Yān’s heart burst forth like a broken dam, drowning her reason.

It had been this way since childhood—whenever Zhao Yǎn recklessly came to show kindness, and his health suffered, she was the one punished and scolded!

The young woman stood rigidly in her pomegranate-colored gauze skirt, like a firecracker about to explode, shouting at the boy in snow-white lined robes standing in the rain, “Zhao Yǎn, I don’t need your pity.”

Zhao Yān could no longer remember what expression her brother had worn then.

She only remembered that it was stifling hot at the end of summer, the rain was heavy that day, and her brother stood in it for a very long time.

She had even forgotten that it was also her brother Zhao Yǎn’s fifteenth birthday.

Zhao Yān never expected that would be the last time she saw Zhao Yǎn. The unhappy parting at the temporary palace became their final farewell.

Zhao Yān was no saint; she couldn’t save the world. In returning disguised as a man, she only wanted to discover exactly how Zhao Yǎn had died.

She couldn’t understand why that fool Zhao Yǎn never learned to protect himself!

Zhao Yān gripped the gold hairpin tightly, as if only this could suppress the lingering regret and remorse in her heart.

When she opened her eyes again, she had regained her composure. She placed the green sandalwood box back in the hidden compartment and rang the golden bell at her bedside.

Soon, Liu Ying entered alone, carrying prepared clothing.

Liu Ying had deliberately dismissed all other attendants; serving the “Crown Prince” was never delegated to others. Despite this precaution, she was still startled by the sight before her, quickly turning to close the door securely.

A beauty fresh from deep slumber, black hair falling to her waist, nightclothes loose—the chest binding that had been secured before sleep had mostly come undone. With a stretch, the snow-white curves were faintly visible, like a blooming lotus in the height of elegance.

Liu Ying lowered the bed curtain to conceal her, saying calmly, “Your Highness, please lie still when sleeping at night. Otherwise, the heads of the hundreds of people in the Eastern Palace will not be enough to pay for it.”

As she spoke, she grabbed Zhao Yān’s loose chest bindings, wrapping and tightening them forcefully, transforming the graceful snow peaks into flat plains.

Zhao Yān couldn’t catch her breath, clutching her painful chest and complaining softly: “The braziers in the bedchamber were too hot; I couldn’t sleep comfortably. It must have come loose while tossing and turning.”

Liu Ying showed no mercy, fastening her clothes: “The Crown Prince has always been cold-natured, so the braziers naturally need to be warmer. And your clothes cannot be reduced—first to avoid suspicion, and second to conceal Your Highness’s true form.”

Zhao Yān rested her chin on her hand, glancing at the contemplative lady-in-waiting through the bronze mirror.

After the Crown Prince’s incident, the Empress swiftly replaced all the attendants. In this purge of the Eastern Palace, Liu Ying was the only confidante who remained.

Having served the Crown Prince closely for years, she was steady and probably the person who understood Zhao Yǎn best in the world.

Since Zhao Yān had entered the Eastern Palace, Liu Ying had been responsible for correcting and instructing her speech and behavior, helping her mimic the late Crown Prince’s mannerisms, diligently ensuring this counterfeit was perfectly replicated.

This “instruction” sometimes felt more like surveillance from the Empress Mother.

After all, with rebel factions dividing the country externally, partisan struggles internally, and the all-powerful Prince Su watching from the sidelines, the slightest mistake would lead to complete failure.

She glanced at the prepared clothes on the tray, asking disinterestedly: “Who do I have to deal with now?”

“Has Your Highness forgotten? Starting today, you must attend lectures at the Chongwen Hall.”

“Ah…”

Zhao Yān fell back into her bedding, frowning and mumbling: “Just send someone to make an excuse. After all, the Crown Prince is frail and can’t risk catching a cold—no one will suspect anything.”

Liu Ying replied: “This is the Emperor’s decree. Even the Empress can do nothing about it.”

Zhao Yān rolled over, covering her ears, continuing to chase after the Duke of Zhou in her dreams.

Liu Ying said, “Excuse me,” and steeled her heart.

The brocade quilt was yanked away in one swift motion. Zhao Yān immediately curled up from the cold, opening her eyes in anger: “Liu Ying!”

Liu Ying knelt beside the bed with clean clothes, her expression blank: “Please dress, Your Highness, and proceed to the Chongwen Hall for your studies.”

Zhao Yān completely lost her patience, grabbing the neatly folded clothes from Liu Ying’s hands and patiently putting them on layer by layer.

Liu Ying came over to help, her reserved gaze occasionally sweeping across Zhao Yān’s face.

The Princess and Crown Prince were not identical, she couldn’t help thinking.

If the Crown Prince was the clear moon in the sky, pure and untarnished, then Princess Changfeng was more like the proud summer sun, brilliantly beautiful.

The same face, yet completely different temperaments.

“Why do you keep looking at me? Do you have something to say?” Zhao Yān rubbed her sleepy eyes, lazily yawning.

Liu Ying instinctively averted her gaze, lowering her eyelids.

After a moment, she regained her composure and said seriously: “The Crown Prince is a model gentleman for the world, dignified in conduct, and never engages in such coarse behavior.”

Here we go again with the daily corrections!

Zhao Yān’s movement to bend over stopped abruptly. She had no choice but to drop her hand properly at her side and walk toward the hall door instead.

“The Crown Prince never walks hastily.” Liu Ying’s voice followed her like a ghost.

Zhao Yān patiently slowed her pace.

“The Crown Prince is gentle-natured and should smile.” The female voice beside her continued relentlessly.

Zhao Yān placed her hand against the door, at the end of her patience.

Her lips twitched for a long moment before she pushed open the door, lifting her head to display a warm, appropriate fake smile.

This is exactly why she hated that idiot Zhao Yǎn the most!

After the first heavy snow, everywhere was adorned in silver and jade, a completely white vista.

In the carriage to the Chongwen Hall, Zhao Yān glanced at the quiet Liu Ying beside her.

“Why are you so quiet now?”

Zhao Yān, dressed in snow-white Crown Prince’s attire embroidered with gold threads, asked curiously: “Don’t you need to remind me constantly, like the previous times, teaching me details about how the Crown Prince interacts with his teachers?”

Liu Ying answered simply: “Not necessary.”

Zhao Yān was surprised: “Why?”

Liu Ying thought for a moment before saying, “Your Highness will understand when you arrive.”

One incense stick later, at the Chongwen Hall.

Zhao Yān watched the white-haired old man leaning on a cane, tremblingly kowtowing to a red-lacquered pillar, and finally understood what Liu Ying had meant by “not necessary.”

The Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor, Master Wen, was over seventy, with severe eye problems—unable to distinguish between men and women beyond three steps, or between humans and animals beyond ten zhang.

With such eyesight, he naturally couldn’t tell whether the person standing before him was the real Zhao Yǎn or the fake Crown Prince.

“Teacher, please rise. Over here.”

Zhao Yān stifled a laugh as she helped the old man up, changing his direction.

The Chongwen Hall wasn’t large, but it was tranquil, filled with the fragrance of ink.

Zhao Yān held a small gold hand-warmer, casually flipping through a few pages of books. The ancient sages’ teachings on self-cultivation, family management, state governance, and world peace seemed to span thousands of years, spreading before her eyes like a vast ocean.

So this was the advantage of being male—one could study strategies, tactics, and the art of court politics, rather than being confined to the inner chambers like women, never seeing the light of day.

This world was truly unfair.

Ahead, Grand Tutor Wen held a crystal magnifier, enlarging each character of Mencius’s word by word. When he reached an exciting passage, he couldn’t help nodding and swaying, losing himself completely.

As he was speaking eloquently, he suddenly noticed through the exaggerated vision of his magnifier that the young Crown Prince was resting his chin on his hand, staring out the window, clearly distracted.

Grand Tutor Wen cleared his throat and said quite tactfully: “Your Highness seems distracted. Is my explanation unclear?”

Zhao Yān withdrew her gaze and smiled gently: “Please don’t blame me, Teacher. I was just pondering over a few sentences I didn’t quite understand, lost in thought.”

Seeing the Crown Prince so studious, Master Wen was quite pleased and nodded repeatedly: “Which sentences?”

“‘To take obedience as righteousness is the way of wives and concubines.'”

Zhao Yān pointed to a line of text. “Why can men’s ‘way’ stand tall and unafraid of royal power, while women’s ‘way’ is to remain in the inner chambers, obeying their husbands?”

“This…”

Grand Tutor Wen’s expression grew serious as he stroked his graying beard: “Men manage external affairs while women manage internal affairs; husbands guide wives. These principles of ethics and ritual have been thus since ancient times.”

Zhao Yān scoffed lightly: “Who established these ethics? Who dictated these rituals?”

Grand Tutor Wen bowed toward space with reverence: “Naturally established by our ancestors, the words of the sages.”

Zhao Yān asked further: “Then, compared to ‘loyalty and filial piety,’ which weighs more heavily—the sages’ words or loyalty and filial piety?”

Grand Tutor Wen answered: “Naturally, loyalty and filial piety.”

“Very well.”

Zhao Yān tilted her head, resting it on her palm, and asked with complete seriousness: “Then if I wish for all women in the world to read books and understand principles as men do, if your mother wished to step out from the inner chambers and establish achievements, would you follow these wishes or not?”

“This…”

Grand Tutor Wen was momentarily speechless.

Zhao Yān’s peach blossom eyes curved slightly as she drew a cunning conclusion: “If you don’t follow, wouldn’t that make you disloyal and unrighteous, Teacher?”

“…”

The erudite Grand Tutor Wen wiped cold sweat from his temple, unable to answer.

This was an unconsidered question indeed—worthy of the intelligent Crown Prince who could infer much from a single principle!

After half a day of lessons, Liu Ying followed one step behind Zhao Yān and said directly: “Your Highness should be generous and benevolent, not confronting Master Wen so.”

Zhao Yān felt refreshed and carefree, saying casually, “Teaching, instructing, and resolving doubts are a teacher’s responsibilities—how is that confrontation?”

The Eastern Palace carriage was waiting outside. As Zhao Yān gathered her sleeves and walked, she saw someone standing at the Changqing Gate ahead.

The man wore crimson official robes, was tall and straight, with a dark blue cape fluttering in the wind, creating the most stunning impression in the snow-covered imperial palace.

Zhao Yān recognized the figure and was surprised.

What a coincidence! Last time in the warm pavilion, she hadn’t been able to learn this person’s name.

“Your Highness, stop.”

Liu Ying looked toward the palace gate with considerable trepidation, her voice hoarser than ever before: “Let’s use another gate.”

“Why?”

Zhao Yān was puzzled. Just as she stopped, a splash of crimson unexpectedly burst forth from beneath the Changqing Gate, staining the white snow at the man’s feet.

The gentle smile remained fixed on Zhao Yān’s lips, but her pupils contracted in shock.

A plump official in scarlet court robes fell face down, blood spreading beneath his corpulent body, quickly soaking a large area.

The killer’s expression remained unchanged as he elegantly accepted a handkerchief from his subordinate, carefully wiping his fingers clean.

With a release of his hand, the handkerchief fluttered down, gently covering the terrified face that could not close its eyes in death.

This was Zhao Yān’s first time witnessing death firsthand, at the solemn palace gate.

Cold crept up her spine as she staggered back a step, clutching the equally tense Liu Ying.

Zhao Yān instinctively wanted to leave, but it was too late.

The man at the palace gate had noticed her presence and turned around leisurely, hands behind his back.

Their eyes met, and he walked slowly toward her.

Red robes against white snow—it was impossible to tell whether he more resembled an immortal or a demon.