“Prince Su, as the only prince of a different surname in our dynasty, has controlled the court for many years and commands his forces. His wolfish ambition cannot be underestimated!”

On the night she entered the Eastern Palace, Mother Empress’s restrained warning still echoed in her ears, each word spoken through gritted teeth.

Zhao Yān had imagined many possibilities, but never once had she thought that Prince Su Wenlin, whom the entire court feared to mention and whom Mother Empress hated so bitterly, would be such a seemingly gentle and uniquely handsome young man.

The man approached with an elegant gait, his black hair thick, his figure tall and straight.

The thin sunlight after the snow fell through the palace towers, casting his shadow extremely long. Zhao Yān stood in this shadow, watching as he stopped before her.

The man bowed slightly, his dark cape fluttering, his crimson official robes highlighting his cold, jade-like skin, reminiscent of the snow covered with fresh blood at the palace gate.

His demeanor was elegant and composed, as if he had not just executed a high official at the palace gate but had merely happened to stroll by.

Zhao Yān inexplicably found it hard to breathe. Without looking in a mirror, she knew her face must look terrible at this moment.

“Have I… disturbed Your Excellency’s refined pursuits again?”

Regretting her earlier judgment based on appearance, her words came out extremely hoarse.

…

…

Wenlin heard this and smiled, like a spring breeze melting snow: “The Crown Prince jests. Imperial Censor Liu Zhongcheng believed in evil talk, said things he shouldn’t have said, and did things he shouldn’t have done. This Prince merely followed the Emperor’s sacred command to silence him forever—hardly worthy of being called a ‘refined pursuit.'”

He pronounced the name “Liu Zhongcheng” very lightly, but to Zhao Yān’s ears, it sounded like thunder.

Prince Yong’s partisan, who had been stirring trouble before the Emperor just days ago, a fifth-rank official, was now a corpse at Wenlin’s feet.

Zhao Yān should have felt schadenfreude, but she couldn’t muster any joy because Wenlin looked at her no differently than he looked at the corpse, with the same composure, the same cold indifference.

She knew she shouldn’t say more, but the shock in her heart refused to subside.

If her brother were here, despite his weakness, he wouldn’t stand idly by—

That fool was famously known for meddling in others’ affairs.

“The palace gate is not an execution ground. Why must you carry out the sentence here?” she asked, her breath trembling.

Wenlin said softly: “Only this way can the officials be properly intimidated.”

Using someone else as a knife—today it was a political enemy, tomorrow it might be the Eastern Palace. The blade could fall on anyone.

Zhao Yān suddenly covered her mouth with her sleeve, turning her head to cough, her cool fingertips seizing Liu Ying’s wrist.

Liu Ying imperceptibly returned the grip, understanding: “Your Highness is just recovering from a serious illness. You must not catch a cold or be frightened. Please rest in the carriage first.”

The young Crown Prince nodded quickly, his face as white as the snow behind him, looking as if he might faint from shortness of breath at any moment.

Earlier in the warm pavilion, this youth had approached with a composed demeanor to converse, as if his nature had changed—how did he become so frightened now?

“It was my oversight that disturbed the Crown Prince, truly a sin.”

Though Wenlin spoke of “sin,” there wasn’t a trace of guilt on his infuriatingly handsome face. His smile deepened even more. “But judging from the Crown Prince’s reaction, is this the first day you’ve learned I’m not a good person?”

These words held a deeper meaning, making Zhao Yān’s heart skip a beat.

She pinched her fingertips hard and forced a smile: “No matter how many times I witness Prince Su’s actions, they remain difficult to bear.”

Wenlin’s eyes held her small figure, calm yet unfathomable.

He nodded in acknowledgment and raised his hand to signal his followers: “Quickly clean this up.”

The corpse was dragged away, leaving a trail of dark red in the snow, a horrifying sight.

After speaking hoarsely, Zhao Yān lowered her gaze to avoid Wenlin’s eyes and walked toward the carriage, holding Liu Ying’s arm.

If she weren’t assuming the identity of the “frail Crown Prince,” she would have taken three steps at once to flee this place, getting as far away as possible from that hypocritical madman.

The imperial guards worked quickly. In this short time, the area beneath the Changqing Gate had been cleaned spotlessly, with not a trace of blood left.

Stepping across the wet, freshly washed tiles, Zhao Yān still felt a faint smell of blood lingering in the air, making her nauseous. With a stiff back, the short ten-zhang distance felt like walking for sixty years.

Only after boarding the carriage and lowering the curtains did she come back to life, abandoning her disguise as she leaned against the carriage wall and let out a long breath.

Releasing her tightly clenched fingers revealed four deep nail marks across her palm, slightly whitened.

Liu Ying softly instructed the accompanying guards, then brewed a cup of hot tea and placed it in the jade-white hands of Zhao Yān, saying gravely, “Has Your Highness met Prince Su before?”

Zhao Yān drank the hot tea in one go, feeling the warmth rise in her stomach and spread to her stiff limbs.

She moistened her lips, which shone with moisture, and held her forehead: “That day in the warm pavilion, sheltering from the snow—the person I met was him.”

Now it was Liu Ying’s turn to be shocked: “Then did Your Highness…”

“Don’t rush to interrogate me.”

Zhao Yān took a posture of settling accounts after the autumn harvest, turning defense into attack: “I want to ask, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you… What?” Liu Ying was bewildered by the question.

“His face.”

Zhao Yān said, “You never warned me that Wenlin had such a deceptive face.”

She had thought Prince Su must be some hideous figure, which led to her failure to recognize him in the warm pavilion, nearly causing disaster.

Liu Ying was stunned, realizing this was indeed true.

When mentioning Prince Su, people always first thought of his ruthless and unpredictable methods, overlooking the fact that he had an extremely deceptive, handsome appearance.

“It was my oversight. I deserve punishment.” Liu Ying rose and knelt, lowering her head to admit her mistake.

Seeing Liu Ying looking as if she would rather die to atone for her sin, Zhao Yān immediately lost her temper.

After all, having served Zhao Yǎn for many years, her temperament was as rigid and dull as his.

“Enough, enough, why so serious? No one will punish you.”

Zhao Yān softened her tone, stroking her chest: “Fortunately, I reacted quickly—it was a close call, but no harm done.”

Though she said this, the turmoil in her heart took a long time to settle, and lingering fear remained.

The more villainous a person, the less likely their face would be marked with the word “villain”—this was the first lesson she had learned since returning to the palace.

The winter night was bitterly cold, the hall so quiet that only the crackling of the silver charcoal could be heard.

Zhao Yān hugged her bedding, but as soon as she closed her eyes, all she could see was the crimson spreading across the snow and that profile, lowering its gaze carelessly as it wiped its fingers.

The night was filled with imagined threats, and she tossed and turned for half the night, unable to sleep.

The next morning, going to the Chongwen Hall for lessons, Zhao Yān had two faint dark circles under her eyes. Listening to Grand Tutor Wen’s old-fashioned, pedantic classical expressions made her even drowsier.

She rested her chin on her hand, her expensive purple brush leaving a crooked ink mark on the rice paper. Just as her eyelids were drooping, two sudden, hoarse coughs startled her.

Zhao Yān snapped awake to find Grand Tutor Wen holding his crystal magnifier close to her face, his exaggerated eyes behind the lens looking particularly comical.

She calmly replaced the rice paper with a clean one and smiled apologetically: “I’m sorry, Grand Tutor Wen. I didn’t sleep well last night and am somewhat lacking in energy.”

Who in the Great Xuan didn’t know that the Crown Prince was the most diligent student, a model for youths throughout the land?

Grand Tutor Wen had taught the Crown Prince for over a year and knew that even on his sickbed, he never let go of his books.

He assumed the Prince must have been reading late into the night, thinking too much, and thus became so tired.

Grand Tutor Wen felt sympathetic and said anxiously: “At the beginning of your studies after recovery, it’s understandable if Your Highness can’t keep up with the lessons. Please prioritize your health and don’t rush or overexert yourself.”

Now it was Zhao Yān’s turn to be speechless.

She never expected that Zhao Yǎn’s identity would have such benefits—even falling asleep during class, people would rush to make excuses for him.

Zhao Yān raised her hand to touch the tear-shaped mole at the corner of her eye, unsure whether she felt more guilty or more envious.

Snow was hidden on the blue eaves beside the palace road as the carriage swayed.

Liu Ying lowered the carriage curtains securely and presented a stack of folded books: “Your Highness, the register you requested yesterday has been properly collected.”

“Very good, you work quickly.”

Zhao Yān gave a slight yawn and took the books, browsing through them briefly.

These books were specifically collected at her request after encountering Wenlin yesterday. They contained information on the family backgrounds, temperaments, and facial features of the important ministers at court, making it easier to identify them when meeting in the future, to avoid being caught off guard as she had been yesterday.

Turning to Prince Su’s page, Zhao Yān’s gaze paused.

The biographical information about Wenlin was merely a few lines, only recording: In the tenth year of Tianyou, during the battle of Yanluo Pass, General Wenlin led an army of 100,000 but was trapped in an isolated city. Almost the entire army was annihilated, with only one young son surviving.

This surviving youth was Wenlin.

“The tenth year of Tianyou…”

Zhao Yān murmured. That was exactly when she had been banished to the Huayang Temporary Palace, and she had heard of that devastating battle on her journey.

Later, Wenlin escorted his father’s coffin to the capital. The Emperor, moved by the family’s loyalty, allowed him to inherit his father’s official position. Half a year later, at just seventeen, Wenlin requested permission to go north to recapture lost territory. He advanced like an unstoppable force, beginning to control the court’s military and political power. Since then, with the power of life and death, he had terrified the court. From a loyal orphan, he had risen step by step to a position second only to one, above ten thousand others—it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he was “holding the Emperor hostage to command the feudal lords.”

But the specific methods he used and which of his partisans were his secret agents were barely mentioned in the book.

Zhao Yān flipped through several times, her fair, delicate face scrunched up: “Why is there so little information?”

Liu Ying replied with difficulty: “Prince Su is cautious and thorough in his actions, with many eyes and ears in the capital. This… is already the limit of what we could find out.”

“With such high merit, he should threaten the sovereign. By all logic, this shouldn’t be the case.”

Zhao Yān rested her chin on her hand, concentrating, and asked, “Does Father Emperor trust him so much?”

“He favors him extremely.”

Liu Ying said, “The Crown Prince once advised against this, but His Majesty ignored him completely.”

“To have reached such a state of blindness.”

Zhao Yān found it hard to believe. Something occurred to her, and she frowned slightly.

Her brother was always doing such thankless foolish things. Could his death… also be related to Prince Su?

Her heart suddenly felt as if it had fallen into an ice cave, and she shivered.

If that were true, her days in the Eastern Palace would not be easy.

Fortunately, the Eastern Palace didn’t have to participate in court politics, at most attending lessons at the Chongwen Hall. Presumably, there would be no more interactions with Wenlin…

Thinking this, Zhao Yān’s anxious heart finally returned to earth, seeing the sun breaking through the clouds.

Prince Su’s Residence.

Snow fell from the bent branches, instantly crushed by hurried footsteps.

Left Deputy General Zhang Cang carried secret documents, striding across the courtyard. He stopped at the study door and respectfully knocked.

“Enter.”

Given permission, Zhang Cang then pushed open the door.

This place, though called the prince’s study, was more like a vast library. Bookshelves surrounded the walls, so high they couldn’t be seen to the top, with spiral staircases leading to the second floor. What was visible was already impressive, not to mention the bottomless secret room hidden behind the bookshelves.

The interior was dim all around, lit only by a pair of gilt crane-headed candle lamps, casting a circle of warm yellow light on the ground.

Prince Su sat at the center of this light, carefully wiping a blade as thin as autumn water with cotton cloth. His dark blue casual attire was as heavy as ink, accentuating his handsome, striking features.

Zhang Cang removed his boots and closed the door, bowing as he presented the secret letter in his hand: “The list of candidates suitable for the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor is here. Please make your decision, Your Highness.”

The Emperor had ordered the Crown Prince to study at the Chongwen Hall, but the positions of Grand Tutor and study companions had not yet been decided. This was an excellent opportunity to place someone on the Eastern Palace’s side. Thus, various factions at court were doing their utmost to insert their people, but who would be used still depended on the prince’s wishes.

Only those favored by the prince would be successfully recommended to the Emperor.

Wenlin put down the cotton cloth and with one hand used the dagger to pick up the secret letter from Zhang Cang’s palm.

The secret letter didn’t linger beneath his eyes.

He turned the knife tip in his fingers, holding the letter over the candle flame. With a hiss, it began to burn.

Zhang Cang looked surprised: “Your Highness, this…”

“Mediocre talents, unworthy of important use.”

The fire danced in Wenlin’s eyes, his incomparably handsome face divided into light and shadow by the flickering flames.

Zhang Cang asked: “Does Your Highness already have a more suitable candidate?”

The letter burned completely, and Wenlin lightly blew away the ashes.

His long fingers slightly rotated the dagger.

On the frost-like sharp blade was reflected his deep, cold eyes.