At the entrance of a dilapidated temple, a hundred miles from the capital, about a dozen vagabonds hired by Prince Yong’s estate sat or stood about.

Puddles on the sandy ground reflected the post-rain clouds. Chou Zui squatted at the threshold, his damaged bamboo hat pulled very low, using a small twig to draw something on the ground.

Looking closely, the crooked lines vaguely formed the shape of a plum blossom.

In the bottommost level of the dark prison, the sickly young boy had brought a snow-hidden white plum blossom with green calyx from outside. He bent down to look at the beast bound in iron chains: “I asked for your original name.”

In the darkness, the tall figure heavily restrained by iron chains remained motionless. Only a pair of fierce, indifferent eyes looked at the proudly blooming white plum, occasionally moving slightly.

A hoarse muttering sound, as unpleasant as a beast’s low growl.

The jailer, constantly controlling the chains, remained vigilant as he explained to the young man: “Your Highness, assassins have no names, no past. Because he killed his master and fled, he must be deeply imprisoned to atone for his crimes with death. Hence his alias ‘Imprisoned Guilt.'”

The young boy contemplated these two characters, then shook his head: “This name is not good. I’ll give you a new name.”

With gentle features, he dipped his finger in wine and wrote stroke by stroke on the table, smiling: “Chou Zui, would you like to come with me?”

Chou Zui couldn’t read. To this day, he didn’t understand what these two complex characters represented, nor could he write them.

…

…

He only remembered the pure, transcendent white plum blossom placed on the table that day.

The twig in Chou Zui’s rough hands appeared clumsy yet delicate. He drew for a long time on the sandy soil, barely managing to sketch something resembling a plum blossom.

A mud-spattered boot stepped over, trampling the flower into a mess.

Zhao Yuan’yu had one arm fixed in a splint hanging from his neck, his body wrapped in bandages, his face swollen and bruised—utterly miserable.

“Why haven’t Father’s men arrived yet?” Zhao Yuan’yu shouted impotently.

However, these vagabonds recognized only money, not people. Unlike the servants of a prince’s estate, they were not submissive. Some sharpened their knives, others rested, none paying him any attention.

Zhao Yuan’yu, unable to maintain face, turned and stepped on the small twig Chou Zui had used to draw flowers. It made a crisp snap, and he ground it viciously: “You said you assassinated Zhao Yǎn, I didn’t believe it at first, but now it seems true! Hah, killing two masters in succession, truly a vicious dog deserving universal condemnation. Now, only this heir is willing to accept you! Get up and scout the way!”

Chou Zui looked indifferently at the trampled, chaotic sand on the ground. After a long moment, he picked up his curved knife and stood.

The wind swept across the ground as the bamboo forest outside the temple surged, leaves fluttering.

Chou Zui’s hawk-like gaze suddenly sharpened as he looked up toward the depths of the dense forest: someone was coming.

Zhao Yān kept thinking about Liu Ying’s words: “It was Chou Zui who killed the Crown Prince!”

Liu Ying’s eyes had been filled with tears as she said this. Having witnessed it herself, she would not joke about such a serious matter.

Could Chou Zui have been a spy planted in the Eastern Palace by Prince Yong’s estate, who, after finding an opportunity to protect the Crown Prince alone, plotted to assassinate him on the way back from the palace?

But that rainy night at the Liu Family Charitable Estate, Zhao Yuan’yu’s terrified “You’re not Zhao Yǎn” didn’t seem feigned.

If Chou Zui truly worked for Prince Yong’s estate, he should have been the one who knew best whether the Crown Prince had been killed. There was no reason for Zhao Yuan’yu to only confirm the Crown Prince had been replaced at this moment…

Gu Xing, with a bandage on his arm, bowed in the outer hall and reported: “The buyer of Jinyun Manor has been escorted back to the Court of Judicature prison. He was indeed an advisor to Prince Yong’s estate, who purchased the manor on the orders of Prince Yong’s heir to hide abducted young girls and boys for refining supreme secret medicine.”

Zhao Yān recalled the female Daoist priest who had blown up the alchemy furnace, attempting mutual destruction. “Did he confess who the ‘Master’ was who instructed Zhao Yuan’yu to refine medicine?”

“He only said that female Daoist priests handled the alchemy matters, and even Prince Yong’s heir had never seen the Master’s true face. But the female priest is dead, and he knows nothing about what happened higher up.”

Gu Xing continued, “Your servant questioned him thoroughly, and he did not seem to be concealing anything.”

These mysteries could perhaps only be solved when Zhao Yuan’yu and Chou Zui were captured. However, two days had passed, and trying to catch them now would be like searching for a needle in the sea.

Zhao Yān sat up, dressed, ordering a reward of one hundred taels of silver each for the Eastern Palace guards who had fought alongside her. Gu Xing’s sword had been damaged in the duel, so Zhao Yān separately awarded him a cross-sword with a floral handle and leather sheath. The blade was like snow, without a hint of impurity—a superior grade only bestowed upon meritorious officials.

Gu Xing hurriedly knelt on one knee, lowering his head: “Fulfilling my duty is my responsibility. I dare not accept such great favor.”

“You risked life and death with me, eliminating evil. This is what you deserve.”

Zhao Yān placed the sword in her palm and said clearly, “A good sword befits a loyal subject; it is not wasted on you. Take it. There will be many more opportunities to achieve merit with this sword in the future.”

Gu Xing’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he solemnly accepted with both hands: “This servant thanks Your Highness for the reward.”

Liu Ying had spent the afternoon alone and had now regained her composure, entering as usual to bring medicine. Zhao Yān looked behind her but didn’t see Wenren Lin.

Hadn’t she been told that during her illness these past few days, it was Wenren Lin who personally applied medicine to her?

Zhao Yān recalled her own blurted words, “How could the Grand Tutor understand the bond between siblings,” and seemed to understand something.

Zhao Yān signaled to Liu Ying, then said to Li Fu who was waiting outside the hall: “Send someone to tell Prince Su that others don’t know how to use this medicine, and ask him to come personally to have a look.”

Li Fu accepted the order and withdrew, but moments later, he returned quickly, wiping sweat and frowning as he reported: “Prince Su said if you don’t know how to use the medicine, throw it away. He’s busy bathing and has no mood to accompany Your Highness.”

Zhao Yān rose from her bed and instructed: “Light the lamps and go to the Dragon Pool.”

Liu Ying, seeing her still-pale face, said worriedly: “Your Highness has just recovered from a serious illness and should not exert yourself. Whatever needs to be done, please let this servant handle it.”

Zhao Yān rubbed her temples to ease herself, taking a slight breath: “You know there are some things only I can do, and must do.”

The bath hall was brightly lit. Wenren Lin was indeed soaking in the pool, his eyes lightly closed.

His hair was unbound, the extremely black tips floating along his shoulders and back in the pool water, like spreading ink. Without obstructing flower petals, the water was clear, revealing the firm contours from chest to abdomen extending downward, leaving nothing in the pool hidden.

Zhao Yān’s breath caught. She slightly averted her gaze, then, after a moment, determinedly looked back.

She sat on a small couch by the pool, supporting her chin with one hand and frowning, pondering how to begin, when Wenren Lin’s detached voice came: “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t disturb this prince’s peace.”

Since he spoke first, Zhao Yān felt more at ease. The previously unclear draft in her mind suddenly became clear, flowing distinctly to her lips.

Zhao Yān’s voice still carried some post-illness hoarseness, soft but not timid: “Also, I shouldn’t have said Prince Su doesn’t understand sibling affection.”

Wenren Lin seemed in meditation, showing no response.

Zhao Yān thought for a moment, her voice much softer this time: “I’m disobedient, stubborn, have been so since childhood. No one taught me how to be coquettish…”

She seemed ashamed to analyze herself and quickly stopped, pressing her lips together and looking away.

Wenren Lin had opened his eyes since the phrase “no one taught me how to be coquettish,” watching her through the rippling water.

“Come here.”

He raised his hand, water droplets on his arm falling in lines, breaking the calm light on the pool’s surface.

Zhao Yān had thought he wouldn’t speak to her again, so when she heard these two low, deep words, she was somewhat stunned.

Blinking her eyes, she finally rose and sat beside Wenren Lin, immersing her feet in the hot water of the bath.

Having run too far on mountain paths that night, her heels were somewhat raw and chafed. The hot water stimulated both pain and itching. Zhao Yān drew in a breath, frowning in complaint: “The medicine wasn’t finished during the day, and Prince Su ran away.”

“If this prince hadn’t left, I feared I wouldn’t be able to resist killing Your Highness.”

Wenren Lin raised his hand to press gently on her listless brow. Though his words were frightening, his tone wasn’t stern: “Your Highness is now the Crown Prince. You might as well keep a few courtiers under your skirts, intimate advisors, to do these things for you.”

Such as Zhou something, Zhang something, Pei something, and that Eastern Palace Guard commander… or even Liu Ji, who couldn’t even be considered a proper woman.

Zhao Yān pretended to seriously consider this possibility before saying under Wenren Lin’s deep gaze: “Having Prince Su alone is sufficient.”

Wenren Lin scoffed, unmoved by this clumsy, false answer.

“Prince Su is always my first choice.”

Zhao Yān’s face, reflected in the water, looked fragile yet beautiful as she said with the pride of a little princess: “If Prince Su is unwilling, then I’ll find someone else to replace him.”

This time, Wenren Lin looked at her for a long while.

“Your Highness might as well try,” he said, looking sideways with shattered light in his eyes, his emotions unreadable.

“Then please, Prince Su, don’t give me a chance to try.”

Zhao Yān’s fingers tightly gripped the jade-carved edge of the pool as she leaned forward, turning her head to carefully discern the expression on Wenren Lin’s face.

In the flickering candlelight, the ripples across the pool seemed like fluctuating emotions, returning to quietness in the silence.

Zhao Yān didn’t know how far Wenren Lin would go for her. Many things would still depend on her.

Back in her chambers, Zhao Yān took out the map that Liu Ji had drawn earlier and spread it open.

With Zhao Yuan’yu’s outwardly strong but inwardly weak character, he must now be like a startled bird, likely using false paths while changing his identity with fake credentials before daring to sneak away.

Forging credentials and identity takes time. If they ordered strict checks in the surrounding counties under the pretext that the Crown Prince had been attacked and they were capturing the assassin, they might be able to find some clues.

However, many routes were leaving the capital, and Zhao Yān wasn’t sure which direction to search. She carefully rolled up the map and tucked it into her sleeve, intending to go to Tingyu Pavilion to consult Liu Ji.

As soon as she left the hall, she saw Cai Tian standing in the courtyard, respectfully addressing Zhao Yān: “Your Highness, please come this way.”

Zhao Yān knew he must be acting on Wenren Lin’s orders. After weighing for a moment, she changed direction.

Liu Ying and Gu Xing wanted to follow, but were stopped by Cai Tian.

Zhao Yān turned back and shook her head at them, indicating they need not follow, then went with Cai Tian through the side door.

Outside the door was a familiar carriage. Zhao Yān got in and indeed saw Wenren Lin sitting leaning forward, one hand supporting his knee. His high-quality dark sleeves hung down like ink, his half-scattered hair sliding down his broad shoulders, the ends still damp from the bath.

Before him was a plate of ice-chilled lychees with crystal-clear, plump flesh, emitting wisps of coolness.

Seeing Zhao Yān approach, Wenren Lin casually picked one with a jade fork and held it to her lips.

The inch-long jade fork was also made of warm jade, the carvings on its small handle exquisitely detailed.

As the carriage started moving, Zhao Yān bit into the lychee flesh. Juice burst between her lips and teeth, moistening her colorless lips with pervasive sweetness.

“Delicious?” Wenren Lin asked, his languid, calm expression like someone feeding a cat with dried meat.

Zhao Yān nodded honestly, then asked: “Prince Su invited me here, surely not just to appreciate lychees?”

Wenren Lin didn’t speak, but picked another piece of lychee and brought it to her lips.

Zhao Yān felt this jade fork looked somewhat familiar. She suspiciously glanced at the jade hook belt and fan pendants at Wenren Lin’s waist. After a moment, she opened her mouth to accept the lychee flesh, carefully taking it in without her lips touching the familiar-looking jade fork.

Wenren Lin glanced at her, saying with a half-smile: “What is Your Highness avoiding? It’s something you’ve used yourself.”

Zhao Yān froze, with the lychee flesh in her mouth, unable to swallow or spit it out. Her pale cheeks finally showed some color.

Wenren Lin raised his hand to support his chin, his cold ink-colored eyes also showing some amusement. Using the same jade fork Zhao Yān had used, he speared a piece of lychee flesh and put it in his mouth. His pale lips brushed fleetingly over the warm jade, as if savoring the sweetness of the lychee, or perhaps something else.

Zhao Yān coughed, lowering her gaze to concentrate on swallowing the lychee flesh.

The carriage didn’t go downhill but followed a small path toward the depths of the dense forest. After about a cup of tea’s time, it stopped at a vine-covered cliff face.

As they alighted from the carriage, Wenren Lin extended his hand to help Zhao Yān. Cai Tian, holding a torch, pushed aside the vines covering the cliff, revealing a beast-headed stone door covered with moss.

Pressing the mechanism opened the door, and a rush of cool air came forth. Several points of firelight jumped in succession, extending deep into the underground.

“What… is this place?” Zhao Yān was startled.

Noticing her struggling to keep up, Wenren Lin slightly slowed his pace and said with his hands behind his back: “A secret passage leading to Yuquan Palace.”

Curious about where in Yuquan Palace the other end of this passage connected, Zhao Yān asked: “If it connects to Yuquan Palace, why didn’t we just enter from the Yuquan Palace entrance?”

Wenren Lin gave a low chuckle: “Since it’s a secret passage, how could outsiders casually know its entrance and exit?”

Am I not an outsider?

The words circled in her mouth before being swallowed back.

The exquisite sturdiness of this secret passage was far superior to Zhao Yuan’yu’s Jinyun Manor. She carefully followed beside Wenren Lin, not knowing there was such a hidden place behind Yuquan Palace.

What did he intend by constructing such a secret passage beneath Yuquan Palace, the royal recuperation retreat?

Thinking that Wenren Lin surely wouldn’t kill people or steal treasures on a whim, Zhao Yān gradually set aside her doubts and stopped asking questions.

Walking straight along the secret passage for several dozen steps, they reached another hidden door. Wenren Lin raised his hand, signaling Cai Tian to stop.

He slightly turned his head, his facial contours appearing particularly deep and indiscernible in the dark room, looking at Zhao Yān: “This is the last time this prince will concede to Your Highness.”

Saying this, he stepped on the hidden door mechanism, revealing another passage leading to an even deeper underground chamber.

Zhao Yān descended into the secret chamber and finally understood the meaning of Wenren Lin’s earlier words.

This was an underground secret prison, holding the person Zhao Yān hated most at this moment.