Liu Ji’s voice was not coquettish, nor was her stature petite. Her facial features were bold and spirited, exuding a natural vivaciousness that even silk garments and cosmetics could not conceal.

When he displayed exceptional knowledge in his eloquent discourse, Zhao Yān had not been without suspicions.

Now, having touched that flat, firm chest with her hand, she still widened her eyes slightly.

“So, you’re also a scholar from Mingde Academy?” Zhao Yān asked, slightly uncomfortably curling her fingers.

Liu Baiwei’s waist and abdomen were taut and lean but not frail. He released her hand and gave a light cough: “I suppose so.”

Zhao Yān didn’t quite understand why a young man about to take the imperial examinations would willingly conceal his identity. Scholars typically maintained a certain aloofness, priding themselves on their literary integrity—they should be the last to stoop to applying rouge and powder to disguise themselves as women.

Recalling the details of the night when Liu Ji had recognized her identity, Zhao Yān asked: “You disguised yourself as a woman to enter the palace because of a bet with Zhao Yǎn?”

Hearing this, Liu Baiwei raised his eyebrows and smiled, “How could someone of my temperament be bound by a mere bet?”

His gaze lowered to the flickering candle flame inside the lampshade, as if seeing again the unceasing lights of Jinjian Tower at Mingde Academy last year, where scholars and the Crown Prince engaged in intimate, lengthy discussions.

The unrestrained Shen Jingming lay sprawled out, sharing pillows with several scholars as they slept. The shy-natured Cheng Jixing curled up alone in a corner for a brief rest, his ink-stained hands still tightly clutching the drafted scroll…

…

…

The window was half-open. Under a solitary lamp, the frail, young Crown Prince stood in his robes, gazing down at the dark, lightless pavilions and houses in the deep night.

“Master Linjiang’s words have enlightened me. Since the founding of the Great Xuan Dynasty, nine out of ten officials selected through the imperial examinations have come from various noble families. After entering the court, these people consolidate the interests of their aristocratic backgrounds, caring nothing for the common people. The Great Xuan has tens of thousands of imperial clan members waiting to be fed above, and the Shenguang Religion wants to build temples and make sacrifices below. The national treasury is exhausted, and in these chaotic, disastrous years, nothing short of strong medicine can cure the ailment.”

Zhao Yǎn turned his gentle countenance to look at the bold young man beside him in snow-white robes with black trim. “The new policies cannot be implemented by me alone, nor can they be accomplished in a year. We must gather like-minded companions such as yourselves, spending ten years or even a lifetime of effort to create a brand new world.”

He paused, then said gently: “Baiwei, I am weak and sickly, confined to the small space of the Eastern Palace. I need someone to hide their identity, assuming the least suspicious role, to be my messenger, gathering every usable force on my behalf.”

Liu Baiwei had lost miserably to the Crown Prince in a game of riddles yesterday. Hearing this, he pursed his lips and said, “The least suspicious would probably be a beautiful woman with no traceable background.”

Shen Jingming had awakened at some point. He used his folding fan to lift Liu Baiwei’s pointed chin, then glanced at Zhao Yǎn, joking improperly, “Don’t we have two right here?”

Liu Baiwei did not look particularly masculine, and he was used to people teasing him about this, but he hadn’t expected this libertine Shen Jingming to dare mock the Crown Prince as well.

He bristled, rolling his eyes angrily: “Get lost.”

The Crown Prince himself didn’t mind being called a “beauty” at all, and covered his mouth with his fist to let out a soft laugh.

After the banter subsided, Liu Baiwei leaned casually against the bookshelf with his arms folded and said, “I can give it a try.”

Zhao Yǎn looked at him in surprise, and even Shen Jingming put aside his worldly nonchalance.

Liu Baiwei said, “Even if there were such a woman, one couldn’t guarantee her discretion or loyalty. I’m skilled in painting; I can use cosmetics to modify my Adam’s apple and features. With Your Highness’s help to cover for me, I might be able to pass inspection.”

Zhao Yǎn composed himself: “Baiwei, there will be a special imperial examination next year. If you disguise yourself as a woman, you’ll miss it…”

“I came to Mingde Academy precisely to hide. Having the opportunity to hide in the Eastern Palace would be even better.”

Liu Baiwei pretended to be relaxed as he stretched lazily, humming, “Besides, by the time I resume my identity, you may all have already become pillars of the court. If I enter the court, then to enjoy the fruits of your labor, wouldn’t that be easy and pleasant?”

“Now that the draft of the new policies has taken initial shape, why not set a term of ten years and pledge to encourage one another?”

Shen Jingming held a brush and proposed, “No matter what position one holds, I am willing to fulfill this pledge even at the cost of my life.”

Moths fluttered in the moonlight, flying unhesitatingly into the lampshade.

Zhao Yǎn pondered, stepped forward to take the brush, and solemnly added two lines of small characters at the end of the scroll: In this life, I wish to be like the moth that flies toward the lamp—though it dies, it moves toward the light.

Shen Jingming clapped his hands and laughed heartily, “Since we are all moths flying into the fire, why not use the bright lamp as our signal? When the Crown Prince has instructions, hang a high lamp on the Jiafu Tower of the Eastern Palace. Upon seeing the signal, we will gather at Jinjian Tower to discuss Your Highness’s commands.”

Some among them were tribute students approaching thirty, others were teenagers just over ten years old. Without exception, they each sincerely and solemnly wrote their names after the small characters.

Remembering something, Zhao Yǎn looked up at the two people dutifully guarding outside the door and smiled, “Ah Xing, Qiu Zui, you come too.”

Since the sudden death of Crown Prince Yuan’an in the previous dynasty, emperors had always selected a “shadow” for the Crown Prince to live and travel with him, to take his place in critical moments.

Ah Xing was Zhao Yǎn’s “shadow guard,” of the same age as his master, with a seven or eight-tenths resemblance in appearance and physique.

A shadow walks in darkness, having no name originally. Zhao Yǎn had given him half of his own name “Yǎn” (衍), naming him “Ah Xing” (阿行), and told him that no one is born to be someone else’s shadow—as one walks through life, one should live for oneself.

How could someone of his lowly status deserve to sign his name on this weighty scroll?

“Without your day and night protection, how could we plan these things with peace of mind?”

Zhao Yǎn encouraged him gently, and only then did Ah Xing dare take the inked brush and write a small, neat name at the end of the scroll, stroke by stroke.

He passed the brush to Qiu Zui behind him, but Qiu Zui stood stiffly.

“I can’t read or write,” Qiu Zui said without a trace of shame.

But no one laughed at him. Even the reserved Cheng Jixing spoke up voluntarily: “It doesn’t matter; you can leave a handprint or draw something else. It’s merely to express determination and encourage each other.”

Only then did Qiu Zui grip the brush like a fist and, unfamiliarly and slowly, draw several twisted and rough lines at the very end.

Liu Baiwei, skilled in painting, immediately frowned at this artwork and asked strangely: “Brother Qiu, why did you draw a fried egg?”

Qiu Zui did not explain. What he had drawn was not a fried egg but a plum blossom.

As the memories faded, those spirited young men in Jinjian Tower at Mingde Academy ultimately could not complete the ten years they had promised.

Zhao Yān listened quietly as Liu Ji narrated the whole story, her fingertips brushing over each name, some flamboyant, some proper, as if she could still feel the lingering warmth from that time.

Had someone leaked their reform contents? Zhao Yān wondered.

The person who could imitate her handwriting must have known her and Zhao Yǎn very well. The Shenguang Religion, aristocratic families, imperial relatives… anyone whose interests were affected by Zhao Yǎn could potentially be an accomplice.

Zhao Yuan’yu’s murky connections with that so-called “priest” meant the Shenguang Religion thread couldn’t be escaped.

She would have to personally visit the homes of Shen Jingming and others when there was time, perhaps to find some clues.

Zhao Yān tucked Zhao Yǎn’s final letter and the scroll into her sleeve and returned to Guanyun Hall, her mind heavy with concerns.

Liu Ying came to meet her, wanting to speak but hesitating.

Following her hint, Zhao Yān looked over and realized that Wenren Lin had arrived at Guanyun Hall at some point. He was sitting in a palace chair with lowered eyes, one arm bent at the elbow, resting on the armrest, the other casually placed on his knee, his index finger tapping lightly from time to time.

On that powerful, slender hand, a faint red bite mark was vaguely visible.

Seeing him waiting there, Zhao Yān inexplicably felt a touch of guilt. She hurriedly secured the scroll in her sleeve and said softly: “The night is deep; why is Prince Su here?”

Hearing this, Wenren Lin raised his eyes and said lightly: “Is this prince not allowed to be here?”

Zhao Yān froze, recalling how late last night, she had clung to Wenren Lin, crying until she could barely breathe. Tonight’s question seemed superfluous, making her appear ungrateful.

Just as she was about to explain, she saw Wenren Lin looking at the hand she had tucked in her sleeve. He said in a low voice: “Go wash them clean.”

“Wash… what clean?”

Could he be asking her to bathe? Late at night, with a lone man and woman, the word “bath” sounded strangely intimate.

Zhao Yān hesitated without moving and cautiously said: “I’ve already washed.”

Wenren Lin said nothing, rising unhurriedly, gripping Zhao Yān’s right hand tucked in her sleeve, and leading her toward the washing stand in the outer room.

He was tall with long legs; one of his steps equaled two of hers. Zhao Yān was pulled forward, her body leaning ahead, barely able to keep up as she staggered, repeatedly saying: “Slower, slower!”

In the hurried stumbling, the scroll accidentally fell from her sleeve, rolling to Wenren Lin’s feet.

Zhao Yān’s eyelid twitched. If Wenren Lin discovered that she was again involved in the turbulent aftermath of the Crown Prince’s death, there would likely be an upheaval.

Unexpectedly, however, Wenren Lin’s mind was not on this matter. He simply stepped over the scroll as if not seeing it and pressed Zhao Yān’s right hand into the clear water in the bronze basin, which had already cooled completely.

It had just rained, and the summer night in the mountains carried a hint of coolness. Zhao Yān stiffened slightly at the sudden contact with the cool water.

Wenren Lin’s face revealed no emotion as he impassively pried open her curled fingers, rubbing each one with his fingertips, as if she had touched something dirty, washing them with extreme thoroughness and care.

The man’s knuckles were strong, his fingertips slightly calloused. Rather than servicing her, it felt more like a moderate punishment.

Only when Zhao Yān’s delicate white hands had been washed to a faint blush did Wenren Lin mercifully release her, taking cotton cloth to dry them.

Zhao Yān truly did not understand. Enduring the tingling and slight pain in her hands, she softly probed: “Is Prince Su angry? Is it because I killed Zhao Yuan’yu last night, causing Prince Su distress?”

Besides having her hands stained with her enemy’s blood, Zhao Yān couldn’t think of any other impurity that would concern Wenren Lin so much.

Wenren Lin glanced at the scroll on the ground and chuckled softly: “What does it matter if this prince is troubled? Your Highness still has other chests to lean on.”

Though his tone seemed calm and indifferent, it carried a somewhat sinister flavor.

Zhao Yān was still pondering where this strange feeling came from when she suddenly felt a pain in her fingertip!

She couldn’t help letting out an “Ah!” and abruptly opened her eyes to see Wenren Lin bending down, taking her little finger between his lips, his teeth gently closing… Zhao Yān trembled, and a chill immediately crawled from her fingertips to her scalp.

Seeing her dumbfounded and at a loss, Wenren Lin’s eyes finally melted into a faint smile. He pressed his lips together on that segment of her finger, ultimately not bearing to bite down hard.

“This matter stops with Zhao Yuan’yu. This prince has said before, this is the last concession.”

He pinched that slender-jointed little finger, saying with measured pressure, “If Your Highness does anything else you shouldn’t do, or touches any other dirty things you shouldn’t touch, this prince will mark the inside of this disobedient finger joint and use chains to bind your hand tightly.”

Zhao Yān stared blankly as Wenren Lin tossed the cotton cloth and left. After a long while, she realized: when he said “touching dirty things you shouldn’t touch”…

Could it be that he knew about Liu Baiwei pulling her hand to touch his chest?

Was it like seeing his pet kitten rub against someone else’s palm?

Did this man have eyes installed in the ceiling beams? Nothing could be hidden from him.

Zhao Yān crouched down to pick up the scroll and pressed it to her chest, her heart still palpitating.

But how could she be content to stop here?