Zhao Yān didn’t want to read—it was too embarrassing.

“Let this Prince do it for you then.”

Wenren Lin laughed, making a move to stand, “Your Highness’s wandering little eyes show you’re only thinking of how to slide by.”

“No, no! I’ll do it myself.”

Zhao Yān had no choice but to sit at the desk, one hand supporting her burning crimson cheek, the other pressing down on the book, stumbling through the reading in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum.

Her eyelashes were half-lowered, trembling slightly with each bold and vulgar phrase, casting long shadows that fluttered like butterfly wings.

Wenren Lin moved the gauze lamp closer to her book, allowing the bright light to clearly illuminate every tiny character. He then pulled up a chair to sit beside her, his right leg crossed over his left, revealing a section of his long, straight official boots beneath his dark lower garments.

His face was bathed in backlit shadow, his gaze deep, dark, and calm, supervising even more carefully than at Chongwen Hall.

When she finished a certain section, Wenren Lin would reach over to turn the page for her, skipping content she didn’t need to understand, turning to specified chapters.

…

…

Sometimes when she read certain sentences, he would interrupt her with a low voice, asking one or two questions.

When Zhao Yān mumbled, unable to answer, he would explain everything to her in a level, deep tone.

At first, Zhao Yān thought Wenren Lin’s actions were somewhat spiteful, deliberately making things difficult for her, which left her somewhat angrily embarrassed.

Later, she discovered this wasn’t the case.

Wenren Lin was extremely serious when teaching, his handsome face showing not the slightest frivolity or impatience. From any perspective, he was simply imparting knowledge, instructing, and resolving doubts.

With him being so righteous and dignified, Zhao Yān’s continued embarrassment would have seemed like reading too much into the situation. Thus, she also suppressed those inappropriate thoughts and forced herself to calm down.

Setting aside her sense of shame, Zhao Yān discovered that the book contained some useful information. For instance, one shouldn’t have intercourse during menstruation, what preparations to make before and after the act, and how excessive medicine consumption could cause a cold constitution and infertility…

As she truly absorbed the content, things that had once been confusing and unclear suddenly became apparent.

Being skilled at drawing inferences, the more she understood, the more indignant she felt.

“If intimacy is between two people, why is it always women who suffer?”

Zhao Yān frowned, complaining to no one in particular, “Whether bearing children or avoiding pregnancy, it’s always the woman’s body that gets damaged. Men don’t have to endure anything…”

Hearing this, Wenren Lin slightly raised his eyes.

Irresponsible casual unions were just burdens, which was why he hadn’t touched women for years. Yet the little princess who had broken his twenty-some years of principles was now full of complaints.

“It is indeed unfair. The more weak men are, the more they seek self-respect by constraining women.”

Wenren Lin picked a grape from the fruit plate. “However, in this world, there are also ways to find pleasure without medicine. It’s just that men are accustomed to being high and mighty, unwilling to humble themselves to accommodate.”

Seeing Zhao Yān’s curious glance, Wenren Lin’s eyes deepened.

Perhaps he misunderstood Zhao Yān’s meaning, or perhaps it was deliberate.

His cold, white, slender fingertips rolled the purple grape, squeezing it slightly before suddenly asking: “Does Your Highness wish to learn?”

“…”

Zhao Yān instinctively sensed it wasn’t something good and quickly shook her head like a rattling drum, “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Wenren Lin looked at her politely declining manner and laughed quietly for no apparent reason.

After all, she was still young and didn’t understand the mysteries. Take it slow.

The night was deep as water, the hall quiet. Zhao Yān closed the book and picked up the cooled tea beside her, taking small sips to moisten her throat.

Seeing that Wenren Lin hadn’t spoken for a long time, Zhao Yān finally raised her eyes from behind the cup, closing the book and saying: “I’ve finished this one.”

Her voice carried a faint weariness. She unconsciously licked her moist lips and added: “The night is deep, and the curfew is approaching. Isn’t Prince Su returning to his mansion?”

Only after speaking did she realize her words were superfluous—Wenren Lin could always go to Heguige; he wasn’t restricted by the curfew at all.

Wenren Lin shifted his gaze from her glistening lips and said, “If I can’t return to my mansion, staying overnight at the Eastern Palace is also acceptable.”

Zhao Yān was surprised.

Wenren Lin took the opportunity to slip the peeled grape into her slightly parted lips, then rose to take away the book from under her palm, saying with satisfaction: “That’s enough for tonight. Your Highness should go bathe.”

Zhao Yān couldn’t discern the deeper meaning of Wenren Lin’s words and could only rise as instructed, pushing open the hall doors.

In the bathing chamber, Liu Ying had already ordered hot water to be prepared. As Zhao Yān soaked in it, she pondered the truthfulness of Wenren Lin’s statement about “staying overnight at the Eastern Palace.”

The Eastern Palace’s foundation was currently unstable, with court officials measuring the situation and displaying ambiguous attitudes. Even Pei Sa, the Crown Prince’s study companion, wasn’t staying in the Eastern Palace. If Wenren Lin stayed overnight, such favor would undoubtedly be announcing his allegiance to the court officials…

But would Wenren Lin do this?

Would someone like him willingly submit to another?

Zhao Yān found it hard to believe. The steam made her thoughts chaotic. She hugged her knees, sinking, submerging half her face in the hot water, leaving only her eyes and nose exposed.

After bathing, Zhao Yān returned to the sleeping chamber wearing an outer robe. As expected, Wenren Lin was nowhere to be seen in the round chair behind the screen.

The cool summer night breeze surged in from outside, stirring the hanging gauze, causing the books on the table to flutter their pages continuously.

Zhao Yān hurried over and covered them before any strange illustrations could be revealed, hastily stuffing them into the low cabinet by the bed.

Wenren Lin’s words must have been teasing her after all.

Zhao Yān flopped sideways onto the couch, unable to tell if what she felt was relief or something else.

Outside the Eastern Palace, Prince Su’s carriage moved slowly along the palace walls.

The carriage swayed, but Wenren Lin sat with one hand on his knee, his body as steady as a rock.

He lowered his gaze, lightly rubbing his fingertips, which still carried a slightly sticky sweetness. He couldn’t distinguish whether it was the taste of grape juice or the fragrance of the young woman’s soft lips.

As the carriage drove into an empty street with no one around, Cai Tian, sitting at the front of the carriage with a knife, looked around and then ducked inside, presenting a small piece of wood to Wenren Lin.

He reported: “The nanmu wood for the renovation of the Star-Plucking Observatory has been transported to the Northern Gardens by the Ministry of Works, everything as my lord predicted.”

The light in the carriage was dim. The dark brown piece of wood in Wenren Lin’s cold white fingers emitted a faint musty smell.

Wenren Lin’s eyes bloomed with a beautiful coldness. With a squeeze of his fingers, the wood turned to fragments.

The nanmu timber that the court had spent enormous sums to procure had indeed been replaced with old, water-soaked waste wood.

The next day, at Chongwen Hall.

The sun had baked the palace’s tiles and bricks white. Inside the hall, bamboo blinds were half-rolled on all sides, like barriers blocking out all the heat waves from outside. Incense burned in beast-shaped censers, and all that could be heard within the hall was Zhou Ji’s clear, rich voice explaining the “Rites of Zhou.”

The “Rites of Zhou” was comprehensive, yet Zhou Ji had no need to hold the book as he cited widely, explaining each key principle in the “Celestial Officials” volume.

Zhou Ji’s teaching style was as upright and rigid as his posture. Beside him, Pei Sa was already writing and drawing on paper out of boredom. Although Zhao Yān understood most of it, the heat and fatigue inevitably brought drowsiness.

She had been supervised in her “studies” until late last night and truly hadn’t slept well.

When he lectured on “ritual is the foundation of the state; without it, the state perishes,” Zhao Yān suddenly opened her eyes and said mildly: “That depends on which ‘ritual.’ Some rituals were created to meet the needs of their times. For example, the rituals established by aristocratic families maintained the interests of those families. After hundreds or thousands of years of changes, they may not adapt to the current political situation, so they can’t all be followed. The ‘Rites of Zhou’ also emphasizes ‘suitability to time’ and ‘suitability to place.'”

In her weariness, she spoke what was in her heart, both for Zhao Yǎn and for herself, causing Zhou Ji to pause slightly.

He recalled the news he had gathered from Minister Shen’s residence some days ago and remembered the unexpected death of his junior fellow student, Shen Jingming. He couldn’t help but raise his eyes to look at the “Crown Prince.”

Sunlight filtered through the bamboo blinds by the window, cutting into countless distinct thin strips of light and shadow. Those narrow shadows happened to fall on the corner of Zhao Yān’s eye, concealing that tiny mole as small as a fly’s foot.

The face before him suddenly became incredibly familiar and clear.

The wind stirred the bamboo blinds, the shadows faded, and as a line of sunlight fell crosswise, that tiny red mole reappeared.

Zhao Yān finally noticed Zhou Ji’s gaze.

“Why is Attendant Zhou staring at me?”

Zhao Yān asked with a smile, curious about his rare lapse of attention.

Zhou Ji’s gaze was straightforward as he honestly replied: “Your Highness’s words just now sounded very much like those of an old friend of mine.”

The smile at the corner of Zhao Yān’s lips faded slightly.