Zhao Yān quickly steadied her emotions and looked up naturally, smiling, “Does everyone look like an old acquaintance in Attendant Zhou’s eyes?”

Zhou Ji’s handsome face was gilded with a layer of midsummer warmth, like mountain snow—cool and pure.

He concealed his small flaw of mistaking people’s identities extremely well; by all logic, the Crown Prince shouldn’t know about it.

The incense clock chimed, producing a clear, crisp sound, marking the end of the literary class.

Beside her, Pei Sa stretched his waist and raised his hand to rub his stiff neck.

Zhou Ji stopped at the appropriate moment without pursuing the matter further. He nodded with a slight smile, then gathered the paper and ink on the desk, arranging everything neatly before rising to bow and take his leave with folded sleeves.

Zhou Ji’s formality had its advantages—he did everything with strict principles: when the clock chimed, he taught; when it chimed again, class ended. He wouldn’t say one word less than necessary, nor would he linger on questions that shouldn’t be asked.

Zhao Yān breathed softly, feeling relieved yet still puzzled.

Wasn’t Zhou Ji supposed to be somewhat face-blind? How had he become so perceptive about her, nearly recognizing her on several occasions?

…

…

One Wenren Lin was already enough for her to handle; adding another Zhou Ji, whose allegiance was unknown…

Zhao Yān couldn’t help feeling anxious, supporting her cheek with her hand and sighing deeply.

Seeing the frail young Crown Prince looking so weary, Pei Sa interjected: “Did the Crown Prince not sleep well last night? You’ve seemed tired since morning, and your voice is hoarse.”

As soon as he finished speaking, steady footsteps approached, and Wenren Lin’s deep, smiling voice came from behind: “Indeed, what was Your Highness doing last night?”

He deliberately slowed his voice, carrying a hint of teasing.

It was as if a hot wave had surged into the cool Chongwen Hall. Zhao Yān pressed the back of her hand against her cheek, muttering: “I read books half the night, of course, my voice is hoarse.”

“In this unbearable summer heat, the Crown Prince still burns the midnight oil?”

Young warrior Pei Sa couldn’t hide his surprise, looking at Zhao Yān with increased admiration in his eyes.

Zhao Yān guiltily averted her gaze, looking at the bright light and shadows on the windowsill, not daring to see Wenren Lin’s expression.

“Tutor, are we learning horsemanship and archery today?”

Pei Sa, oblivious to the subtle atmosphere, eagerly stood up to stretch his muscles.

Wenren Lin ignored him, only stopping beside Zhao Yān’s desk, bending down to say: “Please, Your Highness, change into riding attire and proceed to the training ground.”

His voice was low and deep, causing Zhao Yān’s eyelashes to tremble involuntarily.

The layered clouds at the horizon covered the scorching sunlight, shadows gradually encroaching, even the wind developing a coolness.

It was indeed good weather for practicing horsemanship and archery.

In the small training ground, the handlers were waiting with several fine horses. Most of these horses were temporarily borrowed from the Imperial Stables for teaching, but two excellent steeds had been personally selected and sent to the palace by Wenren Lin.

One horse was completely snow-white, with a smooth mane hanging down the sides of its neck. Its eyelashes curled like snow above jet-black pupils. It wasn’t particularly large but had a coat as smooth as snow satin, appearing extremely gentle and elegant.

Pei Sa immediately knew this beautiful, docile horse was prepared for the Crown Prince, so he naturally walked aside, chose a second-rate brown horse, and mounted it with great vigor.

“What do you think?” Wenren Lin asked Zhao Yān.

He always kept his word. Having promised to teach the little princess horsemanship once she recovered, he would certainly fulfill it.

Not only did he teach personally, but he also gifted her an exceptional steed.

Zhao Yān patted the white horse’s neck, but her gaze drifted to a reddish horse snorting nearby.

That horse had a glossy, deep red coat with only a white mark on its forehead. Its pupils were bright with a purple tint, its body strong and limbs powerful—a thousand-li steed.

A year ago, Zhao Yān would have imitated her brother’s preference and chosen the beautiful, docile white horse. But now, with no need to pretend in front of Wenren Lin, she straightforwardly chose what she liked.

“I want this cinnabar horse.”

Zhao Yān, dressed in apricot-white tight-sleeved riding attire, looked at Wenren Lin.

Wenren Lin, seeing the sparkle of anticipation in her eyes, couldn’t help recalling her on the way to Yuquan Palace, wearing a pomegranate-red dress with a light veil over her face. Such gorgeousness would indeed match this flame-red horse.

“This horse is quite large and has a bit of a temperament.”

Wenren Lin removed the jade ring from his index finger and gently placed it on the table before coming down with his hands behind his back to personally guide Zhao Yān: “Before mounting, you must first let this beast become familiar with Your Highness.”

Zhao Yān nodded, standing directly in front of the horse, raising her hand to touch the white hair on its forehead.

The red horse stubbornly backed up two steps, pawing the ground and raising its head with a neigh.

“Don’t retreat, stare at it.”

Wenren Lin extended his arm from beside her, his palm covering her hand, guiding it from the horse’s head down to the reins at the bridle: “Fine horses understand human nature. If you show timidity before it, you won’t be able to mount.”

Today, Wenren Lin also wore a deep red tight-sleeved martial robe with black wrist guards, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, as proud and robust as the red horse.

For a moment, Zhao Yān had an absurd impression, unsure whether she was taming the horse or the man beside her…

Wenren Lin’s long, cold, white hand withdrew, and the red horse snorted.

Zhao Yān immediately refocused, concentrating fully on dealing with the horse, leading it around half a circle of the training ground. Seeing the red horse gradually calm down, no longer resistant, she stepped onto the wooden stool provided by the attendant to reach the stirrup.

The horse’s back was quite high, and she struggled somewhat to pull herself up using the saddle.

An attendant came to help, but Zhao Yān refused, pressing her lips together: “I’ll do it myself.”

With a push of her foot, she raised her leg over and sat firmly on the horse’s back.

Zhao Yān had secretly ridden small ponies in Huayang and wasn’t a complete novice. Before long, she could guide the horse to walk slowly along the perimeter.

Wenren Lin followed along in the shadow of the steps, occasionally offering guidance.

The clouds parted, sunlight suddenly pouring through. The little princess held a small black riding crop, her cheeks flushed a wet lychee red, her robes dancing lightly in the wind, drawing dazzling arcs in the sunlight.

This was Zhao Yān’s first time riding a tall steed, and she wasn’t eager to rush, pulling the reins to return after a suitable time. Unexpectedly, Pei Sa’s horse came galloping over at that moment, raising a trail of dust behind him.

Pei Sa was an excellent rider and pulled his reins in time to stop.

However, Zhao Yān’s red horse was startled and reared up.

Wenren Lin’s eyes darkened. In a flash, he had already grabbed the reins with one hand and pushed down, with enough force to make his finger bones slightly whiten. The agitated horse neighed as its hooves clicked back to the ground, but he still gripped the reins tightly.

An ordinary person would surely have been thrown from the saddle and trampled beneath the horse’s hooves by now.

But Zhao Yān leaned forward, her hands tightly gripping the saddle, managing to maintain her position.

She let out a long breath, rarely showing a smile, her peach blossom eyes curving.

This should be what she truly looked like—proud as the wind, spirited and radiant.

His heart suddenly contracted, then expanded infinitely. Wenren Lin felt the unfamiliar aftershock in his chest.

His heart should have died seven years ago in that pile of corpses, leaving only cold numbness, howling like the wind.

But if his heart were dead, what was this surging undercurrent now?

Zhao Yān dismounted with lingering enjoyment. Having been jolted earlier, her inner thighs ached slightly, and she stumbled a bit when landing.

Wenren Lin’s eyes were still cold as he instinctively raised his arm to steady her.

Zhao Yān’s cheeks were flushed red as she caught her breath and stood firm, turning back to smile at Wenren Lin: “Thank you, Tutor.”

The darkness in Wenren Lin’s eyes faded. He took a clean handkerchief from an attendant and casually wiped the beads of sweat from her temples.

As Pei Sa passed by leading his horse, he heard a deep, casual voice: “Since Young Master Pei loves riding so much, why not run another thirty laps around the training ground?”

Pei Sa’s back stiffened slightly, and he had no choice but to mount his horse again, galloping round after round under the blazing sun.

After class, Zhao Yān verified the arrangements for the Empress’s birthday celebration with the Ministry of Rites and the Imperial Kitchens, reducing some expenses. Items such as vessels, decorations, silk flowers, and satin that could be reused could be taken from existing inventory in the storerooms without purchasing new ones.

By the time she returned to the Eastern Palace, it was already sunset.

Zhao Yān’s limbs ached as she sat in the study to rest. Just then, she saw Gu Xing crossing the courtyard with his hand on his sword, bowing at the door.

“Come in.”

Zhao Yān’s eyes brightened as she asked with renewed energy, “Is there any news about the candle snake glands?”

Candle snakes were extremely rare. Since the tenth year of Tianyou, they had become part of the Southern Frontier’s annual tribute. For court officials to have even a small amount of medicine was already a great favor.

Where did Zhao Yuan’yu get so many candle snake glands to refine pills? There must be something suspicious.

Gu Xing presented the information he had discovered with both hands, reporting: “Following the clues provided by Imperial Physician Zhang, this humble official personally visited the black market. That old Taoist selling medicines was very cautious. My subordinates and I kept watch day and night, and only managed to follow the person who traded with the old Taoist last night.”

“And?”

“Fearing to alert them, I followed all the way. At dawn, I saw that man blend into a group of palace servants going out to purchase supplies, then enter the palace.”

The palace?

Zhao Yān’s heart sank as she asked: “Do you know who in the palace it was?”

Gu Xing said: “This humble official heard that person say to the old Taoist during their transaction, ‘Divine Light descends, Infinite Master,’ which matches the words of the Taoist nun we encountered at Jinyun Mountain Villa. It seems they belong to the same sect.”

Under the Emperor’s seat, Shenguang Sect…

Zhao Yān’s temple throbbed with pain—this was already the worst scenario she had imagined.

According to Zhao Yǎn’s reform theory, the Great Xuan’s aristocratic families had deep roots, and changing them would not be accomplished overnight; only a dynastic change could thoroughly cure the problem. But dealing with the Shenguang Sect would be much simpler—executing or exiling the so-called True Persons and Masters would be enough to dismantle this parasite sucking the marrow from The Great Xuan.

To protect itself, the Shenguang Sect would likely make a move against the Crown Prince.

However, above the Shenguang Sect was the Emperor. The Eastern Palace’s power was too weak; how could they take action easily?

But she had to continue, had to make all those who harmed Zhao Yǎn and the scholars of Mingde Academy pay the appropriate price, to comfort the pure and fearless young souls in the underworld.

“There’s one more thing…”

Gu Xing lowered his head, interrupting Zhao Yān’s thoughts in a deep voice, “Liu Ji has disappeared.”

“Disappeared? What happened?”

“According to the guards sent to protect him, Master Liu inquired several times about Your Highness’s recent situation and seemed quite concerned. Recently, this subordinate has been busy investigating the candle snake matter, with less frequent contact with Mingde Academy. This morning, when the guards went to check, Master Liu was gone.”

The shock in Zhao Yān’s eyes turned to worry as she stood up and asked: “Did he leave voluntarily, or was there foul play?”

“This humble official inspected the bedchamber and found no signs of fighting or intrusion. He likely left of his own accord. There was a letter on the table addressed to Your Highness.”

Gu Xing took a letter from his bosom and respectfully handed it to Zhao Yān.

Zhao Yān eagerly opened it, unfolding the letter, which indeed bore Liu Baiwei’s handwriting.

It contained just two short words: “Wait for me.”

With the precedents of Zhao Yǎn and Cheng Jixing, Zhao Yān couldn’t help wondering if this handwritten note was forged by someone else, and whether Liu Baiwei had met with misfortune…

However, there was no suspicious scent on the letter, and given Liu Baiwei’s intelligence, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to be captured.

So what did “wait for me” mean?

Could it be that Liu Baiwei still had some backup plan?

Zhao Yān hesitated, raising her eyes to look outside, where a damp cool breeze broke through the window, and storm clouds were already gathering on the horizon.

At Heguige, Wenren Lin stood on the top floor by the railing, overlooking the bustling lights of the imperial city.

“My lord, they’ve traced it to the Shenguang Sect. This humble official fears alerting them would ruin your great plan.”

As the deep blue night gradually consumed the evening glow at the horizon, Cai Tian lowered his voice and asked, “Shall we intervene to temporarily suppress this?”

Hearing this, Wenren Lin merely smiled lightly.

“No need.”

Wenren Lin’s eyes were deep and cool, his sleeves moving without wind, “Not only will we not intervene, but we will also let this news spread.”

Cai Tian was stunned, taking a moment to understand: “Does my lord mean to force the ‘Master’ to throw themselves into disorder?”

Wenren Lin neither confirmed nor denied.

What he wanted had never been someone’s life, but destruction. Gradually tightening the net, watching them struggle in vain, suspecting and killing each other—that was what he found interesting.

The lamplight cast intricate shadows, dividing his immortal-like face into light and dark halves.

Not far away, the bright lamp on the Jiafu Gate Tower of the Eastern Palace flickered, particularly dazzling.

Wenren Lin’s mood improved slightly as he thoughtfully tapped the railing.

He wondered if the little princess had finished reading those books he had given her.