Moonlight leaked through the clouds, and accumulated rainwater dripped from the roof tiles onto the steps below.

The doors and windows of the Eastern Palace bedchamber were tightly closed, with candlelight soaking the window paper in a warm orange-yellow glow.

On this summer night, the insect sounds were quiet. Zhao Yān, sitting on Wenren Lin’s lap at some point, had wisps of hair at her temples dampened by sweat, her fair cheeks gradually flushing a charming rosy hue.

Wenren Lin had to hold tight the slender, seemingly boneless waist in his arms, his palm pressing against her constantly rising and falling lower abdomen to steady her, his right hand hidden in her loose apricot-white lower garment.

He lowered his head and eyes, focusing intently as he gazed at her, unwilling to miss even the slightest change in her expression.

Zhao Yān, feeling scrutinized by him, lowered her head and simply bit her lip, closing her eyes, clutching his perfectly fitted dark clothing until it wrinkled.

Noticing her avoidance, Wenren Lin raised his hand to grasp her chin and turn her face toward him, then tilted his head to capture those tightly pursed, fragrant lips.

His eyebrows were long and thick, his eyelashes dense, and with his half-lowered eyelids, he looked elegant and affectionate, like someone savoring an exquisite delicacy, taking his time.

By the time Zhao Yān realized something was amiss, it was already too late. Her lips and tongue were pushed back, her breath shattered, and even her consciousness seemed to be captured through the tip of her tongue.

…

…

The pointed ice in the ice basin gradually melted, turning into a pool of clear water that reflected the many layers of lamplight in the hall.

Zhao Yān’s lips were bright red and swollen, her eyes glistening with emotional waves. She could only press against Wenren Lin’s chest to steady her breathing.

After a long while, Wenren Lin casually dipped his right hand into the ice basin, rinsing it in the melted cold water, then rested it on the edge of the desk to dry the droplets between his fingers, while his other hand slowly stroked the little Prince’s scattered long hair.

When her breathing became more stable, Wenren Lin wrung out a handkerchief to wipe her face, then carefully arranged and smoothed her lower garments.

The jade belt clasp still lay on the ground, but since it was almost bedtime, they didn’t bother fastening it again. As the tidal sound in her ears receded, Zhao Yān realized how quiet the hall had become, so quiet that each unbalanced heartbeat seemed so noisy.

Having caught her breath, she found the man’s strong body uncomfortably hard against her and wanted to get up, but was held down by his large hand.

“Don’t move yet,” said Wenren Lin, lowering his head against her cheek, his voice hoarse and deep. “Your Highness need not be nervous, this time there’s no need for medicine.”

Is that even the issue?

Zhao Yān’s face flushed red as she sensed something and truly dared not move again.

After a long time, she finally stared at Wenren Lin’s long hand with its prominent tendons and said: “Next time… don’t do this.”

Wenren Lin looked up and asked her: “You didn’t like it?”

Zhao Yān couldn’t nod or shake her head.

She was embarrassed to be watched by Wenren Lin, feeling as if she alone was immersed in the experience. The feeling was truly stirring yet strange. Thinking carefully, whether due to being poisoned with hazy memories or due to improper positioning, she seemed to have never directly seen Wenren Lin’s expression when he lost control.

This was truly unfair.

Zhao Yān was surprised by her thoughts at this moment, feeling peculiar inside. After a while, she muttered in a muffled voice: “You kept watching me.”

Wenren Lin froze for a moment, then understood what the little Prince was embarrassed about. A hint of amusement appeared in his dark eyes.

“If I can’t touch, am I not allowed to look either?” he asked, gently pinching the flesh at her waist, and said in a low voice, “So difficult to please.”

After this commotion, Zhao Yān was truly exhausted. She hastily wiped her face and climbed onto the bed.

As her eyes closed, she heard the distant second watch bell from the palace tower. The palace pathways were under curfew, and Wenren Lin had not yet left.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers threading through Zhao Yān’s temple hair, arranging the strands that had been pressed messily against the pillow. He slowly bent down and said, “Tomorrow at the birthday banquet, Your Highness should make an appearance and then return to the Eastern Palace. Don’t wander about.”

Zhao Yān was drowsy, but at these words, she struggled to open her eyes and asked confusedly: “Will Prince Su not attend the banquet?”

Wenren Lin caressed the white jade pendant at his waist, his eyes deep and calm, not answering.

Zhao Yān had no energy to inquire further. She blinked her eyelashes and gradually drifted into dreamland.

When she awoke, it was just barely dawn, and Wenren Lin was no longer by the bedside.

Liu Ying entered with washing implements and a towel. When Zhao Yān asked, she replied: “Prince Su remained seated in the bedchamber and left only at the hour of the Tiger (3-5 am).”

The Hour of the Tiger?

Had Wenren Lin stayed in the Eastern Palace bedchamber for most of the night?

Seeing Zhao Yān looking over, Liu Ying immediately said: “Only this servant was guarding outside the hall, and the Eastern Palace guards are under Commander Gu’s control, so there won’t be any gossip.”

But that wasn’t what Zhao Yān was thinking about. On the contrary, with Prince Su’s support, the Eastern Palace’s future path might be much smoother.

Just as she was about to speak, she heard Li Fu announce from outside the hall: “Your Highness, Censor He and Deputy Minister Cen of the Ministry of War have both replied.”

Zhao Yān raised her eyes abruptly, put on her clothes, and got off the bed, saying: “Bring them quickly.”

Li Fu checked the letters inside and out, confirming there were no traps, before presenting them to Zhao Yān with both hands.

Zhao Yān unfolded Censor He’s reply and gestured for Liu Ying to bring the lamp closer.

【Your Highness is still young, like water flowing east, with many days ahead. This old minister, in his declining years, occupies a position at the Censorate without merit, barely hanging on to life. Fortunately, Your Highness saved my youngest son’s life at Jinyun Mountain Villa, allowing the He family bloodline to continue. This old minister can die without regret! Now I am willing to submit a memorial in front of everyone, risking death to expose the corrupt face of the Taoist sorcerer. Regardless of success or failure, I sincerely hope Your Highness takes care!】

Deputy Minister Cen Meng of the War Ministry’s reply contained only two sentences: 【I am but a foot soldier, awaiting orders.】

At the He residence, the oil lamp was dim.

From the inner room came the humming of a middle-aged woman lulling a young child to sleep. Censor He sat wearing his official robes, with the memorial he had written through the night placed on a small table beside him.

When the sky began to lighten, he finally let out a long, turbid breath. Rising shakily, he respectfully placed his official hat on his head with both hands, took the prepared memorial, and trudged into the dimness of approaching dawn.

At the Cen residence, Cen Yu had just sneaked to the back courtyard to practice martial arts when she was caught red-handed by her elder brother.

She had expected a lecture about how “girls should be gentle and quiet,” but surprisingly, her brother said nothing this time. He just silently walked to the courtyard and corrected her movements.

Cen Yu was confused for a while, then asked nervously: “Brother, aren’t you angry?”

How could Cen Meng be angry with her?

At Jinyun Mountain Villa, this pampered sister had risked her life to rescue another group of distressed young women. He was proud of her.

Cen Meng carefully examined his sister and said calmly, “There’s a package on the desk in the study. If I haven’t returned home by the hour of the Snake (9-11am), Yu should take what’s in the package and ride with Uncle Wang to see the mountains and waters beyond our home.”

“Really?!” Cen Yu couldn’t contain her excitement, but then realized something was wrong and hesitated: “Brother, why are you suddenly being so nice to me? Has something happened?”

Cen Meng remained silent, only asking: “How is the Crown Prince?”

“Of course, good! Though the Crown Prince is delicate, he is brave and doesn’t judge people by their wealth or status. He’s a very, very good person!”

“That’s right. Brother… is also going to do something brave.”

A servant came with a lantern to hurry him along. Cen Meng raised his hand to pat his sister’s head, then solemnly mounted the carriage in the breaking dawn light.

……

The Empress’s birthday banquet was set in Qifeng Pavilion in the Northern Garden.

By the hour of the Snake (9-11 am), the corridors, bridges, and walkways were already crowded with noble ladies, officials’ wives, and aristocratic descendants arriving for the banquet, greeting each other as they moved about.

Zhao Yān, with her hair fastened by a jade hairpin and wearing the purple robe of the Crown Prince, alighted from her carriage and quietly instructed Gu Xing: “Attendants and household officials cannot be brought to the banquet. Find a way to watch over the Tongtian Platform. When the memorial is submitted, Divine Light Priest will surely take action. Act according to the circumstances then.”

Gu Xing accepted the order.

Liu Ying, holding the birthday gift prepared by Zhao Yān, asked with concern: “Should Your Highness inform the Empress of the plan in advance, to prepare her?”

This question, Zhao Yān had contemplated too many times yesterday.

“No need,” she said. Mother would never agree anyway.

Liu Ying probably anticipated this result and said no more.

Entering the Northern Garden’s gate, Zhao Yān spotted a familiar figure standing with arms crossed, waiting by the corridor bridge.

“Liu…” she called out, approaching and saying, “I don’t even know what to call you anymore.”

“Your Highness can call me ‘Liu Baiwei.’ I only recognize that name,” said Liu Baiwei, dropping his crossed arms and sneering. “The old man was in such a hurry to bring me to the banquet, eager for the whole world to know that the Yingchuan Prince’s mansion now has an heir. If I hadn’t wanted to see Your Highness, I wouldn’t have bothered coming.”

“Isn’t it for the wine and sweet cakes at the birthday banquet?” Zhao Yān teased him, but then noticed his clothes were somewhat disheveled, with one of the ties broken. She couldn’t help asking, “Did you get into a fight? Why are your clothes like this?”

The mention of this made Liu Baiwei gloomy. He brushed his robe and said, “Isn’t it because of Zhao Yǎn’s little sweetheart?”

“Huo Zhenzhen?”

“Who else? Earlier at the palace gate, I met Princess Changle on a narrow path. She insisted on pointing at me and calling me the ‘Liu vixen.’ I naturally couldn’t acknowledge it, and this little miss grabbed my clothes, saying she wanted to see if I was male or female underneath.”

If Princess Shoukang hadn’t intervened in time, his innocence might not have been preserved.

Hearing this, Zhao Yān burst into laughter, the tension about the nanmu wood issue dissipating somewhat.

“Your Highness is laughing?” Liu Baiwei raised an eyebrow, looking as if he might explode.

“Sorry, I just find it amusing,” said Zhao Yān, holding her stomach that hurt from laughing, her eyes curved in mirth. “With your flamboyant and domineering personality, it’s rare for someone to make you suffer a setback.”

“What else could I do? Before, when I was Liu Ji, under the guise of being a woman, I could still retort to Princess Changle. Now that I’ve restored my identity, how can a grown man bully a little girl?”

As he spoke, Liu Baiwei remembered something.

“Back then, when Zhao Yǎn insisted on bringing me back to the Eastern Palace despite pressure, one major reason was to make the innocent Princess Changle give up. He said he had already implicated his sister and couldn’t harm another sister.”

Looking around to ensure no outsiders were present, he lowered his voice and asked: “I’ve always been curious, why was Empress so furious at that time, insisting on sending you to Huayang?”

Seeing Zhao Yān lost in thought, Liu Baiwei realized his mistake and quickly retracted: “I spoke out of turn. Please don’t mind, Your Highness.”

Zhao Yān smiled faintly, raising her hand to her chin in thought: “Even I almost forgot the reason. In any case, it was just childish mischief that caused trouble.”

A corridor bridge ran through Qifeng Pavilion in the Northern Garden. Standing on the bridge and looking into the distance, one could see the massive skeleton of the Star-Gazing Observatory rising in the northwest corner.

Zhao Yān paused, feeling the cool, post-rain breeze on her face, and said lightly but firmly: “The nanmu wood for the Star-Gazing Observatory has problems. This is my only chance.”

Between the two of them, words didn’t need to be spelled out too clearly.

A flash of surprise crossed Liu Baiwei’s eyes, then he calmed down: if this matter were exposed, there would only be two outcomes. Either the Emperor would thoroughly investigate and deal with the Divine Light Sect, or the Emperor would cover up the facts to save face and deal with the person who raised the issue.

To bring down such a deeply entrenched parasite, it had to be done under public scrutiny, leaving no room for maneuvering. This was essentially forcing the Emperor to make a choice.

No matter how one looked at it, the second outcome seemed more likely. But even with just a thread of hope, they had to try.

“Remember, the Eastern Palace cannot take the lead in this,” said Liu Baiwei gravely. “I will find a way to help you.”

Zhao Yān felt a subtle stirring in her heart.

The letters she sent last night were extremely subtle, merely testing He and Cen’s attitudes toward the nanmu wood issue, without even mentioning the banquet remonstration. Yet Censor He, Deputy Minister Cen, and Liu Baiwei had all independently chosen to step forward, with none backing down.

Despite the scorching midsummer heat, Qifeng Pavilion was breezy on three sides, refreshingly cool, with an extremely open view.

By late morning, guests successively entered the hall.

Censor He and Deputy Minister Cen took their seats one after another, never exchanging any unnecessary eye contact with the Crown Prince on the dais, everything appearing normal.

With a long announcement, the Emperor and Empress Wei entered the hall, and the birthday banquet officially began.

Families took turns to bow and offer birthday wishes to the Empress. Ninyang Marquis Wei Yan’s gift was indeed a “Hundred Longevity” calligraphy he had personally brushed. The hundred “longevity” characters were in vastly different styles, including regular, running, cursive, and official scripts, as well as ancient and modern masters’ styles. These characters of varying sizes happened to form one large “longevity” character.

Every stroke was masterful, causing guests to exclaim in admiration.

Although Zhao Yān had long known her uncle was well-versed in literature, she was still somewhat impressed by this display. In comparison, her prepared birthday gift seemed rather humble.

When it was the Crown Prince’s turn, Zhao Yān rose to present the brocade box, respectfully kneeling and offering: “Your unworthy child has personally carved a pair of jade pendants for Mother Empress, wishing Mother ten thousand years of longevity and eternal spring in her Jade Palace!”

A female official received the brocade box from Zhao Yān’s palm and presented it to Empress Wei.

Empress Wei opened the brocade box, her gaze involuntarily pausing.

Inside the box lay a pair of lotus-patterned jade pendants. One had an old tassel and slight cracks in the jade body. She almost immediately recognized it as the one her son Zhao Yǎn once wore.

The other jade was new, with the same pattern as the old one, but carved by a novice patiently working stroke by stroke, then carefully polished to shine.

The two pieces of jade stood side by side, one representing her dead child, the other representing the child before her. This was the filial piety of the siblings.

Empress Wei’s eyes flickered with emotion as sorrow spread in her heart, then fell into an endless black hole. But she couldn’t show it, couldn’t display any weakness or loss of composure.

She closed the brocade box and looked at her vigorously growing daughter kneeling in the hall, nodding gently: “The Crown Prince is thoughtful. You may rise.”

“Thank you, Mother Empress,” Zhao Yān performed another deep bow, touching her forehead to the ground.

Having fulfilled her filial duty on behalf of Zhao Yǎn, she felt little guilt.

She returned to her seat, lightly raised her wine cup, and exchanged glances across the hall with Censor He. In the eyes of this nearly sixty-year-old official, she saw resolution.

But how could Zhao Yān possibly let others risk their lives for her, knowing the danger?

No matter what, the Emperor now had only this one “son.” Even in anger, he couldn’t truly harm her.

Zhao Yān set down her wine cup, stood up, and calmly looked toward the supreme sovereign on the high seat.

Just as she was about to speak, Liu Baiwei beside her rose first, declaring loudly: “Your Majesty, your subject has something to report!”

Zhao Yān looked at him in shock.

The banqueting guests fell silent, all eyes turning towards this suddenly prominent young noble. The atmosphere instantly became tense.

Understanding what Liu Baiwei intended to do, Zhao Yān was immediately so angry her lungs hurt. She gritted her teeth and said: “Liu…”

At that moment, there was a trembling like an earthquake.

Then came a tremendous roar from the northwest, like a mountain collapsing or thunder raging.

The hall instantly forgot about the young noble’s announcement as everyone panicked and screamed. The imperial guards rushed in with drawn swords, shouting “Protect the Emperor!”

Amid the chaos, someone let out a shrill, trembling voice: “The Star-Gazing Observatory has col… collapsed!”

Zhao Yān followed the terrified gazes of the crowd and couldn’t help widening her eyes.

Outside the window, birds flew up in alarm. In the sunlight, the magnificent framework of the Star-Gazing Observatory collapsed and shrank, raising dust that filled the sky, like the final sigh of a dying behemoth.

There was no way to prevent its collapse; no one could prevent it.

Qifeng Pavilion fell silent as death.

Zhao Yān looked at Censor He and Cen Meng, seeing in their eyes the same astonishment as her own.

It wasn’t her people who had acted.