The man’s knuckles were strong and slender, his caressing touch bringing an undeniable tingling sensation.

Zhao Yān was pulled into Wenren Lin’s embrace. The moonlight faded, the lamp shadows disappeared, and she could see nothing but the dark fabric of his clothes. His familiar cool scent surrounded her with every breath.

Gradually, Zhao Yān softened her body, quietly resting for a moment before raising her hand to gently tug at the fabric at Wenren Lin’s waist.

“It’s a bit hot.”

Her voice was muffled against his chest, revealing a slightly soft nasal tone.

Only then did Wenren Lin reluctantly loosen his arms, letting her out for a breath of air.

The bright moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a gentle, cool light that made the wall tiles appear white. Zhao Yān pressed the back of her hand against her flushed cheeks and said in a muffled voice: “Doing this on the palace walls, aren’t you afraid someone will see?”

But turning around to look, the palace tower was empty except for the lamp light illuminating the pastries baking on the small stove. Where were these “others”?

The charcoal in the small stove was burning well, but the qiaoguo pastries baking on top had been forgotten and not flipped, emitting a faint smell of scorching.

Zhao Yān exclaimed, “Oh no!” and hurriedly used the silver chopsticks on the table to remove the pastries and place them on a plate.

…

…

The auspicious cloud-shaped red bean pastry that Huo Zhenzhen had made was still fine, but the fish-shaped crab roe pastry that Zhao Yān had pinched wasn’t so fortunate. One side was burnt while the other had split open due to excessive filling, sizzling as golden crab oil leaked out.

Wenren Lin walked over and bent down to look at the cracked goldfish-shaped pastry for a long while, then made a very soft “tsk” sound.

Zhao Yān detected a hint of mockery in this barely audible sound and felt embarrassed.

Just as she was about to hide the pastry, she saw Wenren Lin sit down across the table and reach for the cracked fish-shaped qiaoguo.

Zhao Yān watched in astonishment as he brought the pastry to his thin lips and gently bit off a piece.

Among the three pastries, he deliberately chose the ugliest and most failed one.

Wenren Lin seemed to perceive her thoughts. He unhurriedly swallowed the food in his mouth before smiling and saying, “Your Highness’s handiwork is still so remarkable. No matter where it is placed, I can recognize it at a glance.”

With that, he slightly raised his sleeve to reveal the white jade pendant hanging at his waist. The simple pattern on the jade, named “cat” but resembling a “dog,” was faintly visible. Worn on the imposing Prince Su’s waist, it appeared rather childish and amusing.

Zhao Yān could only lean forward on the table and reach out to grab it: “I never forced you to eat it… If it doesn’t taste good, don’t eat it.”

Wenren Lin easily restrained her wrist. “Though the shape is somewhat lacking, the flavor is quite good.”

“Hey, don’t eat it… this side is completely burnt!”

As soon as she spoke, Wenren Lin frowned almost imperceptibly, raising his fist to his lips and giving a light cough.

“See, I told you not to eat it…”

Zhao Yān said in annoyance, frowning as she watched Wenren Lin rinse his mouth with tea. After a while, finding the scene before her absurd and childish, she suddenly turned her head away, shrugging with a light laugh.

Wenren Lin glanced at her.

He rarely saw the little princess with such an open smile. Most of the time, she hid herself behind the “Crown Prince” mask, facing the unpredictable world alone with her delicate frame.

This sudden smile was like a ray of light breaking through the clouds, her eyebrows curved and lips raised, dimming all the city lights behind her.

After letting her laugh for a while, Wenren Lin put down his cup and pinched Zhao Yān’s weakly curled fingertips.

“On the eighteenth day of the seventh month, Your Highness’s birthday, I will grant one wish.”

Wenren Lin savored the rich crab roe and the burnt bitterness of the crust, asking gently, “What do you want?”

Without hesitation, Zhao Yān raised the corners of her eyes and said: “I want the Grand Tutor to stand by my side forever.”

Not just in position, but in stance.

Wenren Lin was amused by her answer—such a bold request, so straightforward and adorable.

Unfortunately, one who barely clung to life had no “forever” to speak of.

With an inscrutable smile in his eyes, Wenren Lin tapped Zhao Yān’s hand in warning and said in a low voice: “I don’t believe in ‘forever.’ Choose another.”

Zhao Yān was no longer joking; this time, her expression was much more serious.

After pondering for a long time, she lowered her eyes and said softly: “If convenient, on the Zhongyuan Festival, I’d like to leave the palace to… pay respects to my brother.”

Besides avenging Zhao Yǎn, this was the only small wish she could think of.

…

On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, a grand ceremony was held at Tongtian Tower.

After the lengthy sacrificial text, the Emperor, barefoot and dressed in a blue Daoist robe, personally lit the mountain of paper money piled high on the platform to commemorate the hundred thousand soldiers who had died in the great battle seven years ago.

All officials prostrated themselves. Zhao Yān knelt at the very front, fully aware that this ceremony at the Shenguang Religion’s Tongtian Tower was merely using the pretext of commemorating heroic spirits to beg heaven for forgiveness and to reignite the dying embers of his desire to seek immortality.

Flames leapt up from the mountain of money, paper ash filling the imperial city. Wenren Lin stood at the side of the sacrificial platform in a black robe tied with a white cord, the heat waves distorting his features.

This ceremony would continue for three days and nights, though the Crown Prince was not required to appear for the latter parts. Zhao Yān endured until noon, then excused herself from the Emperor and Empress on the grounds of physical discomfort and left early.

The carriage exited from the Northern Garden, turned down the path, and encountered another unassuming carriage head-on.

The driver from the opposite carriage cupped his hands toward Zhao Yān. Recognizing him as Cai Tian, Wenren Lin’s right deputy, she knew the carriage must have been sent by Wenren Lin to escort her out of the palace.

After some thought, she said to Liu Ying, “You are the Crown Prince’s personal palace maid. Having you by my side would be too conspicuous. I’m afraid I must trouble you to remain in the Eastern Palace to manage affairs and ensure no one discovers my departure from the palace.”

Liu Ying answered “Yes” and handed Zhao Yān a small basket containing incense, candles, and paper money, biting her lip and saying with difficulty: “Please, Your Highness, offer a stick of incense on this servant’s behalf to the Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yān nodded in agreement, and as the two carriages drove alongside each other, she lifted the curtain, slipped out, and jumped into Cai Tian’s carriage.

The carriages soon passed each other. The Imperial Guards at the palace gate were on duty, and no one noticed that the person in the Crown Prince’s carriage had been replaced.

The carriage prepared by Wenren Lin was modest yet comfortable, with an auspicious beast-shaped incense burner emitting a cool, refreshing fragrance.

A package was placed on the table. Zhao Yān opened it to find an ordinary set of ivory-white, tight-sleeved Hu-style garments and a veiled hat. Considering the difficulty of changing clothes alone in the carriage, the clothes were chosen in a youth’s style.

Zhao Yān removed the Crown Prince’s outer robe, changed into the tight-sleeved Hu garments, took off the golden crown, and inserted a jade hairpin. She asked Cai Tian, who was driving the carriage, “Where is your prince?”

Cai Tian, while driving, replied: “His Highness still has important matters to attend to and instructed this humble servant to escort Your Highness out of the palace first.”

Zhao Yān recalled Wenren Lin’s figure at Tongtian Tower, distorted by heat waves, and for some reason felt a wave of desolation in her heart.

On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, the clouds cast a heavy shadow, diluting the yang energy on the ground.

Prince Yong’s mansion gates were tightly closed. In the back courtyard, countless paper figurines shaped like boys and girls were piled up, their paper-mache faces chalk-white with two spots of red blush, looking extremely eerie.

“Yuan’yu, ah! You died in disgrace, so by rights you shouldn’t have a tablet or paper money burnt for you, but your father misses you, you little beast! Your father can only close the doors and secretly burn offerings for you.”

Prince Yong sat on the steps, throwing handfuls of paper money into the bronze basin, occasionally wiping away tears and saying, “Your father is useless and couldn’t protect you. I’ll burn more paper money for you, along with these paper boys and girls. I’m afraid my chances of ascending the throne are hopeless now. Yuan’yu, if you have any resentment, direct it at those people, all right?”

As he was muttering, a gust of cold wind suddenly swept across the ground, blowing the side door open with a bang, making the paper figurines sway eerily as if they had come to life.

Prince Yong was so frightened he almost fell to the ground. Looking toward the sound, he saw no one outside the door, only a short arrow pinned to the door panel.

Prince Yong tremblingly raised his corpulent body and ordered his servant: “Go, go see what it is.”

The servant cautiously moved forward, pulled out the short arrow with effort, then quickly approached, saying: “Your Highness, there’s a secret message for you on the arrow.”

Prince Yong suspiciously accepted the arrow, removed the secret message tied to it, unfolded it to look, and his pupils suddenly contracted as his expression changed.

…

Meanwhile, in the western suburbs, at Mount Wanli.

Zhao Yān, wearing a veiled hat, followed the winding mountain path upward, climbing to the overgrown summit.

This was a burial ground for palace servants who died accidentally and disgraced imperial consorts. Empress Wei had ordered the news of the Crown Prince’s death to be suppressed. Zhao Yǎn’s corpse had been transported out of the palace, mixed with dead eunuchs, and buried on this hilltop.

Following Liu Ying’s previous instructions, Zhao Yān found the small mound under the large maple tree—Zhao Yǎn’s unmarked grave.

At this moment, a gloomy, tall figure was crouching before the grave, like a homeless wild dog.

“Qiu Zui?”

Zhao Yān still couldn’t adapt to the heavy, cold killing aura around him and cautiously stepped back.

Since escaping from the secret dungeon at Yuquan Palace, Qiu Zui had disappeared without a trace for two months. Zhao Yān hadn’t expected to encounter him here.

He was still wearing his tattered indigo martial robe, his trouser legs covered with grass seeds and mud, showing that he had arrived during the dawn drizzle. The weeds around the grave had been trampled flat by him, clearing out a clean space.

Qiu Zui silently stared at the burial mound like a wild dog guarding its treasured possession. Thinking he wouldn’t speak, Zhao Yān stepped forward and placed the basket containing incense, candles, and paper money before the grave.

“Are you… Princess Changfeng?”

Qiu Zui crouched with his long arms resting on his knees, his voice like a beast’s growl trapped in his throat, hoarse and unpleasant.

During their last meeting, Zhao Yān had not revealed her true identity to Qiu Zui, partly because there wasn’t time, and partly because there wasn’t enough trust between them.

After two months, perhaps Qiu Zui had discovered something, or perhaps he had figured it out using his limited intelligence.

After some thought, Zhao Yān calmly said: “I am.”

Qiu Zui woodenly turned his hawk-like eyes to stare at Zhao Yān.

A sudden gust of wind arose, making the wild grass sway.

As maple leaves spiraled down, Qiu Zui’s unsheathed curved blade unexpectedly slashed toward Zhao Yān’s face.

Cai Tian immediately raised his sword to block!

The prince had entrusted him with protecting the little princess. If anything happened to her, even taking his own life would not atone for his failure!

However, when Qiu Zui’s curved blade was just an inch from Zhao Yān’s face, it suddenly stopped. The blade handle moved downward, pressing against Zhao Yān’s shoulder as he said hoarsely: “You… stepped on the master’s flowers.”

Zhao Yān’s breath froze. Following his gaze downward, she saw that indeed, a bunch of simple white wildflowers had been placed on the ground, blending with the weeds so that she hadn’t noticed them earlier.

“…I’m sorry.” She moved her boot away.

Qiu Zui indeed withdrew his ferocity, inserting the curved blade behind his waist. His rough, dark hands rearranged the wildflowers and placed them before the unnamed tombstone.

Seeing Zhao Yān looking at him, he said indifferently: “Summer has no plum blossoms. I could only find these.”

Zhao Yān remained silent for a long time before asking: “Don’t you doubt me?”

“I doubt.”

After another long silence, Qiu Zui muttered, “Master trusts you.”

Because Zhao Yǎn trusted her and protected her until his death, Qiu Zui was willing to hold back his blade and not let it draw blood.

Zhao Yān’s throat tightened, and after a long while, she said hoarsely: “Like you, I don’t want to betray that trust.”

Whether Qiu Zui understood or not, he pressed the curved blade at his waist and turned to leave, alone as he had come.

Only after Qiu Zui had gone far did Cai Tian return his sword to its scabbard, holding it as he circled to the other side of the maple tree, guarding Zhao Yān from a distance.

From this spot, one could view the imperial city in its entirety. The wind blew across the grass, making it bow as if whispering human voices.

Zhao Yān lowered her gaze, raising her fingers to caress the cold unnamed tombstone, her heart swelling with pain.

She remembered Zhao Yǎn sitting in the corridor in his robe during their childhood, teaching her to recite: “The bird cries, the flowers fall, where is the person? The bamboo dies, the parasol tree withers, the phoenix does not come.”①

As a child, she had not understood its meaning, but now, savoring it again, she tasted a sharp, cutting pain.

Since returning to the palace and assuming the Crown Prince’s position, she had been swept along by the current, and only now did she have time to examine the sorrow in her heart.

“Zhao Yǎn, are you cold here…”

She touched the tombstone, uncertain whom she was speaking to.

The only response was the rustling sound of the wind caressing the maple leaves.

Zhao Yān smiled faintly, standing for a long time before this quiet little grave, telling him about the many trivial matters that had occurred since her return to the palace.

Such as how Imperial Physician Zhang’s medicine was getting increasingly bitter, how the malicious Zhao Yuan’yu had died, and how Priest Shen Guang, who had poisoned people, had also died by arrow. She spoke of how she wanted to wear beautiful skirts and the golden hairpin that her brother had made with his own hands…

Yet she knew these trivial matters would never receive a response.

If there truly was another life, Zhao Yǎn should be nearly one year old by now.

Zhao Yān thought: Perhaps he had been born to affluent parents who loved each other dearly, with a healthy body.

No longer trapped in a weak, sickly body, he could grow up safely and smoothly, becoming a gentle and talented gentleman, able to do anything he wished…

In the slanting sunlight, incense and candles burned, paper ash fluttering like butterflies.

“It’s been a year already.”

Finally, Zhao Yān crouched to face the grave and said very, very softly, “Happy first birthday, Zhao Yǎn.”

When Zhao Yān came down from the mountain, the evening drum was just sounding from the city, marking the hour of you.

Birds flew across the setting sun as Prince Su’s carriage waited by the roadside. Zhao Yān lifted the curtain to enter and unexpectedly saw Wenren Lin sitting quietly with his finger pressed against his temple, waiting.

He had changed into a dark scholar-official robe with martial sleeves and had been waiting in the carriage for who knew how long.

Seeing Zhao Yān standing in shock, her eye sockets still slightly red, Wenren Lin silently raised his arm, gesturing to her: “Come here.”

Zhao Yān said nothing, just bent down to enter and sat within Wenren Lin’s arm, her temple gently resting against his shoulder.

① A line from Su Shi’s poem “Jiang Cheng Zi · Meihua”