Wenren Lin was always so steady and calm, as if nothing in the world could shake him. Resting in his embrace, Zhao Yān’s sorrow gradually subsided.

Cai Tian drove the carriage toward the western gate of the suburbs.

After turning through countless streets, the sounds of people grew distant as the carriage stopped at a secluded place.

Zhao Yān came to her senses and, supporting herself, leaned over Wenren Lin’s body to lift the carriage curtain for a look. She saw they had stopped at the entrance of a Buddhist temple. The ancient mountain gate, covered with green moss, bore three characters: “Lingyun Temple.”

The evening sunlight poured through the raised curtain, gilding Zhao Yān’s eyelashes and wisps of hair at her temples into a beautiful orange-gold.

She narrowed her eyes like a fox and asked: “Why are we stopping here?”

Wenren Lin felt the soft body resting loosely in his arms. After a moment, he raised his finger to stroke her waist and said casually, “Your Highness should rest in the carriage. I’m going to meet an old acquaintance.”

Old acquaintance?

Since that brutal war seven years ago, Zhao Yān hadn’t known that Wenren Lin still had any old acquaintances.

“May I go in with you?” she asked instinctively.

…

…

Perhaps realizing that this small request was somewhat “crossing a boundary”—after all, Wenren Lin was a person who kept his thoughts and territory strictly private—Zhao Yān softly added: “I don’t mean anything by it, just want to take a look inside. If it’s inconvenient, never mind.”

Wenren Lin looked at her with unfathomable eyes, took her veiled hat and placed it on her, then held her hand as he bent to exit the carriage.

Today was the Zhongyuan Festival, and Ullambana basins were placed in front of the mountain gate.

Because the Great Xuan Emperor favored the Shenguang Religion, Daoist temples were everywhere in the capital, with everyone claiming to be disciples of Shenguang. Buddhist temples had become increasingly deserted. Thus, this Lingyun Temple had no outside visitors and was very quiet.

Zhao Yān followed beside Wenren Lin, entering through the mountain gate. They saw an old monk with a lame leg leading a young novice forward, who clasped his hands in greeting to Wenren Lin: “We did not know Your Highness would grace our humble temple; forgive our failure to welcome you properly.”

The old monk was thin, limping on one leg, with an old scar across his eye that made his eyelid droop powerlessly, unable to open and close normally. Though his words were kind, he looked somewhat eerie.

Wenren Lin slightly turned his head, instructing: “Your Highness, walk around by yourself, but don’t go far.”

Zhao Yān came to her senses and nodded, saying, “Alright.”

Wenren Lin signaled Cai Tian to stay as a guard, then followed the old monk past the liberation pond and eastern corridor to a hall of heroic spirits in the back courtyard where outsiders were not allowed to enter.

As he pushed the door open, cool wind rushed in. The spirit tablets on the wooden shelves were as numerous as mountains, lamplight like a sea, all the eternal lamps in the hall swaying.

Once the hall door closed, the old monk’s eyes reddened slightly as he laboriously knelt on one knee, giving Wenren Lin a military salute: “This subordinate, Yu Sui, pays respects to the young master!”

“Rise, Uncle Yu.”

Wenren Lin merely raised his hand slightly and helped the old monk stand steadily. “I have long ceased to be any ‘young master’ of the general’s mansion.”

“As long as you live, the military spirit of the Wenren family does not fall, and you will forever be this subordinate’s young master.”

The old monk wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve and continued, “Today, the Rong family came again. This monk Yu Puti privately offered incense from afar…”

Seeing that Wenren Lin did not respond, the old monk wisely ceased talking and took incense sticks to respectfully offer them.

Wenren Lin accepted the incense, unhurriedly arranged them neatly, then placed them on the oil lamp to light. In the drifting blue-white smoke, his expression was difficult to discern.

Looking up, the spirit tablet at the front, reading “Spirit Tablet of the Late Father Lord Wenren, given name Jinping,” was visible.

On the wooden shelves, each spirit tablet, each bright lamp represented a heroic spirit who had died on the battlefield.

Of the hundred thousand soldiers, only three hundred and sixty-one had their remains returned to the capital.

When Zhao Yān used to follow her grandmother, she had often endured the hardship of vegetarian meals and Buddhist chanting. She had found it boring then, but now, returning to this ancient temple, she felt somewhat nostalgic.

Taking advantage of the empty courtyard, Zhao Yān lifted the veil of her hat to look around. She saw that behind the Medicine Buddha Hall, a huge tree rose into the sky, with red silk fluttering from its branches.

Curious, Zhao Yān passed through the corridor and a small door to find a century-old bodhi tree standing in the stone altar in the courtyard.

Zhao Yān had never seen such a large tree and was secretly amazed. Its branches were gnarled, its trunk vigorous; about six or seven adults holding hands would be needed to encircle it. The luxuriant crown covered half the courtyard, blocking the sky, with the top not visible when looking up.

The branches were hung with red silk ribbons, seemingly for visitors to make wishes.

Zhao Yān was curious about what was written on the red ribbons and was about to step forward when she suddenly discovered a graceful figure standing under the bodhi tree.

The figure was quite familiar.

Zhao Yān quickly stopped, hiding behind a lacquered pillar, secretly peeking out for a look, then exclaimed in surprise: “Aunt?”

Rong Fuyue wore a moon-white colored dress, her face bare of makeup yet still stunningly beautiful. She held incense sticks up to her eyebrows, closing her eyes devoutly before placing them in the beast-footed incense burner.

Was her aunt here to pay respects to her parents? But why choose this quiet little temple?

Before Zhao Yān could think further, Rong Fuyue pushed away her maid’s hand and left through the side door.

Soon after, the sound of a carriage departing could be heard from outside.

Only then did Zhao Yān emerge from behind the pillar and walk into that canopy of green shade.

As the wind blew, the bodhi tree’s leaves rustled and the red silk surged, like hanging crimson clouds, magnificent to behold.

“Would Your Highness like to write down your heart’s wish and hang it on the branches?” Cai Tian asked from behind.

“May I write one?”

“For others, naturally not. For Your Highness, as many as you wish.”

With that, Cai Tian ordered a young novice to bring silk ribbons, brush, and ink, laying them out on the stone table.

A thousand thoughts surged in her heart, but when she put brush to silk, she wrote only eight concise characters: “Loyal souls never perish, sparks remain eternally bright.”

Some died defending lonely cities, holding flags and bracing swords, perishing on the cold desert battlefield; some used blood as ink and bones as brushes, falling before dawn… The souls of soldiers and the bones of scholars together supported the tottering foundation of Great Xuan.

May loyal souls never perish, may sparks remain eternally bright. Soul, return.

Zhao Yān folded the silk ribbon in her palm, closing her eyes in concentration.

When Wenren Lin emerged from the Hall of Heroic Spirits and turned around the corridor, this was the scene that greeted him.

Under the bodhi tree that obscured the sky, rays of evening sunlight penetrated through the leaf gaps. That slender figure in ivory-white tight-sleeved Hu garments stood within the beams of light, hands folded, eyes closed, head lowered in devotion, red silk ribbon dancing in the wind between her fingers.

So bright and vivid, like an immortal descending to the mortal world, enough to dispel all gloom.

Zhao Yān opened her eyes as the slanting sun withdrew its last rays. The temple bell sounded deeply, startling tired birds to fly home.

She looked up at the lush branches overhead, planning to find an empty spot to hang her ribbon. However, after circling the stone altar around the bodhi tree, she found that all branches within reach were already full of ribbons bearing unfamiliar names, while the emptier branches were too high, beyond her fingertips.

Zhao Yān stood on tiptoe, stretching her hand as far as possible. The branch she had her eye on swayed in the wind, refusing to be touched by her.

Sweat beaded on her nose, and just as she was about to trouble Cai Tian to bring a small stool, she suddenly felt a grip around her waist.

Then her entire body was lifted into the air by a pair of strong, powerful arms, her head brushing into a canopy of green leaves and red silk.

The veiled hat was swept off by a branch, floating to the ground like mist. Zhao Yān turned back in surprise to see Wenren Lin effortlessly holding her up.

He was extremely tall, his arm strength steady, without even the slightest tremor or shake. His dark eyes contained a calm, shallow smile as he looked at her: “Is it high enough? Do you need to go higher?”

With that, he lifted her with a boost, ready to raise her even higher.

Zhao Yān’s face flushed, and her heart raced as she hurriedly said: “It’s enough, it’s enough!”

She turned her head back, focused, and devoutly tied the red silk ribbon to the empty branch, carefully straightening it.

Only after she had finished did Wenren Lin withdraw his arms, letting her land gently.

Zhao Yān’s heart, which had been bouncing up and down, took a long time to calm.

“What did you write?” Wenren Lin’s deep voice came from beside her ear.

Though he had let her toes touch the ground, he had not released that slender waist, merely changing his posture to hold her loosely.

Half of Zhao Yān’s ear felt numb. She turned her face away with a shiver and said softly: “You’re so tall, you can see for yourself.”

Wenren Lin laughed, looking up to where the little princess’s red ribbon moved slightly in the breeze, her neat, small handwriting faintly visible.

“No other things are to be hung on this branch.”

Wenren Lin instructed Cai Tian.

Zhao Yān was surprised by his assertiveness, both annoyed and amused. She pursed her lips and said: “There’s no need for that. It looks less appealing when empty.”

“It won’t be empty.”

Wenren Lin’s dark eyes contained a smile as he pinched her waist. “In the future, I will hang my name beside it.”

Zhao Yān looked up, unsure if he was joking or serious.

At Ningyang Marquis’s Mansion.

Rong Fuyue returned home supported by her maid’s arm, only to find Wei Yan, who had originally gone to the palace on business, had returned ahead of her and was gazing at the moon in the courtyard.

Seeing his wife return, Wei Yan smiled gently and came forward to greet her: “Yue, you’re back.”

He didn’t ask where she had been, as if all he desired was her return to his side. Rong Fuyue stood still, momentarily speechless, then said with guilt: “I’m sorry, I…”

“Silly Yue, I’ve told you that no matter what you do to me, you never need to apologize.”

Wei Yan took his wife into his arms, soothingly caressing her temple, asking softly, “Are you hungry? I’ve had the kitchen prepare your favorite lotus pastries. Would you like to try one?”

Rong Fuyue’s beautiful eyes welled with tears as she nodded slightly: “Yes.”

…

Half a month before the Crown Prince’s birthday, various congratulatory gifts began arriving at the Eastern Palace.

On the day of the birthday, it was like a bustling market, with gifts large and small almost filling the entire courtyard.

Although Zhao Yān had strongly requested a simple birthday celebration, protocol still required a small banquet to be held in the Western Inner Garden, gathering with the Emperor, Empress, and various princesses and royal relatives.

“After the gifts are inventoried, return each with a roll of gold-threaded gauze along the original path. Whatever rules the former Crown Prince’s household followed, continue them now.”

Zhao Yān adjusted the jade crown that bound her hair in the bronze mirror, lowered her eyes to think for a moment, then instructed Liu Ying: “Before returning those gifts, be sure to examine them carefully to guard against anyone setting traps or tampering with them.”

Liu Ying, likely recalling how Crown Prince Zhao Yǎn had died, lowered her voice: “This servant understands.”

The banquet was set at the edge of Penglai Garden. Besides Princess Shoukang’s family, two unmarried princesses born to concubines, the young Prince of Yingchuan Liu Baiwei, and study companion Pei Sa were all present.

The Emperor did not appear, only sending his chief eunuch to convey a few words of perfunctory praise. The Empress Wei and Consort Zhen were present, each sitting apart with no interaction.

Just as the atmosphere was growing stiff, Zhang Cang was seen ordering men to carry a box into the garden. He bowed to Zhao Yān and said: “His Highness Prince Su has prepared a humble gift to congratulate Your Highness on your birthday. Please accept it!”

Everyone craned their necks, eager to see what grand display Wenren Lin had sent, and even Zhao Yān grew curious.

Zhang Cang flung open the box, revealing its contents—a box full of… ancient books and scrolls.

Each book was one or two inches thick, heavy enough to be used as a brick!

This was certainly not a “humble” gift—it was quite “substantial”!

This Grand Tutor Wenren Lin was taking his role a bit too seriously. So many books would be impossible to finish, even with day and night study.

Zhao Yān immediately felt a headache coming on, but pressed her palm and forced a smile: “Thank Prince Su for his kind intentions! I will be diligent and hardworking, studying by lamplight, not disappointing everyone’s expectations.”

The last few words had an almost gritted-teeth quality to them.

“Our prince said that Your Highness would surely understand his good intentions.”

With that, Zhang Cang bowed again. “The prince has official duties but will personally come to congratulate Your Highness once they are completed.”

Empress Wei was not pleased with Wenren Lin’s gift and signaled with her eyes for the attendants to move the large box of books further away.

Palace maids and eunuchs entered in procession carrying wine and food. One young eunuch carrying wine walked with his head bowed, moving hurriedly, and almost collided with the Ningyang Marquis couple who had just entered Penglai Gate.

Wei Yan instinctively raised his hand to protect Rong Fuyue, but was himself bumped by the young eunuch, wine wetting a patch of his sleeve.

The young eunuch immediately prostrated himself to beg forgiveness, but Wei Yan calmly shook his head, indicating: “It’s the Crown Prince’s joyous birthday, let’s not spoil it with trifles. Rise.”

The young eunuch quickly got up and hastily entered with his tray.

Li Fu led people to inspect each dish and wine brought by the palace servants, repeatedly confirming there was no poison before daring to present them at the banquet.

Just then, the Ningyang Marquis, who had just taken his seat, seemed to notice something amiss and softly exclaimed, “Hmm?”

“What’s wrong, Uncle?” Zhao Yān, who was nearby, asked with concern.

Wei Yan looked at his empty waist and frowned slightly: “My palace token is missing. It was just at my waist…”

Upon hearing this, everyone’s expressions changed slightly.

The palace token was held by imperial relatives and high nobles, allowing them entry to the palace gates. If it fell into the hands of someone with evil intentions, who knew what disasters might ensue?

“Don’t worry, Uncle. First, try to recall who you encountered just now, or where it might have fallen nearby.”

Saying this, Zhao Yān softly instructed Liu Ying, who was nearby: “Help search for it, and don’t let this cause trouble.”

Liu Ying acknowledged the order and led the attendants to search nearby. Guests and imperial guards also spontaneously searched around their feet to avoid missing anything.

Wei Yan looked at the wine stain on his sleeve, seemingly understanding something.

But it was already too late—that young eunuch who had served the wine, his face now dark, pulled a thin dagger from his sleeve and stabbed directly at Zhao Yān!

“Crown Prince Brother, do you like the inkstone I gave you?”

Huo Zhenzhen approached with a wine cup to chat, completely unaware of the cold glint of metal flashing beside her.

By the time others noticed something was wrong, it was too late.

Zhao Yān’s pupils contracted sharply, and she instinctively pushed Huo Zhenzhen away. The cold glint brushed past Zhao Yān’s sleeve, heading straight for her heart.

Before the dagger could touch her, it was blocked by a blade that suddenly appeared.

Zhang Cang had drawn his sword and kicked the eunuch, dagger and all, ten feet away, where he fell heavily to the ground.

The young eunuch vomited blood, struggling to support himself, only to see a pair of black leather boots before him.

He raised his head along the boots to see that divinely handsome face, and his eyes widened in terror…

Prince Su had arrived.