Zhao Yān turned her head, her peach blossom eyes widening in slight surprise, reflecting the colorful afterglow of the fireworks.

“Is that true?”

Wenren Lin neither nodded nor shook his head, his eyes flickering with the intermittent light of the fireworks as he enjoyed watching Zhao Yān’s expression change from stunned to uncertain.

“The noodles are ready,” he said with an enigmatic smile.

Zhao Yān had to give up trying to figure out what the fireworks were made of and reluctantly returned to the table.

The fireworks continued, enduring and unceasing.

Zhao Yān loved fireworks—a dreamlike illusion constructed by humans as insignificant as ants, yet magnificent enough to rival lightning and dawn.

The Jiafu Palace Tower echoed with Hegui Pavilion in the distance, making it an excellent viewing spot. She took the jade chopsticks Wenren Lin handed her, mixed the noodles, and blew on them gently, her lips moistened to a fresh, alluring red by the soup.

Wenren Lin stared at them for a while until Zhao Yān looked up, their gazes meeting as she pushed the bowl toward him and asked: “Would you like some?”

Wenren Lin’s gaze deepened slightly as he rolled down his sleeves and said evenly: “What I want to eat is not noodles.”

…

…

This sentence was hidden in the noisy sounds of the fireworks display, and Zhao Yān didn’t hear it. When she came back to herself, Wenren Lin had reached out to wipe away a drop of soup from the corner of her mouth.

The fireworks were gorgeous, and the distance between them became uncertain, seeming both real and illusory, enchantingly ambiguous.

Zhao Yān instinctively pursed her lips, and Wenren Lin withdrew his hand naturally. He bent his right leg, casually resting his right arm on his raised knee, while his left hand turned over a cup and lifted a pot, pouring himself a cup of crisp Purple Robe wine①.

This wine came as tribute from Lingnan, and Zhao Yān smelled the sweet fragrance of lychee, which immediately awakened her appetite. After swallowing the last mouthful of noodles, she said: “Pour me a cup too.”

Wenren Lin gave her the cup in his hand, then took a new one and poured himself another.

Zhao Yān held the cup with both hands, lowered her eyes, and took a small sip. Her eyes immediately brightened.

“Sweet and smooth, delicious!”

“Your Highness dislikes sweet food, but prefers sweet wine.”

Wenren Lin held his cup with one hand, gesturing to Zhao Yān from across the space, “Happy birthday, little princess.”

In the alternating light and shadow, his faint smile made him look somewhat unrestrained and carefree.

Zhao Yān’s heart stirred. In front of Wenren Lin, she no longer needed to be bound by shackles, no longer had to consider the weight of revenge. She was relaxed in body and mind as she instinctively raised her wine cup to touch his.

Just then, the rising fireworks reflected in the wine, and with a “ding” sound, they burst into countless magnificent fragments.

The Purple Robe wine was fruity and crisp, yet potent. Had Wenren Lin not covered her cup with his palm, she would have drunk the remaining half pot dry.

Even with timely intervention, after three cups, Zhao Yān’s gaze became moist and blurry, and her cheeks gradually flushed pink.

“Sleepy?” Wenren Lin asked, putting down his cup.

Zhao Yān, supporting her cheeks with both hands, her eyelids heavy, nodded with slight delay.

Wenren Lin laughed softly: “Can you stand up?”

Zhao Yān was silent for a moment, then nodded again with the same slowness, supporting herself on the table to rise.

With the clinking sound of cups toppling, Wenren Lin promptly grabbed her forearm to steady her.

“Such poor alcohol tolerance, yet trying to drink like others,” Wenren Lin seemed to sigh.

“It’s not that bad; your wine is just too strong,” Zhao Yān pressed her temple, though her thoughts remained quite clear.

This Purple Robe wine was indeed a fine quality that easily intoxicated, and even someone like Wenren Lin, who always maintained vigilant clarity, would only indulge in a few cups when in an excellent mood.

Liu Ying, waiting at the foot of the palace tower, heard the commotion and looked up to see her mistress stumbling at the top of the stairs. She was hesitating whether to go up and help when Wenren Lin stepped forward, kneeling on one knee with his back toward Zhao Yān.

“Come on,” he said, turning his head slightly, presenting his broad, strong back to her.

Zhao Yān leaned against the wall, momentarily stunned. Perhaps due to the rising effects of the wine, or perhaps something else, she did not refuse.

Her chest pressed against his solid, broad back, and then her body was lifted as Wenren Lin supported her thighs with his hands, carrying her down the stone steps, each step steady and secure.

Liu Ying and Cai Tian, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, both showed surprise, then simultaneously lowered their eyes, holding up lanterns to light the way, their gazes fixed straight ahead.

The night breeze brushed against Zhao Yān’s heated cheeks. The stars flowed, the lanterns blurred, and her vision moved up and down in rhythm as she listened to the interweaving of his long breaths and her quickened heartbeat.

Hot water had been prepared in the bath chamber, with water rippling in the small pool.

Wenren Lin crouched to place Zhao Yān on the couch, and just as he was about to rise, he felt his sleeve being lightly grasped.

“Are you leaving?”

She opened her eyes, her lashes trembling slightly as if unable to bear the weight of the lamplight.

Wenren Lin allowed her to hold his sleeve, his dark eyes profound as he asked: “Does Your Highness want me to leave, or not?”

A question with an obvious answer. Zhao Yān swallowed and lowered her eyelids.

The smile in Wenren Lin’s eyes deepened, and he stopped teasing her: “I’ll leave after the hour of zi.”

Zhao Yān felt oddly relieved and released his sleeve.

Liu Ying entered with towels, assisting Zhao Yān behind a screen to bathe and change clothes. She soaked in a daze, washing away the fatigue of the day, and when she emerged dressed, Wenren Lin was indeed still sitting in the outer room under the lamp, holding her jade comb.

Liu Ying glanced at Zhao Yān, and seeing her nod in approval, bowed and withdrew.

Wenren Lin motioned for Zhao Yān to sit on the couch, took a silk cloth to dry the slightly damp ends of her hair, then pulled over a chair to sit down. He opened her slightly curled fingers to reveal a mark on her right index and middle fingers from the bowstring.

Wenren Lin didn’t ask about the origin of this mark, nor did he inquire what she had done at Prince Yong’s mansion today. He merely stroked the red mark gently and asked: “Feeling better?”

Zhao Yān knew what he meant and, after some thought, nodded.

What she had seen and heard at Prince Yong’s mansion indeed troubled her greatly. She couldn’t forget Prince Yong’s statements about Zhao Yǎn before his death, nor those grief-stricken, resentful eyes. But now, the warmth of the longevity noodles and Purple Robe wine had dispersed the heavy chill, leaving only a mild, warm intoxication.

“Everything ended just like that, abruptly, so smoothly it feels like a dream.”

Zhao Yān hugged her knees on the couch, letting her hair fall beside her cheeks as she murmured, “But I feel a bit uneasy, unable to feel happy at all…”

Wenren Lin used his fingers as a comb, smoothing out her silky hair strand by strand.

He didn’t offer much guidance, only saying calmly: “Revenge was never meant to be a happy affair.”

Zhao Yān was suddenly moved by this statement.

She raised her hand to pull Wenren Lin closer in confusion, then rested her forehead against his chest, as if this would allow her to touch the bottomless abyss hidden beneath his elegant composure.

She called out: “Grand Tutor…”

Apart from when she was poisoned, her active reliance on him was pitifully rare.

Wenren Lin stroked Zhao Yān’s smooth hair, then raised his finger to press under her chin, forcing her to look up as he gazed at her face, made alluring by the wine and hot water.

Those peach blossom eyes were enchantingly beautiful, the corners hook-like, flowing with a light that both conflicted and fascinated him.

Wenren Lin pressed his thumb against her moist lips, kneading them with a touch both light and heavy.

He tightened his arms, his knuckles showing a slight paleness, and lowered his long lashes, bending down toward those enticing lips he had been yearning for all evening.

Just as he was an inch away from her lips, Zhao Yān yawned lightly, her eyelids drooping heavily, clearly exhausted.

Wenren Lin paused, and after a moment, clicked his tongue in mild disappointment.

After her busy day, Zhao Yān was indeed extremely tired, to the point that she had no awareness of when she returned to her sleeping quarters, nor when Wenren Lin left.

She only vaguely remembered that while she was still curled up on the small couch, the outer robe covering her was permeated with a light woody fragrance, and the man’s strong figure behind the screen was indistinct, with the sound of water in the bath lasting for a long time.

Early the next morning, Princess Shoukang’s mansion received an apology gift from the Eastern Palace.

The gift wasn’t particularly valuable, but the sentiment was important.

“Even though the Crown Prince is the victim, he still remembers to comfort others. It’s rare for such a young man to have this kind of humble and courteous demeanor. For this alone, we should accept his kindness.”

Saying this, Huo Feng sighed with his hands behind his back, “It’s a pity that he took a concubine last year, falling for female charms, and now finds himself at the center of the storm—not a good match for Zhenzhen.”

The Prince Consort had been talking to himself and, receiving no response, turned his head curiously.

“Wanrou, why aren’t you speaking?”

Wanrou was Princess Shoukang’s name. She and Huo Feng had married by imperial decree, and though they had argued and quarreled during their early adjustment period, their affection had grown deeper and more loving. They usually addressed each other by their style names rather than the cold formal “Princess” and “Prince Consort.”

Princess Shoukang sat by the window, fanning herself, lost in thought: “Changge, don’t you find it strange?”

“What’s strange?”

“The Eastern Palace has faced continuous troubles, and the Empress has always wanted to establish Zhenzhen as the Crown Princess.”

Princess Shoukang glanced at her daughter sleeping soundly on the small couch in the inner room, then continued in a low voice, “But since we’ve returned to the capital, Empress has not mentioned the engagement even once. Isn’t that odd?”

“What’s odd about it? Before, with Prince Yong and his heir present, the court’s allegiance was uncertain, so the Empress needed Princess Shoukang’s approval and support. Now that the father and son of Prince Yong have brought about their destruction, and Concubine Xuwanyi’s child is yet to be determined, the Eastern Palace’s position is secure. Naturally, there’s no rush now.”

Huo Feng strode into the room, took the fan from Princess Shoukang’s hand, and earnestly fanned her. “Besides, weren’t you also afraid that if Zhenzhen married into the Eastern Palace, she wouldn’t be protected? This works out well.”

“…You’re right. I hope I’m overthinking it.”

Princess Shoukang raised her fair hand, preserved like a young girl’s, and lightly tapped Huo Feng’s muscular arm, chiding him: “Stop fanning, you’re giving me a headache.”

Huo Feng chuckled, grasping her delicate hand and bringing it to his lips, planting a firm kiss like stealing tofu.

…

In the Eastern Palace, Li Fu was coordinating with the Crown Prince’s household officials to sort through the birthday gifts sent from various families so they could be returned along their original paths.

There was only one special gift whose disposition was uncertain, so Li Fu brought the cage to ask Zhao Yān for instructions.

Inside an exquisite cage crafted in the shape of entwined vines, made of pure gold inlaid with gemstones, was a noble white odd-eyed Shizi cat.

The cat was still young, with large, round eyes showing its youthfulness, a pink nose and paws, and fluffy fur. Having been hungry in the cage for a day, it was now making pitiful mewing sounds.

“I don’t keep fox slaves…”

Thinking of something, Zhao Yān’s eyes shifted, and she called to Li Fu: “Wait! Keep the cat, return the cage.”

Li Fu responded with a “Yes,” opened the cage, and took out the cat, smiling: “There’s an ancient tale of returning the pearl but buying the box. Your Highness is keeping the cat but returning the cage.”

Zhao Yān took the soft, warm little creature and stroked its fur.

She knew someone who liked these small animals.

Wenren Lin had been resting at Hegui Pavilion recently, which was close to the imperial palace and convenient for meeting anyone.

He had just returned from the palace when he saw a slender, familiar figure sitting in a chair by the window.

The window frame was the perfect picture frame, framing her along with the flower shadows, like a wet and exquisite fine brushwork painting.

Wenren Lin, wearing a scholar-official robe with martial sleeves, handsome and straight, walked slowly to stand before her and said: “Why is Your Highness in the mood today to…”

Before he could finish, a soft, sweet mewing sound was heard.

His gaze lowered to Zhao Yān’s bulging, moving sleeve.

“What is Your Highness hiding in your sleeve?”

Zhao Yān smiled without speaking, her eyes curving.

She loosened her clasped hands, and a small white head immediately emerged from her sleeve, looking at Wenren Lin with jewel-like eyes, one blue and one yellow.

① Purple Robe wine: A sweet wine made with lychee, originating in southern China, and often served as tribute to the imperial court.