“What did you say?”

Zhao Yān’s fingers loosened in shock, forgetting she was still clutching his collar.

The clear, starlight brilliance in her eyes dimmed, and a trace of emotion crossed Wenren Lin’s face. He half-closed his eyes and continued: “Since Your Highness is concerned about Wei Yan’s words, rather than letting you speculate alone, this Prince might as well be honest. Does this answer satisfy Your Highness?”

Why didn’t he act eight years ago, but wait until now?

This was a question Zhao Yān had asked Wenren Lin on the palace path after the imperial trial.

At that time, he had answered: “Because this Prince wanted more than just his life.”

Zhao Yān, exhausted then, had simply assumed “his” referred to Wei Yan. After all, taking someone’s head would be as easy as reaching into a pocket for Wenren Lin. She thought perhaps ruining his enemy wasn’t enough; he wanted Wei Yan thoroughly disgraced, cursed for all eternity…

Only now did she understand the cold ambition hidden in his words.

Zhao Yān’s throat felt parched, various thoughts jumbled up and stuck in her chest.

“So your target isn’t just Wei Yan. You harbor resentment against The Great Xuan…”

But why?

He already wielded immense power at court, had everything…

Yet this thought barely surfaced before shattering like ice, leaving a desolate cut across her heart.

Eighty thousand skeletons, father and brother both dead, monthly poison attacks—the man before her carried a heavy past, walking alone through the bloody rain of court politics, half the people fearing him, half hating him…

How could that be considered having everything? In truth, he had nothing left.

Zhao Yān suddenly lost her strength, unconsciously releasing her grip on his collar.

Noticing her slight trembling, Wenren Lin’s hand at the back of her head moved slightly, his thumb slowly grazing her nape, barely touching.

“My uncle became my enemy, and now it’s your turn?”

Zhao Yān stubbornly gazed into Wenren Lin’s unfathomable eyes, trying to glimpse some ripple of emotion. She pressed her lips together and asked, “Will you also stand against me, Grand Tutor?”

Wenren Lin’s eyes flickered, but he remained silent.

He who had feared nothing his entire life, who had looked down upon the world with disdain, now instinctively sought to evade this question.

“The Emperor locks himself behind nine palace gates, and even the divine cannot descend to question injustice. What the Grand Tutor wishes to destroy includes the common people, and also…”

Seeing his silence, Zhao Yān felt a sting in her eyes and softly asked, “Does it include me as well?”

Though her voice was faint, Wenren Lin felt a tightness in his chest.

Her eyes held tiny fragments of moisture, slightly shimmering, accentuating the small tear mole at the corner of her eye, which appeared blood-red. It seemed that if he merely nodded, her suppressed emotions would overflow.

He could not answer this question.

“When Your Highness recklessly sought me out, this Prince warned you—someone ungrateful and dishonorable like me would one day drag Your Highness down with me.”

Wenren Lin used “I” to refer to himself, his casual voice seemingly gaining human warmth. “Your Highness insisted on hearing the truth, and now that you’ve heard it, you’re distressed.”

He bent his knuckle to brush the corner of her eye, feeling the pain spreading in his heart.

They were so close, yet he remained seated, his crossed legs the picture of elegance. With just a slight pressure from the hand at her nape, he tilted his head up, effortlessly capturing her tightly pressed red lips.

How could he bear to destroy her when she looked at him with such hurt in her eyes?

Wenren Lin closed his eyes, gently but forcefully parting her lips, using an increasingly deep claim to conceal the wavering and reluctance in his heart.

Zhao Yān inadvertently gasped, then her breath suddenly caught. Her hand that had been gripping his collar now pressed against his chest, her waist weakening. His arm seized the opportunity to encircle her, pressing her chest almost firmly against his.

It was an uninhibited kiss, completely unlike the usual Wenren Lin.

Before, he had always been the clear-minded observer or the supremely controlled master, nothing like the man before her now, with a hint of madness, as if sacrificing his soul, each consuming kiss like a final embrace.

Zhao Yān felt like prey under claws, facing a powerful hunter with no room for resistance.

She thought she would be swallowed whole, bones and soul crushed together. Yet the hunter who held her in his claws merely licked her fur, tenderly yet forcefully.

“No…”

Zhao Yān’s voice was broken, her slender hands against his chest lacking the strength to push him away, let alone exert any force.

“Do you want to continue?”

In the interval between breaths, Zhao Yān heard Wenren Lin’s low murmur amidst her pounding heartbeat.

Maintaining his restraining posture, his dark eyes gazed deeply at Zhao Yān’s slightly flushed, delicate face. His voice was deep and somewhat hoarse: “Whatever Your Highness wishes to do to this Prince today, this Prince will not refuse.”

He was a demon from the abyss, using flesh as bait, tempting her to final surrender.

Zhao Yān even felt that not only would he accept their mutual surrender, but even if she pierced him with a blade, he would fully accept it.

If this were a different scene and time, the romance before her would truly be exquisite. But considering the world-destroying words he had spoken just moments ago, how could she continue this entanglement?

“Wenren Shao Yuan, what exactly… what exactly are you trying to do?”

Zhao Yān said irritably, wiping her painfully numb lips and panting, “You’ve truly gone mad.”

Not satisfied with saying it once, she stared at him as if looking at an unknown fog and repeated: “You’re mad, do you know that?!”

“Yes, for someone like this Prince, it would be abnormal not to be mad.”

Wenren Lin admitted frankly, even smiling, “In Your Highness’s—”

“You…”

“Now, does Your Highness wish to kill this Prince?”

Zhao Yān looked at him, for a moment truly wanting to strangle him.

The more chaotic her thoughts, the more she needed to control her impulses. Zhao Yān forced herself to calm down and scrutinize the ruthless, powerful man before her.

“Do the things you want to destroy include innocent people and me?”

She pressed her still very red lips together. “After the Grand Tutor tells me the answer, I’ll respond whether or not I want to…”

Whether or not to take up arms and stand against you, she added in her heart.

Wenren Lin rarely made promises easily, and he refused to let people peer into his heart.

The oaths he spoke, he would fulfill even unto death. And now, he didn’t want to add more weight to the balance beam between them; he feared he couldn’t give that much.

Yes, he began to feel a trace of fear, despite his calm appearance.

But facing Zhao Yān’s slightly reddened eyes, he could not maintain his detached silence.

A shallow smile rippled in the depths of Wenren Lin’s eyes, like moonlight fractured across a deep pool. “I believe I once said I would drag Your Highness down with me.”

“And now?” Zhao Yān asked, pinching her fingertips.

Wenren Lin spoke no more.

He gently pushed down her stubborn head, burying his chin in the fur collar of her fox cloak, slowly nuzzling her slender, white, warm neck.

…

On the sixth day of the bereaved soldiers’ families kneeling at Shunyi Gate, the Emperor finally issued Wei Yan’s execution order with solemnity.

Beheading in public, the body exposed for seven days.

Wei Yan had drunk poisoned wine, but the dosage had been precisely measured so as not to kill him immediately. To appease public anger, the Emperor would ensure he had enough breath left to mount the execution platform; dying beforehand would leave the world without closure.

On the day the imperial edict was issued, Liu Baiwei was summoned to the Eastern Palace.

At that time, Zhao Yān sat behind her desk in the study, staring blankly. The book before her hadn’t been turned in a long while, and her figure, hugging her knees in the lamplight, appeared somewhat frail.

“Your Highness hasn’t been seen for days. Are you hiding in the Eastern Palace, growing mushrooms? Huo Zhenzhen has been turned away several times. If she knew you’d see me but not her, she’d throw another one of her tantrums.”

Liu Baiwei sat down beside her, dusting off his pearl-white robe with gold trim, and looked at Zhao Yān. “The imperial edict for Wei Yan’s execution has been issued. Are you… distressed about this?”

After all, Wei Yan was her uncle, not a stranger without emotional ties. It was said that the Empress had fallen ill because of this matter.

Zhao Yān rested her chin on her hand and slowly shook her head.

Liu Baiwei lowered his voice: “Your Highness summoned me to the Eastern Palace to ask about the Crown Prince, right?”

“You’ve always been clever.”

Zhao Yān rested her chin on her knees, also turning her head slightly. “Last year, why did Zhao Yǎn suddenly suspect something was wrong with the Battle of Yanluoguan?”

“The Crown Prince only discussed new policies with me. He never mentioned Yanluoguan, so I don’t know the inside story.”

At the mention of “Yanluoguan,” Liu Baiwei seemed to remember something, his expression growing solemn. “But before leaving for the summer retreat, he once mentioned during a game of chess that ‘Liu Shun died mysteriously.'”

“Who is Liu Shun?”

“A eunuch, the imperial commissioner sent to Yanluoguan back then. He died suddenly of a severe illness in the eleventh year of Tianyou. Because it was so long ago, I don’t know much about this person and didn’t pay much attention.”

Who could have imagined that such a small suspicion would trigger such deadly intent?

Zhao Yān frowned.

Liu Baiwei seemed to guess her thoughts and said, “With the Crown Prince in danger, any files related to this case must have been destroyed.”

Though she knew this to be true, Zhao Yān still fell into a long silence upon hearing these words, looking quite dejected.

Liu Baiwei took a walnut from the plate but didn’t eat it. Instead, he held it in his palm, resting his chin on his hand and looking sideways at Zhao Yān with concerned phoenix eyes. Clearing his throat, he said: “Hey, let me give Your Highness a hibiscus flower.”

Zhao Yān looked at him suspiciously, saying listlessly: “Don’t try to cheer me up. It’s early winter now; the last chrysanthemums have withered, and the plum blossoms haven’t bloomed yet. There are no flowers.”

She looked so dispirited and melancholy that Liu Baiwei placed the walnut on her table and smiled: “Your Highness, please wait.”

He then stood up and went out, giving Liu Ying some instructions.

Liu Ying’s expression immediately turned strange.

She glanced at Zhao Yān from outside the hall, and seeing no objection, withdrew as told. After a while, she returned with something and handed it to Liu Baiwei.

Liu Baiwei came back and sat down beside Zhao Yān again.

Curious, Zhao Yān leaned slightly toward him, only to see him open his palm to reveal a plump, round… garlic clove??

What was this supposed to be?

Zhao Yān didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and disappointed, she pulled her head back and rested it on her knees again.

Liu Baiwei did not explain. With quick, careful fingers and rounded nails, he extracted the garlic clove and tore the pinkish-white garlic skin into the shapes he wanted. Before long, he had finished his creation.

“Here.”

Liu Baiwei handed over his masterpiece—a hibiscus flower made from layers of garlic skin after removing the clove. The petals had a pink tinge and looked remarkably lifelike.

“It is!” Zhao Yān was astonished.

“Isn’t it? My mother used to cheer me up with this trick all the time.”

Liu Baiwei blew gently, and the fragile garlic-skin hibiscus floated softly to Zhao Yān, landing on her desk.

Zhao Yān smiled slightly, picked up the garlic-skin hibiscus, and examined it closely, still not understanding how Liu Baiwei had made it.

Seeing her smile, Liu Baiwei smiled too. “Now, can Your Highness tell me what’s been troubling you?”

Zhao Yān paused, fingering the garlic-skin flower.

“I have indeed been facing a difficult problem lately.”

She lowered her eyes, swung her legs to one side, and changed her posture to lie on the desk, stretching her arms forward. “But I want to figure it out on my own.”

Liu Baiwei mimicked her posture, lying on the desk with his arms stretched forward and her chin resting on the surface.

After frowning for a while, he said: “It’s because of Wenren Lin, isn’t it? The last time you were this downcast was after the Hairpin Banquet that night…”

Liu Baiwei reluctantly closed his mouth, as if he had mentioned something that bothered him.

Zhao Yān remained silent.

Among clever people, Zhou Ji was better. Even if Zhou Wanlan saw through some hidden truth, he wouldn’t say it out loud to embarrass others.

With this thought, she and Liu Baiwei each harbored their concerns and sighed deeply together.

On the twenty-third day of the tenth month, the wind was cold and the frost heavy.

Today was Wei Yan’s execution day. Outside the imperial street gates, crowds of angry or satisfied onlookers gathered, with the relatives of the deceased soldiers supporting each other at the front—a sea of heads.

Zhao Yān personally ascended the city tower to overlook the execution ground from the palace gate.

At this moment, she had to bear witness on behalf of the deceased Zhao Yǎn.

The official overseeing the execution was Wenren Lin. Seated in the grand chair, he wore dark scholar-warrior sleeves, surrounded by a forbidding chill that none dared approach.

But there was a smile on his lips. Even from this distance, even though he sat in the shadows high above, Zhao Yān could still sense that dark pleasure in his eyes.

The blade reflected a dazzling light; crows took flight, and Zhao Yān instinctively gripped the balustrade.

Almost simultaneously, Wenren Lin looked up and saw the familiar figure on the tower.

The coldness in his eyes gradually dispersed: she looked somewhat unwell.

Zhao Yān was indeed feeling unwell. She held her churning stomach and bent over to compose herself.

Footsteps climbing the stairs sounded behind her, followed by the sound of water. A cup of hot tea was considerately placed before her.

Zhao Yān thought it was Liu Ying and instinctively said: “Thank you…”

But as she took the cup, her slender fingertips touched cold, white knuckles, and she froze.

Looking up, Wenren Lin’s tall, elegant figure stood before her, steady and handsome, just as always.