Whether it was from standing too long in the cold wind or from overestimating her understanding of capital punishment, Zhao Yān suddenly felt her stomach churning.

Her face paled slightly as she accepted the tea Wenren Lin offered, sipping it in small mouthfuls.

Wenren Lin extended two jade-like slender fingers to check her pulse, lowering his gaze slightly as he said, “Your Highness shouldn’t come to such a filthy place. Don’t let the stench of the execution platform soil your eyes.”

The warm flow dispelled the sourness in her throat. Zhao Yān took a deep breath and wiped the water droplets from her lips, saying, “No, I must come.”

Suddenly, a commotion erupted below. The guards shouted, but to no avail.

The relatives of the fallen soldiers and the indignant citizens all seemed eager to rush onto the execution platform, wanting to tear a piece of flesh from the treacherous official, as if only that could quench their hatred.

Zhao Yān gripped her teacup and asked, holding the railing, “Aren’t you going down to oversee it?”

Surely Wenren Lin wouldn’t want to miss such a satisfying scene.

But Wenren Lin merely stepped forward slowly, naturally raising his sleeve to shield her eyes, blocking the chaos and filth below. His tall figure commanded such presence that even the howling wind seemed to quiet down wherever he stood, leaving only the clean, faint fragrance from his sleeves.

Wenren Lin turned his head, glancing down disinterestedly.

As if thinking of something amusing, a ripple of deep emotion appeared in his eyes, and he asked in a measured voice, “If it were this Prince on the execution platform, would Your Highness come to watch?”

Zhao Yān’s heart felt as if someone had suddenly squeezed it. She couldn’t understand how Wenren Lin could speak of such a terrible scenario in such a calm, leisurely tone.

Her chaotic thoughts seemed to surface again, with nowhere to hide.

“Yes.”

Seeing Wenren Lin’s lips curve upward, Zhao Yān looked up earnestly and added, “But I hope that day never comes.”

Below, the angry crowd gradually calmed. Wenren Lin withdrew his gaze and returned it to Zhao Yān’s face.

He looked at the pure determination in her eyes for a long while, then nodded in agreement with an “Mm.”

“The execution platform is too dirty and noisy. That day will never come.”

He spoke lightly, “If the student surpasses the master, at most I would hand the blade to Your Highness, to have you send this Prince on his way. That would be satisfying.”

Zhao Yān looked at him in disbelief, frowning as she said, “Wenren Lin, you’re mad.”

“This Prince hasn’t been sane for quite some time.”

Wenren Lin chuckled softly, lowering the hand that had been blocking her view, and adjusted her fox fur collar, saying, “Your Highness is increasingly easy to tease. Don’t stand foolishly in the wind for too long. It will snow today; you should return early.”

He was as steady and reliable as always, completely at ease, as if nothing had ever happened.

True strength isn’t shaken by external forces, and Zhao Yān knew she still had far to go.

She didn’t want to show conflict or weakness in front of him, so she forced a calm gaze, nodded, and turned away.

Wenren Lin watched as Zhao Yān descended the stairs. Only after she had gone far did Cai Tian dare to approach to ask the master how to handle Wei Yan’s remains after seven days.

Wenren Lin gazed into the distance over the railing, the trace of warmth and humor in his eyes completely vanishing.

“Hang the head for sacrifice. The rest… grind it to pieces and feed it to the dogs.”

Back then, eighty thousand corpses were buried in that lonely city, without graves or tombs. The Wei family’s fate naturally couldn’t be better than theirs.

Dark clouds loomed overhead, and the cold wind carried the scent of frost. Heavy snow was coming.

Zhao Yān didn’t return to the palace immediately but first visited the Rong family residence.

After Rong Fuyue had coughed up the blood congested in her heart that day, Zhao Yān had secretly sent her back to the Rong family to recover, letting no one know except the Rong family and Wenren Lin.

The current head of the Rong family was Rong Shiqing, Director of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices. This man was an old acquaintance of Empress Wei; Zhang Xu from the Imperial Physician Court had been recommended by him—a trustworthy ally.

Rong Shiqing had never married. Though approaching forty, he remained handsome and dignified, looking much younger than his actual age.

After paying his respects, he shook his head painfully when Zhao Yān asked about Rong Fuyue’s recent condition: “My sister is burdened by heavy thoughts, drowning in past events. She still can’t eat much.”

Rong Fuyue was sitting by the window reading, her figure even more slender than before. Even in thick winter clothes, she didn’t appear the slightest bit bulky.

She saw Zhao Yān from a distance and quickly put down her book to bow.

“Aunt Rong, there’s no need for such formality.”

Zhao Yān stood outside the window, gesturing for her to rise.

Rong Fuyue’s cloud-like hair was unusually thick, even among women, contrasting with her beautiful, porcelain-like face, which appeared small and white, like a paper painting of a beauty devoid of vitality.

Rong Fuyue looked up at the sunless sky and suddenly asked, “Is it past noon?”

“Yes, it’s noon.”

Zhao Yān replied, “That person’s execution is complete.”

After a long while, Rong Fuyue finally nodded.

Zhao Yān couldn’t help recalling the scene at Shunyi Gate, where this frail woman had bowed in apology to the crowd on Wei Yan’s behalf. Her heart ached: “Heaven’s justice is clear. Aunt Rong need not blame herself.”

Rong Fuyue shook her head, saying in a daze, “This concubine simply doesn’t understand why someone like me still lives in this world.”

Why was even death a luxury?

Zhao Yān understood her thoughts and said softly, “Has Aunt Rong considered that if you were to die now, how would you face those you wish to see in the underworld?”

Rong Fuyue froze.

“Life is precious, and Aunt Rong didn’t marry Wei Yan voluntarily. At the core, you are just one of over eighty thousand victims. If you feel guilty, there are many ways to atone. Ending your life is only a coward’s choice—meaningless except to free yourself from pain.”

Rong Fuyue’s shoulders trembled. She bit her lip and said shamefully, “This concubine is so shallow. I’ve embarrassed myself before Your Highness.”

Zhao Yān seized the moment: “Many orphans of those fallen soldiers have no one to care for them. I plan to establish a school to take them in and teach them to read and write. Among them are many girls who need a female teacher. If Aunt Rong doesn’t mind, would you like to try?”

Rong Fuyue looked up in surprise, and after a long while, murmured, “Could I… do that?”

Zhao Yān smiled warmly: “Of course you can. Aunt Rong is accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and you have such a gentle nature. You’ll certainly teach those children well. But before that, Aunt Rong must take care of your health; otherwise, I wouldn’t dare ask you.”

As they left the courtyard, Rong Shiqing bowed deeply to Zhao Yān with clasped sleeves.

“This official thanks Your Highness for comforting my sister and giving her hope to live.”

“The hope came from within herself. I merely pointed out a path.”

Zhao Yān raised the corner of her lips slightly, accepting the hand warmer Liu Ying handed her. “Besides, I may need to rely on Minister Rong in the future.”

Rong Shiqing quickly bowed lower, saying softly, “This is my duty as an official. How dare I be worthy of the word ‘rely’?”

Zhao Yān smiled without speaking.

To illuminate a murky world, every wick, regardless of size, is important.

Before departing, Rong Shiqing casually asked, “I’ve heard Empress Wei is slightly indisposed. How is she faring recently?”

Zhao Yān replied, “She’s much better now.”

Rong Shiqing acknowledged with an “I see” and bowed once more in farewell.

…

The clouds spread like ink, and the imperial palace was quiet and desolate.

“Wei Yan is dead. He said nothing before his death.”

A young Taoist priest stood before the hall, reporting with his hands lowered.

When Wei Yan was imprisoned, to protect Rong Fuyue’s life, he would have kept silent. But who would have expected Rong Fuyue to take poison in front of Wei Yan? Concerned that this was deliberately orchestrated, and that Wei Yan, without his weakness to constrain him, might reveal unfavorable information, the master had gone to the execution site to confirm he couldn’t speak before returning to report.

Wind gusted through the hall doors, making the hanging gauze flutter. The hundred eternal lamps jumped accordingly, and the shadowy slender figure behind the screen also seemed to dance wildly.

A red lacquer box was open on the table, containing two fresh dark red pills.

The person raised a hand slightly, and the Taoist priest immediately held up his palm with thumb and index finger bent, saying, “Yes, Master.”

…

Upon returning to the palace, Zhao Yān first visited Kunning Palace to attend to Empress Wei’s illness.

Empress Wei had removed her heavy phoenix crown and robes. With her hair half-bound, she reclined on the couch, showing some of the vulnerability of an ordinary woman.

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with me. You needn’t come daily to serve medicine. It’s just that with Wei Yan’s grave situation, I can only resort to this strategy to avoid suspicion, not wanting to offend your father’s eyes.”

Empress Wei drank her medicine, handed the empty bowl to the palace maid, and said coldly, “The Three Judicial Offices consulted with your father and originally sentenced Wei Yan to death only. It was I who removed my hairpins and knelt to beg the Emperor to change it to beheading and dismemberment.”

As she spoke, her nails almost dug into the flesh of her palm. With trembling lips, she asked, “You know why.”

Zhao Yān certainly understood the source of her mother’s anger.

The Crown Prince’s death remained a secret. Others thought the Empress was merely being impartial despite family ties, unaware of the pain of losing her son.

He was her most prideful child.

The Crown Prince was diligent and intelligent, harboring grand ambitions. Even when seriously ill and coughing blood, he still smiled to reassure everyone… Yet such a brilliant youth died at the hands of his blood relative—how absurdly cruel.

“Though Wei Yan is my brother, since entering the palace, I’ve had little contact with him. I never imagined that for his gain, he would even… to his nephew.”

Empress Wei rubbed her brow, suppressing her breath as she said, “He was extreme since childhood—if not becoming a sage, then becoming a demon. I only regret being confined in the deep palace, enduring and avoiding him, unable to stop him earlier, ultimately bringing fire upon myself.”

“I understand, Mother.”

Zhao Yān knelt by the couch, lowering her eyes and pinching the edge of her sleeve. “Before, I didn’t understand why Mother was cold-faced and cold-hearted to everyone. Now I think Mother perhaps sees more clearly than I do.”

Empress Wei, momentarily distracted from her heart-wrenching pain, looked at the young person beside the couch: she couldn’t recall when this very similar face had lost all traces of another’s shadow.

Just like her name, Changfeng—a long wind, resilient and unrestrained, colorless and formless, yet capable of stirring calm waters and making all things bow.

“Does Mother have any further instructions?”

Zhao Yān instinctively lowered her eyelashes, covering the tear mole at the corner of her eye.

Mother gazed at her face in a daze, probably thinking of Zhao Yǎn again, she thought.

Empress Wei’s red lips moved, but after a moment of hesitation, she only said, “Your father has been under pressure from the public unrest recently, quite stagnant in spirits, increasingly reliant on pills to sleep. When you go to Taiji Palace to pay respects shortly, you should be careful with your words.”

Zhao Yān nodded: “I understand, Mother.”

Empress Wei wanted to say more, but Zhao Yān, as if unable to sit still, rose to bow: “I shall take my leave now. I wish Mother health and peace.”

Looking at her departing figure, Empress Wei moved her arm slightly and sighed softly.

Zhao Yān left Kunning Palace and went directly to Taiji Palace.

The case of Wenren Cang had shocked the entire nation, causing a significant impact on the Emperor’s prestige. Though her father wouldn’t say it, he was extremely concerned about whether public sentiment had been appeased. Now that this case was finally settled, she needed to report to her father.

Lost in thought, Zhao Yān’s steps quickened slightly as she ascended the stone steps of the terrace, completely missing Eunuch Feng, who bowed and emerged from a side hall, also walking along the corridor in her direction.

Zhao Yān nearly bumped into him. Eunuch Feng was also startled, exclaiming, “Oh! Crown Prince, did this old servant offend you?”

“It’s nothing…”

Before she could finish, Zhao Yān noticed a small red lacquer box on the old eunuch’s tray, covered by a cloth.

Only a corner of the box was visible, but Zhao Yān recognized it immediately. This palm-sized lacquer box seemed identical to the one in which Wenren Lin kept his antidote!

Her heart tightened involuntarily.

She paused, asking calmly, “What is Eunuch Feng carrying?”

Eunuch Feng adjusted the silk cloth on the tray and smiled ingratiatingly: “In response to Your Highness, these are things for His Majesty’s perusal.”

Zhao Yān lowered her eyes to conceal her emotions and adopted a humble posture: “Since they’re for Father, please proceed first, Eunuch.”

“I wouldn’t dare. This old servant isn’t in a hurry. Your Highness, please go ahead.” The old eunuch stepped aside.

Zhao Yān said nothing more, entering the hall to kneel and pay respects to the Emperor.

The Emperor gave some instructions, but Zhao Yān didn’t hear clearly. Her mind was filled with thoughts of that small red lacquer box.

Was Wenren Lin’s antidote bestowed by her father?

But hadn’t Priest Shen Guang died? If he wasn’t the true master, then who was making the pills now?

Zhao Yān knelt on the floor tiles, reporting the execution events, feeling an icy chill to her bones.

Leaving Taiji Palace, she happened to pass the old eunuch.

The north wind mixed with powdery snow struck her face, stinging painfully.

The powdery snow hopped on the ground like salt granules. Looking up, all she could see was gray and white.

Red furnace melts snow. Zhao Yān vaguely began to understand. In her urgent state, the cold wind entered her lungs, causing her to suddenly cover her mouth and cough.

Liu Ying, waiting at the gate of Taiji Palace, immediately opened an umbrella to shield her from the wind and snow.

The umbrella rim painted with red plum blossoms reminded her of someone’s crimson official robe.

Besides being adversaries, there might be a second path between her and Wenren Lin.

“Have Li Fu invite Prince Su. Tell him I wish to see him.”

Zhao Yān pressed her fist against her lips, urging quietly, “Hurry.”