Da Ning Street was lined with eateries and restaurants. By the Hour of the Dragon (7-9 AM), breakfast stalls had set up beyond the canvas awnings, with early workers streaming in continuously.

A carriage was stranded by the roadside, its wheel broken, while several servants and coachmen were hurrying to repair it.

In a teahouse’s private room, Zhou Ji changed into dry, wide-sleeved robes, washed his hands and applied fragrance, then sat back at his desk to spread paper and grind ink, taking advantage of the carriage repair time to rewrite the examination questions.

Sunlight penetrated the cold mist, with crystalline melting snow on the branches.

“I’d rather die as frost on branches than envy the mud beneath noble feet.”

A clear, youthful voice suddenly came from downstairs.

Zhou Ji’s brush paused as he quietly repeated the verse, praising: “A fine poem.”

“One night of east wind melts jade bones, renewing spring for ten thousand homes.”

The final two lines praised snow while expressing aspiration, with such unyielding pride that it reminded Zhou Ji of his younger disciple brother who had died prematurely.

Zhou Ji set down his brush and asked, “Who is this literary sage downstairs?”

…

…

The tea master entered to replace the hot tea and answered: “How could they deserve to be called ‘literary sages’? They’re just a few scholars from Mingde Academy. After their morning lessons, they gather in groups of three or five to drink tea and occasionally compose poetry. I hope they haven’t disturbed our esteemed guest. If you find them noisy, this humble one can ask them to quiet down.”

“No need,”

Zhou Ji said, “Such patriotic aspirations are truly rare.”

“You’re most gracious.”

This place was near the academies and frequented by scholars and refined individuals. Even the tea master was literate. Seeing Zhou Ji’s scholarly bearing, as frost-like and snow-pure, he took the opportunity while brewing tea to open a conversation: “Mingde Academy expanded its enrollment recently. Those with outstanding talent not only receive free tuition upon admission but also stipends and rewards, attracting many poor scholars to study there. Despite the deep winter, it’s thriving.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Well, it’s hard to say whether it’s good or bad.”

The tea master nodded toward the direction downstairs, “Most of them come from impoverished backgrounds, having studied diligently for ten years. The imperial family openly claims to value talent and appoints the worthy. Last spring, the Crown Prince even visited Mingde Academy to hear Master Linjiang lecture, but what use is that? How many truly humble scholars were among this year’s imperial examination graduates? Despite Mingde Academy producing numerous talented individuals, not a single one made the list. Isn’t that laughable?”

Zhou Ji pondered briefly, reminded of the reforms his disciple brother Shen Jingming had sought to implement before his death.

“Even more ridiculous are those officials’ sons who participate in the examinations to save face, then buy connections to secure top rankings. You should know that the examinations are the only path upward for poor scholars. These high officials already have every advantage, born winners from the start, yet they still resort to fraud, pushing aside the heavenly ladder for the poor and suffering. Tsk…”

Seeing Zhou Ji’s silence, the tea master guessed he might be from an official’s family and tensed, hastily concluding, “Please enjoy your tea.”

With that, he bowed and hurriedly went downstairs with the teapot.

Zhou Ji wasn’t bothered at all. He rose and pushed open the window.

Downstairs, several scholars walked together, with someone calling loudly: “Shen Jingqiu, wait for me!”

A youth of sixteen or seventeen turned around, showing his companions a spirited, vibrant smile.

Though his face was indistinct from a distance, Zhou Ji recognized the name.

Shen Jingqiu, Shen Jingming’s younger brother. This youth had also come to the place where his brother had once raised his voice in passionate advocacy.

Looking up, he saw a desolate gray-white landscape. Yet beneath the cold snow lay the seeds of spring’s competitive bloom.

……

In Chongwen Hall, attendants successively brought the writing scales and Go pieces, lighting sandalwood incense in the beast-shaped censers.

In the spring-like warm fragrance, Zhao Yān asked curiously: “No horseback riding and archery lessons today?”

Wenren Lin gestured for her to sit closer: “Your Highness is not feeling well. Horsemanship and archery can wait.”

For some reason, Zhao Yān felt his “not feeling well” carried additional meaning. She instinctively lowered her gaze and shifted uncomfortably.

During Go lessons, Wenren Lin typically taught two people simultaneously: guiding Zhao Yān in placing pieces and arranging positions hands-on while also playing against Pei Sa, managing both tasks without ever losing a game.

Wenren Lin glanced at Pei Sa, placing a stone in the distance, and said calmly: “Six at eleven.”

Li Fu followed the instruction, placing the white piece in the corresponding position, immediately causing Pei Sa’s scarred eyebrow to furrow.

Wenren Lin moved with ease, placing a stone opposite Zhao Yān, his voice somewhat languid: “What has that Zhou fellow taught so far?”

He seemed incapable of properly addressing Zhou Ji by name.

Zhao Yān inwardly complained, holding a piece and resting her chin in thought for a moment before answering: “We’ve completed ‘Mencius’ and ‘Rites of Zhou,’ and before winter began, we reached ‘Tang Mirror: Emperor Zhongzong.'”

Wenren Lin nodded, pointing out seven or eight key topics like “Taking Righteousness” and “Court Critics’ Debates,” saying casually: “The exam questions will likely come from these sections. Your Highness should review them thoroughly.”

The year-end examination was particularly significant, as the essays would even be reviewed by the Emperor. Zhao Yān had been busy dealing with Wei Yan’s case these past days, unable to focus on reviewing, and was indeed somewhat anxious, fearing her performance would expose flaws.

Hearing Wenren Lin’s advice, she carefully committed it to memory.

Nearby, Pei Sa’s ears twitched as he leaned forward, trying to eavesdrop, only to meet Wenren Lin’s deep, penetrating gaze as he calmly asked: “Has the young master solved this move yet?”

Pei Sa didn’t dare disrespect Wenren Lin and sat upright, continuing to ponder deeply.

Wenren Lin and Zhao Yān took turns placing stones while occasionally discussing the key points he had circled earlier. Most of the time, Zhao Yān elaborated on her views with Wenren Lin occasionally correcting her. An hour passed in an instant.

Zhao Yān looked at the board filled with intersecting black and white stones, stretched her waist, and felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment.

“Not bad,” Wenren Lin leaned back in his chair, smiling as he looked at her.

Zhao Yān felt his gaze was no longer as cold and indifferent as before. When he occasionally looked at her, there was such intensity that it made her heart race inexplicably. When no one was paying attention, she glared at him in warning.

Wenren Lin crossed his legs, accepting it with composure.

After reviewing books for another half hour and having some refreshments, they finally saw Zhou Ji enter the hall, covered in frost.

Zhao Yān hadn’t expected him to brave the cold wind to come, and was somewhat surprised: “Attendant Zhou has arrived?”

“Today is the examination, I dare not neglect my duty.”

Zhou Ji removed his cloak and handed it to an attendant. Upright like pine and bamboo in snow, he lifted his robe to kneel and bow: “This subject arrives late. I beg Your Highness’s forgiveness.”

Zhao Yān rose to comfort him: “With snowy roads and slippery paths, it’s understandable. Please rise, Attendant Zhou.”

Since Zhou Ji had arrived, the examination naturally continued. Zhao Yān put away her books and returned to her desk. Wenren Lin didn’t leave but moved to sit in a round chair by the window, his back silhouetted against the snow outside, casually browsing through unimportant official documents handed to him by his subordinates, presenting the appearance of an exam supervisor.

Zhou Ji remained focused, his gaze straight ahead, and said nothing.

When the examination papers were distributed, Zhao Yān quickly scanned them and was surprised to find that most of the topics Wenren Lin had circled for her earlier had indeed appeared. She took the brush that Li Fu had prepared with ink and, after brief thought, began writing.

An incense stick’s time flew by, with the incense clock chiming a delicate response.

Zhao Yān turned in her answer sheet with refreshed spirits, while in contrast, Pei Sa looked as wilted as a frost-stricken eggplant, clearly tormented by the classical prose.

With only two examination papers, Zhou Ji used a vermilion brush to grade them on the spot. After the grading was complete, Zhao Yān had the papers handed to eunuchs to present to her father for review, then approached Wenren Lin.

“It’s an A grade.”

She reported her score in a soft voice, her clear eyes slightly curved with a hint of a smile.

As expected, Wenren Lin looked up and asked: “Are you hungry?”

Zhao Yān touched her stomach and nodded: “Yes.”

Wenren Lin’s lips moved slightly as he closed the official documents and handed them to his subordinate, then rose to lead Zhao Yān through the side door toward the rear hall.

Approaching dusk, the sky had already darkened, with cold air enveloping the shattered jade-like snow in the courtyard.

Along the winding corridor, the two walked side by side at a leisurely pace. Zhao Yān drew her sleeves close and asked: “Nine-tenths of the topics you mentioned today appeared on the exam. You didn’t happen to peek at Zhou Ji’s questions, did you?”

Wenren Lin laughed dismissively: “Those pedantic scholars always set the same tired old questions. One could guess them.”

Zhao Yān smiled as well, raising her delicate eyebrows: “Then what about Zhou Ji’s carriage?”

“Wasn’t Your Highness muttering about today’s examination while sleeping last night?”

“Did… did I?”

Zhao Yān stopped walking and glanced at the attendants following far behind, lowering her voice, “That’s not right. How do you know what I said in my dreams? Did you not sleep all night?”

Wenren Lin merely smiled without speaking, gazing down at her for a moment before slowly walking away.

His eyebrows and eyelashes were thick and long, and when he smiled at someone, it created an illusion of deep affection. Zhao Yān was momentarily dazed before quickening her steps to catch up.

The hem of her cloak swayed back and forth as she smiled: “The snow scenery today is lovely. How about we sit around a brazier and warm some wine?”

In a corner where no one could see, Wenren Lin raised his hand to pat her head lightly, the touch brief.

The rear hall had a tea room for rest. Since private fires were not allowed in the palace, Zhao Yān moved over a charcoal basin for warmth and ordered an iron rack to be set up. Before long, Li Fu led a group of attendants carrying dried fruits, peanuts, oranges, persimmons, and other items, along with a plate of washed raw taro and two pots of Luofu spring wine.

After warming the wine, they wrapped the taro in wet paper soaked in fermented rice wine and placed it on the iron rack to slowly roast. They scattered two or three oranges around it, which would be warming and drive away the cold when eaten hot.

The attendants stood far away in the corridor, while the tea room remained quiet, offering a view of the frost and snow in the courtyard.

The two people sitting by the brazier at the entrance – one in dark clothes and a great cloak, tall and handsome; the other in an apricot-white cloak, beautiful and slender – complemented the blue eaves hiding snow in the distance, forming a picture in themselves.

Wenren Lin held a black Jian cup, which accentuated his long, white fingers. He glanced at Zhao Yān, who was silently turning the taro beside him, and asked: “Did you encounter difficulties in the examination?”

Zhao Yān came back to herself and shook her head: “Not really. The difficulty wasn’t the questions, but having to write in someone else’s style, weighing every word, considering every sentence, unable to express my true thoughts. For instance, that question about ‘Those who labor with their minds govern others; those who labor with their strength are governed by others.’ Why should those who perform physical labor be inferior and governed by scholars? Without laborers, where would the imperial grain allowances and military provisions come from? It’s said that ‘Before troops and horses move, provisions must go first,’ showing the importance of farmers to the court. Even Mencius himself said ‘The people are precious, the ruler light,’ yet he classified commoners as inferior people, which is self-contradictory.”

Her eyes danced with the warm light of the charcoal fire as she held bamboo tongs in one hand and supported her chin with the other, speaking languidly: “Ancient sages said ‘The rise and fall of the nation is everyone’s responsibility,’ but if everyone is responsible, why place the hope of governing the country solely on the royal family? It sounds reasonable, but if everyone truly had the right to govern and protect the country, those who speak these grand principles would leap out to denounce it as a collapse of propriety and overstepping bounds…”

While she was rambling on, a low laugh came from beside her.

Zhao Yān looked over in surprise: “What are you laughing at?”

Wenren Lin held his cup against the tip of his nose, half-lowering his eyelids, containing his light laughter in his chest, looking utterly unrestrained.

This man was truly handsome when he smiled, outshining even the courtyard’s sunset snow.

Zhao Yān slowly frowned, then heard Wenren Lin approvingly say: “Your Highness’s thoughts remain refreshingly original.”

“You’re mocking me,” Zhao Yān glared at him.

“How would I dare?”

Wenren Lin raised his eyes from behind his wine cup, his dark pupils capturing her lively expression as he said in a low, deep voice, “This prince simply appreciates Your Highness’s unconventional thinking.”

Zhao Yān was startled, her heart suddenly skipping a beat.

Though they had shared the most intimate contact, they rarely mixed public and private matters or exchanged such unfocused sweet talk.

“You just said you like… what?”

She suddenly seemed unable to speak properly, widening her eyes, her usual eloquence becoming halting.

Steam rose from the brazier as Wenren Lin remained silent.

He put down his wine cup and leaned forward, but only to take the bamboo tongs from Zhao Yān’s hand, his fingertips grazing the back of her hand as he turned over the taro on the iron rack.

“Be careful not to burn it,” he said languidly, lowering his gaze to cover that hint of a smile.

“Brother Crown Prince!”

A crisp call pulled Zhao Yān’s thoughts back to reality.

She hurriedly sat up straight, looking up to see Huo Zhenzhen wearing a priceless snow fox cloak approaching joyfully, followed by the more gentle and elegant Fourth Princess Zhao Xuan.

“I heard about today’s examination and knew you wouldn’t leave too early, so after paying respects to the Empress, I came right over.”

Huo Zhenzhen was naturally carefree and joyful as she smiled and said, “Just now outside Chongwen Hall, I heard Attendant Zhou grading Pei Sa’s paper. Guess what poem he wrote?”

Zhou Ji’s examination papers were very detailed, covering not only policy essays and questions but also poetic composition, with the final question asking for a poem based on the scenery.

However, while Pei Sa excelled in martial arts, he found studying most troublesome, so his poetry was predictably unimpressive.

Before Zhao Yān could answer, Huo Zhenzhen put her hands on her hips and recited: “‘Great snow in the capital like goose feathers, fluttering and drifting, covering the ground.’ It’s killing me with laughter.”

“I… I think the poem is quite good.”

Zhao Xuan’s voice came, soft and delicate. “Great elegance can seem common, but it’s straightforward and endearing.”

Just as she finished speaking, Liu Baiwei and Pei Sa arrived one after another.

Pei Sa had heard Zhao Xuan’s praise just now. His furrowed brow relaxed slightly as he bowed to Zhao Xuan before standing at her left and saying: “Thank you, Fourth Princess.”

His voice was slightly tense, with a hint of youthful pretense at maturity.

Zhao Yān found it amusing to watch, then heard Liu Baiwei stride forward saying: “What are you roasting? It smells good.”

Zhao Yān smiled in response: “Taro and oranges, plus peanuts and fine wine. Come join us?”

Liu Baiwei was about to report something to her and took two steps forward before stopping on the steps, frowning as he looked at Wenren Lin, who was drinking by himself, seemingly wary and displeased.

“We young people are appreciating the snow and discussing matters. Why is there an outsider present?”

Hearing the words “we young people,” Zhao Yān didn’t immediately grasp the mockery within.

Looking around at everyone in the courtyard, including herself, they were indeed all young men and women under twenty years old. Wenren Lin was several years older than this group, and with his high position and powerful presence, he appeared even more steady and inscrutable.

Wenren Lin probably hadn’t expected that one day he would be disdained by a group of eighteen and nineteen-year-olds for being too old.

The more Zhao Yān thought about it, the more she felt Liu Baiwei was harboring some private grudge. She couldn’t help covering her mouth with her sleeve and bursting into laughter.

Wenren Lin’s expression remained unchanged as he raised his sleeve to set down his cup.

It was a very light sound, yet even the fearless Huo Zhenzhen shrank her neck.

“The little prince of Yingchuan doesn’t know, but some people don’t care for youngsters, preferring those of this prince’s more mature age.”

Wenren Lin calmly called Liu Baiwei by the title he most despised, with a cold and casual smile: “Besides, elders have their advantages. For instance, if this prince ordered you to kneel, you would have to kneel. If I wanted to punish you, the Prince of Yingchuan would rush to hand me the whip.”

“You…” Liu Baiwei’s face indeed changed color.

“Prince Su is just joking,”

Zhao Yān, fearing that Wenren Lin would keep his word and make Liu Baiwei suffer, quickly gave him a warning look.

Wenren Lin remained composed, his emotions unreadable, as he agreed: “Your Highness is right. This prince was merely joking.”

Yet who would dare speak out of turn again?

Liu Baiwei was a proud-hearted person. He looked at Zhao Yān and then at Wenren Lin, feeling frustrated, and then turned and punched the accumulated snow on the corridor railing.

The snow scattered like shattered jade, with some falling on Huo Zhenzhen’s sleeve and the back of her hand nearby. She cried out, “Ah!” from the cold, her face wrinkled like a white steamed bun: “Zhao Baiwei, what are you doing!”

With that, she crouched down to gather a handful of hard, clean snow, packed it tightly, and threw it at Liu Baiwei, hitting his boot with a splat.

Liu Baiwei, coincidentally needing to vent, also grabbed a handful of snow to retaliate – but considering she was a girl, the snow was loose and soft, hitting her like gentle dust.

Even so, Huo Zhenzhen still shrieked from the cold, stomping her feet and shaking her head like a small dog.

Back and forth in the courtyard, snowballs of all shapes suddenly filled the air.

With this diversion, the earlier tense atmosphere completely dissipated, replaced by continual shrieks of laughter. Even Zhao Xuan cast aside the restraints of propriety, finding a corner to carefully form snowballs.

Zhao Yān watched eagerly, her eyes curved in a smile as she straightened up and beckoned to Li Fu: “Go, bring me a pouch of snow as well.”

If not for having to maintain the persona of the frail and sickly “Crown Prince,” she would have joined the wild play in the courtyard.

Li Fu quickly gathered a lapful of snow and brought it to her. Zhao Yān took a handful and shaped it, shivering from the cold but with unrestrained joy in her eyes.

“I’ll just enjoy this one handful. Pour out the rest quickly, don’t let your clothes get wet and cold.”

She was fully focused on shaping her snowball when, unexpectedly, a solid snowball from the courtyard flew off course, heading straight for her face.

Zhao Yān had just looked up when a dark sleeve descended before her, blocking the snowball.

The snowball fell to the ground, breaking in half.

“That was close…”

Zhao Yān clicked her tongue and was about to turn to express her thanks when she saw Wenren Lin shaking his slightly damp sleeve before taking the shaped snowball from her hand and squeezing it.

His expression remained unchanged, his long, powerful fingers almost the same color as the white snow, with distinct knuckles.

Zhao Yān couldn’t see clearly how he exerted force, but the snowball in his palm became ice-like, transparent, and compacted, looking substantial and extremely hard.

With a flick of his wrist, the ice ball flew with a whistling sound toward a snow-covered pine in the courtyard. With a crash, all the accumulated snow on the tree shook loose, nearly burying Liu Baiwei and Huo Zhenzhen beneath it.

The attendants and palace maids were so frightened they almost knelt, hurrying forward to clean and attend to their masters. After a round of screams, things finally quieted down.

Zhao Yān was struggling to hold back her laughter until her stomach hurt. She hadn’t been this unrestrained for a long time.

Wenren Lin wiped the moisture from his hands and, using the desk and his wide sleeves as cover, pinched her little finger.

Zhao Yān trembled, the smile still in her eyes as she looked at him in shock, but the instigator maintained an innocent and serious expression, unperturbed.

Huo Zhenzhen changed into dry clothes and returned as the taro finished cooking. She wheedled, wanting to sit close to the “Crown Prince,” but unexpectedly heard Wenren Lin say: “Set up a seat for the lady in a sheltered spot.”

Attendants waiting in the corridor came forward to set up a charcoal basin and seating in a sheltered spot behind the door.

Though this spot was sheltered from the wind and warm, it was quite far from the “Crown Prince’s” seat. Huo Zhenzhen was somewhat dissatisfied and was dragging her seat closer when she heard that calm voice again: “Men and women should not share the same seat.”

Despite her reluctance, Huo Zhenzhen had no choice but to comply.

Zhao Yān was in good spirits, eating roasted taro and oranges, and drinking two cups of Luofu spring wine. For a time, her mood was light and carefree.

Until dusk fell and the last palace gate was about to be barred, Huo Zhenzhen and Liu Baiwei’s group reluctantly bid farewell.

Before leaving, Liu Baiwei solemnly handed Zhao Yān a stack of letters, which was the purpose of his visit.

Zhao Yān, with a slight intoxication, boarded the carriage to return with Wenren Lin.

The carriage lanterns dispelled the night’s chill. Her cheeks were flushed, surrounded by a faint wine fragrance as she opened the letters Liu Baiwei had presented, looking through them one by one, involuntarily smiling in understanding.

The letters contained transcribed poems and essays from the scholars of Mingde Academy, brilliant and vigorous.

Learning from Zhao Yǎn’s failure, Zhao Yān had not personally interfered with Mingde Academy’s expansion but had entrusted it to the reliable Liu Baiwei. Though she couldn’t appear publicly, it didn’t diminish her current joy.

Because Mingde Academy, whose light had been extinguished for a year, had come alive again in her hands.

“I’d rather die as frost on branches than envy the mud beneath noble feet.”

She recited her favorite line from the poems, then moved her gaze to the signature and paused slightly.

Shen Jingqiu…

If she remembered correctly, this should be the brother of Shen Jingming, one of the Twin Brilliances of the Li School.

Shen Jingqiu’s talent was far inferior to his brother’s, but this aspiring poem already indicated he would follow the same path as his brother. The passion in his heart was no less than Shen Jingming’s.

The predecessors burned their souls as lamps, and what the successors could do was to walk forward on their embers.

Wenren Lin sat nearby, observing every subtle change in Zhao Yān’s expression before calmly asking: “Are you that happy?”

“I’m happy not because these letters came from Liu Baiwei, but because the spark hasn’t been extinguished, and the long night will soon brighten.”

Zhao Yān smiled as she carefully folded and put away the letters. Perhaps due to the slight intoxication, her words increased, carrying a tired and soft trailing tone.

“By the way, have you noticed? When Pei Sa speaks to Fourth Sister, he instinctively stands on her left side… Among so many people, only he remembers that Fourth Sister has an ailment in her right ear.”

As she spoke, she let out a light sigh, unclear whether of satisfaction or envy, “I wonder when I can truly be myself again, wearing the dresses I want, doing what I wish, being as free as they are.”

Wenren Lin gazed at her face, flushed from wine, and said slowly: “If Your Highness wishes, you could be yourself again tomorrow.”

Zhao Yān looked at him somewhat sluggishly, with light passing through her eyes before returning to calmness.

She shook her head very lightly and said softly: “When one day the ten thousand lanterns of this capital city aren’t just for show but truly reflect peace and prosperity, when people understand why Zhao Yǎn and those Mingde Academy scholars died and are willing to clear their names, then I will leave.”

She showed a light smile, “This way, even if I dream of Zhao Yǎn one day, I can face him with my head held high and say: Look, I’ve cleaned up this mess for you.”

Wenren Lin reached out to smooth her folded fox fur collar, his strong knuckles grazing her slightly reddened cheek as he said in a low voice: “If you insist on uncovering the whole truth, that sharp reality may cut Your Highness yourself.”

“I’m not afraid. Whatever the truth may be, I will not retreat.”

Zhao Yān raised her moist eyes, the tear mole below her eye burning like blood, her slender white fingers wrapping around Wenren Lin’s knuckles as she firmly said, “Teach me, Grand Tutor. Teach me to fight, teach me to continue!”

Wenren Lin gazed at her for a long time.

The carriage swayed, with the lanterns beneath the palace walls flickering through the swaying curtains, casting no ripples in his eyes.

Just when Zhao Yān thought he wouldn’t respond, his pale thin lips finally moved slightly.

“This prince will not kill the innocent, nor will I help the Great Xuan in the slightest, much less abandon my vengeance for Your Highness’s sake.”

He lowered his gaze, caressing her flushed and expectant face, murmuring, “Not involving others is already this prince’s greatest kindness. Is Your Highness satisfied with that?”