The smile on Dong Xiao’s face remained, only growing increasingly strange.

“Who gave you this name? Yan Sanhe? I think you should be called Yan Dadan—Yan the Bold.”

He cleared his throat. “Since we could capture you, naturally we’ve prepared thoroughly. If you don’t want to die, you’d better confess honestly.”

Yan Sanhe: “Confess what?”

“Confess exactly where you came from. What are you scheming, mixed together with those people?”

Dong Xiao suddenly turned, opened the door, and shouted loudly toward the courtyard: “Bring the sword!”

The guard pushed open the courtyard gate. As he handed over the sword, he glanced into the room and simultaneously pressed his voice low:

“Master Dong, news just came—the Grand Grandson went to our manor. His Highness wants you to hold your position for now…”

“Understood. Guard outside the courtyard gate.”

The door slammed shut with a “bang.”

The guard was momentarily stunned, thinking inwardly that Master Dong seemed a bit impulsive today.

That woman wasn’t ordinary. Frightening her was fine, but he couldn’t actually use blade or spear!

…

The sword was placed horizontally at Yan Sanhe’s throat.

Dong Xiao said expressionlessly, “First tell me—where did you come from?”

Yan Sanhe’s expression changed immediately. Had Prince Han truly decided on mutual destruction?

Impossible!

“Speak!”

The sharp blade cut through skin, blood welling up.

A wave of pain struck. Yan Sanhe glanced coldly at Dong Xiao once, then closed her eyes.

If only I could know where I came from, that would be wonderful.

“Speaking is impossible. Kill or torture as you please. Anyway, if I die, your master naturally won’t survive either.”

Dong Xiao’s face suddenly contorted.

In a trance, he seemed to see that person with indifferent brows and eyes saying to him: “Going with you is impossible. Kill or torture as you please.”

Clang!

The long sword clattered to the ground.

Dong Xiao retreated several steps consecutively, his chest heaving as he gasped.

Yan Sanhe opened her eyes, deep mockery showing within.

As expected, you still can’t bring yourself to act.

Though frightening people—you certainly have the method down!

“You’ve misunderstood.”

At this moment, Dong Xiao said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Actually, I captured you only to have you listen to a melody. After listening, I’ll release you.”

What?

This time, it was Yan Sanhe’s turn to be confused.

She hadn’t expected things would reverse so sharply, without any transition.

Though Prince Han feared Xie Daozhi and the Imperial Grand Grandson somewhat, it shouldn’t be this quick—blood was still flowing from her throat.

What stunned her even more—

This man actually truly went to the adjacent room and brought out a qin.

“What melody would you like to hear?”

His tone was like asking a very familiar friend.

Yan Sanhe, clever as she was, couldn’t guess what medicine this person’s gourd was selling.

“Don’t understand melodies. Play whatever you want—preferably something short. I want to go home early.”

“Good!”

Dong Xiao set the qin aside first, then retrieved a meditation cushion from inside.

He tossed the cushion on the ground, sat cross-legged, very naturally arranged his robes, then drew a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his fingers one by one.

So slow?

Yan Sanhe thought inwardly this person was deliberately stalling for time!

Finally finished wiping, Dong Xiao tossed the handkerchief aside, placed the qin on his lap, looked up at Yan Sanhe: “Do you know what qin this is?”

“Don’t know.”

“Want to know?”

“Don’t want to know.”

“Seven-string qin, also called Jiaowei or Lüqi. Among qin, chess, calligraphy and painting, the qin ranks first of the four arts. As the saying goes: one pluck flows water, one pluck moon—water, moon, wind arise from pine branches.”

Dong Xiao laughed coldly. “One sound enters the ear, ten thousand matters leave the heart. Yan Sanhe, listen carefully.”

His finger moved, and the qin string emitted a deep, resonant sound.

This begins the playing?

Among qin, chess, calligraphy and painting, Yan Sanhe managed passably with calligraphy and painting, could play chess a bit, but regarding the qin, she truly didn’t understand at all.

What melody was being played?

What meaning did the melody express?

Why did it sound so unpleasant?

The pain in Yan Sanhe’s throat became imperceptible as both eyelids began fighting each other.

Could there be hidden danger within this qin or melody?

She pressed her fingernails into her palm, wanting to use pain to stay alert.

But this qin music seemed infused with the strongest calming incense. Never mind pressing her palm—even if that sword cut her again, she couldn’t wake up.

Unable to hold on, Yan Sanhe’s head drooped and she lost consciousness again.

Dong Xiao set down the qin, hand supporting his chin, staring motionlessly at Yan Sanhe.

For a long while.

He rose from the meditation cushion, walked before Yan Sanhe again, crouched down, and cursed in an extremely low voice:

“Looking this dead—who the hell do you resemble?”

…

Chonghua Palace was Prince Han’s manor. Though Prince Han couldn’t stay there many days year-round, the palace was not only spacious but also magnificent.

Completely incomparable to the Crown Prince’s Duanmu Palace—decrepit and dilapidated.

Zhao Yishi’s party passed through dark corridors and entered the inner courtyard.

At the inner courtyard gate, Prince Han already waited by the vermillion door, Prince Heir Zhao Yixian following behind him.

No matter how favored, rules still existed.

The Grand Grandson had one more imperial character, representing the future heir apparent. Only ministers welcomed rulers—there was no logic of rulers welcoming ministers.

Drawing near, Zhao Yanjin discovered that following behind Zhao Yishi were actually Xie Zhifei and Pei Xiao.

Well now, no longer hiding or concealing?

Zhao Yanjin slightly cupped his hands. “This subject pays respects to Your Highness.”

Zhao Yishi frowned. “Imperial Uncle’s salutation was rather perfunctory!”

Zhao Yanjin’s expression immediately changed.

The two were not only ruler and minister but also uncle and nephew. Previously, even if Zhao Yanjin didn’t perform courtesies, this little beast wouldn’t dare say much.

Today he actually criticized him for being perfunctory?

Seeing his father’s expression change, Zhao Yixian quickly mediated: “These past days have been overcast. My father’s old back ailment flared up. We hope Your Highness will pardon him.”

Zhao Yishi made an “oh” sound. “Have you consulted an imperial physician?”

Zhao Yixian: “We have. It’s an old injury—the physicians have no solution.”

Zhao Yishi: “Mingting, does your Pei family have any good remedies for back injuries?”

Pei Xiao said respectfully, “Replying to Your Highness, back injuries cannot be cured, only nurtured.”

Zhao Yishi: “How to nurture?”

“Cannot sit long, cannot stand long, cannot move long. Most importantly…”

Pei Xiao looked at Prince Han, smiling broadly: “Think less, harbor compassion, do more good deeds.”

Zhao Yixian momentarily didn’t understand. “How do good deeds relate to back injuries?”

“They do.”

Pei Xiao smiled broadly. “Do more good deeds and the Bodhisattva will protect you.”

Zhao Yixian’s expression changed dramatically. “You mean my father did bad deeds, so his back is poor?”

Pei Xiao quickly waved his hands, looking terrified. “Prince Heir misunderstands. That’s not what I meant.”

As if I’m foolish?

“You definitely…”

“Xian’er!”

Hearing his father call, Zhao Yixian obediently shut his mouth.

Prince Han took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his anger, and deliberately asked, “Your Highness, this one is…”

Zhao Yishi: “Imperial Physician Pei Yu’s legitimate eldest son.”

“Oh—”

Prince Han showed sudden realization. “The Young Master Pei whose medical skills cannot be taught no matter how one tries.”

Pei Xiao looked ashamed. “This junior is dull-witted.”

Prince Han: “Knowing you’re dull-witted is also good.”

Pei Xiao’s expression grew even more ashamed.

“Your Highness, this junior has no other abilities. My only ability is self-awareness—knowing what I can and cannot do.”

Zhao Yixian was so perceptive—he always felt the Pei surname’s words carried hidden meaning.

Yet he couldn’t find evidence.

If the son could detect it, how could the father not know?

Prince Han looked coldly at Xie Zhifei, deliberately changing the subject. “This one is…”

—