Upon entering the study, Yan Sanhe immediately smelled a strange odor.

Thinking of the woman who’d just run out, she instantly understood where this smell came from, her face slightly flushing.

On the bamboo couch, Zhao Yanjin lay sideways, chest exposed, glancing at Zhao Yishi with a sardonic tone: “Oh, the Crown Prince has arrived. Forgive me for not welcoming you properly!”

A military general by background, though he indulged in both wine and women, he maintained his physique well. His waist showed little excess flesh, and overall he looked quite robust.

His gaze slanted, seeing Bu Liu, he froze, then laughed heartily.

“General Bu has also come. Tsk tsk tsk, what fine day is today? Rare, truly rare!”

Having contributed to suppressing Prince Han’s rebellion, Bu Liu felt his old face couldn’t quite hang on to Prince Han’s laughter. He quickly bowed: “Prince, good health.”

“Good health I can’t claim. Lucky to keep this life is good enough.”

Zhao Yanjin poured wine into his mouth, speaking sardonically: “This is all thanks to His Majesty’s great benevolence.”

Zhao Yishi remained silent for a moment, then walked before him, looking down from above:

“This trip has two purposes. The first is that General Bu is about to campaign in the north and wishes to seek some guidance from you.”

“No guidance to give—stomach full of wine though.”

Zhao Yanjin leaned forward, raising his cup toward Bu Liu.

“General Bu, what guidance is needed for warfare? Plant more eyes and spies in the enemy camp, and victory comes.”

Bu Liu had earned military merit precisely because he first discovered Prince Han’s suspicious movements. To discover such movements, he certainly relied on informants.

Bu Liu felt all his blood rush to his head. He wanted to retort, but then saw Yan Sanhe’s dark eyes coldly watching him.

The blood that had rushed to his head instantly receded. He deflected with four ounces moving a thousand pounds: “The Prince jests.”

Prince Zhao’s punch landed on cotton. He instantly felt bored, saying lazily: “And the second matter?”

Zhao Yishi: “The second matter is to ask you to recall the events of Yonghe Year Eight in the north, when Old General Zheng died in battle.”

Hearing these words, Zhao Yanjin narrowed his eyes and sneered: “Who are you addressing, Crown Prince? I may have fallen, true, but by rank I’m still your uncle.”

“In this world, there’s no uncle who tries to kill his own nephew.”

Zhao Yishi’s head lowered slightly, each word deliberate: “Uncle, wouldn’t you say so?”

Zhao Yanjin’s face changed several times. He turned over with one leg, flipping his body to face away from them.

“Events from ten years ago—I’ve long forgotten completely. Crown Prince, please leave.”

Such rudeness, yet Zhao Yishi’s expression remained calm, as if reminding him:

“The late Emperor confined you here out of father-son affection. His Majesty provides you good food and drink, doesn’t touch you at all—out of brotherly affection.

But when it comes to this Crown Prince in the future, what affection will there be? Should I cherish the kindness of my uncle repeatedly trying to put me to death?”

Zhao Yanjin’s back stiffened slightly. He sneered: “To sit in that position requires each person’s own ability. Crown Prince must understand.”

“Uncle doesn’t spend much time in the capital, so you don’t understand my temperament well. I’m a man with a very small heart. I’ve always repaid kindness with kindness, and grudges with grudges. For kindness received thirty percent, I return fifty percent; for grudges received fifty percent, I return one hundred percent.”

Zhao Yishi laughed softly.

“I have no way to deal with Uncle—who told the late Emperor and His Majesty to protect you. But there’s an old saying in this world: the father’s debts are repaid by the son.”

Zhao Yanjin flipped over and jumped to sit up from the bamboo couch, roaring: “Zhao Yishi, what do you want to do?”

“What do I want to do? Does Uncle still not understand?”

Zhao Yishi bent down, staring directly into his eyes, his tone unspeakably sinister and terrifying.

“I want revenge! Where should I start? How about Brother Yixian?”

“You dare?”

“What wouldn’t I dare?”

Zhao Yishi’s tone suddenly turned arrogant.

“By then this realm will all be mine. Who can stop me? Killing a Zhao Yixian would be like crushing an ant.”

“You… you…”

Zhao Yanjin clenched his teeth, his entire being like a caged beast, unable to break free, his roars lacking strength, able only to curse:

“You beast!”

“Uncle, isn’t this curse too early?”

Zhao Yishi smiled gently.

“Every time Brother Yixian sees me, it’s always ‘elder brother this, elder brother that.’ This makes me somewhat reluctant.

Originally I thought, when one day I ascend to that position, I must help Brother Yixian no matter what.

He’s still young. He has a long road ahead. He can’t spend his entire life wasting away in this residence.”

Zhao Yanjin stared at him, stared fixedly, even his eyeballs couldn’t turn, but his heart beat rapidly.

Help him?

His meaning was…

“This matter lies in Uncle’s single thought. As the saying goes: one thought becomes Buddha, one thought becomes demon. Buddha ascends to heaven, demon enters hell.”

Zhao Yishi slowly straightened his body, his face showing warm spring colors, as if that sinister, arrogant person from moments ago didn’t exist at all.

After a long while, he asked again softly: “Uncle, have you recalled those memories about Old General Zheng from Yonghe Year Eight?”

Zhao Yanjin’s breathing suddenly became rapid, all the blood in his body stopped flowing, leaving his hands and feet numb, his entire being frozen in place.

Falling from heaven to earth, Zhao Yanjin had no regrets. In this life, he’d had all the glory he should have. Nothing more than “victors become kings, losers become bandits.”

Moreover, to firmly pin down the dignified Crown Prince under his feet for over ten years—in this world, how many could achieve this?

The only person he felt he’d wronged was Yixian, this child.

The prince’s residence was only so large. Walking one circuit took at most two hours. He was only twenty years old. His life still had so long to go—how many two-hour periods would there be?

“Do your words still count?” A trace of savagery appeared on Zhao Yanjin’s face.

Zhao Yishi’s response came word by word: “A ruler’s word is not given lightly.”

Zhao Yanjin: “I don’t trust you!”

“You can only trust me.”

Zhao Yishi spoke plainly: “You have no room to negotiate with me.”

No words could describe Zhao Yanjin’s feelings upon hearing this sentence. In that instant, he had the illusion that the person standing before him wasn’t Zhao Yishi, but the late Emperor.

“Someone come!”

Zhao Yanjin seemed to wake from a dream, forcefully slapping the bamboo couch: “Bring wine—good wine.”

Zhao Yishi turned his body slightly to glance at Yan Sanhe: “Go.”

“Yes!”

Yan Sanhe hurried out of the study. Reaching the courtyard gate, she pulled open a crack in the door and said to Shen Chong guarding the entrance: “Prince Han wants good wine.”

Shen Chong’s expression relaxed, whispering: “It worked?”

“Should have… worked.” For once, Yan Sanhe spoke a sentence in two segments.

While Shen Chong ordered the steward to fetch wine, she quietly turned around.

The Crown Prince’s silhouette reflected in the window. Even across a layer, that silhouette from a distance still appeared as peaceful as the moonlight, as gentle as could be.

Yet she inexplicably felt afraid.

As if the person who’d just stood before her speaking wasn’t the “Huairen” that Third Master and Young Master Pei called with every breath, but a seasoned strategist.

A lofty emperor.