The royal hunt had been thrown into utter chaos by the sudden assassination attempt.

The princes and young lords hurriedly ordered their guards to patrol the camp, tightening their defenses. The young ladies of noble families, on the other hand, huddled together in fear, as if the assassins might leap down from the mountain at any moment.

A few of the noble girls even tried to throw themselves into the Crown Prince’s arms, seizing the opportunity to display their delicate, helpless sides—perhaps, if they played their cards right, they might even replace the current Crown Princess and become the new one.

Within the span of a single incense stick, the Crown Prince caught three women who had conveniently “fallen” in front of him. Utterly helpless, he could only call the Fifth Prince over to help him count heads and reorganize the guards.

The Third Prince was a libertine, unreliable in every sense. The Second Prince was relatively modest and proper, but now lay gravely injured under a canopy. Among all the princes, only the Fifth was known to be sharp and capable.

The Fifth Prince, of course, knew well that his Crown Prince elder brother was so mediocre that any unexpected incident would send him into a flustered panic. With a faint smile, he poured the Crown Prince a cup of tea.

“Elder Brother has been busy all day. Feeling a headache is only natural, even the gods cannot keep working without rest. Why not take a break and let your Fifth Brother handle things for now?”

The Crown Prince finally let out a sigh of relief. “In that case, I’ll trouble Fifth Brother.”

The moment the Fifth Prince left the tent, his smile faded. Moving with decisive precision, he gave his orders: whoever dared to shout or spread panic again would be punished without exception. He split the guards into three groups—one to go up the mountain and investigate traces of the assassins, another to escort the noble ladies safely back to their respective residences, and the last to remain behind to defend the camp. A few men were also sent to the palace to report the incident. Within a short time, the chaos had been brought under control.

Then he summoned an attendant and asked, “The young gentleman who hunted the Snow Wolf King today, whose son is he?”

The attendant replied, “Reporting to Your Highness, he is the third son of Prince Ning’s household.”

The Fifth Prince’s gaze swept toward the group of young lords gathered by the bonfire—and immediately settled on the youth dressed in a black-and-red narrow-sleeved hunting outfit.

There was no other reason but this: the youth’s bearing stood out, like a crane among chickens.

The young lords around him were all flustered and noisy, flapping about like frightened hens, while he alone stood quietly among them, not even lifting his eyelids—composed, indifferent.

In such a scene, he didn’t look like an ordinary noble son at all, but rather someone with the budding poise of imperial blood.

The Fifth Prince couldn’t help but glance at him a few more times.

He walked over and smiled at Lu Huan. “Congratulations. A hero at such a young age—if I recall correctly, the third son of Prince Ning’s household just turned fourteen last year, and is only fifteen now.”

Lu Huan handed the straw lantern in his hand to someone beside him, then lifted his gaze. “Your Highness flatters me.”

It was not his first time seeing the Fifth Prince. The last time, when he went to Yong’an Temple under the guise of the divine physician to meet with the Minister of Revenue, he had seen the Fifth Prince’s horse in Zhong Ganping’s stable—and thus guessed that the prince himself was behind the screen.

This time, the Second Prince’s assassination looked shrouded in fog—whether by bandits or rebel soldiers, no one could tell. But Lu Huan suspected it was neither. It was either the Fifth Prince’s doing… or the Second Prince himself crying thief to catch a thief.

Of course, judging from what Lu Huan knew of the Fifth Prince—though only a few years older than himself, the youngest among the imperial brothers—he might appear naive and harmless, but beneath that lay a deep and calculating mind. Surely, he must have foreseen that if the assassination failed, he would be the first suspect. Therefore, he likely had other plans in motion. When the Second Prince tried to steer the investigation toward him, he would present evidence in turn, making the Emperor believe that it was the Second Prince who had orchestrated the entire affair and framed his brother.

In the end, who would have the upper hand in this game of chess—Lu Huan couldn’t care less.

Within the capital, the undercurrents among the princes were fierce and perilous. He had no intention of taking part in such power struggles.

But that person—

That person, who came and went freely, a master of mechanisms and arithmetic—why had they suddenly chosen to save the Second Prince today?

Were they… standing on the Second Prince’s side?

Or was that person aligned with no faction at all, simply saving a life out of kindness?

If that person had taken the Second Prince’s side—if their goal was to support him in ascending to power—then all the help he had given these past days… could it be that it was all for this purpose?

To nurture him, help him gain a firm foothold in the capital, so that later, out of gratitude, he would lend the Second Prince his aid?

Yes, that must be it.

That man had laid such careful groundwork, letting him earn prestige in the capital under the name of the divine physician—surely it couldn’t have been for no reason.

But if one were to think along those lines, then so many other things that person had done… would make no sense at all.

Like that bowl of birthday noodles.

Like the way he’d tended to him with such care.

Or perhaps… today’s rescue of the Second Prince had no scheme behind it at all—just a whim.

That person, moved by compassion, had seen the Second Prince wounded and fallen to the ground, and simply reached out to save him.

But that wound on the Second Prince’s chest—the way the medicinal powder had been spread so evenly—

The thought pricked at Lu Huan’s heart, a faint ache curling beneath his ribs. His eyes darkened slightly.

A “casual rescue,” was it?

Then why had he applied so much of the wound powder with such care?

Did they use their hand to spread it? Or something else?

That person must have opened the Second Prince’s robes, touched his bare skin to apply it…!

And even feared that the Second Prince might bleed out and die—leaving behind a lantern so the guards could find him sooner?

That was clearly not a casual rescue!

It was attentive—meticulous—even tender… no different from that night when that person had tended to him, helping his fever subside.

—Then… would there be others next?

So, that person’s gaze hadn’t been on him alone?

…He wasn’t special. He wasn’t unique.

He was merely one among many?

Lu Huan had no idea what that person’s true motives were.

But whether he had saved the Second Prince for the former reason or the latter, it felt as though someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head—and at the same time, stolen something vital from his chest.

He found it hard to breathe… his heart tight with frustration, jealousy gnawing beneath his calm.

As Lu Huan’s expression grew more shadowed, the Fifth Prince couldn’t help but glance at him again.

When the youth had just lifted his eyes, for the briefest instant, the Fifth Prince had thought—he bore a faint resemblance to his own handsome, austere father, the Emperor.

But how could that be possible?

He suspected that the camp was simply too dim and that he’d imagined it. Smiling faintly, he said, “Once the assassin affair is concluded, in ten days’ time, Father will bestow rewards for the Qiuyan Mountain hunt. Before then, you should think carefully about what prize you wish to receive.”

Having said that, he turned away and went to congratulate the other young lords.

The royal hunt thus came to an end.

Someone from Prince Ning’s residence brought back the good news—that Lu Huan had taken first place. The entire household was stunned. None of them had ever imagined that Lu Huan could distinguish himself in the Qiuyan Mountain hunt, much less emerge as the champion!

To slay the Snow Wolf King was no easy feat—and the Third Young Master had only just turned fourteen, still a boy in every sense.

Though everyone in the Prince’s residence knew he was far stronger than the eldest and second young masters—hauling water buckets with ease, shooting a hundred arrows without missing—since there had been no direct comparison, and he had never been given a chance to hunt, none had realized he could actually bring down the Snow Wolf King itself!

…Then again, the Old Madam had come from the Zhenyuan General’s household, and the Zhenyuan General had been a valiant warrior who pacified the borderlands in his youth.

Could it be that the Third Young Master had inherited that bloodline?

The Old Madam naturally thought so. She had once lamented that none of her three grandsons had inherited the martial prowess of the Zhenyuan General’s line—but now… she was overjoyed beyond measure, trembling with excitement.

She had originally sent Lu Huan to the Qiuyan Mountain hunt with the hope that he might get close to the Second Prince.

But when the guards returned with word that Lu Huan had not exchanged a single word with the prince, she had felt deeply disappointed, scolding herself for having a grandson too sharp-edged, too ignorant of courtly networking.

Yet to her complete astonishment—this illegitimate grandson had achieved far more than she had ever dreamed.

He hadn’t merely mingled with the Second Prince, he had taken the top prize!

…And with that, not only could he forge ties with the Second Prince, but come the day of the imperial rewards, he might even catch the Emperor’s eye!

The Old Madam was overjoyed—if not for the need to keep appearances and avoid letting other households see her gloating, and if not for the rheumatism that kept her from walking, she would have long ordered a celebratory feast for her illegitimate grandson. Even so, she immediately instructed her attendant to send Lu Huan a set of new clothes and rewards, along with her personal congratulations.

As for Princess Ning and the bedridden brothers Lu Yuan and Lu Wenxiu, they were, of course, seething with frustration once again.

But that was another story.

───♡───

Lu Huan led his horse into the courtyard and tied it to a wooden post. After feeding it in silence, he returned to his room, his mood heavy.

Last night, as always, he had left a small note and a new wooden carving in the little box beneath the table leg. But that person had gone to Qiuyan Mountain today—risked life and limb to save the Second Prince—and hadn’t even had time to come to the pear blossom tree to tell him. Naturally, that person hadn’t had time to check his note or the carving, had they?

Though he told himself that, his gaze still lingered on the table leg. After a moment, he pressed his lips together and pulled out the little wooden box.

And indeed—

…it had not been touched.

It felt as though a hand had twisted something deep inside his chest.

A nameless jealousy, a restless ache, coiled around his heart.

He knew he shouldn’t feel this way.

He shouldn’t be so greedy—wanting to see that person, to know what they looked like, what their voice sounded like, what expression they wore.

Wanting to be the only one who could touch him, speak to him, have him, belong to him.

And even more—wanting that the things that person had done for him, he had done for him alone.

Who in the world was as greedy as he was?

So greedy it was almost disgusting.

…But he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t stop the possessiveness that rose from within.

He just felt so—so terribly sad.

As if… he wasn’t the only one anymore.

As if he was no longer unique.

He had been out in the cold wind all day, and now even his skin felt chilled.

Looking at the empty desk, he fell silent. He didn’t know what note to leave today—

Should he ask why that person hadn’t come?

Was there even a need to ask? If he did, it might only annoy the other.

Pretend nothing had happened, write something else instead?

Lu Huan steadied himself, spreading a piece of paper on the desk. He dipped his brush in ink and wrote slowly:

> “You seem not to have come today, but that’s all right. I didn’t wait long.

> Something came up midway, and I left early. My apologies.”

When he finished, he looked at the note and pressed his lips together again, dissatisfied.

Irritated, he crumpled the paper into a ball and burned it over the candle flame.

He truly didn’t know what to write today.

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he knew that person would never give him an answer.

His heart was a tangled mess for the first time in his life.

Unconsciously, he looked toward the rabbit lantern hanging beneath the eaves—but the image that surfaced was of the same straw lantern that man had left behind after saving the Second Prince.

Lu Huan’s lashes trembled. Jealousy—bitter and uncontrollable—coiled around him once more. He closed his eyes, finally set down his brush, and went to wash the blood and grime from his face and body. Then, he climbed into bed early without writing another word.

───♡───

Su Xi ate quickly—as fast as she could—but as soon as she finished, she was promptly shoved into the kitchen by her mother to wash the dishes.

“Mom! Why is it my turn again? I’d rather still be in the hospital!” she complained, face full of resentment.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” her mother scolded, stern-faced. “Hurry up and finish the dishes. Go back to your room and review a bit more—you have your monthly exam tomorrow, don’t you?”

Su Xi limped into the kitchen, washed the dishes in barely ten minutes, then dashed back to her room and unlocked her phone in a hurry.

…At this hour, her little Zai Zai should be asleep.

Sure enough—when she logged in, the quilt on the bed had already risen into a small lump, like a tiny hill.

Su Xi had flaked on her little Zai Zai today, and guilt gnawed at her a little. She was already thinking about what she could send him as an apology gift.

But first—she wanted to see what kind of note he’d left.

Maybe he’d written something complaining that she hadn’t shown up… though, knowing her Zai Zai’s personality, even if he was disappointed, the note would definitely say something like: “Mm, you didn’t come. It’s fine. I didn’t go either.”

Her Zai Zai was always so stubborn, saying one thing while meaning another.

Thinking that, Su Xi couldn’t help but chuckle. She reached out lightly and opened the little compartment under the table leg.

And then—froze.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Nothing—?

There was no note inside.

He hadn’t written anything?!

What the hell!! This was the first time he had ever failed to leave her a note!

Was it because she hadn’t come today, and now he was sulking?!

Seriously? Wasn’t this too kindergarten-level childish?!

Su Xi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She looked at the wooden bed—her Zai Zai was sleeping facing the wall, one arm under his head, the other draped over his eyes. He didn’t look like he was sleeping well; his brows were furrowed, his face full of troubled dreams.

She zoomed in the interface.

There were faint scratches on his pale neck—barely visible but obvious against his skin. Probably from the hunt today, hidden earlier by the blood and grime so she hadn’t noticed before.

Her guilt instantly multiplied—times twenty.

Su Xi wanted to do something. Maybe apply medicine to his wounds, then leave behind a little “bearing brambles to plead guilty” picture to apologize—though she wasn’t sure if her Zai Zai would understand that idiom or perhaps she could redeem a small item from the in-game shop to cheer him up.

She was just sitting on the bed, about to open the shop, when the door suddenly opened.

Her mother’s voice came: “Xixi, why haven’t you started studying yet?”