The other day at Pei Manor, though he had gone there to help Lizhu escape danger, the one who had truly saved her was that bandit chief. As a man, Tan Xun couldn’t help but take it to heart.

Who would have thought that yesterday, Lizhu would come to him on her own, asking whether he could accompany her to the government office.

He turned slightly, gazing tenderly at the curve of her brows and eyes.

That day, forced by circumstance, he had agreed to her request to dissolve their betrothal—but deep down, Tan Xun had never given up the thought of marrying the Princess.

Lizhu was still young, just at the age of rebellion. Being momentarily fascinated by some wildflower from outside was perfectly normal.

Could she really end up with some mountain bandit from the countryside?

Time was still on his side—once they returned safely to Luoyang, give it another couple of years, and when Lizhu had forgotten that bandit, she would once again, as before, look up to him fondly and call him “Brother Yuhui.”

“Careful.”

The carriage jolted. Tan Xun caught Lizhu by the wrist, steadying her as she swayed.

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

Lizhu shook her head, but his hand still held hers—unwilling to let go.

•—–٠✤٠—–•

Gu Bing’an heard the sharp sound of chopsticks snapping between two fingers.

He drew back his gaze and said, “Since the Mountain Lord has already decided to send her back to Luoyang, you should know that a princess will, sooner or later, have a prince consort by her side. If not Tan Xun, it will be someone else. Why take it so much to heart?”

Pei Zhaoye pulled out another pair of chopsticks and said coldly, “Anyone else is fine. Just not him.”

Gu Bing’an was momentarily puzzled.

By the time Pei Zhaoye finished his fourth bowl of wontons, the grand procession of the Princess had finally arrived outside the government office.

The officials, upon hearing the news, hurriedly came out to greet her.

That Princess Qinghe had appeared here was not surprising—but that Tan Xun should ride in the same carriage with her, arriving all smiles, was entirely beyond their expectations.

If memory served, wasn’t this Tan Xun’s second uncle the very mastermind behind the plot to assassinate the Princess?

Could it be that Princess Qinghe truly did not know the truth?

That question was soon answered.

Inside the main hall, Chang Jun carried in a large chest and placed it before everyone’s eyes.

Zhao Weizhen glanced between Lizhu and the chest, his expression uneasy.

He asked, “Princess, this is…?”

The young princess sat kneeling in the seat of honor, radiant as jade and pearl, her brightness drawing every eye in the room.

They had heard that the late Empress Mi Jiang had been the first beauty of Nan Yong, though few had seen her in person.

Now, upon seeing this Princess of Qinghe, they realized her mother’s reputation for beauty had been no exaggeration.

Yet for one born a princess, beauty was the least of virtues.

Her brows and eyes were indeed exquisite, but her demeanor appeared timid and soft, devoid of the noble dignity that would make her untouchable. Even the high-born among them could not help but feel a trace of condescension.

As though unaware of their scrutiny, Lizhu spoke in a faint, timid voice:

“…A few days ago, there was a misunderstanding between the Tan family and myself. All of you must have heard. Lord Tan Rong thought I had met misfortune here in Yiling and feared it would cause turmoil. He sent the Pei brothers to secretly search for me, but who could have expected that they would harbor evil intentions—seeking both wealth and life. Fortunately, the Commandant of the Guards arrived in time to save me, preventing disaster. Young Master Xun also came personally to explain, resolving the misunderstanding.”

The officials were stunned.

Such a clumsy excuse, and she believed it?

If no one were pulling the strings, how could the Pei brothers dare to plot against the Princess herself?

Lizhu continued: “The Pei brothers are truly vile. Not only did they attempt to harm me, but they also hid many absurd, slanderous records defaming all of you within their manor. I brought them here especially for your inspection.”

Zhao Weizhen stepped forward to open the chest. Inside were stacks of ledgers and records, filled with accounts of confidential affairs.

At a glance, many of the names recorded there were all too familiar.

Zhao Weizhen seemed to realize something and cautiously asked:

“Does the Princess believe these are false testimonies?”

“Of course,” Lizhu lifted her soft, mild, easily-deceived face. “What else could they be?”

The officials exchanged glances with one another in sudden understanding.

The Princess didn’t believe the Tan clan, she had to believe them.

These records were the same: even if a three-year-old could see they were true, she would still declare them false.

Unseen, the tension that had coiled through the hall quietly eased.

Yes, this was the right path.

If the Princess merely raised her hand, those below her could breathe again—why drive matters to mutual ruin?

Only the Prefect, Cui Shiyong, remained unmoved, his expression still fixed and watchful upon Lizhu.

Zhao Weizhen’s eyes darted. “Since the Pei brothers have committed such monstrous crimes, we should head to the Pei residence at once and bring them to justice!”

“Too late.”

Lizhu’s tone was soft, almost ethereal. “The two have fled in fear of punishment. Their whereabouts are unknown. But I have already sent the Commandant of the Guards to search for them. Perhaps, if we wait a few more days, their tracks will be found.”

Her words made every heart in the room tighten again.

If they had truly fled in fear, this was not the tone one would take.

What they feared most was that the Princess sought to leave Yiling, fabricating this story as leverage to coerce them.

If they let her go safely, perhaps they’d soon “find” the Pei brothers.

But if they refused, then who knew where those brothers might suddenly turn up?

A low, aged voice drifted through the hall:

“Oh? Then we must search carefully indeed. To slander imperial officials is a crime punishable by death; to plot against the Princess herself, unforgivable. The Princess ought to remain in Yiling, on behalf of the court, to supervise this investigation.”

So, they would not let her leave.

Lizhu rose to her feet and, without warning, reached out to seize the nearby oil lamp, striding toward the gathered officials.

Tan Xun’s brows furrowed sharply, clearly unsure what she meant to do.

She was a princess, precious as gold; these ministers were pillars of the realm.

If she were to harm a court official without cause, public outrage in the court would explode— even His Majesty would not be able to withstand it.

Tan Xun said hurriedly, “Princess—”

Suddenly, a blaze flared to life.

The officials stared in shock as she flung the lamp into the chest—lamp oil splattered outward, and in an instant, flames devoured the records within.

…She burned them! She actually burned them!

The faces of those present could not hide their elation.

She had burned the very evidence that could have overturned Yiling’s entire bureaucracy—proof enough that she had no wish to oppose them, only to coexist peacefully, leaving each other well alone.

Since that was the case, why would they risk everything by plotting against the Princess?

Cui Shiyong’s sharp gaze suddenly swept toward Lizhu.

Amid the flickering firelight, she was looking back at him as well.

It was still that same face—tender as morning dew, timid and innocent.

Lizhu lowered her eyes and said softly, “Since the Prefect insists, I shall remain a few more days and await the good news from all you gentlemen.”

The officials watched as the Princess boarded her carriage.

Her procession turned toward the Xiangcheng marketplace—it looked, from the outside, as though the Princess was going out for a leisurely stroll.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Inside the carriage, Lizhu could not ignore Tan Xun’s frequent glances, each one lingering longer than the last.

Every so often, her eyes flicked warily toward his hands—she could not let him seize her hand again for no reason.

Tan Xun said, “On this trip, the Princess seems to have grown overnight. You’re no longer that little girl who used to clutch my sleeve and wait for me to rescue you, it makes one feel a bit… wistful.”

Hearing this, Lizhu, who had been on guard, couldn’t help but soften a little.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course,” Tan Xun exhaled lightly. “This way, the Princess will be able to leave Yiling safely.”

But inwardly, Lizhu shook her head.

Her goal had never been to leave Yiling. This was merely her first step—a small, cautious test.

But Tan Xun didn’t need to know that.

All he needed to do was accompany her, parade about the streets, let the world see that she could even forgive the Tan clan who had tried to kill her—that she was soft-hearted and easy to bully.

Lizhu turned back to glance in the direction of the government office.

She wondered if things were going smoothly for Pei Zhaoye.

The carriage suddenly stopped.

Lizhu came back to herself just as Tan Xun stepped down, turned, and smiled as he extended a hand toward her.

“Since we’re already out, why not stroll through the market? The pins, rings, and robes on the Princess are all borrowed—it would be good to pick up a few of your own along the way.”

Tan Xun had always been attentive in such matters.

He would always choose the most fashionable hairpins for her, the skirts that best matched her fair skin. All Luoyang’s merchants knew that Young Master Tan and Princess Qinghe shared a deep, affectionate bond—so tender, so enviable.

But what that sweetness truly tasted like, only Lizhu herself knew.

“Little lady, your husband has such a good eye! This pink hibiscus shade suits your fair skin and delicate looks perfectly. Why not try it on? If it doesn’t fit, I can alter it for you,” the shopkeeper’s wife said cheerfully, each word “your husband” making Tan Xun’s ears redden slightly.

Yet he didn’t correct her.

“Lizhu,” he said, holding up the gown, his voice soft and patient, “do you like it?”

Lizhu’s mind had long drifted elsewhere, replaying over and over the events that had just taken place in the government office.

At his question, she only answered absently, as she used to do in childhood:

“It’s pretty. I like it.”

“Then why not try it on?”

Troublesome.

But this time had to be spent anyway.

Lizhu followed the shopkeeper’s wife into the back room.

The clothes she was wearing were borrowed from the Pei family’s eldest madam—slightly too large for her. She undid the outer robe, half lost in thought as she changed into the hibiscus-colored gown.

…Hm? Why did it look so messy when worn?

“Princess truly hasn’t touched spring water with her fingers, can’t even dress herself, can she?”

At the sound of that voice, Lizhu’s eyes lit up.

“Pei Zhaoye! How did you get here?”

He was hanging upside down at the window like a bat, arms crossed. With a twist of his waist and a light swing, he leapt into the room without a sound.

A wooden tag dangled from his finger, swaying slightly—carved with the characters “Cui Shiyong.”

It was the very nameplate that hung on Cui Shiyong’s dossier in the government archives.

“Bamboo slips were too bulky to carry, so I had Gu Bing’an bring them back to Pei Manor first.”

Lizhu, worried he might not recognize the characters and take the wrong tag, reached to inspect it more closely—but Pei Zhaoye raised his hand a little higher.

His sharp, predatory gaze swept briefly over her disheveled gown.

“The belt’s tied wrong.”

Lizhu glanced down—indeed, he was right. She turned behind the screen to retie it.

Pei Zhaoye stood on the other side of the screen. He ought to have stepped back for propriety’s sake, yet for some reason, he didn’t move.

“You want me to find Cui Shiyong’s record, why? Among the people in Yiling, he doesn’t even hold much sway.”

Lizhu said, “Because he’s the Prefect of a whole commandery, and he’s the one who wants me dead the most. After going to the government office today, I’m even more certain of it.”

Pei Zhaoye found her rather amusing.

They all wanted her dead, yet she was ranking them by priority?

“And after you’re certain?” Pei Zhaoye drawled lazily. “You plan to kill him?”

Pulling the belt from the wrong place, Lizhu started dressing again from the top.

“No. I’ll wait for him to come kill me.”

Pei Zhaoye laughed. “Brave of you. I look forward to seeing you and that sixty-year-old old man fight to the death.”

“Are you looking down on me again?”

“I wouldn’t dare look down on a princess… But what’s wrong with this fancy dress of yours? Why isn’t it on yet?”

Lizhu grew a little annoyed.

“I don’t know either! Normally Xuan Ying helps me dress, I don’t know how to tie this belt myself.”

He thought of how, earlier, they had sat side by side in the carriage while he passed by outside.

The shopkeeper’s wife had mistaken Tan Xun for her husband, and she had simply let it pass without correcting her.

Pei Zhaoye’s expression turned cold.

“Heh. Who told you to wear the gown that pampered young lord picked out for you? Go on, tie it yourself.”

“…You’re awfully irritable. Who’s gotten under your skin?”

“Every powerful, privileged noble under heaven.”

The room fell quiet.

From behind the screen, half a head peeked out.

“Does that include me?”

“…Not you,” he muttered begrudgingly.

At that answer, Lizhu’s eyes curved into a smile.

She knew it, he would never truly be angry with her.

Pei Zhaoye stared at her for a moment.

Smile? She wouldn’t be smiling in a moment.

“Lizhu?”

A gentle voice sounded from outside the door.

“Is the dress difficult to put on? If needed, I can have the shopkeeper come help you.”

Lizhu was just about to say okay.

The next moment, a burning body pressed against her.

“Turn around, lean against the wall.”

He said in a low voice, giving her slender shoulder a light but firm push.

Lizhu, caught off guard, was turned around by him, her palms pressed against the wall.

While her mind was blank, the long arm that reached around her front easily loosened her sash. The dress, which was originally secured only by a waistband, immediately came undone.

…Huh?

Indecent memories surged up, and her legs instinctively began to go weak.

“Lizhu?” Tan Xun outside the door asked again, “Do you need help?”

Lizhu opened her mouth: “I…”

His breath was warm, his chin pressed against her ear, close enough to nibble with a slight lowering of his head.

Pei Zhaoye did not move, but the hand holding the thin belt around her waist suddenly tightened.

The force was too strong—it didn’t seem like he was tying her sash, but more like a bandit tying up a hostage, cinching her already slender waist even tighter, making it look as if it might snap at any moment.

Lizhu pitifully leaned against the wall, panting.

What was he suddenly so angry about?

She turned her head, her misty eyes glimmering with fragmented light.

“No need, I am already dressed,” she said, word by word, to Tan Xun outside.

Meeting those moving, aggrieved eyes, Pei Zhaoye snapped back to reality. The anger that had burned in his chest for most of the day quietly extinguished, leaving only empty ashes.

She was angry.

Pei Zhaoye paused.

Under Lizhu’s gaze, still tinged with faint anger, he relaxed his grip and readjusted the waistband.

Finally, after a moment of consideration, he carefully and cautiously tied a pretty bow at the end.