The delivery boy who received a string of coins left with a face full of smiles.

The others also seemed very happy, only Lizhu could not smile at all, wishing she could find a bowl of water to drown herself in.

That shopkeeper actually didn’t remind her!

Was he bullying the princess from Luoyang for never having seen the world before!

Lizhu stomped upstairs with loud, thunderous steps.

“—Not allowed to look!”

Just as the inner room’s lamp was lit, Pei Zhaoye was holding a lampstand in one hand, half-squatting in front of a chest, just about to lift the lid when a hem of light rattan-purple skirt brushed across his face.

He raised his eyes and saw Lizhu turn around and directly sit on that chest, glaring at him in annoyance with a pair of eyes.

“Without my permission, how can you open it on your own?”

The lamplight illuminated half of his face, faintly smiling, and he said:

“They just said this chest was for ‘Shen Lizhu’s husband’. Are you her husband?”

Lizhu widened her eyes and lightly kicked his shoulder with her toe:

“…I am Shen Lizhu! I paid the money!”

“That’s still useless.”

He easily grasped her lower leg. Her leg was so slender that it was almost entirely enclosed in his palm.

Lifting his head, Pei Zhaoye looked up at her from below, his dark eyes filled with a strong sense of aggression.

“Since it’s a gift for ‘Shen Lizhu’s husband’, even if the Heavenly King himself came, it still belongs to me.”

As he said this, his gaze was fixed intently on Lizhu.

…As though she was the gift he was impatient to unwrap.

Lizhu was stared at until her face turned inexplicably red and hot.

“It’s yours, of course it’s yours. I just didn’t let you open it now. It’s all that shopkeeper’s fault! I should have reminded him earlier, told him to deliver it secretly… this wasn’t part of my original plan.”

One lamp’s light was just enough for Pei Zhaoye to clearly see her little expressions — frowning at one moment, regretting at another.

“Then what was your original plan?”

“Of course, to first have a coming-of-age ceremony. Although the conditions don’t allow inviting a great guest to preside, the process of wearing the black cap and donning the leather crown should still be done. When the time comes, I’ll act as the one to crown you, and Gu Bing’an can be the assistant… only after that would come the gift presentation. I was still waiting to see your expression when you received it.”

The scene of that blood-reeking coronation in the dream was completely overshadowed by the image she described.

Lizhu listed it all one by one, and he lowered his eyes, quietly listening.

“Whatever you give me, I’ll be happy, because it’s from you.”

Lizhu’s lips curved up:

“I know. Even if I gave you a pot of what you see as chives, you’d still say you’re happy.”

Thinking of that orchid he used to wipe every day in the previous life, Lizhu couldn’t help but want to laugh.

How could he act so well?

Yet as she laughed, a trace of melancholy arose again.

If only she had realized earlier.

She should have told him, even if he couldn’t tell the difference between chives and orchids, even if he needed to eat four bowls of rice in one meal, even if he was a rough man completely different from the noblemen of Luoyang City—

She still thought he was the best in the world.

Lizhu bent down and smiled, saying:

“But I want to make my husband even happier, can’t I?”

Outside the window, dense and fine snow struck the bamboo leaves in the courtyard. The night was tranquil, long-lasting.

Yedu was snowing.

A pair of broad, scorching hands cupped Lizhu’s face. His fingers slid past the back of her ear and sank into her hair, his fingertips rubbing against her delicate cheek as he called her softly:

“Lizhu…”

She made a rising sound, signaling him to continue speaking.

“It suddenly feels a little uncomfortable.”

Lizhu’s gaze instinctively lowered.

Pei Zhaoye laughed, pulling her hand to press against his chest.

“It’s here.”

Lizhu was puzzled: “Why would it feel uncomfortable there?”

“Don’t know.”

His voice was very light.

“Did you catch a chill and get sick?”

Lizhu analyzed seriously, “I told you, you’re wearing too little! No matter how unafraid of the cold you are, you shouldn’t wear so little.”

“Don’t know. I’ve never been sick since I was little.”

Pei Zhaoye himself couldn’t understand it.

It was clearly the sweetest love words in the world, yet when they entered his ears, a kind of belated ache rose in his heart.

It seemed he had never thought she would call him husband in such a sweet voice.

Nor had he thought there would be someone who so earnestly prepared a birthday for him, asking for no benefit, only wanting to make him a little happier.

The world he knew wasn’t like this. It felt as though this world shouldn’t treat him like this.

Lizhu didn’t understand—how could someone who had just easily lifted a large chest by himself suddenly say his chest felt uncomfortable now?

But Lizhu would rather believe it might be than believe it could not be.

So she didn’t let him carry the chest anymore, just left it in his room, only instructing him not to open it.

She even went out to call the maidservants, telling them to urge the innkeeper to quickly bring up hot water for washing.

“…Why did you bring your brush and ink here?”

While arranging the blank wooden slips, she said:

“Aren’t you feeling unwell? I’ll stay here tonight to take care of you… But since I’ve been staying in Yedu these past few days, I happen to need to write a letter to send out.”

“Writing to your Imperial Father?”

“Mm.”

Lizhu rolled up her sleeves and began to grind the ink, but before she had ground much, Pei Zhaoye casually took over.

He was now skilled at grinding ink—how much water to add, what consistency was proper—he no longer needed Lizhu’s instructions; he could do it perfectly even with his eyes closed.

“I’ve never asked you—since you left home, hasn’t your Imperial Father urged you to return?”

Propping her chin with her hand, she smiled as she watched him grind the ink:

“He has, back in Yiling he already urged me. But he can urge all he wants, whether I listen is another matter. I replied to him, saying that as long as he doesn’t refine elixirs or launch grand projects to build some Ascension Platform, I’ll go back. He’s never once given me a direct reply, so I just play blind like he does.”

From Yiling to Jiangzhou, Emperor Mingzhao had sent her five letters.

Each one was written on three or four sheets of silk, yet the truly important words amounted to only seven or eight sentences.

Before, when all the officials of Yiling resigned, he told her to handle the matter carefully.

When Jiangzhou suffered famine, he reminded her that the officials there were powerless and unreliable.

And in Wanjun, he told her not to get involved in the conflict between Hongye Stronghold and Tan Rong—if they wanted to fight, let them fight.

Aside from that, the content went back and forth, sounding like an old tortoise earnestly lecturing a little tortoise:

Think thrice before acting, preserving one’s life is most important, if things truly don’t work out, return home as soon as possible.

Lizhu thought all of it was nonsense.

So when she wrote back, she only wrote what was necessary; in general, it went like this:

Silk is expensive, say less nonsense, don’t eat elixirs, if you have money, send money.

Pei Zhaoye watched her finish the letter beside her, raising an eyebrow:

“…You won’t let me curse the dog emperor, but the way you talk to your father isn’t much more polite.”

Lizhu shot him a glare: “How can that be the same? I promised you I’d make him a wise ruler, this is admonishing the monarch!”

A maid knocked on the door, delivering the hot water. Pei Zhaoye got up to take it, wrung out the cloth, and wiped her face for her.

“Yes, admonish him well. Tell him to nurture you more, and don’t count on that stupid brother of yours.”

“…You’re talking nonsense again.”

Lizhu’s cheeks, rubbed until red, mumbled a few words.

“Open your mouth.”

Lizhu obediently opened her mouth, letting him brush her teeth.

Pei Zhaoye said, “Also, write down those things you heard at the jewelry shop today. Let your father deal with Tan Jing and vent your anger for you.”

Lizhu, with a mouthful of water, shook her head.

After spitting out the saltwater, Pei Zhaoye wiped her mouth. Lizhu spoke distractedly:

“My Imperial Father and the Minister of State’s interests are tied together. He won’t punish him harshly over just a few words. At most, he’ll say a few things to scold him a little. It’s not worth offending the Minister of State for such a small matter. As for Xue Daorong…”

In the previous life, the Xue family failed in their rebellion and met the fate of extermination of three clans.

Thinking of that woman in the previous life, after learning the news, clutching Tan Jing and crying bitterly, snot and tears flowing everywhere, Lizhu’s heart felt somewhat complicated.

She said, “Forget it.”

“Why forget it?”

“Forget it is forget it, because I’m easy to bully.”

Lizhu put down her brush and lay on the couch. Someone helped her remove her shoes, holding her foot to place it into the perfectly warm water.

Lizhu suddenly sat up.

“No, wait, wasn’t I the one supposed to take care of you?”

Pei Zhaoye didn’t even lift his head, a smile playing at his lips as he cooperatively said with a tone of realization:

“That’s right, wasn’t the princess supposed to take care of me?”

He gently held her foot. The hot water was soothing, making one feel drowsy.

Lizhu saw his expression calm as usual, showing no sign of illness. Hugging her pillow contentedly, she lay back.

“You’re too skilled at this… Next time, next time for sure!”

After serving the princess, Pei Zhaoye washed up and tidied her brushes and ink before lying down beside her.

Lizhu moved a little toward him. The two lay on their sides, facing each other:

“Tomorrow’s the first day of the month. I want to go to Yedu’s Yuedan Review. The day after, I’ll celebrate your birthday, and three days later, how about we return to Yanshan?”

“What are you going to that Yuedan Review for?”

“To earn money.”

Lizhu blinked.

“Did I not tell you? Last year I asked the Grand Preceptor to send my writings to the Yuedan Review for the Xie family’s young men to critique. I gained a bit of fame from that… But it wasn’t under the name of Princess Qinghe. I used a false identity — from the Zhongli clan of Hedong.”

The Zhongli clan of Hedong was once a prominent family in the previous dynasty.

But by the current dynasty, after repeated wars and changes of rule, the clan’s members had long scattered to make a living elsewhere, leaving behind only a clean reputation in name.

Lizhu then took advantage of this loophole, presenting her calligraphy under the name of Zhongli Chun, a supposed descendant of the Zhongli clan.

Unexpectedly, she received high praise from the Xie family’s young scholars on the spot.

Within less than three months, all the scholars in Nanyong knew that there was a calligrapher named Zhongli Chun, who had inherited the structure and strength of the late emperor’s running script, writing with a refined and graceful flowing-cloud style.

Marvelous beyond compare, she was regarded as the foremost master of running script in the current age.

Unfortunately, after that stunning appearance, her works were immediately collected by Grand Preceptor Zheng Ci.

All the scholars under heaven who wished to borrow rubbings to copy from were unable to, leaving behind only the Xie family’s commentary, which stirred endless imagination.

“…I heard the Grand Preceptor say that there are even people in the city impersonating Zhongli Chun, selling fake calligraphy and swindling quite a bit of money from those noble young masters. Rather than letting them profit, it’s better that the real one earns it.”

Lizhu wrinkled her nose, huffed softly, and said:

“Tomorrow I’ll have Gu Bing’an bring my calligraphy and appear in the name of Zhongli Chun’s friend. By then, someone will surely come asking to see it or borrow it for viewing—I’ve written an entire chest of pieces. No matter how much money it brings, it’s better than nothing.”

Pei Zhaoye asked, “Why must you use a false identity?”

Lizhu blinked. “Because a princess’s calligraphy cannot circulate outside the palace.”

He frowned. “Who made that rule?”

“…Seems like no one did, but everyone abides by it—it’s ritual propriety.”

When a princess’s calligraphy circulated beyond the palace, it was called improper according to propriety. Yet when there was a need to marry her off to barbarians, these same people could stuff her into a Hu man’s bed.

This so-called propriety was indeed very flexible.

Pei Zhaoye’s expression showed a faint, cold sneer.

Lizhu yawned, mist gathering in her eyes:

“Tomorrow… I’ll also take the chance to meet the local noble families of Jiangzhou.”

Raising troops consumed greatly; the court’s treasury could offer only limited aid. The best way was still to gain the support of those wealthy, influential clans.

Although Lizhu knew this idea was somewhat like a fool’s dream.

Even if those great clans of Jiangzhou had once followed the Xue family, they would not follow her.

But Lizhu only wanted to try. Even if it didn’t work, there was no loss. And besides, she could meet those elegant and learned gentlemen.

She said, “…I wonder if Xie Ji will be there. I’ve read all his writings, and I’ve always wanted to meet him since I was little…”

Pei Zhaoye, whose eyes had just begun to close, opened them again.

“How old is he?”

“Forty-one,” Lizhu said. “I heard he’s a refined scholar with a beautiful beard.”

Pei Zhaoye stared at her particularly radiant smile.

“You remember quite clearly… Forty-one—it truly is the age of lingering charm.”

Lizhu widened her eyes, looking at him in disbelief:

“If you don’t know how to use those words properly, then don’t use them carelessly!”

“Heh, haven’t even met that famed scholar you’ve been thinking about, and you’re already disliking me for not being educated?”

Pei Zhaoye shifted closer to her, pressing her toward the corner against the wall. One hand pulled both her hands behind her waist, forcing her to lean forward slightly.

A faint sweet fragrance drifted from her collar. He lowered his head, the tip of his tongue firm as it deliberately brushed and teased.

Lizhu quickly melted under his kiss, soft and trembling, half-crying, half-breathless.

“Sometimes, rough men have their own advantages.”

He lifted his head briefly to look at her, then kissed her slightly parted lips.

“For example, on the bed, we’re freer, better at serving a princess, right? And I also happen to be young and strong—whenever the princess summons me, I can always oblige.”

“…”

If not for knowing that Pei Zhaoye had no memories of the previous life, Lizhu would almost have suspected that those two sentences carried some hidden meaning.

She nodded hurriedly.

“Mm, mm, you’re the best… but I want to sleep early tonight.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a laugh. “The princess never lasts long anyway, just the time for a cup of tea.”

“…”

Lizhu was again muddled and confused, peeled open by him like a bamboo shoot.

But…

When they left the inn earlier, she had clearly seen Pei Zhaoye place that box filled with sheep intestines on the rooftop to dry.

He had been in such a hurry before, why did he seem not in a hurry now?

Lizhu couldn’t figure it out, and soon had no chance to think about it further.

•—–٠✤٠—–•

Outside, wind and snow rustled softly. As she drifted toward sleep, Lizhu’s voice was drowsy:

“…Tomorrow at the Yuedan Review, you and Wu Yan, when dealing with those noble families, remember to show a little respect. I want to see if there’s any way to gain some support from them—at least, don’t offend them, all right?”

Pei Zhaoye responded with a low sound.

“Where will that Yuedan Review be held? Is it far?”

“Not far. I heard it’s just outside Yedu’s East Gate, under a hundred-year-old plum tree. Everyone entering or leaving Yedu passes by there, it’s the most conspicuous place.”

Pei Zhaoye: “…”

It was indeed the most conspicuous place.

It looked very suitable… for hanging something.