The Crown Prince was dead, and the Great Xuan Dynasty’s line was severed.

The doors and windows of the Eastern Palace sleeping hall were tightly shut. The warm yellow glow of gauze lanterns fell upon the folding screen, casting the silhouette of a curvaceous and delicate figure behind it.

The palace maid in charge, Liuying, held a plain silk ribbon in her hands and stood waiting to the side. When her gaze brushed against her master’s slender and graceful form, her eyes burned, and she swiftly lowered them.

She had to admit, the noble figure before her was truly beautiful to the extreme. A slender waist and long legs, bone and flesh in perfect proportion, skin white and lustrous like jade yet without frailty—so beautiful that even as a fellow woman, her own face flushed and her heart raced…

And now, she had to use raw silk with her own hands to bind and conceal that graceful form.

The raw silk wrapped round and round, tightening, until layer upon layer of garments were dressed neatly inside and out, so that not a single curve could be seen.

Hair bound, the Crown Prince’s golden coronet placed upon the head, Liuying carefully picked up the prepared silver needle.

“I will do it myself.” A soft voice sounded.

A trace of surprise crossed Liuying’s face. Obediently, she presented the silver needle and the specially prepared dye to that thin figure.

Slender, white fingertips reached out, pinching the silver needle and pricking beneath her own eye.

It stung somewhat; “his” brows knit slightly.

When she set the needle down, the youth in the mirror calmly raised a finger to wipe away the bead of blood welling at the corner of the eye. Dressed in a dark purple robe of fine silk, the countenance was incomparably exquisite.

Even Liuying was momentarily dazed, her eyes faintly brimming with heat.

As expected of twins born of the same mother—they looked too alike.

Once that small crimson tear-mole was dotted on, it was as if His Highness the Crown Prince had come back to life before her very eyes.

There was no time for grief. Liuying lowered her head and offered a pair of new black boots: “Your Highness’s height is half a cun and three fen shorter than the Crown Prince’s. This servant has, according to your instructions, added padding inside all of your boots.”

[ 1 cun (寸) ≈ 3.3 cm ≈ 1.3 inches / 1 fen (分) = 1/10 of a cun ≈ 0.33 cm ≈ 0.13 inches]

This was without doubt a grand gamble; an error by even a hair, and all would be lost.

Princess of Changfeng, Zhao Yen—

No, “His Highness the Crown Prince” donned the boots and rose to her feet. Facing the heavy doors tightly closed, cold light fell across her face.

She drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and raised her hand to push open the doors of the sleeping hall.

——

Early winter was bitter cold. Carrion crows flew in from outside the city after feeding, and now perched contentedly upon the palace walls, cocking their heads to watch the noisy crowd below.

In the Taiji Hall, matters of state were being discussed. The Censor-in-Chief, Liu Zhong, stood at the forefront of the officials, his eyes sliding slyly to either side, unable to keep the pride from his face.

Since the Crown Prince had met with misfortune on the return from the traveling palace, he had remained behind closed doors. For several months the entire Eastern Palace had been shrouded in secrecy—plainly something strange was hidden within. Liu Zhong had painstakingly fanned the flames before the throne, all so that today he might tear open the Eastern Palace’s disguise before countless watching eyes…

Only if the truth of the Crown Prince’s death was nailed down before His Majesty could it be logical to recommend his own master, Prince Yong, as Crown Prince Apparent.

Liu Zhong resolved to add one final spark.

“Your Majesty, the Crown Prince does indeed suffer from some frail ailments, yet that is no reason to remain shut in so long. Disappearing from sight for months—who can tell if it is truly a chill, or some secret unsuited for others to see?”

He raised his voice, feigning benevolence as he said, “Little do we know, within the court and the common folk alike, it is already said that there is no longer a Crown Prince in the Eastern Palace—only an empty shell remains.”

“Censor-in-Chief Liu, mind your words!” someone chided in a low voice.

Yet the fact that the Eastern Palace had kept its doors shut for months on end could not be denied. The one who rebuked him was riddled with doubts as well, lacking confidence.

At this rate, if the heir apparent of the Eastern Palace did not appear, it truly seemed the deception could no longer be maintained.

At that moment of anxious tension, from outside the Taiji Gate came a low and gentle youthful voice.

“Beloved subject thinks, what secrets could I possibly have?”

At those words, the noisy court instantly fell silent. The leading few exchanged glances, expressions tinged with astonishment.

The cold crows took flight. The gathered ministers automatically parted into two lines. Turning their heads, they saw a slender figure revealed before their eyes.

The young Crown Prince’s black hair was tied low, his entire form wrapped in a snow-white fox-fur cloak, only a thin sleeve of his under-robe faintly showing. The fox fur collar gathered about his sharp chin, making that excessively exquisite face appear white as jade, drifting and ethereal, as if possessing the grace of returning snow.

It seemed as if he had only just risen from a sickbed. A faint weariness hung beneath his eyes, a small vermilion mole at the corner of his eye indistinctly visible, lending him a weak air, ambiguous between male and female.

As the Crown Prince of the Great Xuan, this face was a rare and striking beauty in the world. Standing with his sleeves gathered beneath the lofty gates, he looked as if a single gust of wind could topple him. Truly the aspect of a man with a woman’s face, a sign of thin fortune and short life.

The youth passed through the bowing ministers. His gaze fell upon a plump, middle-aged official at the forefront. Lifting his lashes slightly, the pupils, set off by snowy clothing and pale skin, appeared as the utmost black.

“Censor-in-Chief Liu, seeing that I am still alive, you seem very disappointed?” the youth asked with puzzlement.

The named official lowered his head and argued, “This minister harbors absolutely no such thought.”

Though the words counted as respectful, in his heart he was not convinced.

Who did not know that this little Crown Prince was famous for having no temper? To phrase it well, he was “benevolent and virtuous.” To put it less kindly, he was “weak and cowardly.”

“Absolutely no such thought?”

The Crown Prince coughed lightly twice, speaking in a slow, gentle tone: “Yet in the mouth of the Censor-in-Chief, has it not already been that ‘the Great Xuan long since had no Crown Prince’? Why not let me tidy myself up, and at once yield my place to the master behind Censor-in-Chief Liu…?”

Though the voice was light and frail, it was enough to startle Liu Zhong into a cold sweat.

“Heaven and earth can attest, this minister has no disloyalty!”

His face changed color. Instinctively crying injustice, he said, “See now, the rebel faction of Shuchuan is pressing to the very lands of the capital. Shall we fight to the death, or move the capital to avoid battle? As heir apparent, Your Highness must appear to deliberate and share your lord’s worries!”

Using affairs of state to press, shifting the topic.

The young Crown Prince silently inclined his head, covering his lips as he coughed several times, before in a helpless and weak tone saying, “To eat the ruler’s grain and share the ruler’s worries—is that not the duty of all my subjects? If in every matter my imperial father and I must come forth, what use are all of you?”

“……”

Rebuked, Liu Zhong was both shamed and flustered, his pig-liver-colored face flushing red.

The assembled ministers watched in terror. For a time, even the sharp words they had prepared were forgotten. Each feared that the Crown Prince might lose his breath and roll his eyes back, so they could only repeatedly plead: “We ministers are fearful—may Your Highness by all means put your health above all else!”

In the midst of the clamor, suddenly the chime of a bell resounded within the Taiji Hall, its clear tone spreading in echo.

The old eunuch at the Emperor’s side came forth at the proper moment, smiling obsequiously: “Your Highness the Crown Prince, His Majesty summons you to enter the hall and pay respects.”

Having spoken, he then turned to the ministers at the steps: “My lords have now seen the Crown Prince with their own eyes—safe and sound, here in person! If there are no further doubts, please withdraw.”

With the Son of Heaven’s word, how could the ministers dare stir further trouble?

They hastily bowed and cried in unison: “We ministers take our leave.”

Thus a secret scheme collapsed without fruit, all because the Crown Prince appeared unharmed. Liu Zhong was left bitter and miserable.

Whether an illusion or not, today the Crown Prince seemed somehow different.

But the face was still that face, the signature tear mole as radiant as before, still a figure of frailness unable to bear clothes. What was different, Liu Zhong could not tell. Truly like seeing a ghost.

——

Within the Taiji Hall, a hundred long-burning lamps blazed day and night.

As soon as she entered the hall, the fragrance of Xiangzhen mixed with the gunpowder scent from the alchemy furnace rushed upon her, making Zhao Yen’s vision dim.

Through the drifting gauze curtain, she could see the Emperor in a blue Daoist robe, seated cross-legged at the center of a hundred lamps, eyes closed in meditation. At his side was a beauty wearing a golden lotus crown and holding a horsetail whisk—presumably Consort Zhen, the favored concubine who had reigned supreme in the harem these past few years.

When she saw the Crown Prince enter, this Daoist-styled beauty inclined her head in salute, then rose of her own accord and withdrew.

The inner attendants quickly brought over a round cushion. Zhao Yen lifted her robe hem, knelt down, and with utmost vigilance and patience, imitated her elder brother’s manner, performing a proper full kowtow, speaking softly: “This son greets Father Emperor.”

“You are able to walk outside again?” The Emperor’s calm voice came through the curtain, neither sad nor joyful.

Zhao Yen, having been drilled all morning by Liuying, had long prepared her answers. She replied: “By Father Emperor’s great blessing, this child’s illness is for now no longer life-threatening. Only, the imperial physicians say that after long sickness, the body remains somewhat weak and must be nourished for some time.”

Before coming, she had prepared thoroughly, even deliberately lowering her voice, playing her elder brother’s “frail and sickly” bearing to the extreme.

Even if Father Emperor’s reach was heaven-penetrating, should he truly suspect the Eastern Palace, he would not bear to press too harshly upon a patient.

Who would have thought, the Emperor did not even lift his eyes, his words as courteous as if toward a stranger: “Since it has improved, the studies delayed must be taken up again. When there is time, continue attending lectures in the Chongwen Hall.”

Zhao Yen betrayed no change: “Yes.”

Afterward came a long silence.

Though the noble man behind the curtain was her birth father, Zhao Yen’s understanding of him was not deep. She only knew he was a concubine-born son who had risen to the throne, that in the first years he had indeed governed diligently, later becoming enamored with seeking immortality and Daoist ways, favoring Consort Zhen, and in opposition to the Empress Dowager—her legitimate mother—who was devoted to Buddhism, thus giving rise to estrangement.

The Empress Dowager was defeated, relocated to the Huayang traveling palace, never to be seen again.

Taken with her was also the little Princess Zhao Yen, then only nine years old.

Over six years had passed. The Crown Prince died suddenly. The rebel army pressed upon the capital, the faction of Prince Yong eyed the throne covetously. To stabilize the situation, the Empress Wei, forced into a desperate corner, finally thought of the “banished” young daughter in the traveling palace.

A secret decree recalled her, and Zhao Yen was compelled to take up the role of the coughing-blood-in-the-wind Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace…

Her thoughts drifting, Zhao Yen’s knees grew numb from kneeling, so she lowered her gaze, counting the candle-shadows upon the tiles to distract herself.

Just as she reached the sixty-first lamp, the sound of urgent footsteps came from outside the hall.

The old eunuch arrived, panting, and at the doorway fell to his knees with a thud, his voice trembling yet joyous: “Congratulations, Your Majesty! Auspicious snow has suddenly arrived—Heaven blesses Great Xuan!”

The countless yellow veils stirred, and the air carried the chill of ice and snow.

The statue-like silent Emperor at last came alive, clapping his hands and exclaiming: “Good! This is a heavenly omen! The rebellion in Shuchuan must surely see a turning point. Quickly summon Master Shen Guang and Prince Su to come at once!”

Prince Su…

At the sound of this name, Zhao Yen’s whole body stiffened involuntarily. On the night she entered the Eastern Palace, her mother’s muted, forbearing admonition still lingered at her ear.

Wielding power over court and realm, harboring the heart of a wolf—Prince Su, Wenren Lin, would be the most dangerous opponent she would face.

To run into this murderous deity on her very first appearance?

She secretly clenched her fingers, and suddenly saw the Emperor behind the curtain rise and say: “You may withdraw.”

These words, clearly addressed to the Crown Prince.

Zhao Yen had not yet recovered her wits: after a half day of apprehension, was she simply dismissed like this?

With rumors in the court against the Eastern Palace, yet Father Emperor had not even spared his “son” a direct glance—was this not too careless?

Though puzzled, Zhao Yen dared not linger. She hastily performed her salute and withdrew.

Leaving the great hall, the ink-dark sky was indeed letting fall a few scattered flakes of snow.

Beneath the corridor, a eunuch led forward a venerable Daoist in a yellow crown, feather fan in hand—no doubt that so-called “Master Shen Guang.”

“Pitiful, in the midnight hours one leans forward in vain, asking not after the people, but after ghosts and spirits.”

Softly reciting Li Yishan’s verse, Zhao Yen tugged at the corner of her lips, lowering her gaze to cover the mockery in her eyes.

Liuying was still waiting at the Taiji Gate, her thin palace dress fluttering in the wind and snow, looking cold to the eye.

“Your Highness.”

She came forward, her face as ever steady, but the taut strain in her voice betrayed her worry. “What did His Majesty ask?”

Zhao Yen gave a soft “Mm,” and briefly replied: “Asked whether the Crown Prince’s body had recovered. If recovered, then attend lectures in the Chongwen Hall.”

“That was all?”

“That was all.”

Thus Liuying too fell into doubt. This ordeal had passed far more easily than imagined.

The court was a place of shifting treachery, factions numerous.

The claws and fangs beneath Prince Yong’s command, Zhao Yen had already glimpsed just now. As for Prince Su…

Fortunately, they had not crossed paths.

“Wenren Lin.”

Zhao Yen carefully turned that name over, trying to extract some trace of memory.

Helplessly, since childhood she had been exiled from the palace, growing up at the traveling palace beside the Empress Dowager in her Buddhist devotions, and thus did not know much of court affairs.

A military commander who relied on troops to exalt himself must surely be a brutal and violent sort. Moreover, it was said that men in the army, wearing helmets all year round, stifled and airless, mostly suffered severe hair loss…

Zhao Yen’s thoughts strayed. In her mind she could not help but conjure up the image of a ferocious, baleful brute with sparse hair, and at the thought she shuddered in disgust.

The wind blew, and the sky seemed to have torn a hole, the snow falling heavier and heavier, dense whiteness before her eyes.

There was still some distance to the Eastern Palace. With the snowy road slippery, sedan chairs could not be used. Zhao Yen, still acting the part of the frail and feeble Crown Prince, could only seek a secluded spot to shelter from the snow for now.

This snow, she feared, would not stop for some time. Liuying frowned and said: “This servant will fetch an oil-paper umbrella and cloak. May Your Highness please wait here, and by no means go far.”

Zhao Yen knew well that Liuying acted with caution, unwilling to entrust other attendants with entering and leaving the Crown Prince’s sleeping quarters. Matters such as fetching close garments she insisted upon doing personally.

Zhao Yen waved her hand to indicate, then added: “Wait.”

Liuying halted her steps, turning back to await command.

Zhao Yen reached out and pinched at Liuying’s garment cloth. “Do not forget to bring a cloak for yourself. You wear too little.”

Liuying froze for a moment, then swiftly lowered her head and bowed: “Thank Your Highness.”

Though the covered corridor sheltered from snow, it did not block the wind.

Zhao Yen cupped her palms and breathed white mist into them. If memory was correct, at the end of the long corridor stood a warm pavilion adjoining the Eastern Palace, a place to rest.

That spot was but a dozen or so zhang away from where she awaited Liuying. Zhao Yen thus bade the accompanying inner attendants remain waiting beneath the corridor, while she herself ascended the steps and made her way toward the warm pavilion.

Pushing open the door, the warmth of the charcoal brazier mixed with the subtle fragrance of agarwood rushed upon her, like stepping into spring.

Lifting her gaze, she saw within the pavilion bamboo blinds swaying with the wind, and beyond them, a tall figure leaning against the railing. One hand supported his forehead, the other held a scroll, reading with full concentration.

Unexpectedly finding someone had already arrived, Zhao Yen was a little surprised.

Then she thought again—she was now the heir apparent of the Eastern Palace, and must not show weakness before others. Straightening her back, she quietly stepped into the warm chamber.

Snowflakes drifted past the curtains, falling into the pool below and melting away.

The man reclining in the chair was very young, about twenty or so. He wore vermilion court robes, with a jade-hook belt, his black hair half-loose, half-tied. Sitting with legs crossed in careless ease, the long jade-like joints of his fingers occasionally turned a page, producing a faint rustling sound.

From Zhao Yen’s angle, she could see his eyes half-closed, long and dense lashes casting a faint shadow beneath his eyelids, brows like drawn swords, lips pale and thin—his side profile appeared quiet and gentle.

Beside him rested a fishing rod, its line dropped straight into the pool of broken ice and drifting snow, without the slightest ripple.

Unconsciously Zhao Yen lightened her steps, turning her head slightly to secretly observe.

To be able to come and go freely within the palace, and in leisure even fish in the snow, must surely be some prince of the imperial clan.

Yet the titles of Great Xuan were layered and hereditary, spreading endlessly. The princes and heirs who could enter the palace numbered in the dozens if not a hundred. Zhao Yen truly could not recall when among the royal kin there had appeared such a man, elegant as an immortal and handsome beyond compare.

Upon the man’s pale finger was fitted a simple black ring, carved with strange patterns—like… some kind of fierce bird of prey?

Unconsciously, Zhao Yen lifted the corner of the bamboo blind, trying to see more clearly—when suddenly she met a pair of deep, dark eyes.

“Has the Crown Prince seen enough?”

At some unknown moment, the beautiful man had lifted his gaze, smiling as he looked at her.