Among them, Shen Jingming appeared most frequently, followed by Wang Yu and Cheng Jixing.

Shen Jingming was already dead. As for the remaining two, their identities were unknown. Zhao Yen recorded their names one by one onto a slip of paper.

At the very bottom were two folded letters. Unfolding them, she saw Zhao Yan’s own handwriting.

They were surely his replies to those scholars, not yet delivered, left here piled together with the books.

Zhao Yen moved the lamp closer on the floor and continued to read.

【I have already perused the letters of you scholars. As you have said: without wealth, there is no army; without army, the state is weak. The system of the Imperial Clan of Great Xuan is antiquated and cumbersome, the very source of long-accumulated ills. At the founding of the realm, there were several hundred imperial kinsmen and meritorious generals. Yet princes, marquises, earls, and ministers—generation after generation have been granted fiefs and inherited titles. Today they number over thirty thousand. These great aristocratic clans, ringing bells and striking cauldrons, clad in pearls and jade—the national treasury is like water in a pond, more flowing out than flowing in, in but three years it will be exhausted…】

The more Zhao Yen read, the clearer her mind became. From at first skimming line by line, she came at last to savoring every word, her peach-blossom eyes full of unconcealable astonishment.

In her impression, Zhao Yan had been a good-tempered man to the point of weakness; the writings of his brush should surely have been flowery fists and embroidered legs, abundant in ornament yet lacking in strength.

Yet upon reading these letters, each word was like a pearl, the force of the brush piercing through the paper, laying bare the long-rotting decay of Great Xuan, scourging it beneath his pen.

Her mother’s favor toward him had not been without reason.

If Zhao Yan had still been alive, he would surely have become a wise and benevolent sovereign of his age.

But such a man died an obscure, unjust death, not even worthy of having the truth known.

At this thought, Zhao Yen clenched the silk paper in her hand, her emotions surging and tumbling without cease.

Should she take these things to show Lady Liu?

No—wait a little longer. Zhao Yen quickly dismissed the thought.

Lady Liu, as of now, still harbored wariness toward her and toward the Eastern Palace, and would not readily reveal everything; she had to be left to wait a while, to observe her attitude. Only when she had thought things through and was willing to cooperate sincerely could Zhao Yen lay down her own bargaining chips.

Once she calmed, she carefully folded and put the letters neatly back, returning them into the hidden compartment.

All through the night the north wind wailed. Amid the rustling of icy snow pellets, the Winter Festival quietly arrived.

The Great Xuan dynasty had always attached importance to the Winter Festival. Even the poorest commoners would put on proper new clothing that day, to sacrifice to ancestors and visit friends. As for the palace, the scale was far grander—the Son of Heaven held a banquet to reward the officials, and princes and nobles could all bring their wives and legitimate sons to attend. The feast stretched from the main hall of Yonglin Hall all the way under the long veranda.

It was said that even the Governor of Liangzhou, who oversaw the regions of Bashu, had sent his prefect into the palace to jointly discuss the pacification of Shu troops. Within the grandeur and joy of such a grand banquet, there was already a faint layer of shifting shadow and intrigue.

At such an occasion, Zhao Yen, as the “Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace,” naturally had to be present.

The carriage stopped beneath Chengtian Gate. Zhao Yen, robed in purple with a golden crown, draped in a pale-moon cloak, brought out to perfection the frail refinement and noble grace of the Eastern Palace’s Crown Prince.

“Has Your Highness memorized the portraits and names of the officials in the booklet?” Liuying confirmed again and again.

That booklet, Zhao Yen had placed at her bedside every day to study. But just memorizing the faces of dozens of people from their portraits was indeed no easy task. Fortunately, she had thought of a singular method: extracting the distinctive features of each one’s face, giving them nicknames, thereby fixing them firmly in memory.

Thus she gathered her sleeves and said: “More or less. If I forget any for a moment, you remind me at the side.”

Liuying nodded: “This servant will keep it in mind.”

And further cautioned: “There are many factions in the court. To deal with all of them is no easy matter. Once the sacrificial rites are performed, Your Highness should find an excuse to depart.”

Zhao Yen gave a vague “Mm” in reply, walking along the palace veranda of the Left Court.

She still remembered the matter of the “study companion,” and must seize this opportunity to feel out the situation, selecting someone who could be used. Naturally, this matter could not be spoken of to Liuying.

Just as she was concentrating on her thoughts, she suddenly heard ahead the jarring sound of loud, mocking laughter.

Zhao Yen raised her eyes and saw a group of richly dressed scions of aristocratic families approaching. At their head was one about twenty years of age, oily-haired and painted-faced, brows thin and high, bearing an expression of effeminate malice. Over him was draped a robe of iridescent sparrow-feather fur, making him look for all the world like a gaudy gamecock strutting in the crowd.

At the sight of this cock-face, Zhao Yen at once remembered: Ha—was this not the heir of Prince Yong, Zhao Yuanyu?

Prince Yong, as the Son of Heaven’s younger brother, was the second heir to the throne after the Crown Prince—an undisputed fact of the court. His son from childhood had been treated as the Crown Prince’s equal, and thus had grown into an arrogant, domineering wastrel. And since Zhao Yan’s temperament had been soft, Zhao Yuanyu had on more than one occasion ridden roughshod over the Eastern Palace.

Once Zhao Yan came to harm, the direct beneficiary would be none other than Prince Yong and his son. Zhao Yen halted her steps, quietly watching.

Zhao Yuanyu clearly also saw the little Crown Prince standing beneath the veranda, and his eyes immediately darkened.

The corners of his mouth spread in a mocking sneer. Far from yielding the way, he instead walked straight toward Zhao Yen, voice vile and gloating: “Yo, the Crown Prince is still alive—what a relief.”

More than six years had passed, yet his face was still as sickening as ever.

Zhao Yen lifted the corners of her lips, retorting: “Indeed. If Gu were to suffer some mishap, Prince Yong’s heir would be the first suspect, the entire clan subject to execution. Now that Gu is safe and sound, the Yong Prince’s manor can be safe and sound too. Naturally, that is cause for you to rejoice.”

Zhao Yuanyu’s words of mockery were all forced back down his throat, his face flushed red and his neck bulging with fury.

Now he looked all the more like a fighting cock.

“Womanish, priding yourself on glib tongue! Better to go back to your Eastern Palace and embroider behind closed doors, short-lived ghost.”

This curse was spoken very low, but Zhao Yen heard it, clear as day.

The smile on her lips faded, her five fingers tightening slightly around the hand warmer.

The palace corridor was not wide. Seeing that the usually timid and courteous little Crown Prince did not yield the way to him, Zhao Yuanyu grew all the more irritable.

He simply forced his way forward, intending to shove the Crown Prince aside. Who would have thought that the moment his arm brushed against the Crown Prince’s robe, his own foot stumbled, sending him lurching and striking his head hard against a red-lacquered pillar—stars burst before his eyes at once.

His followers rushed up in an uproar—some supporting him, some crying out—drawing over all the officials’ families who were passing nearby.

Zhao Yuanyu clutched his forehead, glaring furiously, pointing at Zhao Yen: “You—”

But Zhao Yen had already stumbled a step earlier, falling against the carved railing beneath the veranda, one hand to her brow, her expression full of suppressed pain.

“Your Highness!”

Liuying furrowed her brows anxiously, supporting Zhao Yen as she turned back with a stern face: “Heir of Prince Yong, even if His Highness the Crown Prince was in your way, you should not have used such heavy force to shove him!”

Zhao Yuanyu’s eyes flew wide.

“I didn’t push him! No, I didn’t even use strength at all!”

His face flushed crimson, he looked toward the attendants at his side: “You all saw it—it was he himself who fell!”

The hangers-on glanced at one another, none daring to utter a word.

Indeed, they had seen the Heir of Prince Yong push at the Crown Prince, the force so great that he himself stumbled, and then the Crown Prince lightly fell aside. But since their livelihood depended on the Yong Prince’s manor, they could not speak the truth, yet neither could they side with bullying the heir-apparent. So they chose silence.

Zhao Yen pressed her lips tight, rising with support from the railing: “It was indeed Gu who was careless and fell. It had nothing to do with the Heir of Prince Yong.”

Zhao Yuanyu burst out laughing: “You all heard that, didn’t you? He himself admits it!”

But who would believe it?

Standing side by side, the disparity in strength was so obvious even a blind man could see it.

Yet the “Crown Prince” had such good temper, turning a wan smile to the surrounding officials, as though to downplay the matter: “It truly had nothing to do with the Heir. Let us…leave it at that. Today is a day of great festivity; we must not trouble the Emperor’s heart…”

Such words, so earnest and sincere, could not help but move all who heard them.

By contrast, the Heir of Prince Yong seemed utterly contemptible.

“The Crown Prince has only just recovered from serious illness—how could he endure such a push from the Heir?”

“Indeed! No matter how powerful, he is still but a subject—how dare he speak and act discourteously toward the heir-apparent!”

Among the onlookers were those of upright spirit, who stepped forward in concern and consolation for the Crown Prince; some, being particularly forthright, even openly rebuked the Yong Prince’s household for its overbearing arrogance.

Zhao Yuanyu’s eyes turned red with rage. Throwing down a “Just you wait,” he shoved through the crowd and stormed off.

On the gallery bridge ahead, the hanging curtain swayed with the wind, tassels dancing lightly.

Wenren Lin stood by the railing, a smile playing at his lips, taking in the whole scene.