Zhao Yen realized she had made a fatal mistake.

She should not have placed all her hope for survival upon a dangerous and capricious powerful minister.

Calming herself, she needed to think of a way to benefit both sides.

Forced forward by the blade, Zhao Yen calculated swiftly in her heart.

Just now, in her haste she had taken a glance—there were two assassins who caught up: one held her hostage with a blade, while another crossbowman was concealed behind the eaves of the roadside roof.

Even if she had the ability to deal with the bandit holding her, she feared that before she could run two steps, she would be pierced through by an arrow from behind the roof.

Zhao Yen bit down hard on her lip, lifted her arm to seize the bandit’s knife-wielding hand, and fixed her gaze upon Wenren Lin who was watching coldly from the side.

But this time it was no longer pleading, but resolution.

The curve at Wenren Lin’s lips faded. Before he could even ponder the change in the little Prince’s gaze, he saw her adjust the angle of her wrist, then fiercely throw herself backward in the direction opposite to the blade.

Almost at the same time, a sleeve arrow shot from beneath her wrist, piercing upward through the throat of the captor behind her.

Wenren Lin’s long brows arched.

He had not received the plea he expected. The little Prince had used the sleeve arrow he had casually given that day as a test, cleanly resolving the hostage.

He had thought such a vicious weapon would have frightened the little Prince into throwing it away once home, yet who would have thought he had carried it all this time.

Time seemed to freeze, the tall figure of the bandit stiffened like a mountain and toppled down. Zhao Yen immediately fired a second sleeve arrow, but because the distance was too great, it failed to strike the assassin hiding behind the eaves.

Only one last sleeve arrow remained. Zhao Yen staggered underfoot, deliberately falling toward Wenren Lin.

All happened within a breath—Cai Tian and Zhang Cang had no time to react, when they saw the assassin’s arrow shooting toward Prince Su as well!

Taxueyun¹Taxueyun: It’s a descriptive, poetic style of naming often used for prized horses in historical and wuxia/xianxia settings. was startled, hooves striking high. Wenren Lin’s eyes chilled, his hand grasped the flying arrow before him, then he swung down from the horse, pulling Zhao Yen back from beneath the hooves.

The sky was dim, snow glistened coldly, his pitch-black eyes especially deep and chilling.

That desperate struggle had consumed all of Zhao Yen’s strength. Her breath stagnated; she had no time to fathom from where the faint anger in Wenren Lin’s eyes arose.

Wenren Lin encircled her in his arms, from behind seizing her trembling right arm in a half-embrace, guiding her to aim the sleeve arrow at the assassin behind the roof who was drawing his bow.

“Shoot.”

That low, mellow voice came at her ear. Zhao Yen instinctively pulled the trigger.

The final sleeve arrow flew out—before the assassin’s hand could loose the string, a point of crimson bloomed at his brow, his body stiffening before he fell straight from behind the roof ridge.

That dull thud of impact made Zhao Yen’s pupils tremble. Her hand hung down weakly.

She parted her lips slightly, gasping rapidly, her vision blurred, only hearing Wenren Lin’s damp breath spreading at the back of her ear.

When blood circulation returned and her muddled senses gradually cleared, she finally felt the faint tingling, neither light nor heavy, upon her cheek.

Zhao Yen turned her gaze in confusion, only to see Wenren Lin crouched at her side, using a clean kerchief to wipe away the splattered blood on her cheek—

It was from when the first sleeve arrow had pierced the bandit’s throat, accidentally staining her.

Realizing the dangerous closeness and posture between them now, Zhao Yen instinctively tried to retreat, but Wenren Lin pinched her jaw with his other hand.

Though he clearly used little force, she could not move as if her acupoint had been struck. She could only stiffly tilt her head back, watching with wide eyes as Wenren Lin, bearing his patience, wiped her pale cheek clean.

Wenren Lin half-lowered his eyes, the overly thick lashes veiling those striking and intimidating eyes, making him appear tranquil and harmless.

He deliberately slowed his movements, wiping with great seriousness, yet also with great torment.

His gaze moved downward, falling upon Zhao Yen’s fox fur collar soaked with blood. On the soft white lay a smear of wet red, like a delicate plum blossom fallen upon snow.

That was not the assassin’s blood, but seeping out from the side of Zhao Yen’s neck.

Wenren Lin’s hand holding the kerchief slid lower, parting the fur collar to look. Indeed, there was a fine wound about an inch long running across, most likely pressed by the blade of that bandit.

He let out a faint “tsk,” his brows furrowing as he said: “The Crown Prince, in order to drag this prince down into the water, truly did not even care for life.”

At the mention of this matter, Zhao Yen grew indignant.

If not for this man’s indifferent air of sitting back to reap the fisherman’s profit, she would not have resorted to such a desperate move!

“Gu was truly too frightened, and acted in haste for a moment…”

Her voice still trembled slightly, pitiful as she said, “Fortunately Prince Su did not suffer injury, otherwise Gu would be unable to excuse herself of the blame.”

Wenren Lin’s lips lifted faintly. His thumb lightly pressed across the fine white neck hidden in the fur collar, brushing away that bead of blood that had seeped out, without exposing her clumsy lie meant to curry favor.

Since this group of rabble had happened upon him today, there was no reason not to clean them up, otherwise it would easily give others a handle for words.

He merely wanted to see the little Prince cry and beg him, that was all.

Wenren Lin’s cool gaze fell upon the Crown Prince’s smooth, clean throat, without the least roughness or rise. After a moment, he instructed the attendants blandly: “Bring this prince’s golden wound medicine.”

“There is no need.”

Zhao Yen gathered the fox fur tightly, braced against the paving stones, and rose with difficulty, saying: “Gu has medicine in the carriage…”

Just as the words fell, Gu Xing, his armor splattered with blood, came riding with a small squad of guards, anxious: “Your Highness!”

Before the horse had even halted, he hurriedly dismounted, quickly kneeling forward: “This subordinate came too late to save the carriage, I beg Your Highness’s pardon!”

Arriving not a moment too soon!

Zhao Yen finally had a reason to escape Wenren Lin’s scrutiny. She hastily moved to lift Gu Xing up, saying: “Qing²Qing (卿) is a traditional honorific used by emperors, princes, or high-ranking nobles when addressing ministers, generals, or trusted officials. restrained the main force of the assassins, allowing Gu to break through the encirclement, what fault is there?”

Having said so, she turned back to look toward Wenren Lin, her voice soft and sincere: “Many thanks to His Highness Prince Su for arriving in time to assist, rescuing Gu from the assassin’s blade.”

Having spoken, she gathered her sleeves and gave him a bow of thanks.

When she straightened, she avoided Wenren Lin’s gaze, and under Gu Xing’s escort entered the carriage.

Liuying had fainted briefly but then awakened. Her forehead had been scraped, her forearm cut by an arrow, but fortunately both were light wounds. The Crown Prince’s carriage being ambushed on the return journey was no small matter; the Imperial Guards soon arrived, negotiating with Wenren Lin and the others.

Zhao Yen lifted the carriage curtain slightly and peeked out. Wenren Lin stood with his hands behind his back, his palm still loosely holding the kerchief he had used to wipe her blood.

The glaring crimson upon the kerchief instead made his knuckles seem white as jade.

Wenren Lin paused slightly, then, without warning, turned his face toward her.

Zhao Yen at once dropped the curtain, hiding herself within the cramped shadow.

Very soon the Imperial Guards cleared the road. Gu Xing led up new horses and set them to the carriage. Before setting out again, a very light knock sounded upon the carriage wall.

From outside came Wenren Lin’s indifferent voice: “This prince will accompany the Imperial Guards to escort His Highness the Crown Prince back to the palace.”

The place on her neck where he had brushed past began to tingle with numbness. Zhao Yen straightened her body, and through the curtain said hoarsely: “I trouble Prince Su.”

Outside the Chongwen Hall, she rarely addressed him as “Grand Preceptor,” as though keeping to an invisible boundary, ever reminding herself never to let down her guard.

Wenren Lin said nothing more, only loosely tightening his grip upon the kerchief in his hand.

The Imperial Guards escorted them all the way to the gate of the Eastern Palace.

Under Wenren Lin’s gaze, Zhao Yen stepped down from the carriage, her back rigid as she entered the Eastern Palace. Turning around the long corridor, she went straight to the inner court’s Cheng’en Hall.

Only when the hall doors shut did she falter as if unable to hold on, staggering and slowly collapsing into a seat with support from the table.

“What has happened?”

Lady Liu rose abruptly from by the window. The moment she saw her and Liuying’s disheveled and miserable state, she immediately understood, “Something happened on the suburban sacrifice route?”

“Your Highness.”

Liuying, ignoring her own wounds, endured the pain to steep a cup of hot tea and present it, “Please drink to steady your fright.”

Zhao Yen lifted her icy fingers, only then realizing her hands were already trembling so much she could not hold the cup steadily.

“And now do you still dare say the Crown Prince died of a relapse of old illness?”

Zhao Yen looked toward Liuying, her voice hoarse as she asked.

Liuying lowered her head, trembling without reply.

Lady Liu’s expression grew solemn, and with anger asked: “Who set hands upon you?”

Zhao Yen shook her head. Gu Xing had said those men were deathsworn; once their attempt failed, they took poison to kill themselves.

But the crisis at present was not these assassins of unknown origin, but rather…

She cast down her eyes, looking toward the sleeve acorus at her wrist now emptied, her lips pressed into a line.

When Wenren Lin had held her within his arms, seizing her wrist to aim at the assassin behind the roof, she had clearly, unmistakably felt the warmth of his fingers pressed against her.

At that instant of life and death, she had no strength to resist Wenren Lin’s touch.

Did he feel something?

Perhaps not. The fabric was so thick, and besides, his expression at the time had been far too calm, without the least trace of surprise.

Zhao Yen propped her forehead, shutting her eyes as if utterly exhausted, striving to calm her chaotic thoughts.

She did not dare to think further, did not dare to speculate what awaited her on the morrow.

…

Outside the palace gates, Wenren Lin sat mounted upon his horse, examining under the light the faint smear of blood upon his fingertip.

It was what he had stained when wiping the wound at the little Crown Prince’s neck—together dyed with it was also that warm, smooth touch.

The cold clouds hung low. The horses snorted uneasily. Zhang Cang and Cai Tian stood guard at either side behind the pensive Prince Su, glancing at each other, none daring to press forward.

Wenren Lin rubbed that faint red stain between his fingers, and only after a long while did he at last take out the wrinkled kerchief, carefully wiping the trace away.

At his lips appeared the curve of a smile, as if he had discovered some new amusement.

“Send someone on a distant journey. This prince has an important matter to inquire about.”

Having spoken this sentence, he then, in good spirits, pressed his heels into the horse’s belly, galloping swiftly away.

Footnotes

• 1
  Taxueyun: It’s a descriptive, poetic style of naming often used for prized horses in historical and wuxia/xianxia settings.
• 2
  Qing (卿) is a traditional honorific used by emperors, princes, or high-ranking nobles when addressing ministers, generals, or trusted officials.