Eastern Palace, Cheng’en Hall.

Zhao Yen set down her brush and breathed a puff of warm air onto her slightly chilled fingertips.

“Over in Huayang, we cannot leave any handle for them to grasp.”

She blew the ink dry and handed the letter to Liuying. “In the Crown Prince’s name I have written a letter. You are to immediately order men to ride fast horses to deliver it to Huayang. Shi Lan will know what to do.”

Shi Lan was one of her personal palace maids in the Huayang temporary palace. Because her figure and age were similar to Zhao Yen’s, and she was both clever and loyal, every time Zhao Yen secretly slipped out to play, they would exchange clothes, and Shi Lan would stay in the hall in her place to deal with the matron’s inspections.

Before being summoned back to the capital this time, she had deliberately left Shi Lan in the Huayang temporary palace to accompany the Empress Dowager, as a precaution.

After all, Princess Changfeng had left the palace when she was very young. After so many years, who could still know what the Princess looked like now?

Liuying received the letter and thought aloud: “On the Empress Dowager’s side…”

Zhao Yen knew what she was worrying about. Letting a maid impersonate herself could deceive the people of the imperial city, but could not deceive the Empress Dowager who had accompanied her for so many years.

Remembering that before her departure, the Empress Dowager had ordered a matron to send her a string of sandalwood Buddhist beads, Zhao Yen slowly exhaled a breath: “You belittle Grandmother. Though she devotes her heart to Buddha, she is not an outsider. She knows better than us how things should be done.”

Liuying then said no more, bowed in salute, and went down to make the arrangements.

Zhao Yen sat behind the writing desk, thinking of many things.

Just now, during the assassination attempt in the marketplace, Liuying’s reaction when she rushed forward had been too practiced, too timely, as if she had gone through it countless times, her body already forming the instinct.

Was Zhao Yan killed in such a way?

How many times had he gone through such assassinations?

Yet the whole Great Xuan knew the Crown Prince had been bedridden for years. Why was the person behind the scenes in such a hurry to assassinate a sickly youth who had not yet come of age?

Many doubts gathered like clouds of ink, heavily pressing upon her heart.

At her side, Liu Ji absentmindedly wiped away the ink stains on her fingers. Silent for a long time, she suddenly said: “Did Liuying ever tell you that this spring, when His Majesty’s dragon body was unwell, he once let the Crown Prince act as regent in handling state affairs?”

Zhao Yen lifted her eyes extremely slowly, dazed, as if she had understood something.

Everyone had taught Zhao Yan to be benevolent, to shoulder the responsibility of the heir apparent… yet no one had ever taught him how to protect himself.

“That maid has a tight mouth and is stubborn to death. Surely she would not say.”

Liu Ji quickly dismissed her own question, venting her anger by picking up the sweet pastries on the table, stuffing piece after piece into her mouth.

Zhao Yen suddenly remembered that her elder brother also loved sweets, because he had drunk too much bitter decoction medicine since childhood, and had grown weary of bitterness.

“Afraid?”

Liu Ji glanced at her expression and asked.

Encircled on all sides—how could she not be afraid?

Zhao Yen nodded, then very lightly shook her head: “The enemy will not spare me because I am afraid, just as they never spared Zhao Yan’s life because of his frailty. From the day I returned to the palace I understood: if I do not wish to be swallowed by the flood, then I can only seize every piece of driftwood and go against the current.”

Because of the assassination attempt, the Eastern Palace was in chaos at present, imperial guards outside patrolling back and forth, questioning the details.

Zhao Yen rubbed her eyes as if weary, then rose and went to Liu Ji’s small couch, tilting her body to carefully and slowly lie down.

She lightly closed her eyes, murmuring: “We must not forget him either, Liu Ji. That fool should never have ended like this.”

That voice was light yet resolute, carrying within it a hidden tenacity.

Liu Ji started, turned her head, and saw Zhao Yen clutching the fox-fur cloak tightly, her slender figure slightly curled.

She remembered Zhao Yan once saying that his twin younger sister was most restless in sleep, not knowing how many times she would kick off the quilt in a single night.

Yet the young girl before her slept quietly, vigilant as if she were a newborn infant.

Liu Ji rose, tugged at the corner of the quilt, and covered Zhao Yen.

She pondered for a long time, then finally took up the brush, moistened the ink, and relying on memory, began to trace upon the xuan paper.

…

Prince Yong’s residence, a secluded side hall, doors and windows tightly shut.

A crisp ‘pa’ rang out, the sound of a slap. Zhao Yuanyu spun like a top, then staggered to steady himself, clutching his face, not daring to speak.

“I ask you, who leaked the route of the suburban sacrificial return procession!”

Prince Yong paced back and forth, his finger nearly poking at his son’s face, pressing down his voice: “After that affair last year, I already warned you—not to act rashly, not to be impatient for success! Why do you never listen? Barely half a year has passed, and you commit such a treasonous act again! Even entangling yourself with rebellious outlaws of the jianghu—you… you mean to anger this prince to death!”

On Zhao Yuanyu’s mean rooster-like face immediately appeared a large, glaring palm print. Aggrieved, he said: “Everything this son has done was all for the sake of Father Prince.”

“For this prince’s sake? Hmph, I see you are harming your old man instead.”

In order to cater to the Emperor’s fondness for seeking immortality and the Dao, Prince Yong too dressed in Daoist robes all day long, yet in the end lacked the bearing of an immortal. The robe bound tightly over his thick waist and broad body, looking rather comical.

He reprimanded: “The Emperor has no offspring, and the Eastern Palace Crown Prince bears the physiognomy of short life. It is merely a matter of enduring a few more years.”

“Father Prince can endure, but are you not afraid that before that short-lived Crown Prince dies, he will toss out an imperial grandson? After all, at such a young age, he already has favored maids and concubines serving him day and night.”

Zhao Yuanyu sneered, “A few years is enough for him to sire several. Is Father Prince not afraid that the cooked duck will fly away?”

“Unfilial son!”

Prince Yong raised his hand to strike again, Zhao Yuanyu hurriedly lifted his sleeve to dodge.

When Prince Yong saw the cowardice of his own son, his anger flared even more. If only this legitimate heir of his had cultivated both inner and outer qualities, possessing half the wisdom and bearing of the Crown Prince, the Emperor would not have despised him so much that he was unwilling even to acknowledge him as son. How would they have fallen to such desperate straits now?

Prince Yong’s iron palm clenched into a fist. His gaze swept over a certain part below his son’s waist, and he gave a heavy snort: “If the Eastern Palace has an imperial grandson born, then that is the decree of fate! Before you meddle in others’ affairs, you had best first manage that soft worm of yours!”

Struck at his sore spot, Zhao Yuanyu’s face instantly changed color.

He was lustful by nature, and by the age of twenty had already bedded countless women. Yet since falling from his horse during the spring hunt last year and injuring himself below, that place had grown increasingly useless. In these last two months, he had become entirely incapable, even his beard growing ever more sparse.

He was afraid!

So many beauties he could no longer enjoy, not to mention—how could one who was not even man enough inherit and become the next Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace? He could only desperately swallow medicine, endlessly swallow it. Even the potent aphrodisiacal drugs offered by Daoist priestesses he had tried, but women had been tormented to death, and that thing of his still would not cooperate!

In his father’s eyes, he was a wastrel indulging in debauchery. Only he himself knew how terrified he truly was.

He did not dare report the truth, only swallowed his anger and muttered a “Yes,” before leaving the side hall dejected.

From the corner, a middle-aged man in the garb of an adviser came forth, saluted him, and with just a glance at the palm-mark on the Yong heir’s face, knew that Prince Yong had flown into a rage this time.

He said: “Shizi, this time indeed your actions were somewhat too hasty.”

“Even you come to lecture me!” Zhao Yuanyu’s barely suppressed anger flared up again.

“Shizi, be not impatient. What this subordinate means is—when the attempt at assassination fails with one strike, there ought not to be a second, so as not to leave behind a handle.”

The adviser glanced about in all directions, then spoke furtively: “If Shizi wishes to remove that one, why conspire with a tiger, choosing such a most inferior stratagem?”

Zhao Yuanyu was impatient: “According to your meaning, then what is the superior stratagem?”

“Is not that one said to have a reputation for virtue? To slay a man’s heart is the true upper plan. Nothing surpasses making him infamous, showing his virtue unworthy of his station—only then can Shizi’s merits stand out.”

The adviser revealed a smile that could only be understood, not described. “In just over a month will be the Spring Banquet. The Crown Prince will certainly be present. Why should Shizi not…”

He leaned in, whispering several times into his ear.

Zhao Yuanyu narrowed his eyes, greatly delighted.

“Tsk, that is indeed a fine method.”

He was eager to send someone to arrange the matter, when just then he caught sight of a man squatting upon the stone steps before the firewood room.

That man was about thirty-odd years of age, his height reaching nine chi, with ape-like arms and a wasp waist. He wore a filthy, tattered dark-blue martial robe, his mud-stained boots split with a hole, revealing a blackened big toe.

He cradled a sea bowl, squatting upon the steps, shoveling into his mouth leftover rice without even a trace of meat or grease, like a starving wild dog.

In Zhao Yuanyu’s eyes, this man truly was fit only to be a dog.

He went over and gave the man a kick from behind, calling out with contempt: “Oi, go call the Daoist priestess from Hongxiang Courtyard! This Shizi has business!”

The man, struck by his kick, remained motionless like a rock.

Only after stuffing the last mouthful of overnight rice into his mouth did he wipe his lips, rise, take up the curved blade at his side, and pull up the frayed black triangular kerchief about his neck to cover the scars on his face. Without a word, he went off.

The man had spoken not a single word, yet the adviser perceived a chilling coldness, and could not help but caution: “For Shizi to keep this man—there may be hidden troubles.”

“What hidden troubles could there be? A three-surnamed slave only—he follows whoever feeds him.”

Zhao Yuanyu sneered, baring his teeth as he stretched the foot that ached from kicking. “Among the men I raise, this dog is the most obedient, the handiest to use.”

Remembering the man’s origin, the adviser hesitated, but in the end only shook his head and sighed.

…

Zhao Yen slept drowsily through the night.

At dawn the next day, an old eunuch of the palace brought the Emperor’s verbal decree, summoning the Crown Prince to attend court at the Taihe Hall.

Zhao Yen had not expected the summons to the Taihe Hall to come so swiftly. Recalling further yesterday’s matter of Wenren Lin examining her bones… she dared not think deeply, only ordered Liuying to bind her chest tighter and tighter.

In the sedan chair on the way to the Taihe Hall, Zhao Yen wore a purple robe and golden crown. Facing the mirror, she applied fine powder to her lips and asked: “How is it?”

The rouge concealed her naturally rosy lips, lending her an air of sickly pallor. Because the chest binding was drawn too tight, her breath too was short and weak. At the side of her neck, the knife wound wrapped in bandages oozed a faint red. Whosoever saw her in such a “sickly appearance” would surely give rise to pity.

Liuying nodded: “Indeed, the bearing of one shocked and gravely ill.”

Only then did Zhao Yen feel somewhat at ease.

Within the Taihe Hall, incense still curled in the air, and the candle lamps shone brightly.

With the support of a young eunuch, Zhao Yen walked slowly into the hall. Just as she was about to sway and kneel, she saw that behind the gauze curtain still stood one more person.

Wenren Lin, one hand clasped behind his back, the other holding a candlestick, was one by one lighting the hundred eternal lamps upon the wooden stand for the Emperor.

Their eyes met. He curved his lips slightly toward her, revealing a smile of unfathomable meaning.

The warm glow fell upon his flawless and handsome face, the candlelight flickering faintly in the depths of his black pupils. That immortal-like smile then became eerie.

Zhao Yen’s breath halted, as though a thunderclap resounded above her head.

Why was Wenren Lin here!

Was he here to report her to the Emperor?

Did Father Emperor know everything already, and so summon her here for questioning?

In an instant, ten thousand thoughts roared past her mind. Zhao Yen’s throat was parched; she had to muster the strength of her whole body to steady the trembling in her voice, speaking calmly: “This child greets Father Emperor.”

When she kowtowed, her palms pressed against the ground—yet for a moment she could not tell which was colder, her fingertips or the stone tiles.

“Rise.”

The Emperor sat cross-legged upon the round mat, slowly speaking: “I heard from Prince Su that you were attacked yesterday in the marketplace…”

So it was indeed for this matter. Zhao Yen’s five fingers tightened unconsciously.

“…Was your body injured?”

The Emperor paused, then completed the sentence.

“Thank Father Emperor for his concern. They are but minor wounds, already of no hindrance.”

She responded feebly, yet from the corner of her eye she cast a glance at the reflection upon the tiles, gauging the Emperor’s expression.

“That is well.”

The Emperor nodded, opening his eyes: “I intend next month to specially establish a grace examination, to select talents for the court. Those who succeed will be honored with a Banquet of Flower-Pinning. Since you are the heir apparent, this matter shall be entrusted to you.”

Zhao Yen started, her lashes trembling: merely for this?

“You as well.”

The Emperor turned to Wenren Lin, who was intent upon lighting lamps at the side. “I recall you have already come of age for two or three years, and have yet to take a wife. I will have the Empress select several unmarried noble maidens to attend the banquet. At that time, you may also choose, and see if there is one suitable to your liking.”

Wenren Lin lit the last eternal lamp, then rose and blew out the candle in his hand.

He stood amid the drifting shadows of the lamps, like an immortal stepping out from a painting, and said indifferently: “Yes.”

Though his mouth answered, his eyes looked through the thin gauze toward the little Crown Prince, who was nervously staring at her toes.

Zhao Yen was indeed uneasy.

She could not believe Wenren Lin had simply come to the Taihe Hall for a stroll. Yet though her heartstrings were taut, prepared for battle, the Emperor spoke no more—beyond entrusting her with the matter of pinning flowers for the successful candidates of the grace examination.

Doubt stirred in Zhao Yen’s heart, yet she could only obediently accept the order and take her leave.

No sooner had she stepped out of the Taihe Hall than Wenren Lin followed close behind.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

That deep, elegant voice came from behind. Zhao Yen closed her eyes, resigned, then halted her steps. She turned, coughing lightly, and returned the salute: “Does Prince Su still have business?”

Wenren Lin stopped before her, his cool gaze lingering on the bandage at her neck seeping with crimson. After a moment, he reached out his hand and said: “This blood—has it not yet stopped?”

Seeing his knuckles about to touch her neck, Zhao Yen instinctively covered the side of her throat, stepping back half a pace: “This Gu‘s body is frail, thus heals slower than others.”

Nonsense—before leaving she had dabbed on special tincture, all to make herself look pitiful, so as to stir Father Emperor’s tender affection for his child.

Wenren Lin drew back the hand that had paused midair, lowering his gaze upon her.

“Why is it, when Your Highness sees this prince, it is like a mouse seeing a cat?”

He suddenly smiled, leaning in close, asking in a low voice, “Could it be because you, a g—…”

Zhao Yen’s heart seized.

“…again and again feign illness to skip lessons, and fear that this prince will report it to His Majesty?”

With a smiling face he completed the sentence.

The heart that had leapt to Zhao Yen’s throat paused, then plummeted heavily.

She opened her lips, and after a long moment, hoarsely forced out a line: “This Gu… did not feign illness.”

Wenren Lin inclined his head with an “oh,” then said slowly: “Indeed, not feigning illness—merely feigning…”

Zhao Yen tensed again.

“…feigning suffering, that is all,” Wenren Lin finished lightly.

“…”

Zhao Yen was already dumbstruck, her lips pressed tightly together, her heart pounding madly within her chest, as if battering itself to death.

Wenren Lin, however, turned his head aside and laughed lowly. His face was as gentle as spring breeze melting snow, yet in his eyes spread a malicious delight.

Within her sleeve, Zhao Yen’s five fingers clenched and loosened, loosened and clenched again. She silently recited thrice, “He kills without blinking, I cannot beat him. He kills without blinking, I cannot beat him. He kills without blinking, I cannot beat him,” before finally forcing a compliant, delicate smile, respectfully saying: “This Gu knows my fault. Hereafter I shall never again let Grand Preceptor be disappointed.”

Pausing, she then spoke earnestly: “At the Banquet of Flower-Pinning, this lonely one shall certainly select for Grand Preceptor a virtuous and proper wife, as a token of respect.”

Wenren Lin lifted the corner of his eyes, somewhat surprised.

“Then Your Highness must choose carefully. For common vulgar powder and rouge cannot enter this prince’s sight.”

He fixed his gaze upon Zhao Yen, his black pupils imprisoning her slender figure, and said with profound meaning: “In this prince’s view, Your Highness’s younger sister, Princess Changfeng, would be quite suitable.”