The man’s eye shape was extremely beautiful.

His pair of eyes were like lacquer, the corners slightly upturned. When he looked at someone with a faint, almost imperceptible smile, even the brilliance of endless snow lost its luster.

When he opened his mouth and called “Crown Prince,” it indicated that this person must have seen Elder Brother.

As a counterfeit impostor, Zhao Yen naturally would not be foolish enough to directly ask: “Who are you?”

However, if she revealed cowardice and withdrew at this moment, it would be even stranger.

She nonchalantly lifted the curtain, lowered her voice, and said: “Fishing alone in the snow, Your Excellency has quite the refined interest.”

“Likewise.”

The man lowered his crossed long legs, the scroll in his hand tapping lightly against his palm now and then. “Your Highness braves the snow to stroll here, such refined taste is in no way less than that of your subject.”

Crown Prince Zhao Yan did not possess the strong and healthy physique to stroll in the snow.

Zhao Yen was clear as a mirror in her heart. Covering her lips, she coughed lightly: “Refined taste is hardly the case, it is merely finding a place to avoid the wind and snow. Your Excellency would not mind, would you?”

The man suddenly smiled. His flawless jade-white face, against the light, revealed a trace of unfathomable depth.

Zhao Yen grew wary in her heart: Could it be that she had spoken wrongly?

Impossible. Imitating Elder Brother Zhao Yan’s temperament, she had grasped the measure of the conversation very well. There should be no flaws.

The man set down the scroll and rose to his feet.

A shadow loomed, forcing Zhao Yen to raise her head.

When seated, he merely seemed upright and tall, yet only when he stood did she realize he was this tall!

Zhao Yen prided herself on not being short, yet she merely reached his shoulder. Lifting her eyes, she saw the crimson court robe setting off his pale-cold face, making him appear as incomparably handsome as an immortal.

The man extended his hand, the black-iron ring between his fingers reflecting threads of cold light. Zhao Yen instinctively stepped back half a pace.

Yet that large, well-defined hand merely brushed past her ear, gently dusting away the fine snowflakes on her shoulder.

The man smiled, gentle and refined, and said: “Your Highness jests. Under heaven, is there any land not the prince’s soil? Wherever Your Highness wishes to avoid the snow, so you may.”

So that was the meaning.

This person, after all, was a courteous and well-mannered, gentle gentleman.

Zhao Yen secretly let out a slight breath of relief, turned as if nothing had happened, and sought out a spot sheltered from the wind to sit.

After a moment of silence, she could not help but ask: “In such cold weather, can fish be caught?”

“Perhaps.”

The man’s voice was mellow, seemingly smiling yet not smiling. “Those not too clever will throw themselves into the net.”

Why did these words sound as if they held another meaning?

Speaking much would surely lead to mistakes, Zhao Yen put on a smile to deal with it.

Estimating that the time was about right, she then rose and said: “The snowfall has lessened, Gu¹Gu is a self-designation used by emperors, crown princes, and other very high-ranking rulers in ancient China when referring to themselves. It literally means “lonely” or “solitary.” will leave now.”

The man smiled warmly, harmless and gentle, inclining his head slightly, making a gesture of invitation.

Just as she stepped out the door, the warm fragrance clinging to her body was blown thoroughly cold by the northern wind. This time Zhao Yen did not need to deliberately feign weakness—she was choked by the wind into sneezing repeatedly.

Passing through the covered corridor, she indeed saw Liuying returning with a cloak in her arms.

Zhao Yen draped on the moon-white cloak lined with fur and pulled up the hood.

“I just encountered someone in the warm pavilion, very young, born extremely good-looking.”

She thought for a moment, then said to Liuying, who was holding an umbrella by her side: “Judging by his clothing, at the very least he is a prince’s son or a noble heir. You must send someone back to take a look, find out this person’s surname and name, what identity he holds, lest some slip arise.”

Liuying dared not delay, and immediately said: “This servant knows many people, I will go personally.”

Warm pavilion.

Deputy Commander Zhang Cang pushed the door open and entered, only to see his lord standing by the railing, his incomparably handsome profile gilded with the cold light of snow.

Looking only at this fine appearance, who could imagine that he was in fact the foreign-surname Prince who wielded power over the world?

“Prince.”

Zhang Cang closed the door and said in a low voice, “Never thought the Crown Prince truly still lives—truly a large fate. Yet now that it is so, it will certainly block our path…”

Seeing his lord silent, Zhang Cang proposed: “Should I have my men take action personally?”

“Interesting.”

Wenren Lin gazed in the direction the Crown Prince had departed, speaking with thought, “The intelligence under this Prince’s hand has never once erred.”

“Prince suspects… there is an art of concealment?”

The personal guard hastily said, “Yet this subordinate observed in secret—that Crown Prince’s words and conduct were frail beyond compare, seemingly no different from before…”

As he thought this, a low laugh was heard.

“No different… from before?”

Wenren Lin’s voice was light, repeating once.

Zhang Cang broke out in sweat, instantly bowing his head: “This subordinate is dull-witted, may the Prince give clear instruction.”

Wenren Lin half-narrowed his eyes, speaking with hidden meaning: “This little Crown Prince—he actually is no longer afraid of this Prince.”

Wind and snow swept across the pond’s surface. A tiny fragment of rubble fell from the eaves, giving off an exceedingly faint sound.

In the instant of sparks flint, Wenren Lin casually seized the fishing rod at his side and gave it a flick. The thread writhed like a silver serpent, going straight for the eaves.

The fishhook reflected a cold light. The eunuch hidden in ambush atop the warm pavilion’s eaves was ensnared at the neck by the hair-fine fishing line. Before he could even let out a miserable cry, he thudded into the icy pond.

The wind stilled. Crimson blood rose from the pond’s depths, spreading and then vanishing.

That there had been an expert concealed on the eaves awaiting a chance to assassinate, and he himself had not detected it in the least—Zhang Cang could not help but break out in cold sweat, folding his fists and kneeling: “This subordinate failed to detect, may the Prince mete out punishment!”

“Enough. Clean this place up, and find out which family’s dog was released.”

The man’s voice was faint and careless. He brushed the thin snow from the carved railing with his hand. “First, let us go meet the Emperor. As for this obstructive little Crown Prince…”

His thin lips moved slightly. “The path he blocks is by no means only that of this Prince.”

“…Yes.”

Zhang Cang picked up the broken fishing rod, attempting to make amends for his mistake. “This rod, tribute from the Southern Seas—this subordinate will have men restore it to its original state.”

“No need.” Wenren Lin clasped his hands leisurely behind his back and stepped across.

For today, he had already caught a more interesting prey.

After the time it took to drink a cup of tea, Liuying returned, quietly pushing open the door of the warm pavilion.

The bamboo curtain swayed. The room inside was empty, only faint ripples spreading across the icy pond’s surface, gradually returning to stillness.

The “gentle, refined beauty” spoken of by His Highness had long since vanished without a trace.

…

Eastern Palace.

Zhao Yan had just stepped down from the carriage. Before she had time to catch her breath, a female official came forward to greet her, speaking with grave tone: “The Empress sends word, summoning you to the main hall at once.”

At the mention of the Empress, Zhao Yen’s delicate brows knit slightly: “So swift indeed.”

The doors and windows of the Eastern Palace’s main hall were tightly shut.

The dim glow of gauze lanterns reflected on the spotless floor tiles, and upon those tiles was mirrored the languid, downcast expression of the young youth.

At the high seat before her sat a woman in phoenix robes, hairpins splendid, her lips vermilion, brows long, phoenix eyes cold and clear. At the corners of her eyes, extremely fine lines had begun to show, yet they did not mar her beautiful features, and she bore an air of authority that inspired awe without anger.

She frowned, fixing her gaze on the “Crown Prince” seated below, as though looking through that face to see another.

“Who permitted you to open your mouth without leave, to confront the ministers head-on?” Empress Wei tightened her fingers, cutting straight to the point.

The young youth propped his chin with one hand, long lashes casting shadows that concealed the vermilion mole at the corner of his eye.

“I decided it myself. The affair in the Taiji Hall was clearly stirred up by someone fanning the flames. If I, like a puppet, remain silent and wordless, it is no different than handing over the handle to others. When the manipulator behind the scenes pursues the matter relentlessly before Father Emperor, pressing the Son of Heaven…”

Without deliberately suppressing her voice, Zhao Yen’s tone revealed a trace of feminine softness. “At that time, Mother Empress—will you still be able to conceal it?”

Empress Wei’s gaze flickered, her icy voice lowered three degrees: “Even so, you must not act without permission! Do you not know what identity you hold now?”

Identity?

Indeed—she had to play the role of Mother’s most beloved son.

After so many years apart, Mother still treated her in the same old manner, constantly rebuking and reprimanding, never willing to speak gently…

No—toward Zhao Yen, she was never so severe. Twins born fifteen years ago, yet she had always been the one not valued, not loved.

“If today it were Elder Brother who made the same decision, would Mother be willing to rebuke him so harshly?”

Unable to restrain her emotions, Zhao Yen still asked it aloud.

The Empress said coldly: “Yan’er conducts himself steady and proper, benevolent and kind, never would he stoop to such opportunistic tricks.”

Clearly she had long ceased to hope, yet Zhao Yen’s heart still felt a subtle disappointment.

She felt that today’s act as “Crown Prince” had been played dutifully enough. Though dissatisfied, she did not wish to quarrel with her mother while wearing her elder brother Zhao Yan’s identity, so she did not argue further, merely gazing blankly at the curling incense smoke dispersing over the desk.

That vermilion mole, dotted in imitation of Zhao Yan’s appearance, seemed to come alive, vivid and red.

A tightening rose in Empress Wei’s throat, yet she still sat proudly upright, revealing not the slightest trace of weakness.

Silent, face to face.

“Your Highness, it is time to drink the medicine.”

Liuying’s shadow reflected upon the door, timely breaking the silence.

The dark-brown decoction was placed before Zhao Yen, exuding a heavy bitterness.

Unlike her own robust and unruly nature, Crown Prince Zhao Yan had been frail and sickly since birth, nearly raised soaked in medicinal broth. Now Zhao Yen naturally had to imitate to avoid suspicion.

Only, the medicine before her had been secretly altered—possessing no effect of strengthening the body, but able to temporarily change her voice, making it lower, more resembling a youth’s tone.

Zhao Yen’s brows faintly creased, hardly perceptible. Under the Empress Wei’s complicated gaze, she raised the medicine and drained it in one gulp.

Bitter!

So bitter it hurt the stomach.

The Empress Wei’s eyes softened slightly. As usual, she motioned for Liuying to bring over the prepared candied fruits.

The cloying sweetness entered her nose. Zhao Yen moved her lips, pulling out a smile that was half-mock, half-ironic.

When she next spoke, it was already the faintly hoarse voice of a youth: “Mother Empress has forgotten again—I hate eating sweet things.”

The Empress Wei was stunned.

The one who loved sweets was her son, Zhao Yan.

“Your son takes leave.”

Before the Empress Wei could speak, the slender, beautiful youth gathered his sleeves in salute, bowing as he departed.

Her face was already heaven-blessed, and now deliberately imitated the appearance of the deceased Crown Prince. The Empress Wei felt all five tastes mingled together, and amidst the surging of thoughts, could not help but blurt out:

“Fortunately, the ones today were merely the rabble of Prince Yong’s faction. If it had been Prince Su you encountered—you would already have no life left, do you understand?”

The sharp, stern warning followed behind. Zhao Yen’s steps paused slightly.

Since secretly returning to the palace, this was the second time she had heard her mother mention Prince Su, Wenren Lin.

What kind of ruthless and terrifying man was he, that even Empress Wei—this proud and unyielding person—would feel dread at his name?

As that thin figure disappeared before the hall doors, only then did the Empress Wei seem unable to support herself, bending her back, pinching the bridge of her nose with a long sigh.

The pair of twins under her knees, as spring water to raging flame, their temperaments utterly different.

Back then, after such an accident, it was she, as mother, who hardened her heart and drove her daughter out of the palace, not seeing her for years. If there had been any second choice, she would not have summoned her daughter back at such a time.

“Your Majesty must not anger yourself.”

Liuying came over to massage the Empress’s aching chest, comforting softly, “In truth, the little Highness’s nature resembles Your Majesty’s in those years.”

“Liuying, watch her closely for this Palace.”

The Empress Wei closed her eyes, weary: “Now, with wolves encircling on every side, this Palace… must not lose.”

At the same time, outside the Taiji Hall.

The Son of Heaven stood barefoot upon the thin snow, his hair disheveled. His Daoist robe billowed in the wind, while beside him an aged Daoist in yellow crown and feather fan pinched his fingers, chanting in low tones.

Wenren Lin, in a robe of crimson, trod upon the snow and arrived unhurriedly, just in time for the end of this divination ritual.

“Prince Su, you have come at just the right time.”

The Emperor pointed one hand toward the heavens, sleeves swelling with the wind, and said: “Look, this is an auspicious omen bestowed from above!”

Wenren Lin faced the Son of Heaven directly, yet did not perform the ritual of kneeling. He merely inclined his body slightly and said: “With the heavenly snow descending, the rebels of Shu cannot endure the severe cold—indeed, a heaven-sent opportunity.”

The Emperor was supremely confident: “They will not be rampant for long.”

“Your Majesty is wise. However…”

Wenren Lin’s words shifted, as though with concern. “Recently within the court there have been many voices of disparagement, disturbing the hearts of the people.”

The Emperor opened his eyes wide. After a moment, having made up his mind, he said: “Since Heaven protects Great Xuan, then those mouths should also be shut. Whoever again raises the matter of ‘moving the capital,’ there is no need to spare his life.”

Having spoken, he looked toward the young man before him, who appeared gentle and refined: “This matter, I entrust to you.”

His lips curved faintly. Wenren Lin said in a quiet voice: “Your subject accepts the command.”

To grant life or to bestow death—he remained as gentle as ever, gentle to the point of cruelty.

The Emperor, in excellent spirits, raised his hand and signaled to the old Daoist at his side: “Bestow the celestial elixir.”

The old Daoist put away the ritual implements and presented a red-lacquered box the size of a palm: “May Prince Su enjoy long fortune and endless years, free of all taboos.”

Wenren Lin, expression unchanged, accepted it and said: “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

To entrust the cleansing of the court to Prince Su—the Emperor was, of course, at ease.

Disregarding all remonstrance, he had conferred upon Wenren Lin the title of Prince of foreign surname, granted him boundless power, making him into the sharpest, most fearsome blade in his own hand—

For he knew all too well, among the entire court of civil and military officials, only this child absolutely, absolutely could not betray him.

“Absolutely… not betray?”

Inside the carriage returning to his residence, Wenren Lin sat with one leg bent, the fine fabric of his sleeve robe draping down over his knee.

His well-defined hand toyed with the small lacquered box on the table—turning it slowly, again and again.

With a faint snap sound, he pressed down upon the lacquered box. Murderous intent flooded those smiling eyes, dyeing them with a brilliance both beautiful and terrifying.

Footnotes

• 1
  Gu is a self-designation used by emperors, crown princes, and other very high-ranking rulers in ancient China when referring to themselves. It literally means “lonely” or “solitary.”