“Is that so? If it truly were, then when the day comes they meet, Lecturer Zhou would surely be the first to recognize Yen’er.”
The unspoken meaning—if Zhou Ji did not recognize her, it proved she was not his old acquaintance.
Zhao Yen countered with her own thrust: “Prince Su is indeed most attentive to Gu’s younger sister.”
“Of course.”
Wenren Lin leaned closer on purpose, murmuring, “This prince still looks forward to the Flower-Bestowing Banquet, to catch a glimpse of Princess Changfeng’s beauty.”
“……”
Zhao Yen’s chest-binding was already pulled tight, making her breathing difficult. Hearing this, her vision nearly blackened.
With a clang, the dagger fell to the ground. Zhao Yen clutched her wrist and collapsed down, from Wenren Lin’s view appearing only as fragile shoulders trembling, as if in extreme distress.
His gaze sank slightly, falling upon his own empty palm—he had not even used any real strength just now.
“The same move used a third time no longer has effect.”
Speaking thus, he reached out to help Zhao Yen up.
But just as his fingertip touched her clothing, a flash of cold light appeared before his eyes.
Wenren Lin’s pupils contracted. His left hand lightly seized her wrist, ready to mock her futile sneak attack—yet in that instant, he realized something was amiss.
What she held was only the scabbard. Which meant the dagger could only be in…
The sound of wind rushed by his ear. By instinct Wenren Lin brought up his right arm to block Zhao Yen’s other hand striking from the opposite side. Tilting his head slightly, the blade skimmed past his jaw, leaving the chill of sharp steel in its wake.
Sunlight streamed silently between the two locked figures, illuminating the motes of dust dancing in the air.
The wind ceased, and their fluttering robes also fell still. Within the hall, only two interwoven breaths—one hurried, one steady—could be heard.
Wenren Lin quickly regained composure.
Just now, her feigned collapse was only a cover to conceal the dagger and scabbard. This stratagem of feint and ambush was exquisitely used, managing even to force him to bring both hands into play.
“Is His Highness truly intent on murdering his teacher?”
His eyelids lowered loosely, gazing at the short-breathed youth before him, his dark eyes spreading with depth like ink.
“How would this student dare?”
From using too much force, Zhao Yen’s tied hair loosened, a strand falling down. Her cheeks flushed with color, she panted rapidly: “All warfare is based on deception—Grand Preceptor teaches well.”
Her voice was weak, her pulse chaotic, yet her eyes were exceedingly bright.
As if to say: See, Lonely one already said would study well under the Grand Preceptor.
Wenren Lin seemed as though meeting her for the first time, gazing intently for a long while. That look seemed as if it would peel away her layers of disguise by force, exposing the truest and cleanest self within.
The posture of having both hands restrained was uncomfortable. Zhao Yen’s heart thumped wildly. Seeing that he truly no longer mentioned “Huayang” or “Princess Changfeng,” she quietly struggled her wrists.
Wenren Lin acted as if he had not noticed her little ploy and calmly released her hands.
The tolling of the bell rang right on time. Zhao Yen coughed lightly twice to avert her gaze, then swayed into a bow of farewell toward Wenren Lin, before finally walking over to Pei Sa, who was still squatting in horse stance. She took from his outstretched arm the teacup and asked: “Are you alright?”
For a full hour, not a drop of the tea inside had spilled.
Pei Sa untied the sandbags from his waist and legs, raised his hand to press his neck, which cracked as he tilted it to one side, his tone carrying thick unwillingness: “No harm, only some practice of the basics.”
Before Wenren Lin could change his mind, Zhao Yen hurriedly led Pei Sa out of the hall.
Once aboard the sedan returning to the Eastern Palace, with the heavy curtains lowered, Zhao Yen collapsed among the embroidered pillows, without even the strength to utter one more word.
Blessings from Elder Brother—today again, she managed to scrape by with her little life intact.
Chongwen Hall.
Wenren Lin raised his right arm. On the tight martial sleeve, the fabric had been cut with a neat little slit.
This was from when the Crown Prince attempted the sneak attack earlier, when he raised his arm to block. Though it was only a fine, shallow tear, Zhang Cang, who had observed the entire scene, could not help his temples pounding fiercely.
Other than on battlefields swarming with enemy troops, he had never seen anyone come so close to the Prince.
How dangerous was that blade! If not for the Prince’s battle-seasoned body and timely counter, that dagger might well have cut across the Prince’s face!
Speaking honestly—His Highness was fickle in temper, his methods not exactly bright and upright, his reputation even worse, enough to stop children’s crying at night…
Only that face of his could be considered outstanding. If even that last advantage were lost, how would he ever find a wife in the future?
With the Flower-Bestowing Banquet soon to arrive, Zhang Cang had hoped the Prince would find a gentle lady who knew warmth and care to accompany him. At this critical time, a scarred face would ruin all hope.
Compared with Zhang Cang’s turning and twisting thoughts, Wenren Lin was far more indifferent.
“Has there been any movement in Huayang?” he asked.
Only then did Zhang Cang remember the proper business and answered: “A carrier pigeon message has come from Cai Tian. According to your instructions, he paid respects to the Empress Dowager. Princess Changfeng was at her side, and there was nothing unusual.”
Wenren Lin’s gaze sank slightly: “Confirmed, it was the little princess herself?”
Zhang Cang said: “Cai Tian will continue to remain hidden at the palace for a time, to observe for any changes.”
Wenren Lin lifted a finger to brush over the tiny tear, then suddenly gave a low laugh.
Whenever he began to feel a trace of boredom, the little Crown Prince would always stir up new amusement for him. So be it—he rather wanted to see how long this Eastern Palace play could go on.
When the day came that she could no longer conceal it, what kind of panic-stricken, trembling expression would she reveal?
He truly looked forward to it.
The biting spring wind swept through the hallways, clouds obscured the sun, casting vast shadows over the Imperial City.
Awakening of Insects—the damp breath of rain spread across the capital.
Spring thunder rumbled, and in the side estate of the Prince of Yong’s residence, all was shrouded in gloom.
The gauze canopy billowed, casting a shadow of the twisting, serpent-like figure within. Moans, half pain, half pleasure, blended with the patter of rain—indistinguishable which was which.
Zhao Yuanyu watched until his mouth went dry, yet the heat stirred no further than his chest—downward, there was no response at all.
Inside the canopy was the most potent woman he had purchased, who, after merely touching a little of that drug, had lost all sense and become like this.
“This medicine—are you certain it can be used by both men and women?” He tugged at his collar and asked.
The Daoist woman, clothed in sheer gauze that revealed her flesh, leaned bonelessly against him, smiling with charm: “Be at ease, Shizi. It was personally prepared by the immortal master. Even if a eunuch were to use it, he could be restored…”
But realizing she had just touched upon Zhao Yuanyu’s sore point, her face turned pale.
At this moment, however, Zhao Yuanyu did not care about such things.
His satisfaction with the drug’s effects, together with the twisted delight of soon destroying the Crown Prince’s reputation, overshadowed the pain of his own hidden affliction.
Zhao Yuanyu calculated carefully, nearly unable to suppress his excitement: “But this alone is not enough. Another crime must be added, so that he may never rise again.”
The Daoist woman accompanied with a fawning smile, offering wine in obeisance: “This concubine congratulates Shizi on behalf of the immortal master—may you rise to the heavens in a single step, basking in boundless glory.”
Zhao Yuanyu laughed loudly, pulling the Daoist woman into his arms. Purple-white lightning illuminated his sinister face, rendering it hideous.
After several bouts of spring rain, the capital was renewed.
The heavy blue-gray was gradually hidden among peach blossoms and willow green. Kites dotted the skies, flowers bloomed on the earth, bees and butterflies fluttered—a scene of flourishing vitality.
When the Enke results were released, the most unhappy was Lady Liu.
“If not for the calamity that befell the Eastern Palace, this year’s Enke, I…”
How the Enke would have turned out, she did not continue.
But Zhao Yen understood her unfinished words: If not for last year’s repeated disasters, those admitted through the Enke might have been young talents like Shen Jingming or Cheng Jixing…
The Eastern Palace would not be so weak and isolated, without a single supporter to this day.
Looking at the list presented by the Ministry of Rites, Zhao Yen felt a headache growing—what kind of disorderly people were these! All of them tied by kinship or affiliation to the various factions in court, not a single one clean and usable.
And yet, Father Emperor had shut himself away in cultivation, neglecting affairs and unable to attend the Flower-Bestowing Banquet. This heavy burden naturally fell upon the Eastern Palace.
Dusk neared, but Zhao Yen was still busy reviewing the banquet procedures. On the table, memorials piled up like a mountain—recommendations from officials of various ministries for the appointments of the new Enke scholars. She had not yet had time to read through them.
Liuying entered to light the lamps. Seeing the youth behind the documents with tightly furrowed brows, she urged: “Tomorrow you must attend the banquet. Your Highness should rest early.”
“That is true.”
Lady Liu, dipping her fingertip into wine, idly sketched a tortoise on the desk. “At present you hold no real power. The Emperor would never truly entrust such matters of appointment into your hands. Just mark them with a ‘read’ and be done. There’s no need to be hasty.”
“It is not entirely the memorials that trouble me.”
Zhao Yen raised her slender hand, lightly pressing the corner of her eye dotted with cinnabar.
For some reason, since the afternoon this eyelid had kept twitching without stop, disturbing her mind with restless unease.
Spring wind filled the city, but Prince Su’s residence seemed forgotten by the gods.
While the capital vied in blossoms and splendor, here only dark pines and green cypresses stood tall, with no trace of peach or apricot bloom.
Cai Tian had returned from Huayang palace a number of days ago, yet had not once been able to see the Prince’s face. By calculation, it was nearly time for the illness to strike again.
At such times, the Prince’s mood was always poor, and he would see no one.
Staring at the tightly closed doors of the study pavilion, Cai Tian asked: “Last month, on which day did the Prince take the medicine?”
Zhang Cang thought for a long while before replying: “The Prince said he wished to test the limits of his body, and endured until the seventh day before taking it.”
Cai Tian nodded.
Today was only the second day, so it seemed there were still a few more days before that time came.
“The onset of illness grows later with each month. Perhaps one day, no medicine will be needed. That too would be a blessing.”
Zhang Cang was still rambling when the doors of the study pavilion opened from within.
Wenren Lin emerged, his complexion only somewhat paler than usual, without other abnormality.
“Prepare the carriage. Enter the palace,” he said.
In the twilight, his figure remained tall and upright, his steps steady and composed, as though in this world there existed nothing that could make him halt or bend.
