“A bunch of useless trash! You can’t even keep an eye on a single person!”
Zhao Yuanyu paced back and forth in agitation within the pavilion, then suddenly seized the little eunuch’s collar. “Today we absolutely cannot fail again, otherwise you and I will both be finished!”
“Shizi, quell your anger, quell your anger!”
The little eunuch was lifted up on tiptoe, glanced around warily, then forced a grin and said, “That one has indeed fallen for the scheme, and her body was already weak. If she is not dealt with on the spot, she will surely die. Even if she did not fornicate with his concubine-born mother, she must surely be in some corner copulating with a palace maid. As long as the person is found, one can still impeach him for being wanton and debauched, lacking in virtue.”
“Then why are you not hurrying to search!”
Zhao Yuanyu angrily released him, his voice squeezed out through clenched teeth. “Be clean-handed, do not let others see anything unusual.”
The little eunuch repeatedly answered “Yes,” and stumbled off in a panic.
But after all, this was not the Prince of Yong’s residence. A vast imperial garden, with many mountains, forests, and palaces, crowded with people and eyes—trying to find a youth deliberately hiding himself was easier said than done!
“You go this way, you go that way, and all of you keep your eyes wide open!”
The little eunuch arranged those he could command. “Go search quietly, once you find him, report back at once!”
He wiped the oily sweat from his face and furtively looked all around.
Now, only that place, the Hegui Pavilion to the west, had not yet been assigned anyone.
The one the Emperor relied upon most as his left and right arms, besides the State Preceptor of the Shen Guang Sect, was this Prince Su. Because the Emperor often summoned him to discuss affairs late into the night—imperial will was unfathomable, and there were always some decrees and decisions that could not see the light of day. And since the Hegui Pavilion was adjacent to the northern gate and close to the Taihe Hall, the Emperor allotted it to Prince Su for occasional lodging.
Ordinarily one could not say, but today the Banquet of Adorning with Flowers was set in the Penglai Garden, so Prince Su would surely rest here.
Who would dare to go search for someone on Yama’s very domain? Most likely, before even getting close, they would be eliminated as assassins.
Moreover, even if the Crown Prince truly had the strength to run that far, and just so happened to break into the Hegui Pavilion, that disgraceful and miserable appearance of his falling into Prince Su’s hands would surely be more wretched and terrifying than falling into the hands of the Prince of Yong’s heir…
The little eunuch suddenly shivered, deciding to finish searching the other places first before speaking further.
…
Hegui Pavilion.
The faint fragrance in the air grew stronger and stronger, already cloyingly sweet.
The usually exquisite and dignified-as-a-porcelain-doll “Crown Prince,” at this moment her eyes were hazy, damp with sweat, like a fish lacking water, vainly opening and closing her lips.
Her hot, damp breath brushed against Wenren Lin’s hand again and again, diluting the cold pain seeping from his bones.
Wenren Lin felt surprise, and novelty.
His knuckles paused for only a breath, then he continued as usual to lift that strand of hair fallen loose, lightly tucking it behind her ear.
“Your Highness, this is… whose trick have you been caught by?”
He asked, following the motion to place his hand upon her pulse.
Frowning—the pulse was in great disorder.
Zhao Yen entirely allowed him to manipulate as he wished. The icy pads of his fingers on her wrist were like sweet rain upon a drought, making her crave more, even as they roused a thread of her muddled consciousness.
Realizing what she was doing, she withdrew her hand as if scalded, as though what she had just grasped was not Wenren Lin’s sleeve, but a blazing fire that burned the body.
Zhao Yen simply did not have enough clarity of mind to analyze or respond to the question Wenren Lin had posed.
She bit her lip-line until it turned white, struggling to prop herself up, attempting to distance herself from him.
Yet the result was meager. Even her very bones were soft; the strand of hair he had just tucked behind her ear slipped down again, clinging to her damp jaw.
Wenren Lin’s gaze followed that wet strand as it swayed, settling upon the corner of her lips, his eyes deepening.
Zhao Yen no longer dared to look at him. Discomfort and panic drowned beneath a strange torrent, surging over her, overwhelming.
She feared she might do something even more shameful, even more irreparable, and so, biting the bullet in mortification, she could only plead with the man before her.
“May Prince Su… temporarily avoid…”
The moment the words left her lips, even she herself was startled.
Whether it was that the drug’s effect within her body was too fierce, or Imperial Physician Zhang’s prescription had lost efficacy, her voice had already recovered a trace of feminine softness, even more tender and yielding.
Wenren Lin was astonished at her tone of voice in this moment.
He lifted his eyes, as though smiling, yet not smiling.
“Your Highness has come uninvited—so be it. But to want to drive the master of the house away? How unreasonable.”
“…”
If she had known this place was Wenren Lin’s domain, Zhao Yen would rather have died upon the road than stepped a single foot within.
She did indeed wish to leave of her own accord—but it was impossible.
In avoiding the eunuchs searching for her just now, she had already exhausted all her strength.
“Call someone… to save Gu…”
Zhao Yen swallowed dryly, speaking with difficulty.
“I fear that is not possible either.”
Wenren Lin, feeling the cold poison surging through his body, spoke with a voice like winter frost and snow—gentle, yet frigid. “This prince’s current situation is no better than that of Your Highness. It is inconvenient to see outsiders.”
Zhao Yen did not understand the meaning of his words.
Her mind was utterly blank; the sliver of lucidity brought by that chill had been completely devoured by instinctive craving.
What to do, who could save her?
Anyone—so long as they could help her…
“Lecturer Zhou!”
From afar came a shout, someone straining their voice: “The Crown Prince’s body is unwell, she cannot preside over the toast! Lord Shangshu is searching for you to provide urgent aid!”
Zhou Ji…
At the sound of a familiar name, Zhao Yen felt as though a drowning person glimpsed a floating branch—she would seize it with all her strength, at any cost.
Zhou Ji was a man of upright virtue, her last hope of preserving her dignity.
Instinctively, she shifted her body, bracing against the doorframe, bit by bit, trembling as she forced herself upright.
“Zhou… Wanlan…”
She summoned every ounce of strength to cry out, yet the sound that spilled from her lips was like spring water soaking through, damp and heavy.
The composure upon Wenren Lin’s face abruptly vanished.
His gaze darkened, and with a sudden lift of his arm, the chill wind of his sleeve struck the door, slamming it shut with a resounding bang.
The slanting warm sunlight vanished from Zhao Yen’s fingertips. She still held the posture of raising her hand to call for help, dazed, the hope in her eyes extinguished along with it.
Steady footsteps drew near. A tall shadow crept from behind, inch by inch engulfing her trembling, pliant form until she was fully shrouded within it.
“This prince has already said,”
Wenren Lin leaned in from behind, his low voice heavy with oppression, “today, it is not fitting to see outsiders.”
Zhao Yen’s shoulders trembled. She could hear the subtle displeasure hidden beneath Wenren Lin’s outwardly calm tone.
Yet without someone’s help, in this condition… she could not possibly endure much longer.
Wenren Lin perceived this as well, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Does Your Highness wish to live?” he asked.
What nonsense!
Zhao Yen clenched her teeth and nodded vigorously.
“Then be obedient.”
After pondering for a long moment, he slid an arm beneath the bend of her knees.
Zhao Yen only felt her body lighten, and in the next instant she was carried up into his arms.
She froze, thinking Wenren Lin meant to cast her out, to expose her shameful state before the crowd. With a muffled groan, she clutched tightly at his robe, until the fine fabric wrinkled under her grasp…
Sensing her craving and trembling, Wenren Lin furrowed his brows slightly.
In truth, for a fleeting instant, he had indeed harbored such a thought.
Though now wracked unbearably by poison, if he were to throw the delirious little Crown Prince out of the Hegui Pavilion, leaving her to her fate, he could still barely manage it—
But the moment she had, with that wretched voice, cried out Zhou Ji’s name, the thought had wholly vanished.
Absurd! Having already seen him in such a state, how could he possibly allow her to leave so easily?
Thus he changed his mind. Shifting his steps, he carried her instead toward the soft couch in the inner chamber.
The gauzy veil, thin as mist, brushed across Zhao Yen’s burning face, then drifted toward Wenren Lin. Still holding her, with no hand free, he tilted his head aside, his cheek inadvertently grazing her fevered forehead.
For an instant, both of them stilled.
Wenren Lin remained composed, but Zhao Yen nearly lost her wits, her breath coming in frantic gasps.
She even shamelessly stretched out her arms again, trembling as she hooked them around his neck. Yet Wenren Lin gave no reaction—merely cast her a cool glance before prying her hands away, laying her flat upon the couch.
Once parted from that beguiling aura, Zhao Yen at once felt as though cast into a sea of fire, curling up in distress.
She could not help but reach for Wenren Lin’s hand braced upon the couch’s edge, clutching those slender, powerful fingers within her palm.
Seeing that Wenren Lin did not refuse, Zhao Yen grew bolder still, daring to lay her other hand atop as well.
The warmth of her burning heat happened to offset the rigid chill of his finger-bones.
Zhao Yen no longer knew what she was doing, and muttered in confusion: “Grand Preceptor…”
That cry was pitiful beyond compare, the corners of Wenren Lin’s eyes lifted slightly.
At least she had begged the right person this time, and not called out some other absurd name.
From the icy pain, Wenren Lin tasted a trace of near self-tormenting pleasure. His mood still good, he allowed her restless clinging. Withdrawing his other hand from behind her waist, he pressed upon the slumber acupoint at the nape of her neck, not too heavy, not too light.
Zhao Yen immediately let out a low hum, raising her mist-laden eyes to look at him.
In the dim light, at the corner of her eyes there hooked a charm that did not belong to a youth.
Wenren Lin had not expected the poison in Zhao Yen’s body to be so fierce, even the acupoint that should send one into unconsciousness had utterly no effect.
Just as he was considering what other method might exist, Zhao Yen lowered her gaze and leaned closer, this time with her lips.
Her breath was less than an inch away, clumsy as she neared.
It was at this moment that Zhang Cang barged in.
With a loud clang the door resounded, Zhao Yen was startled, and by instinct she threw herself into Wenren Lin’s embrace.
Wenren Lin frowned. His broad crimson sleeve robe swept down, covering her trembling form entirely, shielding her tightly.
“Wangye, the medicine is—”
The voice cut off abruptly.
Holding the medicine box, Zhang Cang stared dumbstruck at the two upon the couch, mouths nearly agape enough to fit an egg.
Wenren Lin raised his hand slightly, resting it gently in reassurance upon the suffering, trembling back in his arms, then cast Zhang Cang a sidelong glance.
Dark hues surged in his eyes, both enchanting and severe.
Zhang Cang understood everything at once. Without shifting his gaze, he swiftly placed the medicine box upon the side table by the couch, then without shifting his gaze again, departed at once, carefully closing the palace door, as though trying to disguise himself as a wisp of smoke dispersing.
Within the hall, entangling darkness returned.
One hand still rested upon Zhao Yen’s back, loosely supporting her fevered, sliding body; with the other, Wenren Lin reached for the medicine box upon the side table, opened it with one hand, took out the dark red pill, placed it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed bit by bit.
The Cold-Bone Poison was swiftly alleviated, yet the chill would not dissipate immediately. Thus the warmth in his arms was, just so, perfectly enticing.
Deliberately delaying for quite a while, he at last spoke before Zhao Yen collapsed entirely: “He has already gone.”
The person in his embrace gave no response, only hot breaths one after another spilling against his chest.
Sensing something amiss, Wenren Lin lifted away the concealing sleeve. Under the pale light he saw: Zhao Yen’s lips crimson as blood, parting in rapid gasps, sweat beading upon disordered temples, her eyes already unfocused.
She was like a flower about to fall—beautiful, yet fragile.
If this poison did not find release soon, even if she survived by sheer chance, her person would be ruined.
“To summon the imperial physician is already too late. What lies before Your Highness now, are two choices.”
Wenren Lin half-lowered his eyelids, his voice as though muffled within a drum, yet also as though drifting from a distant firmament, stirring hazy entangled echoes beside Zhao Yen’s ear.
“The first—Your Highness ends your life immediately, preserving chastity and reputation. The second…”
Before the words were even finished, his lips suddenly felt a soft, damp pressure—Zhao Yen had given her answer through action.
Wenren Lin’s eyes opened slightly, his breath filled with intoxicating sweetness.
So utterly stunned was he, that when Zhao Yen pressed forward, he did not resist.
Yet never before had anyone dared to affront him so.
When he came back to himself, chill gathered in his eyes, and he instinctively lifted a hand toward her neck to restrain her.
But Zhao Yen gently clasped the hand that sought to seize her, her slender burning fingers slipping between his, interlocking firmly.
Delicate jade hands entwined within his hardened fingers, soft as if boneless. Wenren Lin’s lashes quivered, and unconsciously he released his strength.
“You—”
No sooner had he opened his mouth, than it too was sealed.
With her, he could neither strike nor scold; teasing the kitten, he had instead trapped himself.
Zhao Yen, in truth, had no idea what she was doing. The poison, combined with the terror of someone suddenly intruding into the hall, had burdened her heart almost to breaking, pain near to explosion. She hovered upon the very edge of death.
But she did not wish to die, nor could she die.
Zhao Yan’s cause of death was yet to be uncovered, memorials lay still unapproved, the hidden dangers in court not yet eliminated… She had so many, many tasks undone, she could not collapse here in such disgrace.
Of course, her mind no longer possessed the clarity to sustain such thoughts. What supported her in making so daring a choice was the instinctual will to survive, and the poison-driven impulse within her body.
As lips entwined, she tasted upon Wenren Lin’s mouth the bitter flavor of medicine, yet like drinking poison to quench thirst, it became uncontrollable.
But how could this alone be enough? Yet Zhao Yen knew not what next to do—she could only recall that play she once enacted with Liu Ji.
Thus, she imitated it now.
Wenren Lin froze again. Angered, he instead let out a soft laugh.
“To dare show insolence toward this prince, Your Highness is the very first.”
One hand still supported Zhao Yen’s swaying body, while the other bent at the elbow against the couch, lifting his gaze to her. “Your Highness so enjoys cranes twining necks?”
Before the words had fallen, his gaze halted.
Zhao Yen’s robes had, at some point, loosened into disorder. Beads of sweat traced her delicate collarbone, sliding downward, soaking layer upon layer of plain silk bands. Those bands too were half undone, rising and falling with her breath, half concealed, half revealed.
The answer Wenren Lin had long schemed for lay before his eyes.
Though he had already guessed the truth, seeing it with his own eyes still left him astonished. What is called the ultimate beauty of this world—likely, it was just this brilliance before him.
To speak truth, Wenren Lin did not at all detest such a “Crown Prince”—soft, radiant, alluring to pluck.
He sighed, no longer restraining his inner breath, the smile in his eyes stained now with murky darkness.
“Your Highness, do you truly not regret?”
He raised a hand, seized the golden hairpin securing her crown, and with a light tug, ink-dark hair spilled down like a cloud.
In Wenren Lin’s pitch-black eyes gleamed a bewitching crimson, as though a fallen immortal, seductive beyond bearing.
“Cannot… cannot die…”
She murmured in fragments, not knowing whether she was encouraging herself, or answering him.
“Have you decided?”
Wenren Lin loosely grasped the loosened sash, pulling at it with a touch both near and far. “Whether it be this prince offending one above, or Your Highness betraying teacher and destroying ancestor, it is all a defiance of human ethics.”
Zhao Yen’s very life was on the verge of ending—how could she spare thought for human ethics?
“Save me… Grand Preceptor!”
This cry of “Grand Preceptor” already carried a command-like sobbing tone.
Thus Wenren Lin’s palm threaded through her satin-like hair, gently cupping the nape of her neck, lifting her bright face like peach blossoms beaded with dew.
“Do not cry. The Grand Preceptor accepts the command.”
Falling along with the languid, hoarse voice was also a sash, uncoiling downward.
The golden-red sun rolled down the slope, its afterglow dyeing the evening clouds into resplendent crimson.
The Banquet of Adorning with Flowers had already begun to scatter, yet there were still many palace maids and eunuchs scurrying furtively about the corners of Penglai Garden, secretly searching for something.
Zhang Cang sat upon the stone steps beneath the corridor, like a blocking specter stationed there, allowing no one near the Hegui Pavilion.
Speaking of the Hegui Pavilion…
Zhang Cang turned his head, glancing at the pavilion roof hidden deep amidst the trees, and muttered in puzzlement: So it turns out, holding a woman in his arms could also alleviate Wangye’s Cold-Bone Poison attacks?
Who was that woman? She did not seem to be some ordinary palace maid, for from that bit of robe hem revealed, it was clear at a glance it was no common article, and even seemed a little familiar.
Unfortunately, with the gauze veil blocking, and Wangye guarding so tightly, he had not seen clearly.
Turning the matter over, he could only grow more solemn in reverence. Worthy indeed of Wangye—able to endure until now though his body was unwell, gifted beyond compare!
…
When Zhao Yen awoke from her stupor, she was still somewhat dazed.
Her scattered gaze gradually focused. It was as if she had dreamt a wild, absurd dream—yet every sore, powerless part of her body screamed to tell her it had not been a dream.
The air floated with lingering, amorous traces. Zhao Yen stiffly turned her neck, and suddenly beheld the tall figure seated by the couch’s side.
That Prince Su, whose power shook the realm, sat with loosened hair and unfastened garments, seeming to rest with eyes closed. The afterglow of the setting sun streamed through the window’s crack, laying a narrow band of golden-red upon his half-shut lids.
Hearing movement, he opened his lashes very slowly, those slightly upturned eyes languid yet dangerous.
“You are awake?” Wenren Lin’s gaze fell upon her face.
Zhao Yen stared blankly at the sash twined between his fingers, and by instinct shifted her fingertips—only to brush against a firm chest…
Ruined!
Ruined, ruined!
The last trace of color upon Zhao Yen’s face drained swiftly into a ghastly white.
