The last wisp of sunset gathered in, the evening glow at the horizon gradually dimmed, and the night veil devoured from the east.

It was nearly the hour when the palace gates would be locked. The newly risen nobles who had attended the banquet departed one after another. Earlier, the road was crowded with the bustle of carriages and horses, yet now only the carriage of the Eastern Palace still stood afar, the fine steed beneath the wall pawing its hooves impatiently, already restless.

Liuying’s face appeared calm, yet her heart was already burning with anxiety.

She had only gone to the banquet to convey His Highness’s oral command. Barely a quarter of an hour later, when she returned to Shicui Hall, the Crown Prince was gone. Inside the chamber, there was only a shattered vase, an unconscious palace maid, and Beauty Liu on the bed, moaning in pain.

Having spent so many years in the palace, what sordid schemes had Liuying not seen? Realizing something was wrong, she immediately handled the matter with due care.

Sure enough, when that palace maid awoke, before even opening her eyes, she bit hard into the claim that His Highness the Crown Prince had injured her, and that he had intended to act improperly toward Beauty Liu.

Fortunately, at that time the Crown Prince was not in the hall, and Beauty Liu had been properly settled by Liuying. Thus, the palace maid’s rambling words collapsed of themselves.

Seeing her plan exposed, the maid panicked utterly. While Liuying summoned the imperial physician and the guards to question her, she turned her head and fled toward the back courtyard. By the time she was found, there remained only a single embroidered shoe by the well.

As for whether it was truly guilt that drove her to suicide, or whether she was silenced, no one could know.

The urgent matter now was to find His Highness the Crown Prince as quickly as possible.

“What should be done?”

“Commander Gu Xing has gone back to look, His Highness has not returned to the Eastern Palace.”

Li Fu wiped his sweat. “The pavilions, halls, and rockeries within Penglai Court have all been searched. At present, only the ponds and marshes remain.”

At the word “ponds and marshes,” Liuying’s expression faintly changed.

If His Highness had truly, in dizziness, slipped and fallen into the water, then by now perhaps he already…

“Curse my mouth!”

Li Fu muttered, raising a hand to slap his own lips, then pressed out the dimple at his mouth corner. “Perhaps His Highness has merely sought some secluded corner and fallen asleep. I will order more lamps lit, and have men search more carefully.”

Liuying knew, too, that Li Fu was merely offering comfort.

If His Highness had truly hidden somewhere and fallen asleep, that would be good. Yet when she had just led people into Xing Garden, she had chanced to encounter several unfamiliar slaves, who, upon seeing others, had hastily dodged away. Liuying’s heart had risen in vigilance. After several rounds of questioning, they pushed the excuse that the heir of Prince Yong had lost a piece of precious jade and had ordered them to search for it.

Recalling Beauty Liu’s inexplicable appearance in Shicui Hall, the ominous foreboding in Liuying’s heart grew heavier. She said: “Have Gu Xing keep watch on Prince Yong’s residence. I suspect today’s matter is being fanned by the Prince Yong faction. Also, the disappearance of the Crown Prince is no small matter—under no circumstances may word spread and cause a stir.”

Having arranged all this, Liuying raised her lantern and continued searching toward the west.

The spring night was chill; she did not know where His Highness might be, whether she was injured or had caught cold.

She had already lost His Highness the Crown Prince once. She must never allow old events to repeat.

At this thought, Liuying gripped the lantern in her hand more tightly.

In the distance, the eunuchs came carrying long poles, hanging palace lamps one by one along the main path.

A gust of east wind came, and the candle flames swayed together with the flower shadows, so that the vast imperial garden gained a few points of wondrous fairyland beauty.

To the west, the mountain forest was verdant, and Hegui Pavilion stood alone among it. From the dim papered window there spread the warm yellow of lamplight: Wenren Lin, having thrown a robe over his shoulders and descended barefoot from the bed, had just lit the floor-standing palace lamp beside the couch.

The soft glow gilded his pale, flawless face, and also illuminated the scene of complete disorder.

Robes and underclothes were tangled in utter confusion, nearly nothing remaining in its original place. That long, plain-white chest wrap, with Wenren Lin’s rising, slipped down—half clinging precariously to the edge of the bed, half meandering across the floor, covering that branch of fiery-red pomegranate blossoms that had likewise rolled to the ground.

The corner of the binding belt was stained with a diluted pale dark red, as though washed by water—whether it was the juice of the pomegranate blossoms or that thing from earlier could not be discerned…

Zhao Yen’s complexion turned two shades paler. Every inch of discomfort in her body urged her to recall the unspeakable process of detoxification.

Taking advantage of Wenren Lin being absorbed in lighting the lamps, she finally, with difficulty, propped herself up and reached toward the inner garment at the bedside.

A movement ordinarily simple beyond mention now proved especially arduous. She even felt that the soreness and humiliation following torture would not be worse than this.

For the sake of survival, to deliberately provoke another could still be borne—but the one she had provoked happened to be the most dangerous man in the entire palace…

No one had taught Zhao Yen how she was to handle the dire situation before her.

The only thing she could do was fumble through her garments one piece at a time, as if by doing so she could recover her invincible armor and disguise herself anew.

But her thoughts were in chaos. Even binding her chest wrap, she could not manage it properly.

That thing was long and cumbersome to begin with—normally it was Liuying who helped her tie it neatly. Now she had only two hands, both sore and trembling badly: pressing down one end, the other came loose.

Her throat clogged for no reason, and her heart filled with frustration.

When one is down on luck, even a piece of cloth dares to bully her.

Wenren Lin had long since heard those faint, fumbling movements of hers, yet as he had not decided how to deal with her, he was in no hurry to turn and speak.

His expression remained calm. Only after slowly lighting every lamp did he lightly blow out the fire-stick and turn around to look.

At that glance, his gaze paused slightly.

Under the bright lamplight, the little Crown Pr—no, the little Princess was struggling to wrap on her chest binding, her lowered lashes trembling like crow feathers.

In her excessive haste, loose strands of hair slipped down the back of her jade-colored neck. The soft sea-silk coverlet slid slightly aside, revealing the imprints of fingers upon her arm—not deep, yet stark against her overly pale skin.

Wenren Lin’s eyes lowered further: there were also marks at her slender waist.

No one knew better than he how those traces had come about. The poison had been too fierce, the little Princess’s mind muddled and without any experience. Wenren Lin had feared that at such a young age she might strain her waist, and so had supported her. As for how much of that support was rational, and how much was impulse beyond control—by now, it no longer mattered.

His fingers unconsciously curled, the line of his lips moved faintly, and he walked toward her.

The moment Zhao Yen sensed his approach, her body tightened involuntarily. She did not even care to finish dressing—her boots were hastily pulled on, and she turned at once to flee.

The next instant, her sash was hooked.

Wenren Lin gave a short laugh, his voice tinged with displeasure: “To run now—is that proper?”

Zhao Yen instinctively reached to tug free, but her hand touched the hard knuckle of his finger.

In an instant, blurred memories surged into her mind: the gentle stroking of her hair, the firm grasp at her slender waist, ten interlocked fingers pressing at the pillow’s edge. As though scalded, she snatched her fingertips back.

Wenren Lin took in all her reactions. The sash between his fingers coiled twice, and he spoke with deliberate leisure: “This prince’s half a lifetime of purity, ruined at Your Highness’s hands…”

He paused, then deliberately added: “…twice. Will there be no explanation given?”

It was not as though the second time had been of her own will! Zhao Yen nearly roared in her heart.

Yet matters had come to this. She was not unwilling—and whether once or twice, what use was there now in quibbling?

Her mind was in utter confusion. She only wanted to leave at once, to find some safe and deserted corner where she could hide and privately digest the disgrace of her present defeat.

Her black hair hung loose. After much thought, she could only stammer, face burning: “I…I am going to read memorials.”

Having spoken, she truly wished she could pinch herself—what a clumsy and laughable excuse this was.

It was she who had taken the initiative to provoke—how could Wenren Lin possibly let her leave so easily?

“Very well.”

Behind her, the man unhurriedly hooked her strands of hair, his voice low and hoarse: “Your Highness reads memorials; this minister reads Your Highness.”

With that, his fingers pulled sharply, and Zhao Yen was dragged backward by her sash, falling into a seat both warm and unyielding.

Realizing what this “seat” truly was—the man’s own body—Zhao Yen froze all over, instinctively springing back up.

Her gaze swept across a trace of golden color within the tangled bedding; she retreated a step, collapsing onto the mattress, one hand bracing against the bed’s edge.

Only, in this way, the half-lit halo of moonlight fell across her, and the chest wrap she had clumsily tied earlier came loose again, looking even worse than if she had not bound it at all.

Wenren Lin ignored this. He bent his forefinger and lightly pressed against Zhao Yen’s chin, gently lifting her stiffened face toward the warm glow of the floor-standing palace lamp.

Indeed, he read with great patience—he even had the leisure to brush aside the locks at her temple, tucking them behind her ear so that he might observe her more clearly.

Now, beneath the lamp, looking at her beauty—she seemed even more breathtaking than when first seen.

Wenren Lin’s dark eyes carried an unfathomable smile, giving rise to an almost tender illusion.

Zhao Yen only felt a tingling numbness creep from the hair he had touched, crawling up the back of her head. The residual memory within her body made her, against her will, wish to tremble.

Wenren Lin perceived her faint shiver. The spring night was chill; it was easy to catch cold.

His gaze slid down from her hollowed collarbones, lingered for a long while, and then, lowering his exalted dignity, he pinched up that loosened band, while his other hand steadied her arm.

“Raise your hand,” he said.

Zhao Yen curled her hand into her sleeve, pressed her lips together, and obeyed.

The instant her arm was raised, pain surged, and she stifled a groan.

Hearing it, Wenren Lin lifted his eyes.

He had already removed that messy, unbearable chest wrap from her body. The plain-white silk hung from his fingers, resembling an executioner’s white cord.

Zhao Yen sat rigidly, unable to keep from imagining with the worst of malice.

Wenren Lin was probably going to kill her—only she did not know by what manner, nor how painful it would be.

“Your Highness might as well rest your arm on this prince’s shoulder; it will feel somewhat better.”

As he spoke, Wenren Lin laid the band across her chest, one hand pressing it, the other threading from her side, binding the cloth tighter and tighter.

Zhao Yen was astonished, though she certainly did not believe Wenren Lin acted out of goodwill.

From the very first day she had known him, it was ever thus—every semblance of tenderness he showed was nothing more than the brewing of a greater scheme…

Suddenly, her chest tightened sharply, breaking off her thoughts.

Zhao Yen stiffened in fright: Wenren Lin truly meant to strangle her!

Seeing her reaction so extreme, Wenren Lin himself paused in surprise.

Yet, faced with those suspiciously beautiful eyes, he could not suppress a certain amusement. After a brief pause, he resumed, this time at least with gentler motions.

“This prince is also binding a woman’s chest for the first time. I know not the proper measure—Your Highness must be more forgiving.”

Wenren Lin’s gaze darkened slightly, his tone drawn out: “To bind such a hindering thing here is truly a waste of Heaven’s gift.”

Because their posture was so near—chest nearly pressed to chest, almost an embrace—his low, hoarse voice fell right by Zhao Yen’s ear.

She could even feel the heat of his lips, and the faint vibration of his chest as he spoke.

Unconsciously, Zhao Yen shifted back a little, her voice thin in plea: “I will do it myself…”

But before her words were finished, she froze.

Wenren Lin had discovered the stain at the end of the chest binding… No, perhaps he had already discovered it long ago, for when Zhao Yen had awakened, she had seen it hooked between his fingers.

In any case, he deliberately slowed his movements, his fingertips lightly rubbing that patch of dark red.

Zhao Yen’s cheeks burned, and she turned her eyes aside as though fleeing.

But Wenren Lin gently turned her face back again, making her look at that mark, and asked with an expression as calm as ever: “What does Your Highness think, how should this be dealt with?”

He was bullying her—deliberately watching her in embarrassment!

With nowhere left to escape, Zhao Yen simply shut her eyes: “Whatever…”

Wenren Lin slightly raised his eyes, fixed on her trembling lashes, and let out a quiet laugh: “Only now does Your Highness grow bashful? Is it not a little late? Where was the courage that pressed down this prince just a moment ago?”

With that, his thumb tapped the black-iron ring on his forefinger. A sharp blade sprang forth at once, gleaming with a cold light under the candle flame.

Zhao Yen braced herself as though before a great enemy, clutching the sharp object she had hidden beneath the bedding.

With the sound of tearing cloth, Wenren Lin cut away the soiled strip of binding, then withdrew the blade and tied off the chest wrap he had wound for her.

He continued helping her into her garments.

Zhao Yen, like a puppet on strings, let herself be moved about. That strip of binding stained with pale red lay neatly folded at the bedside.

She swallowed and at last probed: “Prince Su, may you permit me to return to the Eastern Palace…”

Only upon speaking did she realize how hoarse her throat had become.

Unconsciously, she licked her lips for moisture, then added: “Gu has been missing for so long, it may bring about misfortune.”

Wenren Lin did not answer. He carefully drew her robe closed, tied the knot, and slowly smoothed the wrinkles, his every motion incomparably elegant.

“After such a matter, to still think to return intact to the Eastern Palace—Your Highness is a little too naïve.”

Wenren Lin looked toward her, as if trying to discern something in her eyes. “After all, when Your Highness detoxified, you did indeed see this prince in that manner.”

As he leaned close, his robe shifted slightly open, faintly revealing the scratch marks on his chest—there were surely more on his shoulders and back.

Zhao Yen had injured him, had even bitten… She thought he was nursing grievance over this. Her memory was blurred and confused—aside from this, she could not think of what other “manner” he meant.

But she could not understand: if Wenren Lin truly sought her life, he could have let her die at that moment. Why wait until now?

Could it be he merely wished to take advantage of her peril?

If she lost her life, that was one matter—but this affair implicated so many others, she did not know how many would follow her into death.

And Zhao Yan…

If she were to meet him in such a state, in the underworld, surely he would laugh at her in scorn.

No—she could not sit and await death.

All at once Zhao Yen grew calm, clutching at her sleeve.

She lowered her head, murmuring something in a faint, inaudible voice.

Wenren Lin had been watching her reactions all along. Seeing her rosy lips part and move, he knit his brows slightly and leaned closer: “Your Highness is muttering—”

Before the words were finished, a sharp cold gleam had already swept across before his eyes.