Wenren Lin suddenly paused in his movements, as though meeting some resistance.

He frowned, his voice low: “Relax a little.”

Zhao Yen kept silent.

Though Wenren Lin could not see, her own sight was all too clear. The gentle sensation made her unable to distinguish whether it was the soft jade applying the medicine or Wenren Lin’s knuckles.

In such a situation, she could hardly think of how to relax. The more at a loss she was, the more tense she became.

Wenren Lin also sensed it; at this rate, there was no way to succeed in applying the medicine.

“Her Highness keeping so taut like this—does it not hurt?” he asked.

Zhao Yen held it in for a long while, then could not help retorting: “It is the Grand Preceptor’s fault it hurts.”

Wenren Lin laughed. Though blindfolded, he turned precisely toward Zhao Yen’s direction, as if his gaze pierced through the silk.

“This prince is wronged.”

He deliberately slowed his tone: “At that time, Her Highness was deeply poisoned, swaying left and right. If not for this prince’s support, Her Highness would likely be in such pain now as to be unable to rise from bed.”

Hearing the jesting in his words, Zhao Yen grew both angry and ashamed. In her fit of temper she forgot all about restraint and, without thinking, kicked out.

Wenren Lin raised his hand and accurately caught her slender ankle. While she was still stunned, he gave a push…

Zhao Yen felt only a slight coolness, then warmth spreading as the medicinal oil melted, not nearly as unbearable and shameful as she had imagined.

“Her Highness is young, thin-skinned, always thinking that yielding to another—especially to this prince, one of such notorious reputation—is something difficult to face.”

Wenren Lin, beneath the warm glow of the candlelight, his nose all the more straight and lips thin beneath the covering sash, said: “When one is near starving, one must eat. With no rice, then chew roots and tree bark. And if even bark is gone…”

He paused, his voice becoming vast and distant: “Even if it is rotten corpses, insects, or serpents, one will still shut one’s eyes and desperately stuff them into the belly. In the same way, when Her Highness was poisoned and life hung by a thread, you had to think of every way to detoxify. The will to survive belongs to all people. What has already been done—what shame is there in it?”

Wenren Lin spoke such horrifying metaphors with calm tone, yet Zhao Yen sharply sensed within his words a faint trace of mockery, as though he were recounting some past matter he had personally experienced.

She grew quiet, attempting to glimpse something from Wenren Lin’s face.

But beneath the warm glow, that face half-shaded by silk was still as flawless as jade, without a ripple.

Wenren Lin drew back his hand, groped upon the desk. On his index and middle fingers still clung a little glaring red.

Zhao Yen’s eyelid twitched; thinking he sought to wipe his hands, she hurriedly dressed herself properly, then nudged a square handkerchief in the table’s corner toward his fingertips.

This time Wenren Lin touched it, took it up, and slowly wiped his joints clean, only then removing the silk from his eyes.

Suddenly meeting the warm light, he narrowed his eyes in discomfort for a moment, then opened them, gazing at the “little youth” seated upright upon the couch, wrapped in quilt.

A faint flush still lingered on her cheeks. Her eyes, damp from restraint, seemed full of glistening spring tide, all the moist brightness of spring gathered there, incomparably moving.

Wenren Lin could not help but reach out, lightly covering the obstructive tear-mole at the corner of her eye.

As Zhao Yen blinked, puzzled at the sudden motion, Wenren Lin leaned closer.

“This jade ought to be kept in the body for a whole night, only when the medicine upon it is fully absorbed may it be removed. But since Her Highness’s condition is special, one shichen [two hours] will suffice.”

His breath low, he asked: “Shall this prince remain to assist?”

“No need!”

Not only did her tone cut off like a blade, she also shook her head firmly.

Wenren Lin was in fine spirits, showing again that dark, unfathomable shallow smile. Rising, he stuffed the used handkerchief into Zhao Yen’s hand, his fingertip brushing across her palm.

“Then Her Highness must remember well the position for applying the medicine.”

When he finished speaking, he straightened his robe, lifted the curtain, and went out. Taking up the brush, he wrote a line upon her unfinished essay, then left.

Zhao Yen was truly curious what he had written. After he departed the hall, she quickly slipped on her shoes, left the couch, and leaned over the desk to look. Two lines of vigorous, free-flowing red commentary in running script read—

[Once in the morning, once in the evening. Use the jade within the box until exhausted, then cease.]

“……”

Zhao Yen’s breath caught. She flung that “defiled” essay, together with the handkerchief in her hand, into the copper basin of clear water, stirring in vexation until no trace could be seen.

Yet anger aside, Zhao Yen had to admit that the injuries inside and out, where the medicine had been applied, truly no longer hurt.

For once, a night of rare peace—deep sleep without dreams.

The next day she awoke clear-headed and refreshed, even Liuying praising: “Her Highness’s complexion is much better today.”

Morning spring rain bright, fallen blossoms covering the ground—arriving punctually at Chongwen Hall, she met the clearing of the rain and the blue of the sky. The rain collected on the eaves glittered brilliantly under the sunlight.

Zhao Yen’s sharp eyes discovered that a thick rug had been added to her seat. Kneeling upon it was as if upon clouds, incomparably comfortable.

It must have been Liuying, seeing her unwell, who ordered Li Fu to add the thick rug in advance. Zhao Yen did not dwell on it, but placed her spirit upon her studies.

Zhou Ji, as usual, was absorbed in researching Confucian and political discourse. Wenren Lin taught chess and the art of war. Aside from the occasional, indistinct glance that left Zhao Yen somewhat uneasy, all else seemed no different from ordinary.

At the end of that day’s lesson, Wenren Lin called Zhao Yen aside alone.

Zhao Yen’s heart gave a jolt, already harboring a bad premonition. Feigning calm, she turned and asked: “What further matter has the Grand Preceptor?”

Wenren Lin leaned against the chair, flipping through the policy essay she had written in imitation of Zhao Yan’s style, and asked casually: “The jade from last time—did it suit Her Highness’s use?”

His tone was not heavy, yet Zhao Yen still felt his voice resounded too loudly.

Her lashes trembled. Instinctively she glanced toward Pei Sa, who was tidying the desk behind her.

“It is already used up.” Zhao Yen lowered her head, her voice so soft it was nearly inaudible.

Wenren Lin inclined his head slightly, fingers turning another page. “Used up—then remember to return it to this prince.”

What?

R-return it?

Zhao Yen was dumbfounded, not knowing how to reject such an awful topic. Then she saw the laughter lingering in Wenren Lin’s eyes.

She understood at once—he was doing it on purpose. As if seizing a little handle on her, he must tug at it every so often.

Just as he himself had said, with such a handle held firmly in his grasp, Zhao Yen would be constrained, forced to live beneath Wenren Lin’s shadow, following only where he led.

Yet even a clay figurine has three parts temper, let alone Zhao Yen, who was never one to bow meekly.

“Living in the world, one will always have weaknesses and shortcomings.”

She forced down her anger, her voice instead carrying a stubborn calm. “Gu only prays the Grand Preceptor may forever remain strong and merciless, never to suffer illness, decline, or a day of being subject to others.”

Zhao Yen, worn down by his constant grasp upon her, could not swallow her indignation, and so let the words slip unthinkingly.

But Wenren Lin’s hand turning the pages halted, and the smile in his eyes slowly faded.

Clearly it was still the same elegant, handsome face, yet Zhao Yen sharply sensed the atmosphere stiffen, even the air seeming to freeze.

She did not know which words she had spoken wrong, which scale of Wenren Lin’s had been touched. She only felt crushed beneath that scrutinizing gaze, instinctively stepping back a pace.

“His Highness Prince Su.”

The old eunuch of the Taiji Hall shuffled in with hurried steps, breaking the silence just in time. Wiping his sweat, he said: “My lord, His Majesty summons you at once to Taiji Hall.”

Zhao Yen quickly seized the chance, gave the man upon the seat a student’s salute, and hastily withdrew.

Wenren Lin raised his hand, signaling the old eunuch to depart first.

Watching Zhao Yen’s slender back, Wenren Lin’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

After a long while, he let out a low, cold laugh: He had endured the agony of poison attacks to act as her antidote. And she? She thought only of how to tear at his shortcomings.

Heh. Little heartless one.

Truly seize hold of his handle—and would she still be left alive?