“Wasn’t His Highness the Crown Prince’s health already improving, how has it suddenly worsened again?”

“I heard that today the little princess secretly lured the little crown prince out to play wildly, and even had him climb trees for fun. The crown prince caught a chill in the wind, and when he returned, he burned with fever until he lost consciousness.”

“Ah, His Highness the Crown Prince is truly pitiful. Tell me, they are twins born at the same time, their appearances are identical, yet why is it that only our crown prince is weak in body?”

“You don’t know? That year when Her Majesty the Empress gave birth, His Highness the Crown Prince was born smoothly, without crying or fussing. But the little princess was a difficult birth, tormenting for half the night, nearly causing Her Majesty the Empress to fall into peril of childbirth disaster… They all say the little princess must surely be born carrying baleful fate, feeding on her elder brother’s vital energy in the womb. Otherwise, how could it be that the crown prince was born frail, while the little princess is vigorous as a dragon and tiger, never once having even a minor illness or calamity?”

“Now that you say it, it’s true. No wonder Her Majesty is not close to the little princess!”

“Of course! If only the healthy one were our crown prince, how good that would be.”

The gossiping palace maids carried trays of tea and fruit and went far off.

The early spring chill bit sharply. Little Zhao Yen lifted her hand and fiercely wiped her eyes. Her tender, childish face was flushed red with anger, and she resentfully kicked away the pebble at her feet.

The pebble struck against a pair of brocade boots embroidered with four-clawed dragon patterns, bounced back, and made a clattering sound.

Looking up, it was Zhao Yen’s elder brother Zhao Yan, who had heard the noise and quietly put on a robe to get down from bed.

Little Zhao Yen clenched her pink fists. Just as she turned to run, she heard Zhao Yan call out shortly: “Yen’er, wait.”

His voice was also soft and gentle, like that of a girl, and as soon as he opened his mouth he was overcome, coughing hoarsely.

Perhaps not wanting others to hear, he forcibly stifled the cough in his throat. His small shoulders trembled, curling into a hunch, looking somewhat pitiful.

Zhao Yen had no choice but to stop, unwilling and reluctant, lowering her head to twist at the hem of her sleeve.

Little Zhao Yan’s eyes curved as he bent them, and he carefully produced something from behind him, handing it to his younger sister.

It was a paper kite, badly torn—the one they had flown together in the garden that morning when Zhao Yan had followed her out in secret. Its broken frame had already been carefully mended, still stained with not-yet-dried paste.

“This paper kite… cough, cough… I picked it back for Yen’er.”

Zhao Yan raised his head, breathing hard, and revealed a weak yet gentle smile. “Next time let us play together again, is that good?”

Zhao Yen was astonished. So he had secretly climbed up the tree, only to snatch back her most beloved kite before anyone discovered it…

Just for a paper kite, he froze into a high fever that would not abate. Just for this thing, she was dragged into her mother’s anger and scolding without cause.

“Who wants to play with you!”

The anger from the palace maids’ gossip, the grievance from her mother’s misplaced blame, all surged into her heart. Zhao Yen snatched the kite away and threw it down, shouting loudly, “Zhao Yan, I hate you the most!”

The fragile bamboo ribs snapped.

The next instant, the dream suddenly overturned.

In the Huayang Palace thunder roared, the green sandalwood jewelry box split open, exquisite golden hairpins fell to the ground, and within the rain and mist the youth’s face blurred, receding farther and farther away…

“Zhao Yan!”

Abruptly waking from the dream, Zhao Yen jolted upright.

The unfamiliar bed-curtains billowed. A faint medicinal fragrance lingered long in the air. This was the Eastern Palace of the imperial city, not the Huayang Palace a thousand li away.

Zhao Yen clutched the bedding, her chin pressed to her knees, loose strands of hair falling to cover half her face.

Dreaming of Zhao Yan again.

She slowly exhaled, and from the secret compartment beneath the pillow felt out a jewelry box. The little box of green sandalwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl carvings was incomparably exquisite, yet if one looked closely, one could still see the cracks after repair.

Opening the lid, inside lay a golden hairpin, radiant with brilliance.

That day was Zhao Yen’s fifteenth birthday. Zhao Yan, returning to the capital from summer retreat, concealed it from everyone, changed his route, and took a long detour just to visit her, who had been banished to Huayang Palace.

Zhao Yan presented the birthday gift he had long prepared—a golden hairpin of his own novice design and forging.

Half his clothes were already soaked through, yet he seemed not to feel it, still as always with good temper smiling, congratulating his younger sister on her coming-of-age.

After six years away from the palace, at the sight of Zhao Yan’s pale face trudging all the way there, the grievance and unwillingness pent up in Zhao Yen’s heart surged forth like a flood bursting through a dam, drowning reason.

It had been thus since childhood. Every time Zhao Yan disregarded everything to come and show goodwill, the one whose body suffered mishaps, who was punished and scolded, was always her!

“Who cares for your gift!”

The young girl in a pomegranate-red gauze skirt stood stiffly, like a firecracker ready to explode at the slightest touch, shouting toward the youth in snow-colored robe in the rain, “Zhao Yan, I don’t need your pity.”

What expression elder brother wore then, Zhao Yen could no longer remember.

She only remembered that it was the sweltering end of summer, that the rain that day was heavy, and that her elder brother stood in the rain for a very long time.

She even forgot, that day was in fact also her elder brother’s fifteenth birthday.

Zhao Yen never expected, that would be the last time she saw Zhao Yan. The unhappy parting at the palace turned out to be a farewell forever.

Zhao Yen was no sage, she could not save the world. Disguised as a man and returning this time, she only wished to make clear how Zhao Yan had died.

She could not understand why that fool Zhao Yan never learned how to protect himself!

Zhao Yen gripped the golden hairpin tightly, as if only in this way could she suppress the regret and remorse in her heart that would not scatter.

When she opened her eyes again, she had already restored calm. She placed the green sandalwood box back into the secret compartment, and shook the golden bell at the bedside.

The head palace maid, Liuying, soon entered alone, carrying the prepared garments.

Liuying deliberately dismissed all other attendants; in serving the “Crown Prince’s” daily needs, she never borrowed another’s hands. Even so, she was startled at the sight before her, her eyelids twitching, quickly turning around to shut the hall doors tightly.

On the bed, the beauty had just woken from deep sleep, black hair trailing to the waist, underclothes loose. The chest-binding tied for her before sleep had already loosened by more than half. Stretching in a lazy yawn, faintly was revealed the white undulating outline, like a lotus in first bloom, utmost in elegance.

Liuying let down the bed-curtain to cover and said calmly: “Your Highness must sleep honestly at night, otherwise the hundreds of heads in the Eastern Palace would not be enough to chop off.”

As she spoke, she seized the loosened band of Zhao Yen’s chest wrap, winding and binding it again, and then pulling it tight. The graceful snowy peaks were bound into a flat plain.

“Hiss… lighter!”

Zhao Yen could not catch her breath, clutching at the aching ribs, whispering complaint, “The brazier fire in the bedchamber burned too strong, I was too hot to sleep soundly. It must have come loose when I turned over.”

Liuying showed no trace of pity, fastening her clothing ties: “Your Highness has always had a cold constitution, so naturally the brazier must burn strong. The garments cannot be reduced. First, lest others suspect, and second, they also conceal Your Highness’s original form.”

Zhao Yen propped her chin, glancing from the bronze mirror at the head palace maid sunk in thought.

After the crown prince’s accident, the Empress had, with thunderous decisiveness, replaced all the attendants. The Eastern Palace renewed, Liuying was the only trusted aide who remained.

She had served the crown prince’s daily life for many years, steady in conduct. Likely she was the one in this world who knew Zhao Yan best.

Since Zhao Yen had entered the Eastern Palace these days, it had always been Liuying correcting and instructing her words and deeds, imitating the late crown prince’s bearing, diligently and meticulously recreating this counterfeit to perfection.

They said it was “instruction,” but at times it was more like a spy sent by Mother Empress to keep watch.

After all, outside there were rebellious factions splitting off, inside there was struggle between parties, and on the side loomed Prince Su, wielding power over the court, watching like a tiger. A single misstep would mean total defeat.

She glanced at the tray of prepared clothing, and with little interest said: “Again going to deal with whom?”

“Has Your Highness forgotten? Starting today, you must attend lessons in the Chongwen Hall.”

“Ah…”

Zhao Yen fell headlong back into the bedding, frowning and mumbling, “Just have someone report leave. Anyway, the Crown Prince is frail and cannot endure the cold, no one will suspect.”

Liuying said: “This is His Majesty’s decree. Even Her Majesty the Empress has no way out.”

Zhao Yen rolled over, covering her ears, continuing to follow Duke Zhou [sleep].

Liuying said, “Offense,” and hardened her heart.

The brocade quilt was yanked away in one pull. Zhao Yen immediately curled into a ball from the cold, glaring angrily as she opened her eyes: “Liuying!”

Liuying knelt by the bed holding clean clothes, expressionless as she said: “Please, Your Highness, change clothes and proceed to the Chongwen Hall for lessons.”

Zhao Yen was thoroughly without temper now. She snatched the neatly folded garments from Liuying’s hands, and one layer at a time, with forced patience, dressed herself completely.

Liuying came forward to help, her restrained gaze sweeping across Zhao Yan’s face from time to time.

In truth, the little princess and His Highness the Crown Prince were not exactly the same. She could not help but think so.

If His Highness the Crown Prince was the bright moon in the sky, pure and spotless, then Princess Changfeng was more like the blazing sun of midsummer, brilliant and radiant.

The same face, yet utterly different temperament.

“Why do you keep looking at me? Have something to say?” Zhao Yen rubbed her drowsy eyes, lazily yawning.

Liuying instinctively shifted her gaze away, lowering her eyelids.

After a moment, she regained calm, and solemnly said: “His Highness the Crown Prince was the model of gentlemen under heaven, his conduct dignified, never doing such vulgar acts.”

There it was again, there it was again—the daily routine corrections!

Zhao Yen’s motion of bending halted with a snap. She had no choice but to drop her hands properly at her sides, and instead walked toward the hall doors.

“His Highness the Crown Prince never walked hastily.” Liuying’s voice drifted like a ghost from behind.

Zhao Yen, enduring with patience, slowed her steps.

“His Highness the Crown Prince was gentle in nature, he must smile.” The woman’s voice at her side continued without end.

Zhao Yen pressed her hand against the door, no longer able to bear it.

Her lips twitched for a long while. She pushed the doors open, raising her head to display a gentle and proper false smile.

That was why she most hated that fool Zhao Yan!

The heavy snow had just cleared, powdered jade and carved ice, a vast expanse of white.

In the carriage to Chongwen Hall, Zhao Yen glanced at the quiet Liuying beside her.

“How is it that now you are silent instead?”

Dressed in the crown prince’s regular robe of snow-colored silk embroidered with golden thread, Zhao Yen asked in puzzlement, “Do you not need, as in previous times, to exhort me again and again, teaching all the details of how the crown prince should interact with the teacher?”

Liuying answered crisply: “No need.”

Zhao Yen was surprised: “Why?”

Liuying thought for a moment, then said: “Your Highness will know once you go.”

One stick of incense later, at the Chongwen Hall.

Zhao Yen looked at the white-haired elder before her, leaning on a cane, trembling as he kowtowed to a red-lacquered pillar, and finally understood what Liuying’s “no need” had meant.

The Crown Prince’s Grand Preceptor, Lord Wen, was over seventy, his eye disease severe—beyond three steps he could not distinguish male from female, beyond ten zhang he could not tell man from beast.

With such eyesight, naturally he could not tell whether the one standing before him was the true Zhao Yan or a counterfeit crown prince.

“Teacher, please rise, this way.”

Zhao Yen stifled her laughter, helping the old man up and turning him to the proper direction.

The Chongwen Hall was not large, but it was very serene, the fragrance of ink drifting.

Holding a gilded hand warmer, Zhao Yen casually flipped through a few pages of books. The lofty legacy of the sages—cultivating the self, ordering the family, governing the state, pacifying the world—seemed to stretch across a thousand years, spreading out before her like a vast ocean.

So being a man had such benefits: one could study strategy and statecraft, the contests of the court—rather than being bound as a woman to the deep boudoir, never to see the light of day.

This world was truly unfair.

Up ahead, Grand Preceptor Wen held a crystal magnifier, enlarging each word of the Mencius line by line. Coming to a stirring passage, he could not help but sway his head, carried away.

Just as his tongue was flowing eloquent, in the enlarged vision within the magnifier he suddenly caught sight of the little crown prince resting his chin on his hand, gazing out the window, clearly distracted.

Grand Preceptor Wen cleared his throat, and rather tactfully said: “Your Highness seems absent-minded—could it be that this old man’s teaching is unclear?”

Zhao Yen drew back her gaze, smiling gently: “Teacher, do not blame me. There were a few sentences I did not quite understand, and in pondering them I lost myself.”

Seeing the crown prince so eager to learn, Lord Wen was deeply gratified, nodding repeatedly: “Which sentences?”

“‘To take compliance as the proper is the way of the concubine.’”

Zhao Yan pointed to a line in the book. “Why is it that the ‘Way’ of men may stand between heaven and earth, fearing not the power of kings—yet the ‘Way’ of women is only to dwell in the inner chambers, obedient to the husband?”

“This…”

Grand Preceptor Wen composed himself, stroking his grizzled beard. “Men govern outside, women within. The husband is the head of the wife. Ethics and propriety—such has it been since ancient times.”

Zhao Yan gave a light scoff: “Who set these ethics? Who spoke of this propriety?”

Grand Preceptor Wen cupped his hands reverently toward the void: “Naturally it was set by the ancestors, the words of the sages.”

Zhao Yan asked again: “Then between the words of the sages and ‘loyalty and filial piety,’ which is lighter, which is heavier?”

Grand Preceptor Wen answered: “Naturally loyalty and filial piety.”

“Very well.”

Zhao Yan tilted her head, propping her chin with utmost seriousness. “Then if I wish that the women of the world may read books and understand reason the same as men; if your honored mother wishes to walk out of the inner chambers and establish merit and achievement—would you follow, or not?”

“This…”

Grand Preceptor Wen was struck speechless for a moment.

Zhao Yen’s peach-blossom eyes curved slightly as she drew a sharp conclusion: “If you do not comply, then would Teacher not be a man disloyal and unrighteous?”

“……”

The erudite Grand Preceptor Wen wiped the cold sweat at his brow, unable to answer.

This was a problem never before conceived—worthy indeed of being the Crown Prince of keen wit, able to draw inferences from one case to another!

After half a day of lessons, Liuying followed one step behind Zhao Yen, speaking frankly: “Your Highness ought to be broad and benevolent, it is truly improper to so contradict Lord Wen.”

Zhao Yen, however, was clear in spirit and refreshed, responding carelessly: “To transmit the Way, impart knowledge, and resolve doubts—that is the teacher’s duty. How can it be called contradiction?”

The carriage of the Eastern Palace was waiting outside. As Zhao Yen walked with sleeves gathered, she saw beneath the Changqing Gate a man standing.

That man was in vermilion official robes, tall and upright in stature. A dark-blue cloak billowed in the wind, outlining the most striking stroke within the snow-covered imperial palace.

Zhao Yan recognized that back, and could not help but be surprised.

What a coincidence! Last time in the warm pavilion, she had not managed to coax out this man’s name.

“Your Highness, halt.”

Liuying looked with deep dread toward the palace gate, her voice hoarse as never before: “Let us take another gate.”

“Why?”

Zhao Yen was puzzled, just as she halted her steps, when suddenly a jet of scarlet sprayed forth from beneath the Changqing Gate, soaking through the white snow at the man’s feet.

The faint smile still rested at Zhao Yen’s lips, yet her pupils contracted in shock.

A white, plump civil official in scarlet court dress had fallen face down, blood seeping ceaselessly beneath his bloated body, in the blink of an eye staining a vast patch.

And the killer’s face did not change. He merely, with elegance and calm, accepted the kerchief handed by his subordinate, and carefully wiped his knuckles clean.

With a slight lift of his hand, the kerchief floated down, lightly covering that terrified face which had died without closing its eyes.

It was Zhao Yen’s first time witnessing a corpse with her own eyes—beneath the solemn palace gate.

Cold crept up her back. She staggered a step in retreat, clutching at the equally tense Liuying.

Zhao Yen instinctively wished to leave, yet it was already too late.

The man beneath the palace gate had noticed her presence. Slowly, with hands clasped behind his back, he turned.

As their gazes met, he walked toward her at an unhurried pace.

Vermilion robes and white snow mingled—it was impossible to tell whether he seemed more like an immortal, or an evil ghost.