On her wrist she wore a bracelet of jasmine flowers. Lowering her head, she sniffed it lightly, the corners of her lips secretly curving into a smile. For an instant, she seemed once more merely a noble, carefree young maiden.

That one or two taels of silver—well spent indeed.

Wenren Lin’s fingers, clasped behind his back, unconsciously stroked the jade-inlaid ring upon his index finger.

“Prince… master.”

Cai Tian strode forward, but at the last moment changed his form of address, lowering his voice: “There has already been movement over there.”

Wenren Lin lifted his hand slightly, signaling Zhao Yen to come over.

“Are we going to Yuquan Palace now?”

Zhao Yen glanced at the rippling canal water reflecting the sunset and lantern light, reluctant: “It is not yet the hour when the city gates close, I still wish to stroll a while longer.”

Wenren Lin looked into her eyes, as though gazing deep into her soul, seizing all her hidden thoughts.

He slowly opened his mouth: “No matter what Your Highness is scheming on this journey, do not block this prince’s path.”

The last ray of twilight gathered in, and the night wind passed between the two standing opposite.

Zhao Yen’s back suddenly chilled. She hesitated, lifting her eyes. Wenren Lin’s expression betrayed no joy or anger, his tone even gentle: “Go amuse yourself. We set out in two quarters of an hour.”

Finishing, he left his personal guards behind, turned with hands clasped, and walked toward the tavern.

In the surging crowd, his tall and upright figure quickly sank into the dimness—lofty, distant, unapproachable, yet unshakably solid.

“Girl, you and that gentleman, you are not yet wed, are you? I see you still wear a maiden’s coiffure.”

A silver-bell-like, laughing voice came from the side. Zhao Yen turned her head, and it was one of the concubines she had seen earlier in the tavern.

“This slave is called Lanxiang, the fourth concubine in Master Chen’s household. Look, that one is Master Chen himself.”

Lanxiang pointed upward with her lips. Zhao Yen followed the motion and saw that splendidly dressed, handsome young man eagerly waving to her.

She understood at once: this woman was likely sent by that Master Chen to test the waters.

Zhao Yen said: “Though not yet married, I am already my Langjun’s person. It is about the same.”

Lanxiang understood: “You do not often go out, do you? This slave often accompanies Master on outings and has roamed all throughout the capital, yet never knew there was such a maiden as you.”

Hearing Lanxiang seem so familiar with the affairs of the capital, Zhao Yen’s interest was piqued.

“Indeed, for my body was weak and sickly, reared deep in the boudoir, known to none. Only recently, as my health improved, have I gone out for walks.”

Zhao Yen asked calmly, “Does Sister Lanxiang know of places, within or outside the capital, where there is amusement?”

Lanxiang, not at all realizing that she herself had been sent to draw words, but was instead being drawn into giving them, covered her lips with a smile: “There are so many! On Daning Street, the Qixi lanterns; on Xingning Street, the foods of the four seas; on Changping Street, the tile-stand acrobatics… Oh, and in the eastern part of the city, the Shengling Temple—its scenery is unique, and its prayers for marriage are the most efficacious.”

Zhao Yen recalled the map annotated by Lady Liu, and asked: “What of the northwest outskirts of the capital? Just now when I looked far from the tower, I saw that side was hidden among woods, with the corner of an ancient estate faintly visible, seeming quite like a place of hidden mystery.”

Lanxiang’s expression turned strange, and she quickly said: “Girl, do not speak of it, that place must not be approached!”

“Why?”

“There is a Jinyun Villa there, where once a murder case occurred. Ever since, it has been gloomy and eerie.”

Lanxiang shivered, lowering her voice mysteriously: “A few months ago, that villa began to be haunted. All who drew near vanished without cause, without exception. It is said that at night one can still hear ghostly wails, see ghost-fires flickering—it is terribly frightening!”

“When did the haunting begin?”

“At the turn of spring. The exact time, this slave does not know. Recently, young girls and children in the city have gone missing without reason. Some say they were eaten by the resentful spirits on the mountain. Even the officials do not dare approach, much less you, girl!”

Zhao Yen’s heart sank, yet on her face she showed a look of terror: “So dreadful! Fortunately Sister Lanxiang reminded me.”

“Ah, it is nothing.”

Lanxiang cast a glance at Master Chen upstairs, who was scratching his ears in impatience, and recalled her purpose. “We sisters wish to invite the young lady upstairs for a small cup of wine, just to make friends. I wonder if young lady would do us the honor?”

Zhao Yen replied with difficulty: “Many thanks for elder sister’s kindness. But my Langjun told me to wait here for him and not go far. He has the dignity of an official, brooking no disobedience. Better that I not bring trouble to elder sister.”

When Lanxiang heard that the handsome gentleman was an official, she knew her Master Chen could not afford to provoke him, and could only give up.

She happily accepted a bouquet of peonies Zhao Yen offered as apology, and went back upstairs to report.

In the fourth-floor elegant room, Wenren Lin looked out the window, pointed at that Master Chen craning his neck for the beauty, and ordered: “Go give that man a beating, and throw him far away.”

Having spoken, he flicked his sleeve, lowered the window, and accepted the secret letter that Cai Tian handed over, spreading it open.

The evening breeze blew away the heat of the day. The night scene of the capital, under the glow of warm orange lanterns, gradually grew gentle.

Zhao Yen sorted through the information she had just obtained, carrying her flower basket as she walked slowly up Yunxiao Bridge, which arched like a rainbow across the water, and stood at its highest point overlooking the tranquil canal below.

This was the place where Shen Jingming had fallen into the water and died.

Although Gu Xing had already investigated everything, she still wanted to see with her own eyes whether the deaths of Shen Jingming and Cheng Jixing were truly the “accidents” of rumor.

If she missed this opportunity, she feared she would not be able to leave the palace again to investigate.

Zhao Yen did not wish for regret. This was also the main reason she had contrived every way possible to alight at Daning Street.

Beneath the bridge, small boats carrying young men and women on outings passed one after another. Boatmen rowed at the stern, while servant boys at the bow used poles to push.

The long pole, less than a zhang in length, pressed to the riverbed, then was slowly drawn out again, the water’s surface rippling outward with a crash.

Zhao Yen looked at the wet marks on the pole and estimated that the water here was no more than six chi deep, about to the shoulder of an adult man.

“In such shallow water, could an adult man drown?” she could not help murmuring.

“No.”

Suddenly at her side came a familiar, clear and mellow voice. “Unless one fell drunk and lost consciousness, to drown unwittingly.”

Zhao Yen started, turned toward the voice, and her eyes widened slightly.

Zhou Ji?

She nearly cried out, but luckily bit her lip in time, her thoughts in disarray: Why would he appear here!?

The wind brushed past quietly, lifting the veil of her hat. Her lovely face, still carrying surprise, flashed into view.

She held a flower basket in her hand, scarlet skirts fluttering, a scene déjà vu. Zhou Ji, dazed for a moment, seemed to recall again that troublesome maiden in the palace, who so often came back with armfuls of mountain flowers after slipping her lessons.

Zhou Ji turned his head slightly, doubtful: “Your Highness of Changfeng?”

Was he not face-blind? How could he recognize her now!

Was it because she had changed back into a girl’s attire?

Zhao Yen’s heart was a tangled mess. She raised her hand to press the veil that kept lifting in the wind, feigning incomprehension and distantly said: “Standing on the bridge, indeed it is easy to be disturbed by the long wind [Changfeng].”

The voice did not match.

The doubt in Zhou Ji’s eyes dissipated, and he returned to his usual cool and restrained manner. Stepping back, drawing his sleeves together, he said with shame: “Young lady greatly resembles an old acquaintance of mine. For a moment I mistook you. I have been much offensive.”

The Princess of Changfeng should have been a thousand li away at the Huayang Palace, so how could she appear among the common people of the capital in such a guise?

He mocked himself inwardly—his affliction had worsened to such a degree.

Back in Huayang it had been the same. Once the Princess of Changfeng inadvertently learned of his difficulty in recognizing people, she would often have the palace maid Shilan dress as her and sit in the hall for lessons, while she herself slipped out to play. It was only several days later that Zhou Ji discovered the exchange, and from then on resolved to rid himself of this flaw.

When he resolved to do something, even sleepless and restless, he would break through. Thus without arrogance or impatience, he had shadowed the Princess of Changfeng for six or seven days, watching her steal food, climb walls, sail to pick lotuses. Watching long enough, he naturally found the best way to distinguish her—

In a crowd, the most lively and beautiful maiden in a scarlet gauze skirt must be the Princess of Changfeng.

From then on, Zhou Ji never again mistook her.

Today’s mistake, however, was truly beyond his expectations. He wished to confirm, yet felt ashamed of rudeness. Simply moving a step aside, he opened a distance proper to etiquette. His robe of bamboo-green seemed as though it might ride the wind and depart.

On the fourth floor of the tavern, idlers had already been cleared away.

Wenren Lin stood with hands behind his back, gaze piercing through the sea of splendid capital lights, settling upon the two figures conversing on the stone bridge.

He placed the note covered in writing over the oil lamp and burned it. His hand loosened, letting the ashes drift like black butterflies upon the wind, vanishing into the bustling lantern glow.

Below, the bridge grew less crowded.

Zhao Yen had not expected, in such a vast capital, to encounter an acquaintance by chance. She wished to avoid him, yet was loath to part from the topic just now.

Clearing her throat, she tentatively asked: “Is young master here also waiting for someone?”

Zhou Ji’s eyes did not stray, his voice calm: “No.”

“Then why…”

“My junior brother drowned here. Therefore whenever I have leisure, I come to this place to linger.”

So it was—for Shen Jingming as well.

“Your young master’s junior brother, was it that he fell drunk into the water?”

Zhao Yen realized she was drawing close to an important clue, even her voice became cautious.

“No. My junior brother never grew drunk, though a thousand cups he would not be intoxicated, and he had practiced swimming since childhood.”

Zhou Ji ended the subject at the proper point, drew his sleeves together, and said: “To disturb the lady’s refined mood, it is discourteous.”

Zhao Yen knew Zhou Ji was not one to confide easily. To press further would only rouse his suspicion, so she bowed in return.

When she straightened again, a broad, cool hand was familiarly placed at her waist, neither heavy nor light, yet firmly set.

Zhao Yen’s alertness flared; just as she was about to bend her elbow and strike back, she heard Wenren Lin’s deep, leisurely voice: “What are Lecturer Zhou and this prince’s beautiful concubine discussing?”

Bea… beautiful concubine?

Zhao Yen resentfully lowered her arm: very well, whatever Prince Su said, so it was.

Today Wenren Lin was not wearing the specially made black-iron ring, thus Zhou Ji had quietly observed him for quite some time before discerning that this aura of chilling oppression belonged solely to His Highness, Prince Su.

But—since when had Prince Su had a woman at his side? Had he not always regarded women as weaknesses and burdens, never indulging in them?

Zhou Ji did not understand, nor did he care to speculate.

“Greetings to Prince Su.”

Zhou Ji bowed, neither humble nor overbearing. “I did not know she was cherished by Your Highness. My unintentional offense, I beg your indulgence.”

Zhou Ji’s appearance was truly unexpected. Fearing Wenren Lin might overthink, Zhao Yen quickly explained: “I and… this young master met by chance in passing, and merely exchanged a few words of weather and small talk.”

“A chance encounter is also fate. Perhaps even a meeting with an old acquaintance in a foreign land. Why does Lecturer Zhou not stay to share a cup?”

Wenren Lin gazed at the maiden in his arm, his heavy eyes seeming to pierce the thin veil. He smiled leisurely, “Then let this prince’s… Yenyen pour wine and raise the cup for Lecturer Zhou, how about it?”

Zhao Yen nearly bit her tongue.

Wenren Lin knew she dared not expose her identity—he was doing this on purpose!

She had been so cautious, so diligent—when had she provoked him?

Zhao Yen’s stubbornness flared; precisely because of that, she would not yield to his will.

Her hand tightened, her eyes lifted, and she smiled as sweetly and obediently as could be: “All right, I am most will—ing.”

Wenren Lin slanted his eyes at her, the color of his gaze darkening slightly.