A hundred li outside the capital, at the gate of a ruined temple, ten or so wandering fighters hired by the Prince of Yong’s residence either sat or stood.

Rain-washed drifting clouds were reflected in the puddles on the sandy ground. Qiu Zui squatted at the threshold, his broken bamboo hat pressed very low, using a twig to draw something on the ground.

Looking closely, the crooked lines vaguely formed the shape of a plum blossom.

“Number Eleven, do you have a name?”

In the pitch-dark depths of the dungeon, a frail young boy brought in a branch of snow-hidden green-calyx white plum, bent over to look at the beast shackled with heavy iron chains, “Gu mean, your original name.”

In the darkness, the tall figure heavily bound by chains remained still, only a pair of ferocious and indifferent eyes gazed at that branch of white plum in proud bloom, occasionally stirring slightly.

“Qiu Zui.”

A hoarse murmur, unpleasant to the ear like the whisper of a beast.

The jailer who constantly controlled the chains watched warily and explained to the boy, “Your Highness, assassins have no names, no past. Because he slew his master and defected, he must sink into prison to atone by death, therefore he has another name called ‘Qiu Zui [Prisoned Sin].’”

The young boy savored these two words, shook his head, and said: “This name is not good. Gu will give you a new name.”

His brows and eyes were gentle; dipping his finger in wine, he wrote stroke by stroke upon the desk, smiling: “Qiu Zui, would you be willing to follow Gu?”

Qiu Zui could not read characters. To this day he still did not understand what those two complicated characters represented, nor could he write them.

He only remembered, that day upon the desk, that branch of pure and transcendent white plum.

The twig looked clumsy yet delicate in Qiu Zui’s coarse large hand. Upon the sandy soil he drew for a long while, finally managing to draw a barely passable plum blossom.

A boot spattered with mud stepped across, trampling that flower into a mess.

Zhao Yuanyu’s arm was fixed and suspended at his neck with splints, his whole body wrapped in bandages, face bruised and battered to the extreme.

“How come the people father sent to receive us haven’t arrived yet?” Zhao Yuanyu roared in impotent fury.

Yet the wandering fighters only recognized money, not people. They were unlike the obedient servants of a princely residence. For the moment, some sharpened blades, some dozed; no one paid him heed.

Zhao Yuanyu, unable to maintain his dignity, turned instead and stepped hard on Qiu Zui’s twig, producing a crisp crack, then ground it viciously, saying: “You said you assassinated Zhao Yan. At first I did not believe it, but now it seems to be true! Heh, before and after you bit and slew two masters, truly an evil dog whom all men should put to death, and now only this heir of mine is still willing to accept you! Get up and scout the way!”

Qiu Zui indifferently looked at the sand on the ground, trampled into chaos. After a long time, he picked up the curved blade and rose.

The wind swept across the ground, the sea of bamboo outside the temple surged, fallen leaves fluttered.

Qiu Zui’s hawk-like gaze suddenly sharpened; raising his head, he looked toward the depths of the dense forest: someone was coming.

…

Zhao Yen kept pondering that sentence of Liuying’s: “It was Qiu Zui who killed the Crown Prince.”

When she said this, Liuying’s eyes were filled with tears. She had seen it with her own eyes, and would not joke about such a grave matter.

Could it be that Qiu Zui was a plant hidden by the Prince of Yong’s residence in the Eastern Palace, who, after contriving to obtain the chance to be the sole protector of the Crown Prince, plotted to assassinate him on the return journey from the traveling palace?

But on that rainy night of slaughter at the Liu charitable estate, Zhao Yuanyu’s terrified cry of “You are not Zhao Yan” did not sound false.

If Qiu Zui truly was the running dog of the Prince of Yong’s residence, he should have been the clearest about whether the Crown Prince had perished. There was no reason Zhao Yuanyu should only now confirm that the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace had been replaced…

“Your Highness.”

Gu Xing, his arm bound in bandages, clasped fists in report from outside, “The purchaser of Jinyun Villa has already been escorted back to the prison of the Court of Judicial Review. He is indeed a retainer of the Prince of Yong’s residence, acting on the order of the Prince of Yong’s heir to buy the villa, using it to conceal abducted young girls and boys, to refine the Supreme Secret Medicine.”

“Supreme Secret Medicine?”

Zhao Yen recalled that Daoist nun who had tried to perish together with the exploding pill furnace, “Did he confess who the ‘Immortal Master’ was, the one who ordered Zhao Yuanyu to refine medicine?”

“He only said that matters of alchemy were handled through a Daoist nun, and even the heir of the Prince of Yong had never seen the Immortal Master’s true countenance. Yet the Daoist nun is already dead; as for what lies above her, he does not know either.”

Gu Xing said, “This subordinate interrogated him carefully. It did not seem as if he was concealing anything.”

These doubts perhaps could only be unraveled the moment Zhao Yuanyu and Qiu Zui were truly seized. Yet two days had passed, and now trying to capture them was no different from fishing a needle from the sea.

Zhao Yen, clad in outer robe, sat and ordered that each Eastern Palace guard who had fought with valor be rewarded one hundred taels of silver. Gu Xing’s saber had been damaged in the duel, so Zhao Yen separately rewarded him with a cross-saber inlaid with a floral-patterned leather scabbard; the blade was like snow, without the slightest impurity, a superior grade gift fit only for meritorious ministers.

Gu Xing hastily went down on one knee, lowering his head, “To be loyal and perform duty is the duty of this subordinate, I dare not accept such great grace.”

“You followed Gu through life and death, eradicating treachery and evil; this is what you deserve.”

Zhao Yen placed the cross-saber in her palm, her voice clear, “A good blade matches the loyal and virtuous, it is not a disgrace to it. Accept it; in the future, there will be many more chances to establish merit with this blade.”

Gu Xing’s throat moved; with both hands he solemnly received it, “This subordinate thanks Your Highness for the gracious reward.”

Liuying had stayed by herself for half an afternoon, and by now had calmed down, entering as usual to present medicine. Zhao Yen looked past her shoulder, but did not see Wenren Lin.

Was it not said that in these past days of illness, it was always Wenren Lin himself who applied the medicine?

Zhao Yen thought of that sentence she had blurted out, “Brotherly affection—how would the Grand Preceptor understand,” and seemed to understand something.

“Put the medicine here.”

Zhao Yen gestured to Liuying, then spoke toward Li Fu who waited outside the hall, “Send someone to tell the Prince Su that this medicine none else can apply, trouble him to come personally and take a look.”

Li Fu received the order and withdrew, but not long after returned quickly, sweating, frowning as he reported: “The Prince Su said, if the medicine cannot be applied then throw it away; he is busy bathing, and has no mood to accompany Your Highness.”

Bathing…

Zhao Yen rose from the couch and ordered, “Light the lamps. To the Dragon Pool.”

Liuying looked at her still pale face, distressed, “Your Highness has just recovered from a great illness, you truly should not toil and rush about. Whatever matter it is, please leave it to this servant to do.”

Zhao Yen pressed her forehead, calmed a little, and lightly drew breath, “You know, there are some matters only I can do, and must do.”

The Bathing Pool Hall was bright with lights. Wenren Lin indeed was soaking in the pool, eyes lightly closed.

His hair was unbound, pitch-black ends spreading over his shoulders and back, floating in the water like thick ink diffusing. Without those obstructing petals hindering the view, the rippling water was clear, from the firm ridges of his chest and abdomen extending downward, the scene within the pool lay wholly exposed.

Zhao Yen’s breath caught; she shifted her gaze slightly away, and after a moment, resolutely moved it back again.

She sat upon a small couch by the poolside, one hand propping her chin, brows furrowed, pondering how to begin. Then she heard Wenren Lin’s faint voice: “If you have words, then speak. Do not disturb this prince’s tranquility.”

He spoke first, and Zhao Yen felt instead relieved. The speech she had originally no idea how to begin now suddenly unfolded clearly upon her lips.

“I came to thank the Prince Su.”

Zhao Yen’s voice still carried a trace of hoarseness from illness, soft but not timid, “And also, I should not have said that the Prince Su does not understand the feelings between siblings.”

Wenren Lin seemed as if in meditation, not responding in the slightest.

Zhao Yen thought a moment, and this time her voice was much lighter: “I am disobedient, my temper hard, since childhood it has always been so. No one taught me how to act spoiled…”

She seemed ashamed to lay herself bare, quickly stopped her words, pressed her lips together, and turned her gaze aside.

From the moment of those words, “No one taught me how to act spoiled,” Wenren Lin opened his eyes, gazing at her across the wavering ripples of the water.

“Come here.”

He raised his hand, the droplets upon his arm splashing down in a string, shattering the pool’s tranquil light.

Zhao Yen had thought he would no longer deign to answer her, so upon hearing those low, deep two words, she was taken aback.

Blinking, she finally rose and sat beside Wenren Lin, lowering her feet into the hot water of the pool.

That night she had run too far along the mountain paths; the skin at her heels was broken and rubbed raw. The hot water stung them, both painful and itching. Zhao Yen drew in a breath, furrowed her brows and complained: “The medicine in the day had not yet been fully applied, and the Prince Su already ran off.”

“If this prince had not left, I fear I would not have been able to resist killing Your Highness.”

Wenren Lin raised his hand to press at the weariness between her brows. Though his words were frightening, his tone was not stern: “Your Highness is now the Crown Prince. You might as well raise a few courtiers beneath your skirts, men received within the curtain, let them do these things for you.”

For instance that Zhou-someone, Zhang-someone, Pei-someone, or even that commander of the Eastern Palace guards… even that Liu Ji, who could not count as a proper woman.

Zhao Yen pretended to consider this possibility with seriousness, only then, beneath Wenren Lin’s dark, deep gaze, said: “With the Prince Su alone, it is enough.”

Wenren Lin met this with a sneer, unmoved by such clumsy and false words.

“The Prince Su is forever my first choice.”

Zhao Yen’s countenance, reflected in the water, was fragile and beautiful, carrying the haughty pride of a little princess: “If the Prince Su is unwilling, then I shall find another in his stead.”

This time, Wenren Lin looked at her for a long while.

“Your Highness might as well try,” he slanted his eyes, waterlight shattering in his gaze, emotion indistinguishable.

“Then may the Prince Su not give Gu the chance to try.”

Zhao Yen’s fingers clutched tightly at the jade-carved pool’s edge. She bent slightly, turning her head aside, carefully discerning the expression upon Wenren Lin’s face.

By candlelight’s wavering, the ripples throughout the pool were like the surging of the heart, returning to quietude in silence.

Zhao Yen did not know to what step Wenren Lin would retreat for her. Many matters, in the end, still had to rely on herself.

Back in the hall, Zhao Yen took out the chart Liu Ji had drawn earlier and unfolded it.

Given Zhao Yuanyu’s nature—outwardly strong yet inwardly weak—at this moment he must be like a startled bird, very likely disguising himself with forged passes and credentials before daring to flee.

Forging documents of identity required time. If now she used the pretext of “the Eastern Palace Crown Prince being assassinated, capture the assassin” to order the counties near the capital to conduct strict searches, it might not be impossible to discover some clues.

Yet with so many routes out of the capital, Zhao Yen could not be certain in which direction to pursue. Thus she carefully rolled up the chart and tucked it into her sleeve, preparing to go to Tingyu Pavilion to ask Liu Ji.

Just as she stepped out of the hall, she saw Cai Tian standing in the courtyard below, respectfully saying: “Your Highness, please come this way.”

Zhao Yen knew he must have come at Wenren Lin’s command. After weighing for a moment, she turned her steps.

Liuying and Gu Xing wished to follow, but were blocked by Cai Tian.

Zhao Yen turned back and shook her head toward them, signaling not to follow, then followed Cai Tian out of the side gate.

Outside stood a familiar carriage. Zhao Yen boarded, and indeed saw Wenren Lin leaning forward, one hand braced upon his knee. The dark robe of fine texture hung like ink, half-loosened hair sliding down his broad shoulders, the tips still carrying the dampness of the pool.

Before him was placed a dish of chilled lychees, the translucent flesh glistening, exuding thin threads of cool air.

Seeing Zhao Yen approach, Wenren Lin casually took up a jade fork, skewered one, and held it to her lips.

That jade fork, the length of a finger, too was carved of warm jade, the tiny engravings upon the hilt incomparably fine.

As the carriage set off, Zhao Yen leaned forward to bite into that piece of lychee flesh. Juice burst upon her lips and teeth, moistening the bloodless lips, flooding her mouth with refreshing sweetness.

“Is it good?” Wenren Lin asked, his lazy and calm manner as if feeding dried meat to a cat.

Zhao Yen nodded honestly, then asked, “The Prince Su invited me here—surely not merely to taste lychees?”

Wenren Lin did not speak, only skewered another piece of lychee and brought it to her lips.

Zhao Yen kept feeling this jade fork looked somewhat familiar. Suspicion arose in her heart, and her gaze swept, almost involuntarily, past Wenren Lin’s jade-hook belt and fan pendant. After a moment, she opened her mouth and took the lychee flesh, carefully drawing it into her mouth, her lips avoiding contact with that jade fork whose material seemed so familiar.

Wenren Lin glanced at her, half smiling, half not: “A thing that Your Highness yourself has used—what disdain can there be?”

Zhao Yen froze, the lychee in her mouth neither to swallow nor spit, her pale cheeks at last flushed with a touch of color.

Wenren Lin propped his chin with his hand, the pitch-dark eyes that cut like frost now carrying a faint hint of laughter. Using that very jade fork Zhao Yen had just used, he picked up another lychee and slipped it between his own lips, his pale lips gliding lightly over the warm jade as though savoring the sweetness of lychee, and as though tasting something else.

Zhao Yen coughed lightly, lowering her gaze, focused only on swallowing the lychee flesh.

The carriage did not descend the mountain, but instead followed a narrow path into the depths of a dense forest. In but the time of one cup of tea, it halted before a cliff face overgrown with vines.

As Zhao Yen alighted, Wenren Lin extended his hand to steady her. Cai Tian, holding a torch, swept aside the veil of vines to reveal a beast-headed stone gate covered in moss.

He pressed the mechanism, opening the gate. A chill dampness surged forth; several flames flickered to life in succession, stretching into the depths of the earth.

“This is… where?” Zhao Yen was startled.

Sensing her faltering steps, Wenren Lin slightly slowed his pace, hands clasped behind his back, saying: “The secret passage leading to Yuquan Palace.”

Curious where in Yuquan Palace this secret way might emerge, Zhao Yen asked: “Since it connects to Yuquan Palace, why did we not simply descend by the Palace’s own entrance just now?”

Wenren Lin gave a low, cold laugh: “Since it is a secret passage, how could its entrances and exits be easily revealed to outsiders?”

Am I then not an outsider?

The words circled at her lips, yet Zhao Yen swallowed them down.

The ingenious solidity of this secret way was far beyond anything Zhao Yuanyu’s Jinyun Villa could compare with. Following carefully by Wenren Lin’s side, she realized she had never known of such a hidden place beneath Yuquan Palace.

That he had constructed such a passage under the imperial retreat of Yuquan Palace—what did Wenren Lin intend?

Thinking that Wenren Lin would hardly, on a whim, murder or plunder, Zhao Yen gradually put aside her doubts and refrained from asking further.

After walking dozens of paces along the passage, they arrived before another hidden door. Wenren Lin raised his hand, signaling Cai Tian to halt.

He turned his head slightly, his profile in the dark chamber especially profound and difficult to discern, and said to Zhao Yen: “This is the last time. This prince yields to Your Highness.”

As he spoke, he pressed his boot upon the mechanism of the hidden door, revealing yet another chamber, leading to an even deeper level.

When Zhao Yen descended into the secret chamber, she understood at last what Wenren Lin had meant.

It was an underground prison—holding at this very moment the person Zhao Yen hated most.