The lattice windows of Mirror Appraisal Tower were tightly shut, yet faint light still filtered in through the cracks of the window frames, illuminating the fine floating dust in the attic.

Zhao Yen had fallen seated onto the ground, forced to twist her head to gaze at Wenren Lin.

This posture was far too awkward, wrenching Zhao Yen’s neck until it ached painfully. She had no choice but to cautiously shift her knees and turn her body, changing into a face-to-face position.

Confronted directly, she then perceived that Wenren Lin’s gaze held a piercing oppression utterly different from his gentle tone, dark currents surging.

Zhao Yen’s eyelashes trembled slightly, but she quickly steadied her line of sight.

“If breaking my legs could make me obedient… then last year during the assassination attempt, or when facing Zhao Yuanyu’s threats, I ought to have been docile already.”

Wenren Lin laughed at her words, which were so frank as to be almost just and self-righteous. With one hand he seized her wrist and pulled it to his chest, speaking slowly: “Then even your hands must be bound as well. If still disobedient, I will seal the meridian acupoints and make you into a puppet to be placed at my side.”

His voice was low and light, while his other hand traced downward along the various acupoints of Zhao Yen’s nape and spine, as if sketching them out.

Zhao Yen endured the trembling desire, the hand seized into a fist pressed against Wenren Lin’s chest to maintain a slight distance, and asked softly: “Is that truly what the Grand Preceptor wants?”

Seeing Wenren Lin silent, she pressed her lips together: “The Grand Preceptor taught me self-defense and riding, taught me military strategy and board games—was it in order that one day I be turned into a dead thing without speech and without movement?”

Wenren Lin’s finger bones stood out, his gaze darkening.

After a pause, he suddenly laughed, fixing his eyes upon her moist lips, and said: “This prince never taught Your Highness how to defy me. Best that you give up this tongue as well.”

Zhao Yen, in dread, closed her lips, her delicate lips pressed into a line.

Yet after a brief silence, she seemed to realize something, lifted her eyes, and asked with some uncertainty: “Is Prince Su… worrying for me?”

Wenren Lin was stunned.

So astonished at this inexplicable conclusion was he that for a moment he forgot to refute it.

Zhao Yen carefully observed his reaction, and instead became more certain, speaking clearly: “Unless Crown Prince Zhao Yan’s death is connected to Prince Su, and my continued investigation would implicate Prince Su, what reason would Prince Su have to obstruct me?”

Wenren Lin looked at her, and said: “How does Your Highness know that the death of the Crown Prince is not connected to me?”

Zhao Yen thought for a moment, then shook her head: “If my elder brother’s death truly were Prince Su’s handiwork, I would not be alive now. Today Prince Su is so hostile, perhaps it is because I have obstructed some other plan. Or perhaps, there is just a trace of… concern for my overestimating my own strength?”

“…Concern?”

Wenren Lin repeated lowly, the corners of his lips curving into a gentle faint smile.

Even the Empress did not believe that he had never made a move against the Eastern Palace, yet the little princess believed—so what of that?

A man like him, burdened with such heavy darkness, how could he ever waver in worry for an insignificant little princess?

“Your Highness is overthinking. Your life is one I have taken prisoner. If you are to seek death, then you can only die by my hand.”

He spoke with careless indifference, the fingers shackling her waist tightening slightly. Zhao Yen immediately let out a muffled groan.

Wenren Lin paused, his tone unreadable: “I have not yet even begun punishment, and Your Highness is already whimpering—could it be too feigned?”

“It hurts.” Zhao Yen inhaled lightly.

Wenren Lin’s eyes lowered to the place she was clutching tightly, and he said blandly: “If Your Highness cannot endure even this small pain, what use is there in playing the holy savior?”

“I have never thought of saving anyone, only of finding the enemy who murdered my elder brother in my name. When sailing the dark night, there must be one lamp to carry hope forward. I have a clear conscience…”

Only then did Zhao Yen belatedly furrow her brows, her body gradually curling, pitiful as she said: “Just now my stomach struck the windowsill—it truly hurts.”

Her expression did not appear false, and Wenren Lin’s brows also faintly, almost imperceptibly, knitted together.

In the end, he unwillingly suppressed the dark thoughts within his heart, extended his long arm, and with a steady motion pulled her lightly up from the ground.

The attic had not been swept for a long time; after sitting there for so long, the back of Zhao Yen’s moon-white fine robe was covered with a large patch of dust.

Wenren Lin supported her waist and bent down, casually patting at the soiled place on the back of her lower garment.

The man’s palm was firm and strong. Zhao Yen staggered forward from the pat, half her hip instantly numbed. She hurriedly reached back to shield that tender spot, a rush of shame flooding her cheeks.

That act of dusting carried with it more than a trace of vented anger—two muffled slaps in succession, like an elder chastising a disobedient junior by spanking…

The pain was insignificant, but it was extremely humiliating.

Zhao Yen could not help the heat rising in her cheeks; she even forgot the pain in her abdomen, staring at Wenren Lin in shock.

Though she was not favored by her Imperial Father or Imperial Mother, in all her years, truly no one had ever dared to treat her like this!

Yet Wenren Lin, on the contrary, bore an appearance of solemn righteousness. Steadying her figure, he said: “Move your hand away.”

His tone admitted no doubt. Zhao Yen knew well that she could not press further, so she bit her lip and, helplessly, shifted her hand away by two inches.

“L… lighter,” she said softly in embarrassment.

Wenren Lin gave no reply. Again came two crisp muffled slaps, his focus entirely on brushing away the dust at the back hem of her garment.

Beneath his palm was a soft, faintly springy sensation, quivering lightly with the fabric. Unconsciously lowering his eyes, Wenren Lin’s movements slowed somewhat.

…

The solitary lamp hung high, quickly attracting the attention of several lingering scholars in the academy.

“Look quickly, the lamp in Mirror Appraisal Tower is lit!”

“Since Mister Linjiang retired home, and the few professors who lectured were one after another expelled from the Mingde Academy, while Jingming and Jixing were buried beneath the Spring of Bones… it has been a year, has it not? For so long, none have dared enter that attic again—”

“Yes, I never thought I would see the light lit again.”

A somewhat younger, newly entered scholar tilted his head to peer, not understanding what it meant. But those several tribute students who had last year attended Mister Linjiang’s lectures and witnessed His Highness the Crown Prince discoursing on the classics all wore solemn expressions, gazing fixedly for a long time.

This year’s imperial examinations, those selected were all sons of aristocratic clans; not one from Mingde Academy was chosen. To embrace uncut jade and weep blood—none could miss more than they the time when a hundred schools contended, when the lamps of Mirror Appraisal Tower shone bright.

“This world has been dark for too long.” Within the academy, one person sighed softly.

At the back gate of Mingde Academy, the jujube tree’s twisted branches were verdant and swaying in the wind.

Beneath the falling rustle of jujube blossoms, a disheveled scholar in coarse clothes and straw shoes, with unkempt stubble, leaned against the wall panting for breath, gazing in a daze at the light above Mirror Appraisal Tower.

He was both timid and hesitant.

Hearing that His Highness the Crown Prince, who had been silent for nearly a year, had left the palace to recuperate, he still clung to a faint hope and risked returning from Cangzhou to the capital. Yet for half a month he had hesitated and tarried, lacking the courage to step out of the post station.

Tonight, upon seeing from afar the tall tower of Mingde Academy alight, when he came back to himself he was already standing here, dazed and lost.

“You’ve even grown a beard, and made yourself so wretched.”

From behind came a slightly hoarse voice, sounding disdainful: “Practically aged ten years.”

The scholar turned around in panic, only to see a tall woman limping out from the back gate, veiled. With a lift of her hand she tossed the drape aside, revealing a face both familiar and flamboyant.

“Baiwei…”

The scholar stepped back, as though ashamed to face an old friend in the posture of a deserter.

Of those classmates once high-spirited, some had concealed their names, some had died for righteousness, while he had been afraid, choosing to flee before calamity befell his own head.

“You… still as timid as ever. When the incident first arose, I advised His Highness the Crown Prince that your nature was unstable, you ought not be used. But His Highness said, ‘He too has light within him, however faint. So long as the lamp of Mirror Appraisal Tower is lit, he will still be like a moth in the night, fearless in pursuit of the flame…’”

Liu Baiwei, limping forward, struck heavily at the scholar’s chest with his fist, speaking low and angrily: “And this is what you’ve become, Wang Yu.”

Wang Yu made no sound, merely staggered back against the brick wall from her blow, tears streaming silently down his face.

…

Gu Xing, standing watch in the hall below the tower, saw Wenren Lin and Her Highness descend one after the other, a trace of surprise flashing in his eyes.

The lamp in Her Highness’s hand was gone. Following behind the composed and unhurried Prince Su, her cheeks showed a suspicious flush, and her steps down the stair carried a faint awkwardness.

“Where is Lady Liu?” Zhao Yen cleared her throat and asked.

Gu Xing replied: “Miss Liu said she was meeting an old friend, and went out through the back gate.”

Zhao Yen glanced sideways, seeing Wenren Lin stand before her with hands clasped behind his back, his fingertips lightly rubbing, as though savoring some remembered sensation.

The more unruffled he appeared, the more unfathomable he was.

Zhao Yen knew when to yield, and said: “Leave my carriage for her. I alone shall ride in Prince Su’s carriage back to Yuquan Palace.”

Gu Xing looked at the sky; any further delay and they might miss the hour when His Highness the Crown Prince was to leave the city. He clasped his fists and said: “This humble servant obeys.”

The mountain road at night was slow and jolting. Zhao Yen’s tailbone was still somewhat numb, and she could not help shifting slightly, trying to put more distance between herself and Wenren Lin.

The wind lifted the carriage curtain; from the mountainside looking down, the palace lights scattered like stars, gently answering Zhao Yen’s gaze.

Yuquan Palace.

Following Zhao Yen’s instructions, Liuying personally brought in towels soaked in bathing water and pure water. Then she loosened layer upon layer of pale yellow gauze canopies, sealing the bedchamber so tightly that no light could pass, before she carefully performed a bow and withdrew to wait in the corridor.

Within the heavy layers of drapery, Zhao Yen’s outer robe and sash lay scattered in disorder upon the footrest.

She knelt by the bedside, her hair also disheveled, the pure white undergarment loosely slipping down to her elbows, revealing her translucent, slender shoulders and the layered chest bindings…

Wenren Lin examined the red-purple bruise upon her abdomen, his fingertip lightly pressing to check.

His touch was cool, and Zhao Yen could not help shrinking back.

Wenren Lin lifted his eyes, said nothing, and walked to the low cabinet at the side, taking out the ointment for bruises and injuries left unused last time. With one hand he twisted open the lid, scooped a fingertip’s worth, and applied it onto Zhao Yen’s bruise.

After a wave of soothing coolness, the ointment melted with warmth as it seeped in, gradually stirring a hot, burning sensation.

Zhao Yen could not suppress a sharp breath; her smooth, soft abdomen rose and fell. Wenren Lin placed a hand against her back, not raising his eyes as he said: “Do not move.”

In the summer heat, the sensation was truly uncomfortable, and somewhat itchy besides. But Wenren Lin applied the medicine extremely slowly, both pushing and rubbing, making it almost an ordeal.

“That should be enough…”

Zhao Yen resisted softly, unable to stop herself from lifting her hand to scratch.

Wenren Lin immediately seized her, drawling: “The medicine is not dry. Do not touch.”

Then, after a moment’s thought, he drew out the jade-inlaid belt from the heap of garments, and wound it round and round her wrists where he held them.

Before Zhao Yen even saw what he was doing, her wrists were already bound behind her, unable to move.

She struggled, but the tension was measured precisely—tight enough she could not break free, yet not so tight as to hurt.

Zhao Yen was bewildered, aggrieved as she said: “Why must Prince Su go so far?”

Wenren Lin continued rubbing in the ointment, unhurried as he said: “Who told Your Highness that her hands and feet are never honest, always reaching for what ought not to be touched? I can only resort to this.”

Zhao Yen was struck dumb: she merely refused to sink into muddled ignorance, she wished to pursue the truth to the end… how had it become this, in his mouth?

She said in disbelief: “Prince Su is abusing power for personal ends, fabricating crimes?”

“Yes.”

Wenren Lin lifted the end of his eyes slightly. “And what of it?”

What of it indeed? Zhao Yen, unable to free her hands, flushed with helpless frustration.

Even as she bit her lip to endure that not-too-light yet not-too-heavy kneading, suddenly voices were heard outside the hall.

“Her Highness has already retired to rest…”

“I have urgent matters to say, just two sentences.”

Liu Ji, long accustomed to disregarding all others, her voice carried from far to near, soon arriving just beyond the bed’s curtains.

Zhao Yen tensed all at once, hastily twisting aside to hide, attempting to use the garment draped at her elbow to cover herself.

Wenren Lin still held the medicine box in one hand. With displeasure, his long brows slowly knit together.