Zhao Yen’s chin trembled lightly, yet stubbornly she kept her watery eyes wide open, her thin back held straight: “Clearly it was Prince Su who first threatened and frightened me. To not comfort and explain was already enough, but still to bear down upon me so arrogantly…”

After a long while, within her hazy sight, she faintly saw Wenren Lin rise.

Then a shadow loomed before her. Wenren Lin raised his fingers, gently brushing away the dampness clinging to her lashes.

Zhao Yen turned her head slightly, spiritedly avoiding his touch.

“Why will Prince Su not consult me? Are you afraid that if I know your plan, I will be unwilling to give up Liu Baiwei?”

Seizing upon that surge of anger, Zhao Yen poured out all the thoughts in her heart: “When I saw Prince Su the second time, at Changqing Gate, you were killing. And now, taking it upon yourself to dispose of Liu Ji without explaining the truth to me—how could one not feel uneasy and afraid?”

The words left her lips, and both she and Wenren Lin fell still.

Indeed—compared to painstakingly restoring Liu Baiwei to his male form, was not killing him simpler and more straightforward?

“The Princess is right. To kill that Liu fellow is indeed this prince’s style of conduct.”

Wenren Lin lightly turned Zhao Yen’s stunned face toward him, inclining his head slightly as he said, “Why go to such lengths? Killing him now would not be too late…”

He rose, about to leave. Zhao Yen pressed her lips together, and by instinct clasped his broad shoulders, forcing him down, bending his tall frame forward.

Then, imitating that night in the bedchamber of Guanyun Hall, she closed her eyes, sealing his lips with hers.

The world fell silently still.

The beaded curtain swayed, brilliant light falling upon their joined faces, flickering bright and dim.

Yet as soon as Zhao Yen panted and drew back slightly, Wenren Lin lowered his lids, a low and husky smile upon his lips: “To use the same trick twice—the Princess overestimates herself.”

Zhao Yen said nothing, stifling her anger as she pressed forward again.

This time was not the same trick.

Wenren Lin only let her cling to him, his gaze lowered, appreciating how her face, so close at hand, deepened from pale to vivid, blooming like a lotus with radiant color. Only when the little Princess’s arms were about to give out did he finally reach out to support that slender waist.

“To wish this prince to be a subject beneath your skirts—I truly do not know whether the Princess is foolish, or merely bold.”

The low murmur brushing from Wenren Lin’s lips, languid yet lingering: “One day, when this prince dies, he will drag the Princess along to be buried with him.”

How did he still have the leisure to say such infuriating words?

Zhao Yen’s brows knit tightly. She bit down upon his lips in vexation, speaking muffled and wrathfully: “Disasters last a thousand years. The Grand Preceptor will not die so easily.”

Wenren Lin’s laughter was swallowed in his throat, scattering amidst lips and teeth.

The little Princess did not know that he was one who had crawled out from a heap of corpses, an asura bound to return to the nether hells one day. And that day was not far.

And she—knew nothing at all.

He ought to have been angry. He ought to have bound the disobedient little Princess to his side, locked her away. Yet the anger that surged to his lips turned instead into entangled grinding and rubbing, and the raised palm merely pressed lightly upon her slender wrists.

Wenren Lin closed his eyes with concentration, and before the little Princess, having vented her fury enough, could withdraw, he cupped the back of her head with one hand and pressed his lips down harder in return.

Zhao Yen felt a sharp sting upon her tongue tip; her breath was cut off, as though even her soul had been seized away.

With cool thin lips, Wenren Lin taught her what a real kiss was. Both carried chests full of emotion, each unwilling to yield to the other. Very soon Zhao Yen’s cheeks were damp with heat-sweat. She tried to resist, to turn the situation back as it had been during the Flower-Banquet…

But to no avail. In her daze she glimpsed Wenren Lin’s thick lashes lowering slightly, the gorgeous dark gleam beneath them faintly flashing.

“Your eyes…”

Zhao Yen managed to squeeze out a few words from between breaths, only to be swallowed into a muffled sob.

Strictly speaking, tonight was not a good time. Wenren Lin clearly did not wish her to see himself in this pallid, sinister state. Twisting her shoulder lightly, he turned her, and Zhao Yen fell face down upon the couch.

The sound of silk tearing rang out. Pale apricot ribbons fluttered loose. Zhao Yen instinctively propped herself up on her elbows, only for a long-boned hand to press down upon her lower back.

“This is ‘Tiger’s Step.’ The Princess must comprehend it well.”

The feel of unfamiliar, high-quality fabric pressed against her back; Wenren Lin’s deep and mellow voice sounded right at her ear.

How could being merely “the first choice” be enough? What he wanted was the only one—could only be the only one.

…

From the adjoining washroom came the sound of water being poured, then Wenren Lin’s footsteps drew near.

Zhao Yen’s cheeks were flushed crimson, her breath uneven. She turned away, face toward the inside, eyes closed, unwilling to see him—

Though after such a commotion, she had already forgotten what grievance she had been quarreling with Wenren Lin about. All her emotions seemed emptied, leaving behind an inexplicable calm.

Wenren Lin looked at that slender, delicate back. Without concern, he bent down and scooped her up together with the thin quilt, carrying her into the adjoining washroom, stripping her clean and settling her within the bathing tub.

Steam rose, reddening further her cheeks already flushed, and even the fine slender neck bloomed with faint blush.

Wenren Lin could not help but glance twice more. Removing his outer robe and hanging it upon the sandalwood stand, he wore only a thin snow-colored undergarment. Rolling up his sleeves, he approached, sat beside her, and ladled water bit by bit over her long, lustrous hair.

Zhao Yen looked at his properly dressed figure, her eyes full of unwillingness tinged with more than a little resentment.

Wenren Lin calmly accepted her resentful gaze. His fingers gently brushed away droplets clinging to her ear, his lips curved in a smile neither mocking nor earnest: “This prince has already stripped to the waist, bound his hands, and knelt in apology before the Princess—what further anger does the Princess hold?”

It was not that kind of “binding,” nor that kind of “kneeling”!

In shamelessness, Zhao Yen naturally conceded defeat.

She simply turned her back to him, shifting into a kneeling posture, frowning as she clung to the edge of the tub, raising a splash of water.

Wenren Lin gazed at the slender back, wet black hair clinging to it, and said in a low voice: “Why still kneeling?”

The tub thoughtfully held a small bench for sitting while bathing, but at such a time…

“Sitting is not very comfortable,” Zhao Yen turned her head slightly and whispered, her voice still hoarse.

Wenren Lin’s hand paused in mid-motion with the ladle, then quickly understood. Inclining his head, he said: “The Princess is too small.”

Small?

Zhao Yen was dazed. She was already sixteen—an ordinary Princess at this age would be handed to the Empress to select a consort and prepare to marry out.

“This prince does not mean in years.” Wenren Lin extended his arm, kneading her gently, and added another sentence.

His expression remained as usual, yet Zhao Yen turned her head to glare at him, slapping his hand away.

Wenren Lin tilted his head slightly, avoiding the splash of water; his lashes lifted, and mirth faintly spread in his eyes.

He seemed also to have calmed down, the pitch-dark pupils restoring their usual state. Zhao Yen turned back around, so tired she had no desire to pay him any heed.

After the bath, Wenren Lin carried her back to the long couch, dried her hair, and from among his things found a clean, unused inner garment to wrap her in.

The clothing was somewhat large, the sleeves hanging long, making Zhao Yen appear all the more delicate and slender.

After busying himself a while, Wenren Lin’s own garments were thoroughly soaked. Loosening his inner robe, he passed behind the screen to the inner chamber to bathe.

Zhao Yen hugged her knees, listening to the sound of water from the adjoining room. Her cheeks warmed, her thoughts became hollow, drifting.

This time was unlike at the Flower-Banquet, when there had been the haze of medicine’s effect. Now everything was so clear, not unbearably difficult; on the contrary…

She stopped herself from thinking further, wondering if perhaps some residual poison still lingered, else why would she have felt so strangely unlike herself in that moment?

Zhao Yen could not be certain whether this step had been the right one, but she had to admit—Wenren Lin was, apart from the personal guards, the only one who had ever acted to protect her.

He had not killed Liu Baiwei, but instead had once again proven that for her, he had retreated from his bottom line.

Zhao Yen pondered for a long while before belatedly feeling the discomfort in her knees. Quietly lifting the hem of the overlong garment, she saw indeed her knees were reddened.

When she returned to the Eastern Palace, if Liuying discovered anything amiss, she planned to go down and find some medicine to apply.

At the head of the bed was a short cabinet without a lock. She pulled it open casually and glanced inside; sure enough, there were several bottles of medicine, and also a small palm-sized red-lacquered wooden box.

The little box was exquisitely made, like something of palace design. Shaking it, she heard the rolling sound of pellets within, not knowing what sort of medicine it held.

Curious at heart, Zhao Yen picked up the medicine box and examined it front and back.

Just as she opened it, from behind came a large damp hand, pressing down the lid with a snap.