Empress Wei drew a deep breath and slowly closed her eyes. “This palace knows what you wish to question. But, Changfeng, this palace’s half a lifetime has been like climbing higher while clutching a precious treasure. In youth, this palace only wanted to climb to the highest, run the fastest—until one day, suddenly a piece of the treasure held in the bosom fell and shattered, and the pain pierced to the heart and marrow…”

From then on, there was no longer the courage to charge forward, only the thought of how to walk steadily, how to shield the last remaining piece in the bosom through wind and rain, to guard it from shattering as well.

…

Prince Su’s Residence. Cai Tian removed his boots and stood in the outer room of the library, reporting one item of intelligence after another.

“All is as Your Highness foresaw. The bait set out has already traced the whereabouts of the ‘Immortal Master,’ and there should be action soon.”

“The matter of Liu Baiwei has also been properly handled according to Your Highness’s instructions.”

“Today a message came from the Taiji Hall, saying that the elixirs were not complete, and the date for delivery would be delayed by two days. This subordinate surmises that His Majesty is dissatisfied with the case of Prince Yong’s heir, using this as an opportunity to knock the mountain and shake the tiger.”

Behind the desk, His Highness Prince Su, dressed in a dark robe of civil and military sleeves, crossed his legs upon the palace chair, holding a scroll in his left hand, his right hand stretched over the little stove that warmed the wine.

As the day of the poison’s outbreak drew near, His Highness’s mood was not good, and he would always use reading to distract himself.

Only in the past His Highness read inscrutable military stratagems, but recently they had been replaced with books of men and women’s amorous affairs. His lashes cast two arcs of shadow, and on his cold, pale face there was not the slightest hint of wantonness, as though it were merely serious study of knowledge that happened to interest him, as though the alarming intelligence just reported had nothing to do with him.

The master had not spoken, so Cai Tian dared not rashly withdraw.

Seeing that there was still no movement for a long while, Cai Tian, like an old monk entering meditation, began to feel anxious, imagining without cause: could it be that he had omitted some intelligence, or that His Highness was not satisfied with his performance?

In the tension of his hesitation, he suddenly heard the faint rustle of a page turning.

Wenren Lin’s fingertip slid open a page, pressed it down toward the back, then switched the scroll into his right hand, putting his left hand over the stove to warm.

Cai Tian scoured his mind for any remaining intelligence, and finally ventured: “His Highness the Crown Prince has sent people to the Mingde Hall and is still keeping watch on Liu Baiwei’s movements.”

The long hand of Prince Su, which was being warmed by the stove, turned slightly; the pace of his reading the scroll slowed a little.

Cai Tian’s mind sifted intelligence at high speed, then added: “This morning His Highness the Crown Prince entered the palace to pay respects. A palace servant saw that His Highness’s complexion did not look well, often clutching his stomach, as though there were some hidden illness.”

Wenren Lin’s brows moved with an almost imperceptible crease, and he turned his head to gaze out the window.

The slanting sun spread long shadows, the evening clouds splendid as flaming fire, the day’s leftover heat stretching the cicadas’ cries into endlessness.

Zhang Cang, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, wiping sweat, came to report: “Your Highness, the carriage is prepared. Shall we depart at once for Yuquan Palace?”

It was near the beginning of the month; soaking more in the hot spring could somewhat ease His Highness’s cold poison. If it were not for having to deal with Prince Yong’s heir and look after the little Crown Prince, His Highness truly should not have descended the mountain and returned to the city in these days.

Wenren Lin gave no comment, only lightly put down the half-read scroll in his hand and, hands behind his back, walked out the door.

The Eastern Palace, lanterns newly lit.

Dragging her weary, pained body back to her bedchamber, Zhao Yen collapsed headfirst onto the couch.

Though the summer heat was blazing, from head to toe she was shivering with cold, unable not to curl beneath a thin quilt, her brow covered in cold sweat from the pain. In the end, she even grew dizzy and nauseated.

Without Liu Ji’s noisy, domineering presence in the Eastern Palace, it truly felt unfamiliar—so quiet it was like a tomb.

At last Zhao Yen found something to distract herself. Hugging the bedding, she got up to search for brush and paper, leaving only a pale little face visible as she said: “I will write a letter to Liu Baiwei. When Gu Xing returns from his errand, have him deliver it personally to the Mingde Hall.”

Liuying, carrying in half a bucket of freshly boiled hot water, nodded when she heard this.

Last night she had finally learned from His Highness’s own mouth that Liu Baiwei was in fact male. Dressing as a woman was only to avoid suspicion while serving as the Crown Prince’s strategist.

She had been greatly shocked. First, because His Highness the Crown Prince had concealed this from her for so long—perhaps out of distrust. Second, because Liu Ji often addressed the little prince as “sister,” their conduct casual and intimate. How much of that was due to official matters, and how much came from private feeling, she could not tell.

After thinking on it all night, she gradually accepted it. As long as it was someone His Highness trusted, she too ought to learn to trust.

Liuying placed medicinal herbs for dispelling cold into the wooden bucket, rolled up her sleeves, and prepared ink for Zhao Yen, saying: “Your Highness’s body is still unwell. Better to rest first. This letter can be written tomorrow, and it will not be too late.”

Zhao Yen lightly shook her head. Sitting behind the desk she said: “Liu Baiwei is quick-tempered and straightforward. If he cannot wait for my news, who knows what he might do.”

As she spoke, Liuying’s hand at the inkstone suddenly paused, and she bowed toward the outer chamber: “His Highness Prince Su.”

Behind the screen stood a tall, slender figure—who knew how long he had been there.

Zhao Yen’s brush tip halted. She saw Wenren Lin stride out slowly, steadily walking toward her.

Zhao Yen unconsciously swallowed and motioned to Liuying and the inner attendants at the door: “You all may withdraw.”

Liuying glanced at the unusually austere Prince Su, and only after Zhao Yen’s look of insistence did she bow and quietly close the door.

“Why did the Grand Preceptor not have someone announce you…”

Before Zhao Yen could finish speaking, her whole person, quilt and all, was lifted into the air and carried by Wenren Lin back onto the bed.

She was stunned, and by instinct reached to clasp his neck. The abnormal cold and pain of her body spread as warmth against the side of his neck.

Wenren Lin took her hand down, half-lowered his eyes, and set two fingers upon her pulse.

After a long while, his brows gradually knitted. He lifted his gaze to Zhao Yen: “What has Your Highness been recklessly taking?”

Knowing she could not hide it, Zhao Yen pulled back her hand, speaking muffled and softly: “…Contraceptive Decoction.”

“What?”

Wenren Lin’s brows lifted slightly, his tone turning markedly darker.

Stared at with those deep and heavy eyes, Zhao Yen felt like a prisoner under interrogation, not daring to repeat it.

“Was I not already feeding medicine to Your Highness? How could such crude outside stuff be taken at will?”

Wenren Lin’s voice was low and heavy. He gently lifted Zhao Yen’s chin, leaving her nowhere to evade his gaze. “Who prescribed this medicine for Your Highness?”

Zhao Yen could not meet his eyes, only spoke with difficulty: “I wanted to take it myself… Was it not the Grand Preceptor who said—do not place too much trust in your fate?”

A silence that made one panic.

“Is that… how Your Highness understands those words?”

After a long time, Wenren Lin asked evenly.

Zhao Yen feared his next words would be to drag Zhang Xu down and behead him, and so only clutched her belly, curling up like a soft clam wishing to retreat into its shell. Sweat-drenched, she rasped: “Interrogate later… right now I have no strength to argue with you…”

Wenren Lin looked at the half-dried letter on the desk and gave a soft, cold laugh.

Turning away, he stripped off his outer robe and tossed it carelessly onto the desk. Without a word he began rolling up his sleeves, layer after layer, until they were above his elbows, exposing his firm forearms.

Zhao Yen’s heart clenched. Could it be he was going to strike someone?

When Wenren Lin bent to clasp her ankle, Zhao Yen instinctively drew back.

He gave her a glance and said gently: “Move again, and I’ll have that Zhang fellow and that Liu fellow seized, to take their hot blood to warm Your Highness’s body.”

Zhao Yen instantly froze.

Not tenderly, Wenren Lin tugged off her boots and socks, then cupped her feet in his hands and slowly lowered them into the warm water of just the right heat.