However, since the matter of teaching had been brought up, Zhao Yen sharply caught the deeper meaning hidden within the words.

“So this means, the Grand Preceptor will still come to the Chongwen Hall to give lessons?” she asked, her eyelashes reflecting the bright lamplight.

Before going to the Yuquan Palace, the number of times Wenren Lin went to the Chongwen Hall to lecture had grown ever fewer, and in recent days, he had not shown his face at all.

Zhao Yen indeed felt somewhat uneasy in her heart. Whether in public or in private, there was no one more suitable than Wenren Lin to be the Crown Prince’s Grand Preceptor.

Wenren Lin’s lips moved faintly, the frost-white joints of his fingers resting on the armrest tapped lightly.

The Cold Bone Poison had only just been suppressed, and he did not wish tonight to be close and open-hearted with anyone. Thus, those teasing words just now were mostly deliberate on his part.

According to the Little Highness’s usual temperament, she would surely have left in anger with the tips of her ears flushed red. Yet today she had not; the slender figure standing in the lamplight revealed a trace of quiet tranquility.

Wenren Lin felt a rare curiosity and, instead of answering, countered: “Is Your Highness anticipating it, or not anticipating it?”

There was a faint teasing glimmer at the bottom of his eyes, as if no matter whether the answer was “yes” or “no,” it would still fall into the trap he had dug beforehand.

Zhao Yen naturally would not fall for it again, so she lifted her eyes, showing some vexation as she said: “What Assistant Grand Preceptor Jin teaches is lengthy and obscure, truly difficult to understand. Since I already hold this position, I still wish to learn something.”

Wenren Lin looked into her eyes and said noncommittally: “Since Your Highness returned from the Yuquan Palace, you have become more diligent. I only wonder if, in learning other things, you would be just as earnest.”

“That depends on who is teaching,” Zhao Yen boldly countered.

Wenren Lin laughed, stood, and walked to stand before Zhao Yen, looking down at her.

“Has Your Highness’s little days ended?” he asked softly, his brows and eyes clear and moist.

Why suddenly ask this?

Catching her completely unprepared, Zhao Yen opened her mouth, not knowing whether she should tell the truth or pretend not to have heard.

“If your body is well, then tomorrow I will take Your Highness to the small drill ground to teach you riding. Should you encounter danger in the future, riding a horse is always faster than running on two legs…”

At this point, Wenren Lin paused subtly, his smiling gaze fixed on Zhao Yen’s evasive eyes. “With this expression of Your Highness’s—where are your thoughts running to?”

Zhao Yen stared blankly, a slow flush spreading across her cheeks.

As though having understood something, Wenren Lin’s expression then grew serious again: “Your Highness is still somewhat frail, it would be more suitable to wait two more days.”

Zhao Yen blinked. This time she understood: what Wenren Lin referred to as “wait two more days” was certainly about the matter of horse riding.

Her thoughts would not be led astray twice, so she nodded and said: “Alright.”

Wenren Lin’s eyes lifted slightly at the corners, the smile in his gaze deepening. He raised his hand to straighten Zhao Yen’s disarranged coronet, jostled by the carriage. “Then Your Highness should return to the Eastern Palace first, and not stay overnight tonight.”

Zhao Yen instinctively nodded. Once she realized it, a trace of astonishment flashed in her eyes.

Stay overnight? She had never even thought of spending the night with him!

In the end, she had been led astray by Wenren Lin. She wanted to explain, yet whatever she said would seem like trying to cover up, so she could only unhappily purse her lips.

Wenren Lin’s lips were red and his eyes bright; the way he wore his robe loosely over his shoulders revealed a touch of bewitching handsomeness. His words and bearing were even more shrewd and calculating than usual—where did he at all look like a sick man?

“Seeing that Prince Su has strength to spare, I can be at ease.”

Zhao Yen turned around, walked two steps, then slowly came to a halt.

It was as if she had made a very great decision. Her ten fingers curled lightly into her palms, and finally she turned back, stretching out her slender white fingers to grasp Wenren Lin’s sleeve, leaning gently against his shoulder.

The warmth in his embrace touched for but a moment and then parted. Before Wenren Lin could recover his senses, Zhao Yen had already lifted her ink-brushed eyes and quickly departed.

It was a maiden’s light and reserved “embrace,” nothing more than the brush of a dragonfly skimming the surface of water, falling upon Wenren Lin’s broad shoulder still damp with moisture.

Wenren Lin understood that she was responding to that line of his—“Perhaps if Your Highness condescends to embrace me once, this prince will be well.” Not coquettish, even somewhat perfunctory, yet very real.

Even knowing this, the blood-tinged restlessness in his chest still dissipated like smoke.

After a while, he narrowed his eyes as though savoring it, and from his throat escaped a very low laugh.

Zhao Yen returned to the carriage.

The curtain fell, and a small swaying lamp lit up her faintly flushed cheeks.

That touch upon Wenren Lin just now had been a sudden impulse. She herself could not even distinguish whether it was public or private. Once she came back to her senses, she had not even seen clearly what expression he wore, and fled in panic.

She lifted her finger to touch the tip of her nose. It seemed still to carry the scent of Wenren Lin after bathing— a faint cold fragrance, almost identical to the aroma she had smelled upon that black-red pill in the red-lacquered medicine box that day.

Just what was that pill?

If Wenren Lin were not truly ill, then during those days he used illness as an excuse not to enter the palace—what had really happened?

The fog grew ever denser. Zhao Yen cupped her still faintly heated cheeks, feeling as though some truth was within arm’s reach, and furrowed her brows unconsciously.

…

The next day, after returning from the Chongwen Hall, the Ministry of Rites had already drafted the arrangements for the Empress’s birthday banquet and submitted them for Zhao Yen to review.

To say “review” was merely because the Emperor had entrusted the Crown Prince with handling it, so it was reported to her as well.

Last year, the rebel army had besieged the capital, and the people’s hearts were already unsettled. On top of that, the recent case of the “missing boys and maidens” involved many, and the court believed that at times like this, the more they must display song and dance, and rejoice together with the people.

The birthday celebration was a minor matter; to display the grand scene of “the country flourishing and the people at peace” was the true goal. Thus, the memorial submitted by the Ministry of Rites was extremely long-winded and cumbersome.

“At that time, when all the imperial relatives and nobles of the fiefdoms come to the capital to offer congratulations, there will be nearly a hundred princes and heirs to be received. According to the Ministry’s scale, just lodging arrangements alone already overspend too much. Father Emperor even heeds that so-called Daoist Master Shen Guang’s advice, insisting on rebuilding the Zhaixing Monastery in the Northern Park to pray for Imperial Concubine Xu’s unborn imperial heir…”

Seated upon the couch, Zhao Yen tossed aside the memorial scroll that was more than four chi long, speaking with a headache: “This is to eat tomorrow’s food today, emptying out the state treasury for the next three years.”

Corruption and parasites spread everywhere, gnawing at Great Xuan until no light remained—no wonder Zhao Yan was set on becoming a moth drawn to the lamp.

“I have heard that the family of Princess Shoukang is already on their way back to the capital, and in about ten days they should arrive.”

Liuying carried over fresh iced grapes, fanning Zhao Yen as she said: “At that time, Princess Changle will stay in the palace for a period. The Empress means for Your Highness to take special care of her.”

Hearing this, Zhao Yen wearily supported her forehead, the frown on her brow deepening further.

Princess Changle, Huo Zhenzhen, was the only daughter of Princess Shoukang and General Huo Feng. From childhood she had been spoiled and willful. In those years, in order to draw the attention of the Crown Prince Zhao Yan, she had quarreled with Zhao Yen more than once.

Though over seven years had passed, Zhao Yen could still recall Huo Zhenzhen with her golden gauze sleeves clenched in anger, haughty and pouting as she glared at her with arrogant vigor.

Mother Empress now wanted her to care for Princess Changle, for a simple reason: her father Huo Feng held some prestige in the army and was on good terms with the father of Pei Sa, Marquis of Jinping; her mother Princess Shoukang was Father Emperor’s own younger sister. Back then, Father Emperor’s smooth ascension to the throne could not have been achieved without the support of his brother-in-law Huo Feng and the Wenren family.

Princess Changle, Huo Zhenzhen, was originally Mother Empress’s chosen candidate for Crown Princess, to tie kinship upon kinship.

Now that Zhao Yan had met with disaster, Xu Wanyi was pregnant, the Huo family was a tree that could not be neglected. To draw them in would at least reinforce the tottering Eastern Palace with some bricks and tiles.

To care on her brother’s behalf for his future Crown Princess— and this woman was also her childhood little adversary—Zhao Yen for a time felt all flavors mingled together in her heart.

But for now, there was an even more troublesome matter.

“For Mother Empress’s birthday, what gifts has the Eastern Palace sent in past years?” Zhao Yen asked.

The matter of “Princess Changfeng” was simple enough. Huayang abounded in jade; when the time came, one could select some exquisite jade ornaments from there, add a personally written letter saying that she wished to long attend by the Empress Dowager’s side and could not fulfill her filial duty at her knees, and the matter would be settled.

That was how it had always been done before. In any case, Mother Empress did not care much what she sent. But now she was still “Crown Prince Zhao Yan.” The things sent in the Crown Prince’s name naturally had to be chosen with care.

Liuying replied: “In past years, the birthday gifts for the Empress were all personally prepared by the Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yen’s eyes turned; leaning closer, she whispered: “Shall I imitate the Crown Prince’s handwriting and compose an essay?”

Liuying thought for a moment, then said: “Last year His Highness the Crown Prince presented a birthday ode. This year it absolutely must not be the same.”

“Would calligraphy or painting do?”

“This servant has heard that this year Marquis Ningyang is also preparing a Ten-Thousand-Birthday Painting to present to the Empress. As for skill in calligraphy and painting…”

Zhao Yen understood Liuying’s unspoken meaning: her uncle, Marquis Ningyang Wei Yan, was renowned for his refined brushwork. In comparison, Zhao Yen’s little ability of imitating forms would be hard to put on any elegant stage.

That final road blocked as well, Zhao Yen leaned sideways onto the couch, her head hanging over the edge, gazing at the interlaced beams of the ceiling with a long sigh.

“If only Liu Ji were here…” she murmured unconsciously.

Liu Baiwei was broad in knowledge and experience, and moreover regarded Zhao Yan as his confidant and discerning friend. If he were at her side to counsel, he would surely have many good ideas.

As she thought this, within her inverted field of vision appeared a tall and familiar figure.

With the eunuch’s careful announcement, that figure drew closer and closer, until at last it stopped before Zhao Yen’s couch.

Shadows falling, Wenren Lin stood with his hands behind his back, leaning slightly as those deep and heavy, beautiful eyes fixed on Zhao Yen, asking: “Just now, whose name was Your Highness calling?”

When he asked this, his voice was light and low, the corners of his lips even carrying a faint smile.

Zhao Yen blinked, hurriedly sitting upright, turning her head away to look at him.

“Today’s martial lesson has already ended,” she said, glancing at the sky outside.

Dusk was settling, the hour when all things first begin to rest.

Wenren Lin seated himself in the chair opposite, accepted the tea cup offered by Liuying and turned it between his fingers. In a calm tone, he said: “This prince said before that I would bring two books to the Eastern Palace and personally instruct Your Highness.”

Such content could not be taught in the Chongwen Hall.

At his reminder, Zhao Yen recalled. Looking back, she saw the eunuch beside Wenren Lin holding a blue cloth bundle—indeed, there were several books inside…

Judging by the shape and size, they seemed quite thick.

When she saw Wenren Lin take the bundle and begin unhurriedly to untie the cloth knots with his long, fair fingers, Zhao Yen suddenly grew nervous, hurriedly covering by saying: “I remembered—so that was indeed the case!”

Afraid Wenren Lin might, before everyone, produce some improper item, she could only sit up straight and solemnly order Liuying: “You all may withdraw. Gu wishes to consult the Grand Preceptor alone.”

Liuying glanced at Zhao Yen, moved the lamp on the table closer, then led the eunuchs out with a bow.

When the palace doors closed, Wenren Lin finished unwrapping the bundle. From the rectangular brocade case, he drew out a stack of books and illustrated volumes.

Zhao Yen caught a glimpse, vaguely recognizing titles such as Classic of the Plain Girl, Yang Yin [Nourishing Yin]…

Names in the same lineage as the Classic of the Mysterious Maiden. It was easy to guess what sort of things they contained.

Zhao Yen swallowed, turned her gaze aside, and said, “Actually, even without looking at these, it would be fine…”

“You Highness does not understand the harmonization of yin and yang. If you only recklessly wear out your body, when you are older you will know the suffering.”

Wenren Lin leaned forward to place the books upon the desk by the bed, lifting his eyes as he said, “Still not taking the lesson—when the time comes, to whom will you cry?”

Zhao Yen could only retreat and compromise: “Then leave them here. I will study on my own when I have the time.”

As though seeing through her small ploy, Wenren Lin said unhurriedly: “When princes come of age, they must also learn these things. Since Your Highness prides yourself on being no less than a man, what is there to be shy about?”

He draped one arm casually upon the armrest, the fine dark sleeve flowing down in graceful folds, and indicated: “Your Highness choose one book to look at first. If there is anything you do not understand, ask this prince.”

This was to supervise her study, not allowing her to slack or evade.

Having no choice, Zhao Yen resigned herself and randomly picked one from the pile.

As soon as she opened the title page, she was shocked by the suggestive illustrations and words, hastily snapping the book shut, her eyes flickering.

Seeing her restless and uneasy expression, Wenren Lin could not help but give a low laugh: though they had already done the most intimate of things, the Little Highness’s reaction was still so tender and pure, entirely different from that blossoming, bewitching charm she sometimes revealed.

But the books had to be read. He did not want the Little Highness to hand herself over muddle-headed each time, then afterwards patch things up carelessly in confusion.

“If Your Highness feels embarrassed, it is no matter if I explain it to you.”

He reached out to take the book from Zhao Yen’s hands, closed his eyes slightly, and in that deep, pleasant voice began to recite slowly: “‘The Yellow Emperor said: By what signs may one know a woman’s delight?’—its meaning is, from what indications can it be known that a woman has attained a sense of pleasure…”

Zhao Yen’s mind leapt to certain absurd scenes within the Prince Su Manor. Those memories now corresponded vividly to this mellow phrase of his, welling up as living images before her eyes.

And yet Wenren Lin’s robe was neat and proper, his teaching wholly earnest, without a trace of mockery.

Zhao Yen’s face burned red. Hastily she said: “I can read it myself.”

Saying so, she snatched the book back from Wenren Lin’s hand, pretending to devote herself earnestly to reading.

Her gaze skimmed rapidly, her mind in turmoil, swallowing whole without tasting— in truth she remembered nothing.

Wenren Lin seemed to see through her pretense. From the fruit plate he plucked a grape covered with frost, leisurely peeled it, and placed it into Zhao Yen’s mouth.

The moist pad of his fingertip brushed across Zhao Yen’s lips as he said in a low voice: “Read it out.”