“It was you who commanded the imperial guards to frighten the horse, harming my son, forcing him to tread the path of refining elixirs for returning yang! That he ended up with such a fate was all brought about by you of the Eastern Palace! You borrowed the knife to kill, yet washed yourselves utterly clean, and with the posture of saviors, stand loftily above to interrogate and reproach! What a fine scheme, what a ruthless heart!”

Wind seeped in through nailed-shut window seams, stirring the candle flames into flickers, and Zhao Yen’s gaze wavered with them without cease.

“You lie.”

She clenched the five fingers within her sleeve, drew Zhang Cang’s saber, and pressed it against Prince Yong. The blade’s cold gleam illuminated her solemn face.

“I will not permit you to so defile the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace!”

“Defile?”

The edge of the saber made Prince Yong’s whole body tremble, then he gave a bitter laugh:

“If this prince had no proof, how could I dare to cast aside all glory and gamble my life? Pity the Crown Prince’s fate was hard, my son’s fate was light!”

“So it was for Zhao Yuanyu that you attempted to assassinate Gu? You are cleaning up for him? Who told you these things?”

“No one, only unwillingness drives me… You of the Eastern Palace leave no path for others to live. You even dare move against His Majesty’s Shen Guang Sect—what else is there you would not dare?”

Prince Yong slumped back against the chair, closed his eyes, and pressed upon his heaving chest, saying hoarsely:

“Rather than fall into Wenren Lin’s hands, suffering like pig or dog, better… to go cleanly…”

Zhao Yen drew back the saber, realizing something was amiss.

Zhang Cang also perceived it, immediately seizing Prince Yong’s jaw and shouting to the guards outside:

“Quick, hold down his tongue root!”

Two imperial guards rushed in to assist, but it was already too late.

Prince Yong suddenly spewed forth a great mouthful of black blood, convulsed, and collapsed upon the table—breath departing more than entering.

A silver sachet slipped from his fleshy fingers, clattering to a stop beneath Zhao Yen’s boot. The sachet had been opened; in the compartment meant to hold incense pills, a poison had been hidden. Because it was concealed so well, it had not been discovered in the guards’ search.

And now, the place where the incense pellet should have been was already empty.

After a burst of chaotic commotion, the room suddenly grew quiet.

After a long silence, one of the imperial guards, wiping away sweat, carefully reported:

“Your Highness, Vice General Zhang… Prince Yong has… taken poison to end his life.”

Prince Yong knew the assassination had failed; falling into Prince Su’s hands would be a fate worse than death, so before they entered he had already poisoned himself to avoid the torment of interrogation.

Zhang Cang, looking distressed as if his head ached, hurried to shield the young Crown Prince from the ghastly mess, saying:

“Your Highness, see how filthy this place is—why don’t you…”

“Bring out the ledgers of Prince Yong’s residence from recent years.”

Zhao Yen slid the saber back into the scabbard held in Zhang Cang’s hand, her tone steady:

“And also the evidence of elixirs found in the residence, all must be shown to me.”

Zhao Yan had been the greatest fool in the world, kind and benevolent, competing with no one in life, leaving no name after death.

Zhao Yen would never—never—allow anyone to defile his pure reputation, not even the wild slanders of a dying man!

The imperial guards moved swiftly. In no time, they carried in a small chest, filled to the brim with the income and expenditure ledgers of Prince Yong’s residence and estates.

Zhao Yen only skimmed a few books of expenditure and discovered that Prince Yong’s household spent enormous sums each year to support a band of fangshi [occultists/alchemists].

She closed the account book and summoned Gu Xing:

“That fangshi of Prince Yong’s residence who had contact with the jailer—where is he?”

“This subordinate was just about to report to Your Highness.”

Gu Xing raised his hand, and at once someone brought forward a gray-robed fangshi with a goatee, pressed down by guards.

“This subordinate, following Your Highness’s order, kept men stationed day and night outside Prince Yong’s residence. Just now, when the guards came to seal the residence, we caught sight of this man sneaking over the wall, and I seized him on the spot.”

Zhao Yen signaled for the guards to bring the torch closer and asked:

“He is the one who refined medicines for Prince Yong?”

“It is said so… Right, this subordinate discovered this in a hidden compartment of Prince Yong’s pill chamber. For safety, may Your Highness cover your nose and mouth.”

Zhao Yen lifted her sleeve to cover her nose and mouth, doing as instructed.

Only then did Gu Xing step back and open a finely wrought layered box, revealing within a tightly sealed black porcelain crane-necked bottle.

Even though Gu Xing had deliberately retreated to a safe distance, Zhao Yen could still smell that faint, peculiar fragrance.

Her heart tightened, and she fixed her gaze on the trembling fangshi:

“Open the stopper, let him breathe a mouthful.”

The fangshi paled in terror, hastily kowtowing:

“No… no, Your Highness! This bottle contains the deadly poison refined by the Immortal Master—I dare not inhale it!”

“When you used this poison to harm others, did you ever think it could not be inhaled?”

Zhao Yen’s throat was tight. Lowering her eyes, she looked down at the fangshi:

“Speak. Who did you harm with this poison?”

“This poison is the Immortal Master’s proudest work. This lowly one… this lowly one at most only ran errands… I… I do not know…”

“Gu Xing, pour this entire bottle of poison into his mouth!”

“No! I will confess—I will confess all!”

The fangshi trembled violently:

“There were a few Confucian scholars and officials of the Imperial Academy, one criminal of the Court of Judicial Review, and… and last year, a letter sent to the Eastern Palace… That is all. The rest… the rest I cannot recall—beg Your Highness for mercy!”

At the words “a letter,” Zhao Yen’s heart suddenly clenched in pain.

“Mercy?”

She tugged at the line of her lips and said, word by word:

“In the Nine Springs below, when you see those people you slaughtered, then beg them yourself for mercy.”

At these words, the fangshi suddenly wrenched free of the guards’ restraints and bolted.

Zhao Yen stood quietly. Only when the fangshi had stumbled several zhang away did she seize the bow and arrow from the guard beside her. Drawing the bow like a crescent moon—

The bowstring, under the firelight, refracted into a thread of golden light, which entered her gaze, cold and beautiful.

“Point with the eyes, guide with the hand, aim.” Wenren Lin’s deep instruction in mounted archery class still lingered in her ears.

Her fingers loosened. The arrow shrieked through the air with the whistling of wind. The fangshi staggered in his steps, collapsing to the ground at once.

Zhao Yen slowly lowered her hand, as though all her strength had been spent, letting the long bow rest against the ground.

Silence endured for a long time.

“Gu Xing, carefully bring that bottle of poison back and deliver it to Zhang Xu of the Imperial Medical Bureau for verification.”

Having said this, Zhao Yen turned her head to the dazed Zhang Cang, nodding:

“Trouble Vice General Zhang to clean up this place.”

Zhang Cang’s respect for him rose yet another level. Straightening his chest, he answered:

“Yes!”

Zhao Yen did not know how she managed to walk out of Prince Yong’s residence.

The carriage wheels rumbled. Zhao Yen’s thoughts were unsettled, as if she were within an illusion of dream.

She could not believe it—that the truth she had pursued for so long had now been fully revealed upon Prince Yong.

The poisonous incense that killed Zhao Yan and the others had been hidden in Prince Yong’s residence. It was highly likely that, because Zhao Yuanyu’s assassination attempt failed, Prince Yong Shu, in order to clean up after his son, had simply gone further and poisoned Zhao Yan…

Thus, everything seemed to fall into place.

Only—why did Prince Yong’s residence possess such a strange poison, yet not use it at the beginning, waiting instead until Zhao Yuanyu’s attempt failed before mixing it into that letter written in the name of “Princess Changfeng”?

And also what Prince Yong had said—that the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace had secretly caused Zhao Yuanyu to fall from his horse and lose his ability to beget heirs…

She firmly believed Zhao Yan would never strike a man with hidden arrow. What worried her was whether someone had sown discord behind the scenes.

In her deep thoughts, Zhao Yen lowered her gaze to her pale slender fingers reddened by the bowstring. She bent them slightly, then slowly released them.

She rubbed her hands hard upon her clothes, until her palms were flushed red before stopping, then slowly exhaled the heavy breath trapped in her chest.

Wenren Lin had protected her so, not wishing her to see blood on her birthday. Yet she had still let him down.

By this time, the palace gates were already barred. The carriage stopped at the Eastern Palace’s side gate.

Zhao Yen alighted. Liuying, anxious, asked:

“Your Highness, shall I have a meal prepared? You have been busy all day, and not even had a sip of water.”

“No appetite, let it be.”

Zhao Yen shook her head, pressing her temple: “Prepare hot water, I wish to bathe cleanly…”

Just as she spoke, she saw someone standing at the corner ahead.

Cai Tian came forward, clasped his fists, and said: “Your Highness, my lord prince invites you.”

Zhao Yen’s eyes flew open. She asked: “Wen… Prince Su? Where is he?”

Cai Tian did not speak, only lifted his head to glance upward.

Following his gaze, Zhao Yen looked up and saw on the tower of Jafu Gate the blaze of lantern light. Wenren Lin stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, his tall figure upright against the warm orange glow.

She could not see his expression clearly, but she guessed that, at this moment, there must be a faint, calm smile in his eyes.

When she came back to herself, Zhao Yen was already moving, her steps carrying her toward the stone stairs of Jafu Tower.

At first her pace was steady, but then it grew quicker, until in the last few steps she almost bounded up two or three at a time, breaking into that tender brightness.

Wenren Lin was waiting at the stairway entrance; Zhao Yen nearly collided into his arms.

Their eyes met, the starry sky hung low, as though within reach.

The cool wind of a summer night brushed past, palace lanterns swayed above, as if all dust had settled.

“What are you doing here?”

Zhao Yen unconsciously brushed back the loose strands of hair at her temple, her rose-red lips slightly parted, her breath a little unsteady.

Wenren Lin lifted her wrist, folding back her sleeve to check that the thin wound beneath the bandage had not worsened. Only then did he tap the back of her hand and say:

“It is only the hour of Hai (9:00 PM – 11:00 PM) now—there is still time.”

Zhao Yen had just opened her mouth to ask, “Time for what?” when she saw Wenren Lin gently yet firmly draw her along by the wrist, leading her behind the table in the pavilion.

The brazier once used for roasting qiaoguo had been cleared of its iron grate, replaced by an earthen pot. Inside, hot broth was bubbling and steaming.

On the table beside it sat a basket of freshly pulled even, fine noodles, along with leafy greens, scallion oil, and other condiments.

Zhao Yen stared blankly as Wenren Lin rolled up his sleeves, revealing half his forearm as he prepared the seasonings in the bowl. Only then did she realize what he was intending.

“Yangchun noodles?” she pursed her lips and asked.

“Longevity noodles.”

Wenren Lin casually ladled a scoop of boiling water into the bowl. Oil blossoms floated up, the fragrance of scallion filled the air. Amidst the drifting steam, his deep voice came:

“Do not look at this prince like that. The noodles were pulled by the cook. These hands of mine, aside from killing and doing evil, know nothing else.”

Zhao Yen let out a soft “oh,” the light in her eyes not dimming, but rather growing brighter.

He himself lived as though without a future, yet he hoped that she would live long and well. Truly curious.

“Noodles steeped by the Grand Preceptor’s own hand are special all the same.”

Zhao Yen sniffed lightly; her appetite was suddenly roused. She could not help but ask:

“Did not the Grand Preceptor already send a gift? So many books!”

Wenren Lin dropped a handful of fresh noodles into the pot, cracked two eggs and let them sink into the boiling water. At her words, he raised his eyes:

“Does Your Highness truly think this prince sent those books only as books?”

“What else, then?” Zhao Yen tilted her head slightly.

Wenren Lin chuckled.

The little princess was clever and spirited, yet dull when it came to matters of affection. At times he truly wanted to knock open her head and see what was inside.

The steam blurred Wenren Lin’s features. He lifted the noodles and poached eggs from the pot and placed them into the soup bowl.

“Taste.” He pushed the bowl toward Zhao Yen.

Zhao Yen breathed in the fragrance, took the jade chopsticks, picked up a mouthful, blew it gently cool, and placed it into her mouth.

The clear broth was fresh, the noodles firm yet soft, warming her all the way from her lips and teeth down into her belly.

Bite by bite she ate. After returning to the palace she had tasted countless delicacies, yet none were as simple and timely as this bowl of noodles.

Wenren Lin only watched her quietly. Not until she had slowly sipped up the last strand did he finally ask:

“Are you full?”

“Another bowl.”

Zhao Yen’s appetite was small—she was already seventy percent full. But today was also Zhao Yan’s birthday. She must eat another bowl on his behalf as well.

Wenren Lin boiled her another portion of noodles. Within the rising steam of the pot, what boiled was an inexpressible bond to the mortal world.

Zhao Yen propped her chin on her hand, her body and heart both light.

When the noodles were nearly ready, a streak of fireworks suddenly shot up in the distance, bursting with a loud bang into blooming blossoms, dyeing half the sky red.

“Bang, bang!”

One after another, the fireworks went off—like a river of stars, like drooping willows, their colors brilliant, dazzling to the extreme.

Zhao Yen quickly rose to her feet to gaze far away. Seeing that the fireworks were being released from the direction of Hegui Pavilion, her heart stirred, and she hastily asked:

“Were these fireworks prepared by you?”

Wenren Lin gave no answer.

He lifted the noodles from the pot, smiling faintly as he said:

“This prince burned that assassin into ashes and made them into fireworks, to add brilliance to Your Highness’s birthday.”