Zhao Yen turned her head back, peach blossom eyes opening wide in slight astonishment, flowing with the variegated afterglow of fireworks.

“Is it true?”

Wenren Lin neither nodded nor shook his head, the color of his pupils flickering with the fireworks now bright, now dim, with much interest appreciating Zhao Yen’s expression as it shifted from stupefaction to hesitation.

“The noodles are ready.” He smiled unfathomably.

Zhao Yen had no choice but to give up pondering what exactly the fireworks before her were composed of, and reluctantly returned to the desk.

The fireworks still continued, long and unceasing.

Zhao Yen liked fireworks. This was an illusory dreamscape constructed by humans as insignificant as ants, a magnificence daring to stand shoulder to shoulder with thunder and morning clouds.

The tower of Jiafu Palace and the Hegui Pavilion echoed each other from afar, making it an excellent viewing place. She received the jade chopsticks Wenren Lin handed over, stirred the noodles, gently blew on them, her lips moistened by the soup becoming fresh red and delicate.

Wenren Lin stared at them for a while, then saw Zhao Yen lift her head, her gaze meeting his, pushing the bowl of noodles toward him and asking: “Do you want to eat?”

Wenren Lin’s gaze deepened slightly, he put down his rolled-up sleeve, and said evenly: “What this prince wants to eat is not noodles.”

This line, hidden in the lively sounds of fireworks bursting, Zhao Yen did not clearly hear. When she came back to herself, Wenren Lin had reached out and wiped away a drop of noodle soup staining the corner of her lips.

The fireworks were splendid, and the distance between the two also became shifting and uncertain, as if true as if illusory, bewildering and entrancing.

Zhao Yen subconsciously pressed her lips together. Wenren Lin naturally withdrew his hand, bent his right leg, resting his right arm casually upon the raised knee, while with his left arm he turned a cup and lifted a pot, pouring himself a cup of clear and cold Purple Luo-yi Wine.

This wine was tribute from Lingnan. Zhao Yen smelled the sweet fragrance of lychee, which immediately stirred the greedy worm in her belly. Swallowing the last mouthful of noodles, she said: “Give me a cup too.”

Wenren Lin gave her the cup in his own hand, then took up another cup, pouring himself again.

Zhao Yen held it with both hands, lowered her gaze, and lightly drank a sip, her eyes immediately lighting up.

“Sweet and mellow, delicious!”

“Your Highness detests sweet foods, yet in wine you love drinking the sweet kind.”

Wenren Lin held the cup in one hand, gesturing across toward Zhao Yen, “A felicitous birthday, little Highness.”

In the mingling of light and shadow, the way he hooked a faint smile looked somewhat unrestrained and untamed.

Zhao Yen’s heart moved. In front of Wenren Lin, she no longer needed to suffer the shackles of restraint, no longer needed to consider the heaviness of vengeance, but only with body and heart relaxed, unconsciously raised her cup to clink against his.

The fireworks that arose at that moment reflected within the wine, and with a ding, spread out countless marvelous fragments.

The Purple Luo-yi Wine’s fruity sweetness was clear and strong, yet its after-strength was tremendous. If Wenren Lin had not raised his palm to cover Zhao Yen’s cup, she could have finished drinking the remaining half-pot.

Even with this timely stop-loss, after three cups downed, Zhao Yen’s gaze also became moist and hazy, her cheeks gradually suffused with rosy red.

“Sleepy?” Wenren Lin put down his cup and asked.

Zhao Yen propped her cheeks with both hands, eyelids heavy, nodded slightly sluggishly.

Wenren Lin laughed once: “Can you get up?”

Zhao Yen was silent for a while, then again sluggishly nodded, supporting herself on the desk to stand.

The clattering sound of cups tipping over, Wenren Lin promptly seized her small arm, steadying her.

“Such poor tolerance for wine, yet still imitating others to drink greedily.” Wenren Lin seemed to sigh.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just that your wine is too strong.” Zhao Yen pressed at her forehead, yet her thoughts were in fact very clear.

This Purple Luo-yi Wine was of superior grade, indeed addictive and easy to intoxicate. Wenren Lin, a man who maintained constant vigilance and sobriety, would only ever drink a few cups when his mood was extremely good.

Liuying, waiting below the palace tower, heard the commotion. Raising her head, she saw her mistress staggering at the stairway entrance. Just as she hesitated whether or not to go up to lend a hand, she saw Wenren Lin step forward two paces, bend one knee to the ground.

“Come up.” He slightly tilted his head, revealing the broad and strong expanse of his back.

Zhao Yen steadied herself against the wall, dazed for a moment. Perhaps it was the rush of wine, perhaps it was something else, but she did not refuse.

Her chest pressed against the firm broad back, and her body was lifted up. Wenren Lin reached back to support her thigh, carrying her as he stepped down the stone steps, each stride steady and sure.

Liuying and Cai Tian, waiting at the foot of the stairs, both showed astonishment upon their faces, but immediately lowered their eyes in unison, lifting their lamps to lead the way, without glancing aside.

The night wind brushed Zhao Yen’s heated cheeks, the Milky Way surging, the lamps blurred and indistinct. Her line of sight rose and fell with his steps, hearing the weaving together of his long breaths and her own rapid heartbeat.

Hot water was prepared in the cleansing chamber, the small pool rippling with waves.

Wenren Lin bent down and placed Zhao Yen on the couch to settle her. Just as he was about to rise, he felt his sleeve lightly grasped.

“Are you going to leave?”

She opened her eyes, her lashes trembling faintly as if unable to bear the weight of the lamplight.

Wenren Lin allowed her to hold his sleeve, his pitch-black pupils deep as he said: “Does Your Highness wish for this prince to go, or not wish so?”

A question asked though he already knew. Zhao Yen swallowed her throat and lowered her eyelids.

The smile in Wenren Lin’s eyes spread faintly; he no longer teased her: “I will leave after midnight has passed.”

Zhao Yen, for no reason, let out a breath of relief, releasing his sleeve.

Liuying entered carrying comb and towel, attending to Zhao Yen’s bath and change of clothes behind the screen. She drowsily soaked in the bath, washing away the day’s fatigue. When she came out dressed, Wenren Lin indeed still sat under the lamplight in the outer chamber, holding her jade comb.

Liuying glanced at Zhao Yen. Seeing her nod, she saluted and withdrew.

Wenren Lin motioned Zhao Yen to sit on the couch. Taking silk cloth, he wiped dry the damp ends of her hair, then pulled a chair close to sit. He opened her slightly curled fingertips, revealing on the middle and index fingers of her right hand the mark of a bowstring’s bite.

Wenren Lin did not ask about the origin of this mark, nor did he question what she had done today at Prince Yong’s residence. He only lightly stroked the red mark there, saying: “Is it more comfortable?”

Zhao Yen knew what he was referring to. After a moment’s thought, she nodded.

What she had seen and heard in Prince Yong’s residence indeed weighed on her. She could not forget Prince Yong’s words to Zhao Yan before his death, nor those mournful and venomous eyes. Yet now, the longevity noodles and the warmth of Purple Luo-yi Wine dispelled the heavy chill, leaving only a slightly tipsy warmth.

“All has ended just like this, abruptly, smoothly as if within a dream.”

Zhao Yen, sitting on the couch with her knees in her arms, letting strands of hair fall beside her cheeks, murmured: “But I feel a bit uneasy, I cannot feel happy at all…”

Wenren Lin used his fingers to guide the comb, loosening her smooth long hair strand by strand.

He did not instruct much, only said calmly: “Revenge is not originally a thing that brings happiness.”

Zhao Yen was suddenly touched by this line.

She lifted her hand in a daze to pull Wenren Lin closer, then rested her forehead against his chest, as if this way she could reach the unfathomable abyss hidden beneath his elegance and composure.

She called softly: “Grand Preceptor…”

Other than the comfort he gave her when the poison flared, her own active leaning upon him was indeed pitifully few.

Wenren Lin stroked Zhao Yen’s smooth long hair, lifted his finger to press against her chin, forcing her to raise her head, gazing intently at her face, flushed with allure from wine and hot water.

Those peach blossom eyes, hazy and beautiful, the ends hooked like barbs, flowing with ripples that made him both conflicted and entranced.

Wenren Lin’s thumb pressed upon her rosy lips, grinding lightly and heavily in turn.

He tightened his arm’s embrace, the joints of his fingers faintly standing out pale, his thick long lashes lowering as he bent close to that fragrance he had coveted the whole night.

When only an inch from her lips, Zhao Yen lightly let out a yawn, eyelids drooping and colliding, already utterly exhausted.

Wenren Lin paused, for a moment, then clicked his tongue in slight disappointment.

With today’s travels, Zhao Yen was indeed utterly weary, to the point she had no awareness of when she returned to her bedchamber, nor when Wenren Lin left.

She only vaguely remembered that while she still curled upon the small couch, the outer robe covering her body carried a faint woody fragrance, and behind the screen the man’s lean figure was blurred and indistinct, the sound of water in the bath pool lasting for a long time.

Early the next morning, the residence of the Eldest Princess Shoukang received an apologetic gift sent from the Eastern Palace.

The items were not especially precious, but the value lay in the sentiment.

“Clearly it was the Crown Prince who was the harmed one, yet he still does not forget to console others. Rare indeed that such a young boy has this bearing of humility and courtesy. For this alone, we ought to acknowledge his kindness.”

Speaking thus, Huo Feng clasped his hands behind his back, giving a long sigh, “A pity that last year he already took in a concubine-servant, deluded by women, and now stands at the very eye of the storm—by no means a fitting match for Zhenzhen.”

The Prince Consort spoke on by himself, and not hearing a response, turned back in curiosity.

“Wanrou, why do you not speak?”

Wanrou was the personal name of the Eldest Princess Shoukang. She and Huo Feng had married by imperial decree; after the wedding they had quarreled and argued while adjusting, yet their feelings only grew deeper and more loving. They had always addressed each other by courtesy names, rather than the cold “Eldest Princess” or “Prince Consort.”

The Eldest Princess Shoukang sat beneath the window fanning herself, speaking with some thought: “Changge, do you not find it strange?”

“What strange?”

“In the Eastern Palace storms have not ceased, and Her Majesty the Empress has always wished to set Zhenzhen as Crown Princess Consort.”

The Eldest Princess Shoukang glanced at the daughter sleeping soundly upon the small couch within, then spoke in a low voice, “But this time we have returned to the capital for so long, yet Her Majesty has not once mentioned the matter of betrothal. Is that not strange?”

“What is strange about it? Formerly with Prince Yong and his heir present, the court winds wavered, so Her Majesty needed the Eldest Princess’s consent and aid. Now that Prince Yong and his son brought about their own ruin, Xu Wanyi’s child in the belly has yet to be determined, the Eastern Palace’s position is firm, naturally there is no urgency at this time.”

Huo Feng strode into the room, taking the fan from the Eldest Princess Shoukang’s hand, attentively fanning for her, “Moreover, are you not also afraid that if Zhenzhen married into the Eastern Palace, she would not be able to protect herself? Is this not just right?”

“…That is also true. Hopefully it is only that this palace has thought too much.”

Speaking thus, the Eldest Princess Shoukang lifted her hand, as tender as that of a maiden, and softly slapped Huo Feng’s rough arm, reproaching: “Stop fanning, you are fanning this palace into a headache.”

Huo Feng chuckled, seizing that delicate hand and raising it to his lips, kissing it with force as if biting tofu.

…

In the Eastern Palace, Li Fu was working with the Crown Prince’s household officers to sort through the birthday gifts sent from various houses, so they could be returned by the same route.

Only one special accompanying gift could not be decided how to handle. Li Fu had no choice but to carry the cage to seek Zhao Yen’s instruction.

Within the ornate cage of pure gold in the form of twining vines inlaid with jewels, was confined a snow-white, dignified, precious lion-cat with mandarin-duck eyes.

The cat seemed not yet fully grown, its eyes round and slightly childish, pink nose and pink paws, its silk fur fluffy. Clearly it had been starved in the cage for a day, and was now letting out pitiful, broken mewls.

“I do not keep a cat-servant…”

Thinking of something, Zhao Yen’s eyes turned, and she called to Li Fu: “Wait! Leave the cat, return the cage.”

Li Fu uttered an “Ay,” opened the cage and lifted out the cat, smiling as he said: “In ancient times there was buying the box and returning the pearl; Your Highness is keeping the cat and returning the cage.”

Zhao Yen received the soft and warm little creature, stroking its fur.

She knew who liked these little things.

Wenren Lin had recently been resting in the Hegui Pavilion; this place was close to the palace and convenient for meeting anyone.

He had just returned from the palace when he saw a slender familiar figure sitting in the chair by the window.

The window lattice was the finest frame, enclosing both the shadows of flowers and her together within, as if a marvelous, freshly-wet meticulous painting.

Wenren Lin, dressed in a robe with civil and martial sleeves, handsome and tall, stepped slowly before her and said: “How is it that today Your Highness is in the mood to…”

Before the words were finished, a tender childish mewl was heard.

His gaze lowered, falling upon Zhao Yen’s bulging, wriggling sleeve.

“In Your Highness’s sleeve, what is hidden?”

Zhao Yen smiled without speaking, her eyes curving.

She loosened her clasped hands, and at once a snow-white little head popped out from her sleeve, opening jewel-like eyes of blue and yellow to look at Wenren Lin.