Zhao Yen pinched the lion cat’s soft pink paw, beckoned, and said: “A congratulatory gift sent up by those below. I cannot raise it, and thinking that the Grand Preceptor often takes pity on the palace strays, I brought it here.”

Wenren Lin understood: “Your Highness is borrowing flowers to offer to the Buddha?”

“Mm, yes. Then this flower—does the Buddha like it?”

As she spoke, Zhao Yen slightly tilted her head, observing the expression on Wenren Lin’s face.

The little thing peeking its head out from within her sleeve robe also tilted its head in turn, blinking its round eyes. One person and one cat—expressions and actions were astonishingly identical.

Wenren Lin’s gaze softened, light laughter appearing in the depths of his eyes.

He received that warm, soft little bundle with both hands, lifting the lion cat by its front paws beneath the armpits, and then, under the late-summer sunlight, touched the tip of his nose against the cat’s.

Zhao Yen looked at his straight nose bridge, and for some reason suddenly recalled—in the few rare times they had kissed, he too had half-lowered his dense lashes in this way, the tip of his nose brushing across her cheek…

“What is Your Highness thinking of, to be so entranced?”

Wenren Lin, she did not know when, slanted his eyes toward her, one arm holding the delicate lion cat as he scrutinized her.

Zhao Yen unnaturally shifted her gaze away, then after a moment firmly returned it. She caught sight of a cat hair clinging to Wenren Lin’s dark garment, and her lips curved with a smile.

“The Grand Preceptor truly does love cats.”

She adjusted her robe more naturally now and said, “Now the Grand Preceptor also has his own cat.”

“A cat? This prince already had one long ago.”

Wenren Lin’s smiling eyes were deep and unfathomable as he looked at Zhao Yen with meaning, then paced to sit beside her.

Zhao Yen sat upon a meditation chair, longer than ordinary seats, yet even so, with two people it was somewhat crowded—their garments brushing, their arms pressed against each other.

Wenren Lin raised his large, well-boned hand, and skillfully stroked the lion cat dozing quietly in his embrace, from its head to its back, then pinched its pink ear tip.

Sitting so very close, each of his movements Zhao Yen could clearly perceive, even to the sensation of the taut muscles of his arm moving as he stroked.

She inconspicuously edged aside, when suddenly Wenren Lin said:

“This raccoon slave’s [archaic nickname for cat] fur, still falls short of intention.”

“Is that so?”

When she had brought the cat over, Zhao Yen had especially ordered Li Fu to wipe and comb it. There should not have been any filth affecting the feel.

She leaned across Wenren Lin’s leg, reaching out to stroke back and forth over the cat’s fur. In her palm it was clearly smooth beyond compare…

Just as she wavered in doubt, Wenren Lin raised his free arm, encircling Zhao Yen’s shoulders, his fingers stroking down from her half-bound, half-loose hair to her slender waist, his fingertips gently patting.

Zhao Yen trembled all at once, only to hear Wenren Lin’s lingering voice above her head:

“No matter the ice and snow, soft jade in this world, none can compare in the least to Your Highness.”

Zhao Yen said angrily: “Should I thank the Grand Preceptor for such lavish praise?”

Wenren Lin only shook his head, his chin brushing lightly across the crown of her hair:

“Since words have been spoken, Your Highness need only gladly receive them.”

Zhao Yen heard the laughter within his words, knowing his mood at this moment was quite good, and so did not press further.

“Your Highness, bestow a name upon this little beast.” Wenren Lin spoke in a low voice.

Ah, she had forgotten this matter!

Zhao Yen looked at the lion cat’s snow-white, fluffy fur, searched through her literary store, and pondered: “Its whole body is like snow—let it be called Xuenu.”

“If Your Highness says to call it thus, then so it shall be. Even if you call it Dung Ball, it is fine.”

“You!”

The little cat seemed also to understand these words. In Wenren Lin’s arms, it pawed with its forelegs and meowed in protest.

“Better to call it Xuenu, then. Common is common.”

Zhao Yen’s arm went numb from the vibration of Wenren Lin’s muffled laughter in his chest. She glared at him with little force, then said, “Li Fu said that before a cat is tamed, it is easy to run off. Remember to close the windows.”

Wenren Lin raised the ends of his eyes slightly, and with a smile said:

“This prince has many affairs, and when busy, I cannot attend to it. However, Your Highness may often come and look after it.”

How could Zhao Yen not know that he was digging a pit, laying a snare, luring her to throw herself into the net?

She snorted lightly: “Gu also has many affairs. How about this—when you have no time to watch it, send someone to deliver it to the Eastern Palace…”

As she spoke, she faintly felt that something was not right.

The tone in which the two were discussing—why did it sound like father and mother consulting over how to raise a child? Zhao Yen faintly furrowed her brows, her expression turning strangely odd.

The sun slanted westward, light and shadow quietly sprawling beneath the window lattice.

Wenren Lin took her little expression into his eyes, and after a while, brushed the tip of his nose against her temple: “Just so is fine.”

As it was now was quite fine—maintaining a distance where they could sense each other’s warmth, yet would not wound her.

Any more than this, he could not give.

“What?” Zhao Yen did not understand his meaning.

Wenren Lin coiled a strand of her drooping hair upon her shoulder with his finger, his face full of tranquil indulgence.

When Zhao Yen returned to the Eastern Palace that evening, she received a small jar of Purple Luo Yi wine sent over by Wenren Lin.

That familiar eunuch wiped his sweat and said with a smile:

“His Highness said, this wine’s strength is potent. He asks that Your Highness not drink to excess. When it is finished, then seek His Highness for more.”

Zhao Yen ordered Liuying to fetch money to reward the eunuch for running the errand. She herself hugged the small wine jar, sat upon the couch, and lightly inhaled the sweet fruit fragrance wafting out.

Her lips curved in satisfaction, allowing the smile to spread at the corners of her eyes, reddening the tiny tear mole there.

A cool wind scattered the heat of the earth’s surface; autumn came quietly amidst a sudden shower.

At the Left Chancellor’s residence, within the Silent Garden, rain dripped from banana leaves, splashing into the clear sound upon the steps.

“Have you found it?”

The Left Chancellor Li Kexing, dressed in casual home attire, stood beneath the eaves. As though having foreseen something, his dark countenance was covered with a dim sorrowful light.

“Yes.”

Zhou Ji stood one step behind his teacher. Beneath his green robe his bones were still visible, and he answered:

“This student visited the scholars who once had dealings with junior brother. I learned that some classmates once copied junior brother’s response to Master Linjiang’s rhapsody-discourse. I sought it out to read, and can approximately infer what he did in life. Yesterday this student also paid respects to Uncle Shen, and confirmed the conjecture.”

As he spoke, he drew out a piece of writing from his sleeve and respectfully handed it to Li Kexing.

Li Kexing received the essay, spread it open under the fading light, and read it carefully.

The more he read, the more grave his face became. He asked:

“Wanlan, how do you view this essay?”

Zhou Ji said: “Citing widely, striking directly at the heart—truly a thunderous cry not heard in a hundred years. It is without shame to teacher’s instruction.”

“You agree with his political argument?”

“Not so. Though our ways differ, a gentleman is harmonious though not the same. Junior brother knew it could not be done, and yet he did it—spitting blood to write, laying down bone to pave the road. This student can only hold respect for him.”

Li Kexing nodded in approval.

These two proud disciples of his: one, though born into officialdom, had cultivated a pure child’s heart for the people; the other, though not agreeing with his peer’s political stance, still chose to return the greatest respect to his opponent.

This was the bearing of a gentleman. This was the most dazzling pair of untainted pearls beneath his Li family’s gate!

“Pity, grief! Jingming was but eighteen years old!”

Li Kexing raised his head in a long sigh, faint tears in his eyes. After a long time he shook his head and said:

“He was too young. He thought of court and state affairs far too simply. Also blame this old man, who only taught him the principles of essay, but never taught him how to preserve himself… Bold strokes and broad axe—yet the rigid breaks easily; the tree that stands out in the forest, the wind is certain to destroy it. Wanlan, you must take this as warning, and tread cautiously.”

“This student shall keep it in mind.”

Li Kexing again looked at the copied essay in his hand. There was approval, yet also regret; in his grief, he nearly could not stand steady. Zhou Ji quickly stepped forward, both hands supporting Li Kexing’s arm.

He said: “May teacher cherish his health.”

Li Kexing waved his hand, carefully putting away Shen Jingming’s posthumous work. Staggering back into the room, he sat down with a long sigh.

“Today this old man summoned you, there is still one proper matter to entrust.”

“Teacher, please speak, this student will respectfully listen.”

“On the twelfth of the eighth month, the jingyan [court lecture on the Classics] will be convened, His Majesty has ordered this old man to preside. You also know, the jingyan of this dynasty serves first for ruler and ministers to discuss state policy, and second to select men of talent to entrust with heavy responsibility. It is a good opportunity.”

Li Kexing took the teacup Zhou Ji personally steeped for him, and with solemn expression said:

“Rebellions in Luo Prefecture have been unceasing, the state treasury exhausted. The Policy of Opening Sources can wait no longer. At the jingyan, the lesson on the Zhou Rites shall be entrusted to you to lecture. You must lecture it well.”

These past years, Li Kexing had been searching for ways to plug the vast holes in the state treasury.

But as he himself was of the lineage of the Luoyang clans, naturally he would not allow the knife to fall upon his own head. His thoughts were gentler than those youths, also more conservative. If one could not reduce outflow, then one must open new sources, hoping thereby to ease a portion of Great Xuan’s deep-seated illness.

Zhou Ji understood his teacher’s intent. The venerable teacher was aged already, and before retiring must find a successor to take his place—also to speak for the Luoyang clans within the court.

“There is still one private matter.”

Li Kexing cleared his throat, his stern face softening somewhat:

“You are not young. Your father has written to this old man several times, inquiring whether in the court there may be some lady of equal family, virtuous and gentle, to be matched with you. This old man thinks, this matter still depends on your own intent… Wanlan, since returning to the capital for so long, have you met some lady who pleases your heart?”

Zhou Ji was slightly startled; in his mind flashed one indistinct face after another.

Observing his silence and hesitation, Li Kexing said with kindly encouragement:

“If you will not say, this old man will decide for you.”

Zhou Ji lowered his head, after a moment said clearly and coldly:

“This student only wishes to take letters and ink as friends, and has no favored person.”

“You…”

This proud disciple was good in all things, but in matters of human affection and worldly understanding was somewhat dull. Fear was, by the time he himself realized what “favored” meant, it would already be too late.

Li Kexing looked at Zhou Ji, and after a while sighed long:

“Ah! All are talents hard to meet in a hundred years—yet you, one after another, must at least leave descendants!”

—

Since the Crown Princess Zhao Yen had met with danger at the Chen Banquet, the Eastern Palace had for long known no waves.

The storms, with Prince Yong’s suicide from fear of punishment, came to an abrupt halt. The days were peaceful, tranquil as though a dream.

Zhao Yen drifted dully and plainly between Chongwen Hall and the Eastern Palace, suddenly beginning to doubt the meaning of her remaining in the Eastern Palace. She had not yet thought it through—why had that final game of contest proceeded so smoothly?

At the beginning of the eighth month, Zhao Yen was summoned to Taiji Hall to report on matters of the coming jingyan, but was shocked to hear that rebellion had broken out in Luo Prefecture. The desperate refugees had seized thirteen counties, great and small.

The Emperor heavily placed upon the desk the memorials sent under urgent dispatch of a hundred li. Though not a single word of anger was spoken, the gathered ministers and eunuchs in the hall were all so frightened as to kneel in unison.

Zhao Yen also knelt, as her imperial father paced back and forth, saying:

“The Crown Prince shall first withdraw. The jingyan will proceed as in former precedent.”

“Your son and subject receives the command.”

Zhao Yen kowtowed, rose, and as she withdrew from the hall, she heard her imperial father say:

“Where is Prince Su? Go, summon Prince Su to Us!”

It had already been many days since Zhao Yen last saw Wenren Lin. He was not at Hegui Pavilion, and Xuenu had also been given into the eunuchs’ care.

Unable to leave the palace, Zhao Yen did not know whether he had returned to Prince Su’s manor.

At the start of another month, Zhao Yen worried—had his poison flared up with no antidote, might his very life be in danger…

Lost in her tangled thoughts, too deeply absorbed, she did not at all notice before she collided head-on with someone.

Zhao Yen staggered back instinctively, when a pair of large hands steadied her, a low voice saying:

“What are you thinking?”

A dark garment’s lapel—Zhao Yen caught the familiar scent of cold frost and snow.

Startled, she lifted her head, looking upon Wenren Lin’s pale face that bore a smile yet not a smile. For a moment she did not know whether she should feel relief, or worry.

Strange—was not Shen Guang Zhenren already dead?

And had not the last pellet of medicine already been used? Why then did Wenren Lin still carry upon him that trace of cold fragrance from the elixir?