Behind Chongwen Hall was a set of quarters provided for the Crown Prince’s imperial tutor to rest, furnished with a warming couch.

Empress Wei hurried over; even the dangling ornaments on her phoenix crown had lost their usual dignity.

Zhang Xu, the imperial physician under the Eastern Palace’s command, was already waiting in the hall. Liuying and Li Fu busied themselves around the small couch—one wiping the face, one offering water—letting no other palace maids or eunuchs come near.

Through the gap between their bodies could be seen Zhao Yen lying unconscious on the couch, wrapped tightly in a fox-fur robe, a swelling on her forehead, with faint traces of blood still seeping from one side of her nostril.

Her breath caught; she strode forward in large steps.

“What happened?” The Empress sat on the edge of the couch, dismissing the remaining attendants.

Li Fu sobbed intermittently, kneeling as he replied: “Her Highness was playing a game of chess with the Crown Prince’s Grand Preceptor. Somehow her mouth and nose began to bleed, and she suddenly fainted.”

The corner of Liuying’s brow twitched.

It had only been two drops of nosebleed, yet this boy spoke as though her days were numbered. But if it were not made to sound grave, there would have been no way to slip out today from beneath Prince Su’s eyes.

So she simply turned a blind eye and did not expose him.

Empress Wei’s expression grew heavy; reaching out to touch the bruise on Zhao Yen’s forehead, she saw the long, tightly closed lashes tremble ever so faintly.

The Empress’s fingertips halted. Exchanging a glance with the young imperial physician, she at once understood everything.

No one in the palace knew that Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, Rong Shiqing, and Her Majesty the Empress had been old acquaintances in their youth, bound by a life-saving bond. And since the Imperial Medical Office fell under the Court of Imperial Sacrifices’ jurisdiction, it was no difficult task to select a close-mouthed and reliable physician to cover the truth.

Zhang Xu was just at capping age, yet already a once-in-a-century genius in the Imperial Medical Office—by nature taciturn, withdrawn, shunned by his peers for research that leaned toward the unorthodox. Such a person was most suited to be drawn into the precarious command of the Eastern Palace.

The throat-altering medicinal decoction Zhao Yen drank daily was concocted by him.

“The brazier in the hall was overly heated, injuring the lung qi. His Highness the Crown Prince is too frail in constitution, and for a moment could not withstand the sudden fire rushing to the heart, thus fell into unconsciousness.”

Zhang Xu withdrew his hand, fabricating with an unchanged expression.

As he spoke, he had already written out the prescription and handed it over to Li Fu to fetch and decoct the medicine.

The young eunuch standing guard outside pricked up his ears, and upon hearing, quietly withdrew, hurrying to Chongwen Hall to make his report.

Only after all unrelated persons had departed did Empress Wei order Liuying to close the doors and windows tightly, her complex gaze falling upon the unconscious patient on the couch.

“Everyone is gone.”

The Empress reined in her spirit, her face calm as she said lightly, “How long do you intend to keep pretending?”

Her long lashes quivered several times like crow feathers. Zhao Yen feigned a slow awakening, her eyes searching about, then softly whispered with her breath: “Where is Prince Su?”

Liuying stayed by the crack of the door for a while, and once she was certain there was no suspicious person outside, returned to report: “Prince Su sat in the hall for a moment, then left.”

Only then did Zhao Yen fully open her eyes, lift aside the fox-fur, and sit up, exhaling from her chest a long, scalding breath.

If she had continued staying in Chongwen Hall, she would surely have come down with a heat illness in the middle of winter.

But that blow to her head had been struck solidly against the chessboard—no pretence there. Zhao Yen lightly touched the swelling at her forehead with her fingers, and immediately hissed in pain, her eyes reddening at the corners, making the tiny tear mole at the tip of her eye appear even more delicate and bright.

Behind the screen, Imperial Physician Zhang Xu stood like a stake of wood, indifferent to everything around him. He merely presented an ointment for invigorating blood and dissipating stasis, then packed up his medicine chest and took his leave.

So sensible and easy to manage—no wonder he had been chosen by the Eastern Palace.

Once even Zhang Xu had gone, Empress Wei at last shed her façade of “maternal kindness and filial affection,” and in her usual cold tone said: “Trust you to think of such a scheme. Had Prince Su taken the chance to feel your pulse, by now you would be cold already.”

“Wasn’t Li Fu there?”

Zhao Yen held her aching head, murmuring in discomfort: “Besides, Wenren Lin is not a fool. The Heir fainting during his lesson—naturally, he would avoid suspicion…”

Empress Wei’s tone grew sterner: “This is no child’s play. Do you think you can rely on luck every time?”

Zhao Yen’s qi and blood surged; just as she had settled, her nasal cavity began to itch again. She quickly leaned back against the couch, long lashes casting pitiful shadows.

“Do not blame Her Highness, Your Majesty. Prince Su pressed close in the game, burning charcoal, forcing each step. The Heir had no choice but to act so.”

Liuying could not help but take a step forward, kneeling in explanation.

How could Empress Wei not know the truth?

It was only that years of living in fear of shadows had made her forget how to speak with gentleness.

“Apply the medicine first.”

Her throat stirred a few times, yet in the end only this light and weightless sentence came out.

Liuying rose, brought over a bronze mirror patterned with water caltrop blossoms, and with a smooth piece of jade picked out a bit of ointment, carefully applying it to the swelling on Zhao Yen’s forehead, then binding it with a clean, soft bandage.

The young one’s eyes were red at the corners; the plain white bandage pressed low across her brow, making her cheeks seem all the paler and more delicate, pitiful beyond compare.

Empress Wei could not help but think of her deceased son, her mind momentarily dazed.

For the next two quarters of an hour, the room was filled only with silence.

A performance must be carried through to the end. Zhao Yen drank the medicine, lay in the quarters for half a day, and only then awaited the eunuch bearing decree from the Taiji Hall.

The old eunuch came to deliver the Emperor’s consolation: that the Crown Prince should take good rest and preserve her health.

This meant that, in the days to come, the Eastern Palace had its excuse to forgo lessons.

Finally able to briefly escape the shadow named “Prince Su,” Zhao Yen felt as though the very heavens had grown bright; that blow upon her forehead was at last not in vain.

Returning to the Eastern Palace, it was just as the lanterns were first lit, candles glowing bright.

Alighting from the carriage, Zhao Yen exhaled deeply, feeling utterly refreshed.

Just as she turned around the covered corridor, the Commander of the Eastern Palace Guards approached from the gate and reported: “Your Highness the Crown Prince, a woman by the name of ‘Liu Ji’ requests an audience.”

At this name, Liuying’s expression shifted slightly: “You let her in?”

This batch of palace guards was newly transferred, unaware of past matters. They hastily explained: “She held an Eastern Palace token. To see it is as if Your Highness personally arrives. We dared not obstruct.”

Zhao Yen listened in a fog.

She remembered that, apart from Liuying, all others of the Eastern Palace had been replaced. Who then was this “Liu Ji”?

Judging by Liuying’s face, she seemed greatly unsettled at this person’s appearance.

Just as Zhao Yen opened her mouth to ask, the front gates of Cheng’en Hall were suddenly kicked open from within, crashing out with a thunderous sound.

Zhao Yen looked over in astonishment, only to see a great beauty clad in silks and brocades stride forth with bold steps, planting herself firmly before the steps, angrily declaring: “Zhao Yan! You sent me away for months—what tricks are you playing at!”

Zhao Yen was truly startled—not only because this beauty dared to call the Crown Prince directly by name, but even more because Liuying leaned close and whispered:

“This is Liu Ji… the concubine taken in by His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Con… concubine?

That elder brother of hers, so weak and unable to care for himself, only fifteen years of age… already had a woman in his rooms?

Just as she was caught between shock and doubt, the great beauty noticed the bandage on her forehead and at once stiffened.

“Hey, how did you get hurt? Who did this?”

She strode forward in great steps, naturally raising her hand to touch Zhao Yen’s brow, but was blocked two paces away by the guards’ halberds.

The great beauty had never suffered such treatment; her willow brows rose at once: “Blind things, even I you would block?”

In truth, Liu Ji was a woman who, at a single glance, was clearly out of the ordinary.

Her features were broad and commanding, her countenance deeper-set than that of ordinary women, carrying two parts of exotic charm. Her figure was tall and healthy, powder and rouge unable to hide her heroic air; even her voice was full and resonant, entirely lacking the fragile delicacy of the women of the capital.

Fiery and unrestrained, beautiful in a bold and thorned way. The so-called “arrogant by virtue of her beauty” spoken of in rumors was no doubt such a sight as stood before her.

Zhao Yen thought to herself: In these days in the Eastern Palace, there truly was not a single moment that was not startling to the heart.

However, since this was a person who had been in close contact with Zhao Yan, she must be all the more cautious in her dealings.

“I accidentally knocked my head. It has already been bandaged—you need not worry.”

Zhao Yen cleared her throat and, under Liuying’s prompting gaze, forced herself to speak: “I am a little tired and will go first to bathe and rest.”

Liu Ji looked at her suspiciously.

After a moment, she pushed aside the halberds before her and said: “I shall attend to Your Highness’s bath and changing of clothes.”

Seeing that the great beauty was even two or three inches taller than herself, Zhao Yen quickly lifted her chin and stepped back: “No need. I have Liuying to serve me.”

A flash of surprise passed through Liu Ji’s eyes; she glanced at Liuying, her expression gradually taking on hurt: “Was it not always that Your Highness bathed and slept together with me? Why is it that, after I returned once to my family, I am treated with such coldness?”

“…”

Zhao Yan, I underestimated you.

The freshly bandaged swelling on Zhao Yen’s forehead began to throb again.

“Liu Ji has traveled and toiled for months; surely she is tired and should rest well.”

She feigned concern, finding an excuse to fob her off.

Liu Ji gazed after the Crown Prince’s departing figure, pondered a moment, then suddenly asked an unrelated question: “Will Your Highness still climb the tower to light the lanterns with me tonight?”

Zhao Yen instinctively glanced at Liuying, then vaguely said: “No… another time.”

Liu Ji said nothing more, only watching her walk away slowly.

…

Freed from the oppression of Wenren Lin, Zhao Yen at last indulged in two rare late risings. Her only troubling matter was how to properly dismiss Liu Ji.

“Liuying.”

After weighing it for a long time, Zhao Yen called: “Tell me in detail about this Liu Ji.”

~~~

Prince Su’s residence, the candlelight flickered.

Wenren Lin, as usual in plain dark robe, sat behind his desk with brush in hand practicing calligraphy.

“The Crown Prince today again claimed headache as excuse, and took leave from attending Chongwen Hall.”

Deputy Commander Zhang Cang reported in a low voice, with no small measure of discontent.

Wenren Lin himself was as though nothing had happened, his gaze calm as still water, reflecting a faint warmth of candlelight.

Zhang Cang pondered—what scheme was the Prince plotting now?

First the little Crown Prince had ruined the Prince’s game of chess, and these past days had again pled illness to avoid meeting, leaving the Prince waiting in Chongwen Hall. What was even more inconceivable was that the Prince, ever decisive in killing and cutting, was not angry at all—merely strolling back to his residence to read and practice calligraphy at leisure.

It was as if a saint’s halo were sprouting upon his lordship’s head. The last time things had been this calm and still was just before he had devised the downfall of the entire clan of Duke Yi of Zhen.

Just as he was mulling this over, a knock came from outside the study.

“Your Highness, Immortal Physician Sun has been invited.”

The speaker was another of Prince Su’s personal guards, the Right Deputy Commander, Cai Tian.

Wenren Lin, unhurried, set down the final stroke, then straightened and put away the brush.

“Prepare the carriage. Have Immortal Physician Sun accompany this prince into the palace.”

He regarded the still-wet ink, took the cloth offered to him, and slowly wiped his knuckles, speaking faintly: “Since the Crown Prince is in such suffering, as the Crown Prince’s Grand Preceptor, I ought personally to pay a visit of consolation.”

Zhang Cang glanced in astonishment at the sky outside.

It was at the hour of man’s rest, lamps dimly lit—the very time of day when people were most relaxed and off guard.

Ordinarily, when they raided households and seized persons, they favored choosing this very hour, never missing a catch.

Understanding dawned; Zhang Cang gave a shiver.

So the Prince’s intention… was not in the wine at all¹“The old drunkard’s intention is not in the wine.”: Someone’s words or actions appear to be about one thing, but their true purpose lies elsewhere..

Footnotes

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  “The old drunkard’s intention is not in the wine.”: Someone’s words or actions appear to be about one thing, but their true purpose lies elsewhere.