Chapter 42: The Last Word

The moon slants to the west, and the shimmering light on the pond quiets down with it.

Zhao Yan sits on the couch wrapped in dry undergarments, her eyes moist, the tip of her nose slightly red. Her unrestrained figure undulates gracefully, like snow gathering in the moonlight.

In the pool, the long and translucent silk floats like wisps of clouds. When she cried and couldn’t catch her breath, Wen Renlin pulled it down and threw it into the water, lest she faint from shortness of breath.

Wen Renlin accompanied her in the pool for a long time, his clothes soaked inside and out. Now he comes out wearing a frosted-colored robe. Half of his hair is tied up with a shiny wooden hairpin, while the other half hangs damply over his shoulder, swaying slightly with his steps.

He walks to the side and takes a comb, using a clean and soft cotton cloth to wipe Zhao Yan’s black satin-like waist-length hair dry, inch by inch, from top to bottom, then carefully combing it out. 

His tall and straight figure is reflected in the bronze mirror, his profile warmed by the candlelight, exuding a casual charm.

Sensing Zhao Yan’s gaze peering into the mirror, Wen Renlin closes his eyes and asks softly, “Feeling better?”

Zhao Yan wipes the corners of her eyes with her hand and murmurs softly, “Hungry.”

Wen Renlin chuckles lightly. After all, what teenage girl doesn’t know how to act coquettish?

He puts the jade comb back on the table, and a small, bright red tooth mark is clearly visible on the back of his hand. Zhao Yan sees it too, thinking of where this tooth mark came from, and involuntarily looks away.

Wen Renlin walks to the outer room and gives a low command. In no time, he returns with some porridge and snacks. Zhao Yan has no idea how many people under his command are at the Tangchi Palace. Too much has happened tonight, and she doesn’t care about these things.

Seeing Wen Renlin placing the food in front of her, Zhao Yan subconsciously looks up at him. There are still unshed tears on her long eyelashes, and when she looks up, there is a hint of vulnerability in her gaze.

Wen Renlin can’t help but smile. He casually drags a chair from the side to sit down, stirs the porridge bowl, scoops up a spoonful, and offers it to her lips, saying, “I don’t have the habit of feeding, Your Highness.”

Only then does Zhao Yan open her mouth and sip the warm rice porridge, swallowing it down, her thoughts swirling endlessly.

Wen Renlin only glances at her slightly distracted, teary eyes, knowing that she has not completely recovered yet.

He sets the porridge bowl aside and wipes the glistening water stains from her lips with a handkerchief, casually saying, “How did Your Highness develop such a habit of taking all responsibilities upon herself?”

She knows that Zhao Yan is gentle, but not foolish.

The letter must have been made to look very convincing, imitating her handwriting, and choosing the right time after the siblings’ falling out, for Zhao Yan to open and read it without any guard.

The moment she realized she had fallen into the trap, all Zhao Yan could do was burn that letter. Until the last moment, Zhao Yan was protecting him with his weak body. And the last memory she left him was that piercingly hurtful remark.

If only she hadn’t said she wanted to exchange lives with him, if only she had been more honest. But how many “if onlys” are there in the world? There are only regrets of the dead and remorse of the living.

Perhaps she just needed someone to confide in. Zhao Yan murmurs softly, “He died because of a letter sent by me, but… he burned it.”

Wen Renlin can guess the meaning behind Zhao Yan’s words with a little thought. The truth, in the end, is almost the same as what the scouts found out last year. If it weren’t for Zhao Yan impersonating the Crown Prince and causing a brief disturbance, the Great Xuan Dynasty would probably be in chaos, just as he planned.

“It would have been faster to find the real culprit if there had been evidence left behind…”

Zhao Yan chokes back a sob unintentionally, quickly resting her chin on her knees and closing her eyes, murmuring, “Fool.”

Wen Renlin picks up a piece of pear and offers it to her, seeing her hesitating to open her mouth, he asks, “How could Your Highness not think that if the Crown Prince didn’t destroy the evidence, what would happen if you were implicated in such a major crime?”

“The letter was not written by me, so proving my innocence should be easy,” Zhao Yan says.

Compared to capturing the real culprit and clearing her brother’s name, what does a little injustice to her matter?

“Your Highness has studied ‘The Broad Collection of the Tang Dynasty’, and I believe you have read the story of ‘Yang Jin’s Suspicion of His Servant’.”

He seems to be lost in a long memory, slowly recounting, “During the Chengde period of the Yin Dynasty, General Yang Jin suffered defeat and fled, with only one loyal servant by his side. One day, when Yang Jin crossed a river, he encountered pursuers, suspecting that his servant had betrayed him and informed the enemy, he interrogated the servant mercilessly. Unable to defend himself, the servant used a knife to cut open his abdomen, proving his loyalty with his heart.”

Through ten years of divine protection, clouds veil the sky in gloom. The lonely city stands without support, corpses strewn across the wilderness.

General Wenren, his body drenched in blood, rain mingling with blood as it meanders down his figure. Half-kneeling, he resembles a monument, firmly placing the final pill into the mouth of the young child.

“With my life, in the name of loyalty and righteousness,” he tightly covers the boy’s mouth, preventing him from spitting out the pill. “I’m going now. Live well.”

Feathered arrows fill the air, blood splattering into the despairing and trembling eyes of the youth. Wen Renlin lifts his gaze, his black eyes also clouded with the same darkness.

His lips move slightly, whispering in a low, deep voice, “Your Highness, to prove innocence, one must be willing to undergo the heart-wrenching ordeal.”

So, the Crown Prince isn’t concealing anything for the sake of the young princess. He simply doesn’t want his sister to endure the torment of the same fate. Zhao Yan also understands Wen Renlin’s meaning, staring blankly, tears welling up in her eyes once again. With a tremble of her eyelashes, tears flow uncontrollably.

Wen Renlin gently brushes away the glistening tear beneath her eyelashes, bowing his head to kiss it away.

He doesn’t speak further, slowly lifting his arm to embrace Zhao Yan, gently stroking her back with his palm, lightly brushing her damp and trembling temples with his chin.

A precious little kitten, born to be cherished.

As the lamp’s light dims, the dense night outside gradually fades into a faint dawn.

When Zhao Yan wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky, lying in the bedroom of the palace, with Wen Renlin nowhere to be seen. She feels dizzy upon awakening, her head spinning. She struggles to recall how she returned here in the early morning.

Being rather emotional, she cried for most of the night in the Tangchi Pavilion, rubbing Wen Renlin’s neat white clothes until they were wet and disheveled.

After crying herself tired, she finally closed her eyes, only to be awakened by nightmares of Zhao Yuanyu’s murder. Unable to do anything, Wen Renlin had to kindly escort her back to the bedroom of the Yuquan Pavilion through the back door, had someone bring calming incense, and sat by the bedside for quite a while before leaving.

After venting all night, Zhao Yan’s chest feels relieved, no longer suffocating like a giant stone pressing down. Her chaotic thoughts gradually settle down amidst the emotional turmoil. Now isn’t the time for self-pity. She needs to figure out who impersonated her in the message and what Zhao Yan did to bring about such a calamity…

After sitting quietly for a moment, Zhao Yan rings the bell to summon the guards outside and, covering her swollen and sore eyes, hoarsely instructs, “Bring me some ice for cold compress.”

After applying ice for a long time, by nightfall, Zhao Yan’s eyes, red from crying, are finally able to see clearly, though her complexion is still somewhat pale.

She pats her cheeks with her hand until a faint blush appears. Then, with a long sigh, she dresses and adorns herself before heading to the Rain Listening Pavilion.

She wants to know what important details Liu Ji has been hiding.

The door of the Guanyun Pavilion is wide open, as if someone had known someone was coming.

Zhao Yan dismisses the attendants and enters the room alone. She sees Liu Ji wearing only a simple inner garment and skirt, loosely covered with a pale white robe. She hasn’t adorned her hair with hairpins; instead, a plain ribbon loosely ties at the end.

Two small bugs have flown into the lampshade and can’t seem to find their way out. Liu Ji gazes at the fluttering insects inside the lampshade, her deep and spirited face bathed in warm light, making it difficult to determine her gender for a moment.

Gathering her thoughts, Zhao Yan walks over and sits opposite Liu Ji.

On the table lies a neatly rolled silk scroll and a winter coat folded neatly—Zhao Yan recognizes it as the one Liu Ji wore when she returned last year, now with a slit revealing the inner layer.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Zhao Yan glances at the items on the table and asks softly.

Liu Ji nods, her voice deep and hoarse, “I know. Since Your Highness traced Zhao Yuanyu’s return, I guessed I couldn’t hide it any longer.”

With that, she retrieves a neatly folded piece of paper from the lining of the winter coat, gently unfolds it, and pushes it toward Zhao Yan.

Seeing the familiar and elegant handwriting on the paper, Zhao Yan couldn’t help but feel a sourness in her nose. “This is…”

Liu Ji says, “The Crown Prince had long prepared for the worst. This is what he left for Your Highness… no, it’s his testament left for the next Crown Prince.”

The word “testament” weighs heavily on Zhao Yan’s heart.

She takes a deep breath, picks up the thin sheet of paper, and scrutinizes it word by word.

“When you see this letter, I shall have departed from this world. Fifteen years of life, unfulfilled aspirations. Now, you inherit the title of Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace, only seeking to fulfill my unfinished ambitions, implement the laws I have not enacted, and save the collapsing empire… I bow to the netherworld, once, twice.”

At the sight of the last line, Zhao Yan couldn’t help but tremble.

She read through it again from beginning to end, then placed the final testament left by Zhao Yan back on the table, her resolute gaze shifting to the scroll beside it. “Is this what Zhao Yan was planning?”

The origins of all answers and calamities lie within this revolutionary manifesto, drafted with their blood, sweat, and tears.

Zhao Yan reaches for the scroll, but Liu Ji stops her.

With a slight movement of her throat, Liu Ji, unusually serious, says, “Your Highness, think carefully. Once many truths are known, there’s no going back to the past…”

Zhao Yan’s expression remains unchanged, calmly stating, “From the moment Zhao Yan died and I ascended to the position of Crown Prince, there’s no possibility of returning to an ignorant past.”

Zhao Yan lifts a finger to untie the knot, sweeping her sleeves. Immediately, a three-foot-long scroll densely covered with small characters appears like a vast sea of smoke before them.

“The reform of the country begins with taxation. It should change from taxing based on population to taxing based on the amount of land owned. This way, the aristocracy will no longer monopolize land or swallow up local political power. The poor will also have land to cultivate and thrive. Secondly, there should be reforms in the imperial examinations, promoting commoners and reducing the privileges of the noble families, weakening the hereditary aristocracy’s control over key positions in the court…”

The scroll, with over a thousand characters, analyzes various reforms such as taxation, imperial examinations, reform of the imperial family, and even the emphasis on Confucianism over Buddhism, proposing the essence of the reforms.

How many people’s interests will this manuscript touch upon? How much trouble will it bring? Zhao Yan doesn’t even dare to think about it.

At the end of the scroll, there’s a line of small characters, containing a few bold and vigorous vows: “No matter what position I hold, I am willing to fulfill my promise with my life. In this life, I am willing to be like a moth to the flame, even in death, I seek the light.”

Finally, Zhao Yan understands the significance of the “moth” that Shen Jingming presented in the “Annotations on Ancient and Modern” he gifted to Zhao Yan’s brother.

“In this life, I am willing to be like a moth to the flame, even in death, I seek the light”—what a magnificent and pure aspiration.

Those group of talented young men are willing to fulfill their promise with their lives, supporting the Crown Prince’s reform in the future, just like moths flying into the flame without regrets.

But one by one, they fell before the dawn arrived.

With this weighty revolutionary manifesto in her hands, Zhao Yan’s fingertips tremble slightly. She closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths, then asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about all this earlier?”

Liu Ji’s eyes also turn red at the edges, whispering softly, “I didn’t fully trust Your Highness at first, and Zhao Yan didn’t want you involved…”

She pauses. “Originally, that day, I wanted to bathe with Your Highness and confess everything, but…”

But, in the end, they missed that opportunity.

Zhao Yan stares at her for a while, then asks gently, “Liu Ji, who are you really?”

One of the moths in the lampshade finally flies into the candle flame, dissipating into a heroic blue smoke. For a long time, Liu Ji raises her head as if she’s made a decision, reaching over the table to take Zhao Yan’s hand and gently placing it on her chest.

Her outer robe slips off her shoulders, followed by the soft inner garment, revealing her true self to Zhao Yan—

Under the warm glow of the candlelight, her porcelain-white chest lies flat, without any expected curves.

Looking into Zhao Yan’s eyes, she says, “My real name is Liu Baiwei.”

A silent breeze passes by as Wen Renlin stands in the corridor, just happening to see two shadows facing each other on the window paper, holding hands against their chests.

The Prince gently rubs the teeth marks on the cold white handback with his fingertip, squinting his eyes for a moment before he turns and leaves.

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