Chapter 44: Throbbing Heart

No one knew how Chou Zui escaped from the secret and sinister dungeon under the tight surveillance of the guards. It was said that when Cai Tian discovered it, there were only two broken iron chains left at the fragile interface.

Was it deliberately released by Wen Renlin? Zhao Yan fell into contemplation.

Two days later, Zhao Yuanyu’s body was escorted back to the city.

It was said that when the Prince of Yong went to the Dali Temple to claim the body of his son, Zhao Yuanyu’s corpse had been gnawed beyond recognition by wild beasts, except for the face barely identifiable for identification, almost no complete body remained.

The explanation given by Prince Su to the Emperor was that the heir of Prince Yong committed a serious crime and fled, falling to his death on the way, and his body was damaged by wild beasts.

It was not that Wen Renlin covered up for her, but the Emperor had always valued the Shenguang Sect and would definitely not make the truth public, to save face. Only by pinning the blame on Zhao Yuanyu could the situation be stabilized.

Zhao Yan anticipated such an ending. When the court could not be trusted, she could only rely on private justice. She never regretted personally making Zhao Yuanyu pay with his life.

Amidst the continuous rain and fog in the mountains, Zhao Yan recovered from her first illness since she could remember. She sat by the half-open window, holding her pinky finger, as if there were still lingering traces of the warning nibbles from Wen Renlin.

Gu Xing stood outside, dutifully reporting, “Prince Su is still in the palace dealing with the aftermath of the case of the Prince of Yong’s son and has not yet appeared.”

Zhao Yan squeezed her pinky finger, her slightly furrowed brows gradually relaxing, as she stood up and said, “Summon Liu Bai… Summon Liu Ji, I want to take a trip to the capital with her.”

Following the address provided by Gu Xing, Zhao Yan went to the home of Cheng Jixing outside the East Gate of the outer city. In the depths of the moss-covered path, amidst dilapidated brick walls, a broken courtyard covered with reed mats could vaguely be seen.

“Cheng Jixing is a true child of humble origins. His father passed away early, leaving only a widowed mother to support him through laundering clothes for a living so he could study.”

The old path was long neglected, full of potholes, and Liu Baiwei’s slight foot injury hadn’t fully healed yet. Walking with difficulty in his cloak, he said, “Cheng Jixing was originally the pillar of the Cheng family. He was highly appreciated by Master Linjiang and was therefore admitted to the Mingde Academy out of the ordinary, excelling in the provincial and metropolitan examinations…”

And now, this young man who had just turned twenty had become an inconspicuous mound in the family graveyard.

Zhao Yan, as a former classmate, paid respects to Cheng’s mother and instructed Gu Xing behind her to present a hefty sum of condolence money.

She told the woman, whose eyes held little light, that her son had harbored great ambitions and noble aspirations, daring to challenge the chaotic world despite his humble status, and had no regrets despite facing death.

After finishing her words, Zhao Yan took off her cloak and hat, took a step back, and, for the deceased Zhao Yan and for the humble people of the world, she bowed to Cheng’s mother, finally paying the respect she owed for a year.

Cheng’s mother insisted on not accepting Zhao Yan’s money. This woman, with her temples already white, wore old clothes washed so many times they had turned white, her gaze murky yet determined, told Zhao Yan:

Though she didn’t understand the lofty words about the country and the world, she knew that one shouldn’t lose ambition in poverty. Her son died for the great cause of the world, and as his mother, she couldn’t dishonor his character.

Before leaving, as she was about to get on the carriage, Cheng’s mother remembered something and said in unfamiliar official language, “When the lost body was claimed, this old woman smelled a faint strange fragrance on his clothes. Because the government was urging and there were no signs of external injury or poisoning, I didn’t suspect anything before, but now hearing your explanation, I feel something is amiss.”

Zhao Yan nodded solemnly, “Rest assured, I will do my utmost to uncover the truth and clear your son’s name.”

Cheng’s mother’s eyes turned red, and she insisted on kneeling down and performing a grand salute.

The carriage turned onto Da’an Street, heading towards Shen Jingming’s mansion.

Compared to when they last met at the winter banquet last year, Deputy Minister Shen’s face had become much thinner and more weathered.

He first respectfully welcomed the “Crown Prince” who came incognito, but as soon as the cause of his son’s death was mentioned, Deputy Minister Shen immediately put on a slightly stern expression and rebuked, “My son had a stubborn temperament, indulging in frivolous behavior. He must have drunk too much when sleeping under the trees, leading to his drowning death.”

The Shen family had strict rules and regulations, but Shen Jingming, relying on his talent, was arrogant and did not adhere to the rules of propriety.

Born in a dark era, being too aware only brought pain. And expressing that pain outwardly became obstinacy.

Shen Jingming often indulged in mountains and rivers and mingled with the courtesans of Qinlou and Chu Pavilion. Therefore, in the eyes of Shen’s father, this son, aside from a bit of talent, was practically worthless!

To soothe Deputy Minister Shen’s concerns, money alone wouldn’t suffice.

So Zhao Yan took out the letter that Shen Jingming had presented to the Crown Prince and handed over the edited “Taxation Essay” to Deputy Minister Shen.

She couldn’t openly reveal the shocking scroll to the world, but she at least wanted this grieving courtier to understand why his son had died.

Deputy Minister Shen eagerly unfolded the thick letter, his expression changing from stern and solemn at the beginning to disbelief at the end. He repeatedly looked at the signature of the dissertation, as if confirming that this magnificent article, daring to oppose half of the court, indeed came from the pen of that cynical son.

“‘Regardless of my position, I am willing to fulfill my promise even at the cost of my life.’”

Zhao Yan repeated, every word clear, “Jingming used blood as ink and bones as a knife, far from being the frivolous and unworthy person you described, Deputy Minister.”

Deputy Minister Shen’s hands trembled violently, murky tears overflowed from his eyes, dripping onto the paper.

Just as he reached the courtyard, Deputy Minister Shen, supported by his household servants, staggered out.

It seemed he had made up his mind. Holding his son’s majestic manuscript, he slowly knelt down, facing Zhao Yan with clasped hands choked with emotion, “If Your Highness does not despise this old minister, I am willing to die a thousand deaths for any need you may have!”

As he kowtowed, the rain in the courtyard soaked his indigo sleeves, his spine bent, his form withered.

After leaving Deputy Minister Shen’s mansion, the light rain began to stop, and a faint slanting sunbeam spilled from the sky, illuminating the puddles on the ground. Upon boarding the carriage, Gu Xing asked if they should return to the Yuquan Palace.

After a moment of thought, Zhao Yan raised her gaze and said, “Go to the Mingde Academy.”

It was in the middle of May, with the twilight enveloping everything, and there weren’t many Confucian scholars left in the Mingde Academy.

Liu Baiwei stepped out of the carriage first, lightly holding up the obstructive hem of his skirt. As usual, he extended a helping hand to Zhao Yan and said through the blowing curtain, “At this time, Your Highness shouldn’t make a big fuss about your identity. I know of a secret path at the back door.”

Zhao Yan glanced at his refined and slender fingers, lightly paused.

Liu Bai noticed and asked calmly, “Why does Your Highness suddenly seem so distant? We used to travel together and talk intimately, like sisters. But now that you know my identity, you seem to dislike me.”

Zhao Yan withdrew her hand, smiled lightly, and said, “It’s not dislike, it’s just that knowing you’re a man… I’m not quite used to it yet.”

As the wind blew, raindrops fell from the trees.

Liu Baiwei raised his sleeve to shield her from the rain, revealing a pure and unrestrained smile, “It’s okay, you’ll get used to it after seeing it a few more times.”

On the street, a carriage with subtle patterns and lowered curtains stopped under the shade of acacia trees. As the breeze lifted the curtains, through the gap, the disguised young Crown Prince and the disguised Liu Baiwei walked shoulder to shoulder into the back door of the Mingde Academy.

Watching for a moment, Wen Renlin placed the cool tea cup on the table.

The tea splashed out, making a crisp sound.

The scent of books permeated the Mingde Academy, with pine and bamboo everywhere, quiet and elegant. The Jingjian Building stood tall in front, and the small pavilion on the fifth floor could be seen from afar. The upturned eaves reflected the dim twilight, pitch black without a glimmer of light.

As she approached the end, Zhao Yan realized that she didn’t have the anticipated turmoil in her heart, only the calmness after the storm.

The wooden stairs spiraled upward, extending into the darkness where nothing could be seen. She placed her hand on the door panel and instructed, “Bring me a lantern, I want it bright.”

Liu Baiwei’s mind seemed to stir slightly, as if understanding something. He stumbled forward a step.

Knowing that he had been running around with her all day and that his injured ankle must be nearing its limit, Zhao Yan said to him, “I want to be alone for a while when I go up. Your leg is still injured, so there’s no need for you to follow.”

Liu Baiwei opened his mouth as if to insist, but the pain in his ankle was too intense, so he had to reluctantly give up and limp to the corridor, finding a place to sit down and rest.

Gu Xing led the way and inspected the Jingjian Building both upstairs and downstairs to ensure there were no hidden dangers before confidently handing the hexagonal lantern to Zhao Yan. The lantern cast a circle of warm orange light at her feet. Zhao Yan brushed away the cobwebs above her head and slowly ascended the creaky old stairs.

After about half a cup of tea, she stood in the attic at the top, slightly out of breath.

The flickering warm light of the lantern dispelled the heavy darkness like a receding tide, and the attic was so quiet that only her low breathing could be heard, amidst the desolation and bleakness, appearing even lonelier.

Zhao Yan ran her hand over the half-fallen bookshelves, over the remnants of ink on the walls, and finally settled on the long dusty desk in the middle of the attic.

There was a sudden and new scratch on one corner of the desk, as if something had originally been inscribed there and then scratched off with a sharp object. The whitish wood color was shocking, as if revealing the cold bones of a young scholar beneath the skin.

The world seemed to suddenly fall silent. Although it was her first time here, Zhao Yan inexplicably felt a sense of familiarity, as if returning to a familiar place.

Was it the telepathy between twins? The lifeless objects under her fingertips seemed to come alive in her mind.

Zhao Yan seemed to see her elder brother Zhao Yan sitting behind the desk, listening with a smile as Confucian scholars debated the world’s situation. They sat or stood, held brushes or read scrolls, filling every corner of the attic lively around the Crown Prince…

She had once despised her brother’s kindness and humility, always feeling that he was like a fragile glass lamp placed high on a case, easily broken by the wind. But now she understood that within that fragile body burned a fiery soul.

The wind sneaked in through the window, stirring Zhao Yan’s robes, as if someone was whispering softly in her ear.

Looking out, there were no stars or moonlight, only the dark night spreading its vast wings over the earth. The upturned eaves pressed low against the window, and the copper hooks on the beams had rusted, with no bright lights hanging high like in the Jiafu Tower in the Eastern Palace.

Before returning to the palace, Zhao Yan had thought that as long as she uncovered the truth of Zhao Yan’s death, it would be enough. 

But now she finally knew why Zhao Yan had died, knew that under the cover of darkness, there was no longer the courage to stand aside.

She wanted to take one more step forward, even if it was just a small step…

The hook on the window frame was too high, so Zhao Yan gently placed the lantern on the ground and moved the old desk to the window. She took the hexagonal lantern from the handle and stepped onto the desk, facing the bronze hook above her head.

She held the lantern as if holding a burning hot flame. She raised her hand, and the warm orange light fell into her clear eyes, gentle yet determined.

“Put down that lantern for me.”

A flat voice suddenly came from behind her, solemnly saying, “Come down.”

The desk creaked, and Zhao Yan turned around in astonishment.

Wen Renlin was embedded in the shadows at the staircase, dressed in dark robes, heavy and profound, staring directly at her.

Zhao Yan knew that investigating Zhao Yuanyu was the bottom line that Wen Renlin could allow her to intervene. She couldn’t predict the consequences of continuing to investigate, or who else it might implicate, not even herself.

With the lighting of this lantern, Zhao Yan had laid her attitude on the table— the flame would not extinguish, the struggle would continue.

She might have considered relenting, hiding this lantern deep in her heart, and becoming a tamed and obedient little cat.

But this time, she didn’t want to deceive him, and she shouldn’t deceive him.

Zhao Yan turned around and whispered, “It’s too dark, let me light a lamp.”

“Come down!” Wen Renlin remained unmoved, his tone becoming more forceful.

Zhao Yan hesitated for a moment, but eventually trembled as she raised her arm and stood on tiptoe to hang the lantern on the bronze hook.

The lamp hung high like a red sun, small but fervent.

Wen Renlin’s dark eyes seemed to freeze over, swirling with intense darkness. For the first time, he felt the urge to pull her down and give her a good beating. However, with a creaking sound, the old and dilapidated desk’s joints loosened, and one of its legs collapsed with a crack.

Caught off guard, Zhao Yan stumbled forward, her abdomen slamming hard against the windowsill, the pain nearly suffocating her.

She hurriedly grabbed the window frame to steady herself, but almost simultaneously, her waist tightened, and her forward momentum was abruptly halted as she was forcefully pulled backward, falling into a solid and broad embrace.

Hair flew, sleeves fluttered up and then fell down again.

Wen Renlin’s grip was tight, and Zhao Yan could barely catch her breath. At her back, she could feel Wen Renlin’s rapid heartbeat, each thud sending tingles down her spine.

The flickering light cast shadows on Wen Renlin’s face, obscuring his features.

“Perhaps it’s best to lock Your Highness up,” he murmured, gently turning Zhao Yan’s face to inspect her.

A swift gust of wind slammed the window shut with a bang.

The serene attic immediately turned into a sealed prison.

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