The name has been updated from ‘Wen Renlin’ to ‘Wenren Lin.’ Apologies for the error.

Chapter 62: The Sacrificial Ritual

The man’s knuckles were firm and slender, and as they kneaded, they evoked an undeniable tingling sensation.

Zhao Yan was drawn into Wenren Lin’s embrace. The moonlight faded, the shadows of the lanterns disappeared, and all she could see was the dark fabric of his robe. The familiar, cool scent of him lingered in her breath.

Gradually, Zhao Yan softened her body and leaned quietly against him for a while before raising her hand to grasp the fabric at his waist, giving it a gentle tug.

“It’s a bit hot,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest, carrying a soft, nasal tone.

Only then did Wenren Lin reluctantly loosen his arms, allowing her to come up for air.

The bright moon peeked out from the clouds, casting a gentle, silvery light that whitened the palace walls. Zhao Yan pressed the back of her hand to her flushed cheeks and said in a muffled voice, “Doing this on the palace walls… aren’t you afraid someone might see?”

But when she turned to look, the palace tower was empty, with only the shadows of lanterns illuminating the fruits roasting on the small stove. There was no sign of anyone else.

The charcoal in the stove burned brightly, and the delicate pastries roasting on it had been forgotten, emitting a faint burnt smell.

“Oh no,” Zhao Yan exclaimed, quickly picking up the silver chopsticks from the table to remove the pastries and place them on a plate.

The auspicious cloud-shaped pastry filled with red bean paste that Huo Zhenzhen had made was still fine, but the fish-shaped pastry filled with crab roe that Zhao Yan had crafted wasn’t so lucky. One side was burnt, and the other side had split open from too much filling, oozing golden crab oil.

Wenren Lin walked over, bent down, and examined the cracked fish-shaped pastry for a moment before letting out a very soft “tsk.”

From this almost inaudible sound, Zhao Yan detected a hint of mockery, and she couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

Just as she was about to hide the pastry, she saw Wenren Lin sit down across from her, reach out, and take the cracked fish-shaped pastry.

Zhao Yan stared in surprise as he brought it to his thin lips and took a small bite.

Of the three pastries, he had chosen the ugliest, most failed one.

Wenren Lin seemed to sense her thoughts. After leisurely swallowing the bite, he smiled and said, “Your Highness’s skills are as remarkable as ever. No matter where it is, I can recognize it at a glance.”

With that, he slightly lifted his sleeve, revealing the jade pendant hanging at his waist. The pendant, adorned with a simple pattern that was supposed to resemble a “cat” but looked more like a “dog,” seemed rather childish and amusing on the dignified Prince Su.

Zhao Yan had no choice but to lean over the table, reaching out to snatch it back. “I never forced you to eat it… If it’s not good, just stop.”

Wenren Lin easily restrained her wrist. “The shape may be lacking, but the flavor is quite good.”

“Hey, don’t eat that… this side is completely burnt!”

As soon as she finished speaking, Wenren Lin’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He raised his hand to cover his lips and let out a light cough.

“See, I told you not to eat it…”

Zhao Yan frowned, annoyed, and stared at Wenren Lin as he sipped tea to clear his palate. After a moment, as if realizing how absurd and childish the scene was, she suddenly turned her head away and let out a soft, amused laugh.

Wenren Lin glanced at her sideways.

He rarely saw the little princess laugh so freely. Most of the time, she hid herself behind the mask of the “Crown Prince,” using her delicate demeanor to withstand the turbulent storms alone.

This sudden smile was like a ray of light breaking through the clouds, her brows curving and lips lifting, outshining even the city’s glowing lanterns behind her.

Wenren Lin waited until she had finished laughing before setting down his cup and gently pinching Zhao Yan’s curled fingertips.

“On the 18th of July, Your Highness’s birthday, I will grant you one wish,” he said, savoring the rich taste of crab roe and the bitterness of the burnt edges. “What would you like?”

Without hesitation, Zhao Yan raised her eyes and said, “I want my Grand Tutor to always stand by my side.”

Not just in position, but in allegiance.

Wenren Lin was amused by her answer. It was bold and straightforward, almost endearing.

Unfortunately, those clinging to life had no claim to “always.”

A faint, inscrutable smile lingered in Wenren Lin’s eyes as he tapped Zhao Yan’s hand in warning, his voice low. “I don’t believe in ‘always.’ Choose something else.”

Zhao Yan didn’t joke this time. Her expression grew much more serious.

After a long moment of contemplation, she lowered her gaze and said softly, “If it’s convenient, I’d like to leave the palace on the Ghost Festival… to pay my respects to my brother.”

Aside from avenging Zhao Yan, this was the only small wish she could think of.

…

On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, a grand ritual ceremony was held on the Tongtian Platform.

After the lengthy recitation of the sacrificial prayers, the Emperor, with disheveled hair and bare feet, dressed in a blue Daoist robe, personally lit the towering pile of joss paper, offering sacrifices to the hundred thousand soldiers who had died in the great war seven years ago.

The officials prostrated themselves in worship, and Zhao Yan knelt at the very front. She knew all too well: this ceremony, held at the Tongtian Platform of the Shenguang Sect, was merely a guise to seek forgiveness from the heavens under the pretense of honoring the fallen. The Emperor’s desire for immortality and divine favor had reignited like embers.

Flames shot up from the mountain of joss paper, and the ashes filled the imperial city. Wenren Lin, clad in black robes with a white sash tied at his waist, stood tall beside the altar, his features distorted by the waves of heat.

The ceremony would last for three days and nights, but the Crown Prince’s presence was no longer required after the initial rites. Zhao Yan endured until noon, then excused herself on the pretext of feeling unwell, leaving the Emperor and Empress behind.

The carriage exited through the North Garden and turned onto a narrow path, where it encountered another, more inconspicuous carriage head-on.

The driver of the opposing carriage clasped his fists in salute to Zhao Yan. Recognizing him as Cai Tian, Wenren Lin’s right-hand deputy, she realized this carriage must have been sent by Wenren Lin to escort her out of the palace.

After a moment’s thought, she said to Liu Ying, “You are the Crown Prince’s personal maid. Your presence by my side would draw too much attention. Stay behind at the Eastern Palace and ensure no one discovers my absence.”

Liu Ying nodded obediently and handed Zhao Yan a small basket containing incense, candles, and joss paper. With a trembling lip, she said, “Please, Your Highness, offer a stick of incense on my behalf to the Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yan agreed with a nod. As the two carriages drew side by side, she lifted the curtain and slipped out, leaping into Cai Tian’s carriage.

The two carriages soon passed each other, and as they approached the palace gates, the guards on duty noticed nothing amiss. No one realized that the Crown Prince’s carriage now carried a different passenger.

The carriage prepared by Wenren Lin was modest yet comfortable, with a beast-shaped incense burner emitting a cool, soothing fragrance.

On the small table inside lay a bundle. Zhao Yan opened it to find a set of ordinary, ivory-colored clothing with tight sleeves, along with a veiled hat. Considering she would have to change in the carriage alone, the clothes were chosen in a young man’s style.

Zhao Yan removed the Crown Prince’s outer robe and changed into the attire. She took off her golden crown and replaced it with a jade hairpin. Then she asked Cai Tian, who was driving the carriage, “Where is your lord?”

Cai Tian guided the horses and replied, “His Highness has urgent matters to attend to. He instructed me to escort you out of the palace first.”

Zhao Yan thought of Wenren Lin’s figure on the Tongtian Platform, distorted by the heat waves. For some reason, a heavy sense of desolation pressed on her heart.

On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, thick clouds cast a heavy shadow, diluting the yang energy of the earth.

The gates of the Yong Prince’s residence were tightly shut. In the backyard, countless paper effigies shaped like boys and girls were piled up. Their ghostly white paper faces, dotted with two red circles, looked eerily unsettling.

“My dear Yu’er! You died a tragic death, burdened by sin. By rights, I shouldn’t put up a memorial tablet or burn paper for you, but my heart aches for you, you little rascal! I can only close the doors and secretly burn these offerings for you.”

The Yong Prince sat on the steps, tossing handfuls of joss paper into a bronze basin. From time to time, he wiped away tears and muttered, “Your father is useless, unable to protect you. I’ll burn more paper for you to ensure you have company in the afterlife. Your father may never ascend the throne, but if you have any grievances, Yu’er, vent them on those who wronged you, alright?”

As he rambled on, a sudden gust of eerie wind swept through the courtyard, slamming the side door open. The paper effigies swayed as if they had come to life, their ghostly forms trembling in the dim light.

The Yong Prince was so startled he nearly fell off the steps. He turned toward the sound and saw no one at the door, only a short arrow embedded in the wood.

Trembling, the Yong Prince struggled to his feet and ordered a servant, “Go, see what that is.”

The servant cautiously approached, yanked the arrow free, and hurried back. “Your Highness, there’s a secret message tied to the arrow.”

The Yong Prince took the arrow with suspicion, removed the attached letter, and unfolded it. His pupils shrank, and his face turned pale.

…

Meanwhile, in the outskirts of the city, at the foot of the Western Mountains.

Zhao Yan, wearing a veiled hat, followed a winding mountain path up to the weed-covered hilltop.

This was a mass burial ground for palace servants who had died unexpectedly and for imperial concubines who had been convicted of crimes. Empress Wei had ordered the news of the Crown Prince’s death to be sealed, and Zhao Yan’s body had been smuggled out of the palace among the corpses of eunuchs who had died of illness. He was buried on this hill.

Following Liu Ying’s earlier instructions, Zhao Yan found a small mound of earth beneath a large maple tree—Zhao Yan’s unmarked grave.

And there, crouched in front of the grave, was a tall, gloomy figure, with no home to return to.

“Chou Zui?”

Zhao Yan still couldn’t get used to the heavy, cold aura of murderous intent that surrounded him and took a cautious step back.

Chou Zui had disappeared for two months after escaping from the secret prison in Yuquan Palace. Zhao Yan hadn’t expected to run into him here.

He was still dressed in tattered indigo martial robes, his pant legs covered in mud and grass seeds. It was clear he had been here since the early morning rain. The weeds around the grave had been trampled flat, and the area had been cleared.

Chou Zui remained silent, staring at the grave guarding its most precious possession. Zhao Yan thought he wouldn’t speak, so she took two steps forward and placed the basket containing incense, candles, and paper in front of the grave.

“You are… Princess Changfeng?”

Chou Zui crouched, his long arm resting on his knee, his voice like a beast’s growl trapped in his throat, hoarse and unpleasant.

The last time they met, Zhao Yan hadn’t revealed her true identity to Chou Zui. First, there hadn’t been time, and second, there wasn’t enough trust between them.

After two months, Chou Zui might have uncovered something, or perhaps he had pieced things together with his limited intellect.

Zhao Yan thought for a moment, then calmly replied, “I am.”

Chou Zui’s hawk-like eyes turned mechanically, fixing on Zhao Yan.

A sudden gust of wind swept through, causing the wild grass to rustle and sway.

A maple leaf spiraled down, and Chou Zui’s sword, still in its sheath, abruptly swung toward Zhao Yan’s face.

Cai Tian immediately raised his sword to block!

If anything happened to the little princess under his protection, even taking his own life wouldn’t be enough to atone for his failure!

However, Chou Zui’s sword stopped just inches from Zhao Yan’s face. The hilt lowered, pressing against her shoulder as he rasped, “You stepped on the master’s flowers.”

Zhao Yan’s breath hitched. Following his gaze, she saw a small cluster of white wildflowers on the ground, blending in with the grass so well that she hadn’t noticed them earlier.

“…Sorry,” she said, moving her boot aside.

Chou Zui’s anger faded. He sheathed his sword at his waist and used his rough, dark hands to rearrange the wildflowers, placing them carefully in front of the unmarked tombstone.

Noticing Zhao Yan’s gaze, he said indifferently, “There are no plum blossoms in summer. This is all I could find.”

Zhao Yan was silent for a long time before asking, “Don’t you doubt me?”

“I do.”

Chou Zui fell silent again for a while, then muttered, “The master trusted you.”

Because Zhao Yan had trusted her, even to his death, he was willing to keep his sword sheathed and not let it taste blood.

Zhao Yan’s throat tightened. After a long pause, she said hoarsely, “Like you, I don’t want to betray that trust.”

It was unclear whether Chou Zui understood. He adjusted the sword at his waist, turned, and walked away, alone as he had come.

Only after Chou Zui had gone did Cai Tian sheathe his sword and move to the other side of the maple tree, standing guard at a distance.

From here, the view of the imperial city stretched out before them. The wind whispered through the grass, as if murmuring secrets.

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