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

Chapter 65: Piggyback

Zhao Yan turned her head, her peach blossom eyes widening slightly in surprise, shimmering with the residual glow of fireworks.

“Is it true?”

Wenren Lin neither nodded nor shook his head. His gaze flickered with the light of the fireworks, watching Zhao Yan’s expression shift from dazed to hesitant with great interest.

“The noodles are ready,” he said with an unreadable smile.

Zhao Yan had no choice but to stop wondering what the fireworks were made of and reluctantly returned to the table.

The fireworks continued, long and unending.

Zhao Yan liked fireworks. They were a dreamscape created by tiny, ant-like humans—majestic enough to stand beside thunder and sunrise.

The Jiafu Palace Tower and Hehui Pavilion echoed each other from afar—an ideal place to enjoy the view. She took the jade chopsticks Wenren Lin handed her, stirred the noodles gently, blowing on them softly. Her lips were made dewy and crimson by the broth.

Wenren Lin stared at them for a moment. Then Zhao Yan looked up, met his gaze, and nudged the bowl toward him. “Do you want some?”

…

…

Wenren Lin’s eyes deepened slightly. He rolled down his sleeves and said calmly, “What I want to eat… isn’t noodles.”

His words were drowned in the lively noise of bursting fireworks. Zhao Yan didn’t quite catch them. When she came back to herself, Wenren Lin had reached out and wiped a drop of broth from the corner of her mouth.

The fireworks were dazzling, and the distance between them became blurred—like a dream, real and unreal, hazy and bewitching.

Zhao Yan instinctively pursed her lips. Wenren Lin withdrew his hand naturally, bending his right knee and casually resting his arm on it. With his other hand, he picked up the wine pot and poured himself a cup of the crisp Ziluoyi Wine.

This wine was a tribute from Lingnan. Zhao Yan could smell the sweet scent of lychees, which instantly made her stomach rumble. She swallowed the last bite of noodles and said, “Pour me a cup too.”

Wenren Lin handed her the cup he was holding, then poured himself another.

Zhao Yan cupped the cup in both hands, lowered her gaze, and took a sip. Her eyes lit up immediately.

“Sweet and smooth—so good!”

“Her Highness dislikes sweets, but when it comes to wine, she prefers the sweet ones.”

Wenren Lin raised his cup toward her with a slight nod across the distance. “A joyous birthday, little highness.”

In the flickering light and shadow, his smile looked carefree and unrestrained.

Zhao Yan’s heart stirred. In front of Wenren Lin, she no longer had to bear the weight of chains or revenge. She could simply be herself, light and free. Without thinking, she raised her cup to clink it against his.

Just then, a burst of fireworks was reflected in the wine, creating a thousand shimmering, fantastical fragments with a crisp ding.

Ziluoyi Wine was fruity and mellow, but had a strong aftereffect. If Wenren Lin hadn’t covered Zhao Yan’s cup with his hand, she might’ve drunk the remaining half-pot all by herself.

Even with that timely intervention, after three cups, Zhao Yan’s gaze became hazy and dewy, her cheeks tinged with rosy red.

“Sleepy?” Wenren Lin asked, setting down his cup.

Zhao Yan rested her cheeks in her hands, her eyelids heavy, and nodded slowly.

Wenren Lin chuckled. “Can you still stand?”

Zhao Yan was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded again and pushed herself up from the table.

Clink, clatter— cups toppled. Wenren Lin quickly grabbed her forearm and steadied her.

“Such poor tolerance, and still you want to drink like the others.” He seemed to sigh.

“I’m not that bad. Your wine’s just too strong,” Zhao Yan said, pressing her temples—her thoughts still quite clear.

This Ziluoyi Wine was top-tier—addictive and intoxicating. Even someone as vigilant and restrained as Wenren Lin only drank it when he was in a very good mood.

Liu Ying, waiting below the palace tower, heard the commotion. She looked up and saw her mistress staggering at the top of the stairs. She hesitated about going up to help when she saw Wenren Lin step forward, kneel slightly, and bend down on one knee.

“Get on,” he said, turning his head slightly, offering his broad, strong back to her.

Zhao Yan paused, steadying herself against the wall. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe something else—but she didn’t refuse.

Her chest pressed against his broad, firm back, and the next moment, her body was lifted as Wenren Lin reached back to support her thighs, carrying her down the stone steps with steady, confident strides.

Liu Ying and Cai Tian, waiting at the foot of the stairs, both looked stunned. Then, as if in sync, they bowed their heads and respectfully led the way with lanterns, eyes firmly averted.

The night breeze brushed Zhao Yan’s flushed cheeks. Stars flowed across the sky, lights shimmered in the distance, and her vision rose and fell with each of his steps. She could hear his steady breathing blending with the rapid beat of her own heart.

Hot water had been prepared in the bathing room, and gentle ripples shimmered across the small pool.

Wenren Lin crouched down and settled Zhao Yan onto the bed. Just as he was about to rise, he felt a soft tug on his sleeve.

“You’re leaving?”

Her eyes were open wide, eyelashes quivering slightly under the light as if they couldn’t bear its weight.

Wenren Lin let her hold his sleeve and replied, deep and composed, “Does Your Highness wish me to leave—or not?”

He knew the answer, yet asked anyway. Zhao Yan swallowed and lowered her gaze.

The amusement in Wenren Lin’s eyes softened. He didn’t tease her further. “I’ll stay until after midnight.”

Zhao Yan inexplicably felt a breath of relief and let go of his sleeve.

Liu Ying entered with a comb and towel, helping Zhao Yan bathe and change behind the screen. Soaking in the hot bath left her drowsy and relaxed, and when she came out dressed, Wenren Lin was indeed still sitting outside under the lamp, holding her jade comb in his hand.

Liu Ying glanced at Zhao Yan. After seeing her nod slightly, she bowed and retreated.

Wenren Lin gestured for Zhao Yan to sit on the bed. He took a silk cloth and gently dried the damp ends of her hair. Then he pulled over a chair and sat down, taking her delicate hand and opening her curled fingers to reveal a bowstring mark on her index and middle fingers.

He didn’t ask about the mark’s origin, nor what she’d done at Prince Yong’s manor that day. He only lightly rubbed the red imprint and asked, “Does it feel better now?”

Zhao Yan understood what he was referring to. After a moment of thought, she nodded.

What she had seen and heard at the Yong Prince’s residence still weighed on her. She couldn’t forget what Prince Yong had confessed to Zhao Yan before dying—or the grief and hatred in his eyes. But now, the warmth of the long-life noodles and Ziluoyi wine had dispersed that oppressive cold, leaving only a gentle intoxication.

“It all ended so suddenly… so smoothly that it feels like I’m dreaming.”

Zhao Yan sat curled up on the bed, hugging her knees, her hair falling down beside her cheeks as she murmured, “But I feel uneasy… I can’t seem to be happy at all…”

Wenren Lin used his fingers as a comb, gently untangling her soft, smooth hair strand by strand.

He didn’t offer much comfort, just said lightly, “Revenge was never meant to bring happiness.”

That sentence hit Zhao Yan unexpectedly.

She reached out in a daze and pulled Wenren Lin closer, resting her forehead against his chest—as if trying to touch the deep abyss he hid beneath his graceful, composed surface.

She softly called out, “Grand Tutor…”

Aside from moments when she was weakened by illness, she had rarely sought comfort from anyone on her own.

Wenren Lin stroked her soft hair and tilted her chin up with his fingers, making her look at him. Her face, flushed from the wine and hot bath, was beautifully seductive.

Her peach blossom eyes were hazy and alluring, the corners slightly upturned like tiny hooks, shimmering with a glow that both fascinated and disarmed him.

Wenren Lin pressed his thumb to her soft, rosy lips, gently rubbing them—half teasing, half restrained.

He tightened his arm around her. His knuckles turned pale as he lowered his lashes, and slowly leaned in toward the fragrance he had long desired that night.

When he was just an inch away from her lips, Zhao Yan let out a soft yawn. Her eyelids drooped heavily—clearly on the verge of sleep.

Wenren Lin froze. After a pause, he clicked his tongue in mild disappointment.

The day’s events had exhausted Zhao Yan. She was so tired that she didn’t even realize when she was brought back to her chambers or when Wenren Lin had left.

All she vaguely remembered was that while she was curled up on the small bed, a cloak covering her body carried a faint scent of sandalwood, and the man’s silhouette behind the screen—strong and shadowed—remained for a long time while the sound of water from the bath filled the room.

The next morning, the Princess Shoukang’s estate received an apology gift from the Eastern Palace.

The items weren’t particularly expensive—but full of sincerity.

“The Crown Prince was clearly the wronged party, and yet he still thought to reassure others. For such a young boy to already have such grace and courtesy—just for that, we should acknowledge the kindness.”

As he spoke, Huo Feng sighed deeply with his hands behind his back. “What a pity—he took in a concubine last year, already swayed by feminine charms. And now, he’s in the eye of the storm. He’s not a good match for Zhenzhen.”

The Prince Consort carried on talking to himself. When he received no response, he turned back curiously.

“Wanyou, why aren’t you saying anything?”

Wanyou was the personal name of Princess Shoukang. She and Huo Feng had been married by imperial decree. Though they had quarreled and clashed early in their marriage while adjusting to one another, their feelings had only deepened over time. They always addressed each other by their courtesy names, never with the cold formality of “Princess” and “Prince Consort.”

Princess Shoukang sat by the window, gently fanning herself. She seemed thoughtful. “Changge, don’t you find it strange?”

“What’s strange?”

“There’s been constant unrest in the Eastern Palace, and Her Majesty the Empress has always intended for Zhenzhen to be made Crown Princess.”

She glanced at her sleeping daughter on the couch in the inner room before speaking softly again. “But we’ve been back in the capital for quite some time now, and the Empress hasn’t mentioned the engagement even once. Don’t you find that odd?”

“What’s so odd about it? Before, with Prince Yong and his heir around, the court was unstable and unpredictable, so the Empress needed your approval and support. Now that the Yong princes have destroyed themselves, and Xu Wanyi’s child still hasn’t been confirmed, the Eastern Palace is secure. There’s no need to rush things.”

Huo Feng strode into the room and took the fan from Princess Shoukang’s hand, fanning her himself with great care. “Besides, weren’t you also afraid that if Zhenzhen married into the Eastern Palace, we wouldn’t be able to protect her? Isn’t this a good thing, then?”

“…You’re right. Let’s hope I’m just overthinking it.”

As she spoke, Princess Shoukang raised her well-maintained hand—soft and delicate like a young maiden’s—and gently patted Huo Feng’s sturdy arm. She scolded playfully, “Stop fanning. It’s giving me a headache.”

Huo Feng chuckled and caught her slender hand, pressing it to his lips and kissing it hard, like biting into tofu.

…

In the Eastern Palace, Li Fu was helping the Crown Prince’s household steward sort through the birthday gifts sent from various noble families, preparing to return them.

There was just one unusual item he didn’t know how to handle. With no other option, Li Fu carried the cage over to consult Zhao Yan.

Inside the luxurious cage—crafted of pure gold and encrusted with gemstones, shaped like intertwining vines—was a snow-white, noble-looking odd-eyed lion cat.

The cat seemed still young, its eyes round and a little childish, with a pink nose and paws. Its long, fluffy fur showed it hadn’t eaten all day, and now it was letting out a series of soft, pitiful meows.

“I don’t keep cats…”

Then something occurred to Zhao Yan. Her eyes lit up slightly and she called out, “Wait! Keep the cat. Return the cage.”

Li Fu gave a surprised “aye,” opened the cage, and carefully took the cat out with a grin. “In ancient times, there was the story of someone returning the box and keeping the pearl. Your Highness is doing the opposite—keeping the cat and returning the cage.”

Zhao Yan took the soft, warm little creature into her arms and gently stroked its fur.

She knew someone who liked little things like this.

Wenren Lin had recently been staying at He Gui Pavilion, which was close to the palace and made it convenient to meet anyone.

He had just returned from the palace when he saw a slender, familiar figure seated by the window.

The lattice window framed her and the drifting flower shadows like a delicate ink painting—soft and beautiful, just slightly damp, as if fresh from the brush.

Wenren Lin, dressed in his scholar-official robes, tall and handsome, approached her slowly and said, “Your Highness, what brings you here today…”

Before he could finish, a soft and childish meow cut him off.

His gaze dropped to her sleeves, which were slightly bulging and moving.

“What’s hidden in Your Highness’s sleeve?”

Zhao Yan smiled without answering, her eyes curving like crescent moons.

She unclasped her hands—and immediately, a little snow-white head popped out of her sleeve. The cat looked up at Wenren Lin with one blue and one amber eye, gleaming like twin gemstones.

Previous

Next