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

Chapter 69: Wine

Liu Ying was momentarily stunned when she saw the empty wine cup by Zhao Yan’s hand.

She bent down slightly and, without drawing attention, quietly removed the glazed wine cup. In a low voice, she asked, “Your Highness drank the deer blood wine?”

Zhao Yan nodded. “Judging by the color, I thought it was grape wine.”

She wasn’t sure whether deer blood wine had any effect on women, but ever since she drank that cup, a wave of heat had risen from her abdomen to her cheeks, making her feel quite flushed.

What made it even more awkward was that Zhao Yan kept sensing a gaze occasionally sweeping in her direction—hard to ignore and making her uncomfortable.

She simply lifted her left hand to rest her cheek against it, using the posture to slightly turn away. She picked a few side dishes and began eating slowly, trying to suppress the churning effects of the wine.

But it didn’t help much. After just a few bites, she set her chopsticks down.

“Your Highness has a unique constitution, and you also took the medicine prescribed by Imperial Physician Zhang earlier. It may clash with the properties of deer blood wine,” Liu Ying said as she handed Zhao Yan a cup of fragrant tea to rinse her mouth. “Shall I summon Imperial Physician Zhang to take a look at you?”

…

…

In recent days, with the holding of imperial lectures, Zhao Yan had been dealing with many scholars and literati every day. For convenience, Zhang Xu had replaced her usual throat-soothing decoction with pills, changing the dosage from once every morning to both morning and evening.

This throat medicine was already of a drying nature, and deer blood was a powerful tonic as well. No wonder just one cup made her feel dizzy and overly hot.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Zhao Yan didn’t want to make a fuss. She pressed her slightly throbbing temples and said, “The banquet’s too stuffy. I’ll step out for some fresh air to clear my head.”

With that, Zhao Yan bowed toward the direction where the emperor and empress were seated, then quietly rose and left the banquet.

Behind her, Wenren Lin followed her with his gaze, pausing mid-sip, seemingly lost in thought.

Outside the Ziyun Pavilion, a cool night breeze greeted her, dispelling some of the heat.

The full moon hung high in the sky, and the air carried the subtle fragrance of osmanthus. Zhao Yan let out a deep breath and walked a few paces along the side corridor, only to spot someone standing by a red-lacquered pillar ahead.

Zhou Ji was still in his scarlet civil official robes from the lecture earlier, head tilted up toward the moonlight gleaming on the palace eaves, completely unaware that his shoulders were now covered in golden osmanthus petals.

Upon hearing footsteps, he returned to his senses calmly, and with composed courtesy, bowed to her. “Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yan nodded in return and greeted him.

“With such a bright moon, it would indeed be a shame to miss it. Scholar Zhou has fine taste.”

Zhou Ji’s gaze briefly swept over Zhao Yan’s flushed cheeks before he lowered his eyes. “Your Highness flatters me.”

Zhao Yan knew full well that Zhou Ji had always struggled with reading people. Banquets like these, filled with socializing among court officials, were nothing short of torment for him. He must’ve come out to find some peace and quiet.

This indifferent and aloof demeanor was a far cry from how he acted during lectures.

Thinking of today’s imperial lecture, Zhao Yan recalled a few things she’d held back all afternoon. She figured she might as well say them now.

Standing at a polite distance, she spoke: “Scholar Zhou’s lecture today was excellent. Your argument on ‘broadening the source’ was quite thought-provoking.”

Zhou Ji looked at her, puzzled.

Seeing his expression, Zhao Yan couldn’t help but curl her lips into a smile. “But I don’t entirely agree.”

Zhou Ji took academic discussions and political theory very seriously. He immediately focused his gaze and replied humbly, “I would be honored to hear Your Highness’s thoughts.”

“You and the Prime Minister advocate for ‘broadening the source’—encouraging farming, silk reeling, and weaving—to increase income and fill the state treasury. That seems like a sound idea. But have you considered the possibility that this so-called ‘source’ might be flawed at its very root?”

“What does Your Highness mean by that?”

“Those with granaries full of food and meat aren’t the ones tilling the fields. Those clad in silks and brocades aren’t the ones raising silkworms.”

Zhao Yan chuckled softly and asked slowly, “The silver earned from ‘broadening the source’—who is it really supporting? Is it the hard-working commoners?”

Her voice was soft and low, tinged with a youthful hoarseness, but carried an inexplicable weight that landed like a hammer on stone.

Zhou Ji’s expression remained calm as he responded in a clear tone, “I understand Your Highness’s concern. But the current situation is as precarious as a stack of eggs. Any unrest could bring disaster. Da Xuan can no longer withstand internal conflict.”

That’s why, like his mentor, he sought ways to generate income without touching the interests of those in power.

The moonlight was pale and cold like frost, casting down on Zhou Ji, perfectly complementing his serene demeanor.

Zhao Yan didn’t intend to argue for victory over Zhou Wanlan. Even in debate, she maintained the proper decorum between monarch and subject.

She simply remembered the final line in the dying letter left by Zhao Yan’s predecessor, the late Crown Prince Zhao Yan:

“May you carry out the ambitions I could not complete, pursue the reforms I could not implement, and save the crumbling empire.”

She thought of the idealistic and courageous reform plans recorded on that scroll. And suddenly, she wanted to speak for Zhao Yan…

She held secrets and couldn’t stand out during the imperial lectures. All she could do was seize moments like this, under the influence of alcohol, and confide in a principled and trustworthy gentleman—the words Zhao Yan himself could never voice aloud.

“To ladle water to stop a boiling pot is still, in the end, to govern the world alongside aristocrats, not the common people.”

Zhao Yan stopped there and changed to a milder tone. “I’m a bit tipsy. If I’ve said anything inappropriate, I hope Scholar Zhou won’t take offense.”

With that, she nodded farewell and continued strolling down the winding corridor.

Zhou Ji cupped his hands and respectfully saw her off, gazing at her shadow stretching across the ground, lost in thought for a long while.

Perhaps she had argued too earnestly with Zhou Ji just now. Once she relaxed, she felt the wine’s heat rising even more, making her feel like she was walking on clouds.

She pressed the back of her hand to her flushed cheek and let the breeze carry her through the corridor. As she turned a corner, she nearly bumped into someone waiting there.

The moment she saw the familiar fabric of his robe, Zhao Yan’s heart gave a sudden jolt.

Before she could step back, she felt a tight grip on her wrist—and in the next instant, she was pulled into a side hall nearby.

The door closed with a soft creak beside her ear, and the breeze stirred the hair behind her ear, making her blink instinctively.

The palace attendants were all serving at the Ziyun Pavilion ahead, so the side hall was completely empty—utterly dark.

A sliver of warm light came through the crack in the door, casting a narrow orange glow into Wenren Lin’s eyes, where it melted into the unfathomable depths.

“Your Highness?” Liu Ying, shut out outside, knocked on the door worriedly.

“I’m fine, just resting here for a bit,” Zhao Yan quickly responded.

Wenren Lin still held the door with his palm, leaning slightly forward to look at her. With a faint smile, he said, “Your Highness is hiding from me.”

Zhao Yan suddenly felt guilty and replied, keeping close to the door, “That’s not true.”

“Then why does Your Highness run away the moment you see me? Could it be that I haven’t… taken enough care of Your Highness?”

The word “care” was spoken slowly and lightly, yet it carried a leisurely, pressing undertone.

“That’s not it,” Zhao Yan replied in a muffled voice.

Wenren Lin lowered his gaze lazily and said, “It’s been days. You haven’t come to He Gui Pavilion… to see Xue Nu.”

“…”

Zhao Yan pursed her lips and rubbed her temples. “Next time. I promise.”

Wenren Lin looked at her flushed cheeks and slightly quickened breath, clearly due to the wine, and knowingly asked, “You drank deer blood wine?”

Zhao Yan nodded honestly. “That wine is strong. I’m feeling a bit dizzy… and hot…”

She paused, inhaling the faint woody scent on Wenren Lin’s body. Her mind instantly turned to mush, and she could only say helplessly, “Maybe… you should stay a bit farther from me.”

“That’s a fine tonic for the kidneys. Why does Your Highness go around eating and drinking whatever you please?”

Wenren Lin spoke casually, yet his arm never loosened its hold. Instead, with a slight flick of his finger, he slid the bolt on the door.

The clack of the latch falling echoed crisply in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Zhao Yan’s heart jumped with the sound. “You…”

Wenren Lin gently touched her fevered cheek, then led her inward and pressed her down onto the luohan bed meant for playing chess and resting.

Frosty moonlight spilled through the paper windows, casting a sheet of pale silver over the floor.

Without a word, Wenren Lin turned his back to her and undid his belt with one hand, slipping off his crimson outer robe and draping it over the chair behind him. Only his snow-white inner robe remained as he stood straight and tall.

The moonlight was bright and cold. Zhao Yan’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness—she could even make out the lean, defined lines of muscle beneath the thin garment.

The rare few times they’d shared a bed, Wenren Lin had remained fully dressed. Zhao Yan had only once seen him bare during a bath at Yuquan Palace. To be honest, even among military men, his physique was rare: compact, agile, and nearly flawless…

It was all those books Wenren Lin gave her—those random, dubious texts. She had read too many of them, and now her thoughts were all over the place.

Unconsciously, Zhao Yan swallowed and pressed her knees together.

But Wenren Lin didn’t approach. He simply turned and sat in the chair across from the luohan bed, drumming his fingers lazily on the armrest.

Zhao Yan waited for some sort of move from him, but nothing came. She grew puzzled. “Aren’t you going to… continue?”

Bathed in moonlight, Wenren Lin looked like a deity from a wintry realm as he calmly asked in return, “Continue what?”

“…”

“What does Your Highness want me to do?”

A hint of amusement stirred in his eyes—like a hunter patiently luring his prey.

He was waiting for her to say it herself.

“…”

Wine truly numbs the senses—deer blood wine even more so. Realizing what she had just been imagining, Zhao Yan’s face flushed with heat.

“If you’re not going to do anything, I’m leaving.”

Her stubbornness flared, and she stood abruptly to go.

But she moved too quickly, and the room was too dark. Dizzied, she stumbled and nearly tripped on the edge of the bed.

Wenren Lin reached out and caught her, looping a long arm around her slender waist. He chuckled softly and pulled her onto the luohan bed with him.

“Medicine always comes with some side effects. And with the rush to tonight’s banquet, there was no time to bring the usual things. I’ll have to trouble Your Highness to settle for a small appetizer for now.”

He murmured at her ear, fingers reaching for her jade waist sash.

Zhao Yan trembled but then slowly relaxed, not saying a word.

As the pressure around her chest eased, Wenren Lin pulled back. His fingers still caught on her plain white chest wrap.

“Why are you untying my…”

“Isn’t Mid-Autumn for admiring the moon?”

His gaze fell, deep and lingering, with obvious implication.

“No moon in the sky could compare to Your Highness,” he said with a teasing softness.

“You—”

Her words were abruptly cut off, swallowed in a quick breath.

“In summer, there’s a chilled dessert called Sushan—made by shaving frozen milk into snow-like piles, shaped like a mountain, and garnished with grapes and honeydew…”

Wenren Lin held the Sushan dessert in one large palm, his forearm hidden beneath his robe, and said in a low voice,

“I think grapes are too sour. A single cherry on top would be just right. What does Your Highness think?”

“…Why are you even saying this…”

“Would that man named Zhou know how to do something like this?”

Wenren Lin sat upright and composed—only the front of his robe was wrinkled, where she had gripped it. He lowered his gaze to look at Zhao Yan’s face, his tone gentle:

“How about like this? Speak.”

“Shut up!”

Zhao Yan finally understood—he must have heard her entire conversation with Zhou Ji earlier. This conniving, black-hearted man!

“Shh. It’s Your Highness who should be keeping quiet now,” Wenren Lin said calmly, his dark eyes as deep as a still lake. “We’re not far from Ziyun Pavilion. There may still be palace staff passing nearby.”

Though she knew that Wenren Lin’s people and Liu Ying were standing guard outside—making any interruption unlikely—Zhao Yan still bit her lip, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore him, her breathing unsteady.

Wenren Lin suddenly remembered that the little heir disliked being watched. Though observing her allowed him to take care of her more thoroughly—and it did have its own kind of enjoyment—he gave a soft laugh and lowered his head, sincerely savoring the sweet taste of Sushan.

“…”

Zhao Yan suddenly tensed, then bit down on his arm.

The luohan bed trembled slightly—like a cup of clear water being tipped.

“So eager?”

Wenren Lin looked down in slight surprise at his soaked hand. “We’re only just getting started.”

The moon had shifted westward. Zhao Yan couldn’t speak—her breath caught in her throat.

“If you missed me so much, why do you keep avoiding me?”

Wenren Lin turned his palm in the moonlight, his voice deep and indulgent in the night air. “Heartless little thing.”

Zhao Yan finally found a sliver of clarity amid her heavy breathing and said angrily,

“Weren’t you the one who told me to always stay clear-headed and not to expect too much from you?”

Wenren Lin said nothing.

He was born to control everything—and “regret” was not in his vocabulary.

“You’re just twisting my words for your own gain. Completely unreasonable.”

Zhao Yan frowned as she summed him up.

Wenren Lin suddenly let out a low chuckle and nodded.

“Yes. And what of it?”

He raised a finger and lightly kissed it. The pale light from his lips reflected the moisture there.

“A corrupt minister like me doesn’t bother with reason, Your Highness.”

Zhao Yan stared at his lips, her face growing hot again.

Why was he like this?

When it came to shamelessness, she could never win against Wenren Lin.

But as it turned out, even her expectations of his shamelessness were too low.

“Reciprocity, now it’s my turn.”

Wenren Lin pressed his palm over the damp imprint on the bed and leaned in close.

His turn… for what?

Zhao Yan looked up into the shadow cast by his tall frame—and suddenly felt a very bad premonition.

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