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

Chapter 71: Taking The Fall

Everyone in the hall wore various expressions as they quietly rose to salute.

Wenren Lin sat down, lifting his robe and straightening his meticulously arranged wide sleeves before casting a smiling glance at Zhao Yan. “Your Highness, it’s time they begin the lecture.”

Didn’t he say he had no interest in debating pedantic scholars? Why had he come to sit in on the session today?

Zhao Yan shot him a curious look but quickly sat upright and gestured toward the Censorate official. “Assistant Minister Chen, begin.”

“Y-yes.” Chief lecturer Chen Lun, the Deputy Censor-in-Chief, nervously flipped open his notes.

The mild autumn breeze swept into the hall, rustling the pages with a loud fluttering sound. Chen Lun had to use a paperweight to press them flat before clearing his throat to start the lecture.

Today’s topic was Essentials of Dynastic Law, in which one line read:

“The ancestral laws must not be changed. If all abide by them, the order of court and state will remain intact, with no room for traitors or usurpers.”

At the end of last year, Liu Zhong, the former Deputy Censor aligned with Prince Yong’s faction, had been executed by Wenren Lin for slandering the Crown Prince and proposing the capital’s relocation. In his place, Prime Minister Li Ke had promoted Chen Lun, hence today’s lecture reflected the conservative stance of Li’s camp.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be an issue—after all, these lectures were meant for the fusion of political theory and classical studies.

But today, the one auditing was Prince Su, Wenren Lin—the most powerful man in the court, known widely as the “usurping minister.” Suddenly, many lowered their eyes, their expressions subtly strained.

Zhao Yan stole a glance at Wenren Lin from the corner of her eye. He sat leaning with his fingers pressed lightly to his temple, calm and unreadable.

It wasn’t until Chen Lun turned a page and prepared to continue that Wenren Lin tapped his knuckles against his knee and finally spoke:

“Deputy Minister Chen, whom does this law serve?”

His voice was low and pleasant, yet it sent a chill down Chen Lun’s spine. Chen answered carefully, “Naturally, it serves the ruler, his ministers, and the people.”

Wenren Lin’s lips curved faintly as he slowly looked up. “Summer clothes do not keep out winter’s cold. The rituals and laws of the past may not suit the people of today. If that is the case, why shouldn’t the law change with the times?”

Gasps rippled through the hall.

While auditors were allowed to pose questions at court lectures, Prince Su—second only to the emperor and considered the sharpest blade by the throne—questioning the legitimacy of ancestral law held weight beyond academic debate.

Was this the emperor’s intention? After all, His Majesty had recently taken to seeking immortals and practicing esoteric rites—hardly in line with traditional propriety.

Just a month prior, the collapse of the Zhaixing Temple had led to an impeachment by Senior Censor He Yi, who denounced sorcery and corruption within the Ministry of Works. But he had been caned in court by the emperor himself, with no regard for custom or humanity…

Chen Lun now stood metaphorically atop a hot stove, terrified that a single wrong word would lead to punishment.

“The original purpose of the law,” he said carefully, “is to guide people toward virtue. As long as everyone adheres to propriety, they will remain good. Why then should it change?”

“Remain good forever?” Wenren Lin scoffed lightly. “When the Sichuan rebellion broke out last year and enemy forces approached the capital, did your ancestral laws save the nation?”

“I…” Chen Lun’s face flushed, and he was momentarily speechless.

Wenren Lin gave a soft, derisive laugh. “Don’t keep lecturing on such rigid, outdated nonsense at the court sessions.”

The room fell into awkward silence. No one could quite decipher the deeper meaning of his words.

On the other side, Liu Baiwei was equally stunned. He leaned over and whispered to Zhao Yan, “Why is he suddenly clashing with Left Minister Li’s people? As satisfying as it is…”

Before he could finish, Wenren Lin’s gaze swept over and landed on him. He said coolly, “The young lord of Yingchuan, whispering and sitting improperly—historians, record it.”

The court historian immediately jotted it down in his ledger:

“On the sixteenth of the eighth month, during the third quarter of the Shen hour, the young lord of Yingchuan sat improperly and whispered during the court lecture.”

Liu Baiwei straightened up with a scowl, too angry to speak.

Zhao Yan couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. Her gaze met Wenren Lin’s deep and unreadable one, and her thoughts swirled.

She understood why Wenren Lin said what he did—she knew exactly on whose behalf he had spoken.

After the lecture ended, the ministers had little desire for further discussion. The session ended early.

Soon, the only people left in the Chongwen Hall were Zhao Yan and Wenren Lin. It was peaceful, like their usual private lessons.

He hadn’t left. He remained seated, head lowered, sipping his tea quietly.

Zhao Yan thought for a moment, then rose and walked to his side, sitting down softly and saying, “Thank you, Grand Tutor.”

Wenren Lin sipped from his cup, casting her a sidelong glance, his face unreadable. “What are you thanking me for?”

“You criticized Minister Li’s men for their inflexibility—really, you were lending support to the Crown Prince’s reform efforts.”

Zhao Yan shifted her knees closer, leaning in slightly. “That night outside Ziyun Pavilion, when I challenged Zhou Wanlan’s so-called ‘open-source policy’ as too conservative and unhelpful to the people… you heard me, didn’t you?”

Wenren Lin nodded. “Your Highness isn’t entirely stupid.”

“I was never stupid,” Zhao Yan muttered under her breath in protest, then couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you afraid the ministers will overthink what you said today?”

“Let them. If they want to overthink, let them stew in their thoughts.”

Wenren Lin ran a finger slowly along the rim of his cup and said calmly, “From now on, if Your Highness wants to speak, just speak. Don’t hold back.”

Zhao Yan’s eyes lit up. She smiled and asked, “Really?”

Wenren Lin studied her intently, his voice slow and deep. “For everything, this prince will shield you, Your Highness.”

The cool autumn breeze slipped through the window, gently tousling Zhao Yan’s hair, and a stray lock brushed against her lips, which were slightly parted in her daze.

Since her return to the palace, everyone had warned her to be cautious in her words and actions—what she could and couldn’t do. Wenren Lin was the only one who allowed her to do whatever she wished.

She didn’t bother to distinguish the truth of his words, only knowing that, in that moment, her thoughts stirred like a rising tide, gently washing over her heart.

If Zhou Ji was the one who restrained her, teaching her self-discipline and responsibility, then Wenren Lin was the one who indulged her, teaching her how to grow stronger and protect herself.

She didn’t know exactly when it started, but only in front of Wenren Lin could she show her true side—Zhao Yan’s own self.

Perhaps, like the wind, she was born to resist constraints.

Wenren Lin put down his cup and casually brushed a strand of hair from her lips, asking, “Are you hungry?”

His fingers barely brushed against her skin before withdrawing—there was no inappropriate intent.

Zhao Yan nodded honestly. After sitting for two hours during the court lecture with only tea to drink, she was indeed hungry.

Wenren Lin signaled to the eunuch standing outside the hall. “It’s still early. Go to the rear hall and fetch something to eat.”

“What should I eat?” Zhao Yan asked.

Wenren Lin glanced at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cherry pastry mountain.”

Zhao Yan shuddered, raising her eyes in annoyance, but Wenren Lin, as though satisfied with teasing her, gently shook his head. “No, Your Highness doesn’t like sweet things. How about peanut yogurt? There’s a royal chef who makes it very well.”

“You—why do you always stop your words at the most annoying points?” Zhao Yan murmured in protest, but she still couldn’t bring herself to reject the yogurt.

She sniffed the air, took his arm, and with his help, rose to her feet. Without further words, they went together to sneak a snack.

…

After several autumn rains, the deep green shade on the palace walls faded into a pale yellow, and with the breeze, a chill began to settle in the air.

Just a few days ago, the court officials who had sweated through their summer robes during the lectures now wore thick autumn clothes.

“I’ve thought about it,” Zhao Yan said as she stepped down from the carriage, walking alongside Liu Baiwei. “Building an academy for Da Xuan would require immense cost, and right now I can’t afford it. However, I could expand Mingde Hall, increase its funding, and recruit talented scholars to build our own intellectual lineage.”

She and Liu Baiwei strolled through Changqing Gate, casually chatting. “I had Li Fu clear the storerooms in the Eastern Palace, and with the gold and silver from Huayang, aside from the items my father has gifted me, I can sell off the rest to support us for two years. As for what happens after two years… we’ll see.”

Liu Baiwei nodded. “I’m not in a good financial position either. But within the year, I’ll definitely be able to beat that old witch from the Duke’s residence. Wait and see, I’ll help fund you in the future.”

“The old witch” referred to the wife of the Prince of Yingchuan, a ruthless woman who had once tried to force her own mother out of the way, causing the death of Liu Baiwei’s biological mother.

The Prince of Yingchuan was old and frail, and his major affairs would likely end this year. Liu Baiwei was now in a fierce struggle for control of the Duke’s residence against the prince’s wife.

Zhao Yan, aware of his difficulties, shook her head. “I don’t want your money.”

Liu Baiwei seemed somewhat hurt. “What, you don’t want your cousin’s money either?”

Zhao Yan chuckled softly. “It’s not that I don’t want it; I can’t take it. This is my own matter. If you truly want to help, find me a reliable channel. I need to sell some things without raising suspicion.”

“Alright,” Liu Baiwei replied, though a bit disappointed. “I have some trustworthy contacts. Leave it to me.”

“Also,” Zhao Yan continued, “I want to promote a few more like-minded scholars at Mingde Hall. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Since the deaths of Shen Jingming and Cheng Jixing last year, and the heartbreak that took Mr. Linjiang to his grave not long after, the top scholar under him, who inherited his teachings, is still writing and traveling. He’s quite well-known for his talents,” Liu Baiwei mused. “I’ve met him before—he’s aligned with our views. But he’s very proud and accustomed to a carefree life. He may not be willing to be bound by rules. I’ll go invite him for you.”

“Alright. When the time comes, I’ll write him a personal letter. He values sentiment, so I’ll appeal to him with sincerity…”

As Zhao Yan spoke, a sudden commotion arose from the front hall.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Li Fu went to investigate, returning shortly to report, “Your Highness, it’s Scholar Xu—he’s in trouble. Word is he submitted a ritual oration that was considered treasonous and has incurred His Majesty’s wrath. He’s now kneeling outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony awaiting judgment.”

“Xu Maoyun?”

Zhao Yan and Liu Baiwei exchanged a glance—they both knew the trap laid days ago had just sprung.

“‘Ride the wind to topple the Five Peaks, tread the waves to slay the dragon’… What’s wrong with that line? Isn’t it a prayer for divine intervention to calm the flood disasters?”

“You don’t understand. The collapse of Zhaixing Temple confirms the ’toppling of the Five Peaks,’ and ‘slaying the dragon’ implies that the floodwaters are caused by a demon dragon in rebellion…”

The official explaining paused tactfully, then shook his head. “At a time like this, it’s hard not to make His Majesty suspicious.”

“Tch, the way Minister Yang puts it… sounds about right…”

The man who had questioned earlier sighed. “The Xu family’s future in officialdom is probably over now… Crown Prince!”

“Your Highness.”

Seeing Zhao Yan enter the hall, the gathered officials quickly fell silent and stepped aside.

Zhao Yan walked through the crowd and stopped before the draped curtain, just as a sharp, icy voice rang out from the eastern side chamber:

“Fourth Princess, you must now follow me to His Majesty…”

“It’s Consort Xu barging in,” Li Fu explained quietly. “She’s carrying the imperial heir now—no one dares stop her.”

Pei Sa had just been released from house arrest and had come straight to the Hall of Literary Brilliance, only to stumble upon this scene. His hands clenched into fists as he stepped forward.

Zhao Yan stopped him, her tone calm. “If you truly want to help her, then let her stand up for herself.”

After a long silence, a soft but steady voice finally came from the eastern chamber: “I’m not wrong.”

“What did you say?”

Consort Xu’s voice suddenly turned shrill. “Fourth Princess, think carefully—he’s your future husband!”

“I’m not wrong.”

This time, Zhao Xuan’s voice was a little louder, tinged with a slight tremor. “I left it on the desk… he took it without asking and claimed it as his own. Why should I be blamed? I don’t want to be controlled anymore…”

“He stole it? What did he steal from you?!”

Consort Xu lowered her voice in fury. “I’ll take this to His Ma—”

She abruptly lifted the gauze curtain in a rage. Though her face was still beautiful and striking, there was an unmistakable hint of manic desperation.

She stopped short at the sight of Zhao Yan and the others, then forced a graceful gesture, smoothing her hair and smiling as she bowed. Without another word, she turned and walked off.

Only then did Zhao Yan lift the curtain and enter. Zhao Xuan sat dazed behind the desk, her tears soaking the pages before her, leaving large, smudged blotches of ink.

Outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony, Wenren Lin watched coldly as Xu Maoyun was pinned down on the steps by the imperial guards.

Zhao Xuan had always been too weak—she couldn’t have orchestrated something like this.

Thinking back to that day when Zhao Yan left Zhao Xuan’s chamber before the lecture at court, he immediately understood.

It had been the little Highness’s idea.

Wenren Lin smiled faintly, raised his hand, and instructed, “Twenty strokes. After that, continue the interrogation.”

He had said it before—no matter what she wanted to say or do, he would handle everything for her.

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