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

Chapter 73: Reward

Wenren Lin originally only meant to tease Zhao Yan. Watching the vivid expressions dance across her face was immensely delightful.  

But this time, the little princess clearly wasn’t fooled. Instead, she boldly included him in her future plans, asking if he’d accompany her to see the lantern festival next year.  

Wenren Lin never dwelled on the future—such talk held no meaning for him.  

Yet, knowing this, he still leisurely calculated the days. Four months remained until next year’s Lantern Festival.  

Plenty of time.  

Zhao Yan noticed his silence, and the smile in her eyes faltered briefly. She wondered, *Did I overstep again?*  

Feeling a bit awkward and debating whether to change the topic, she heard Wenren Lin’s low voice: “This prince will try.”  

Zhao Yan froze, then realized those four simple, calm words were his response to her invitation.  

Her heart suddenly felt lighter. Suppressing the upward curve of her lips, she said, “The mighty Prince Su, who can turn clouds with a flip of his hand, makes everything look effortless. Yet for something as simple as watching lanterns with me, you say ‘try’? It’s not like I’m asking you to brave fire and flood. Can’t you give a straightforward answer? So reluctant!”  

Wenren Lin listened to her chatter, a faint trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. He tapped his knee lightly and said, “Your Highness shouldn’t take advantage and play coy. I don’t make promises lightly, so I don’t let others down.”  

“*Nor do I lightly believe promises, so others don’t let me down.*”  

Zhao Yan seamlessly continued the quote, nudging the brush handle with her nose and muttering, “Got it.”  

Just then, a delicate “meow” came from Wenren Lin’s sleeve, sounding like a protest.  

Only then did Zhao Yan notice a bulge in his luxurious, wide sleeve, wriggling slightly.  

“You brought the cat?” she asked, surprised.  

Wenren Lin lifted the hand pinning the sleeve’s edge, and the bulge shifted. A fluffy, disheveled little head poked out from under his wrist.  

“Xue Nu!”  

Zhao Yan’s peach-blossom eyes lit up. She set down her brush, hurried over, and scooped the cat into her arms.  

The cat’s silky, snow-white fur, as smooth as satin, carried the faint, cool fragrance of Wenren Lin’s sleeve. Zhao Yan laughed, “She’s definitely gotten fatter.”  

Wenren Lin quietly watched her pet the cat in her arms, her fingertips sinking into the soft, snowy fur. For a moment, it was hard to tell which was whiter.  

He said, “Leave her with Your Highness for a couple of days. The dried meat and vine ball have been sent over as well.”  

Zhao Yan instinctively wanted to ask why, but as she looked up, she remembered it was the start of the month again.  

Neither Hegui Pavilion nor Prince Su’s residence lacked servants to pamper Xue Nu. Wenren Lin’s visit, then, wasn’t really about entrusting the cat to her. Perhaps he’d come under this pretext to reassure her.  

Zhao Yan lowered her lashes, suppressing the urge to pry further, and said softly, “Alright. When do I feed her the dried meat?”  

“Morning and afternoon, once each, and once before bed. Keep fresh water available.”  

Wenren Lin gave his instructions unhurriedly, then added, “This thing isn’t very well-behaved. It often causes trouble at night. If it breaks anything, just put it on my tab—I’ll compensate double.”  

Zhao Yan, holding the cat in one hand and jotting down his instructions with the other, couldn’t help but laugh at his last remark.  

“Got it, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Then, as if recalling something, she lowered her lashes again and said softly, “Um… Grand Tutor, take care of yourself too.”  

The words felt a bit forced—she should’ve pretended not to know anything. Regretting her slip, she looked down, only to see a shadow fall before her.  

Wenren Lin raised a hand, his cool fingertips gently smoothing the crease between her brows.  

“Why is Your Highness frowning? This prince isn’t dying yet.”  

His expression was calm, his gaze carrying a familiar, unshakable strength as he smiled faintly. “But if I don’t put on a bit of a show, some people might lose sleep.”  

Zhao Yan only half-understood, trying to glean more from his cryptic words.  

Wenren Lin, displeased with her distraction, slid his fingertip down to rest at her lips, naturally shifting the topic. “Your Highness, what book would you like to read tonight?”  

Zhao Yan opened her mouth, a bit exasperated. “Do we really have to study tonight? The daily lectures are exhausting enough.”  

She added, “I need to review something else tonight. Can we skip the books?”  

Wenren Lin looked at her evasive expression and gave an ambiguous chuckle.  

Standing, he glanced at the attendant eunuch, who promptly presented a lacquered box. Opening it, he revealed several delicate savory pastries and a bowl of peanut yogurt garnished with dried fruit.  

The last time Zhao Yan tried this yogurt with Wenren Lin, she’d found its creamy, tangy richness divine. But unless the emperor granted it, even the crown prince couldn’t casually enjoy the imperial kitchen’s craft. In the entire capital, only Prince Su had such privilege.  

Perhaps because the Wenren family was full of heroic martyrs, and Wenren Lin himself was just formidable enough, the emperor always favored him.  

The rich dairy scent masked the faint icy fragrance in the air. Zhao Yan sniffed and asked, “For me?”  

Wenren Lin lifted the cat, which was trying to steal a bite, and shot her a look: *Who else?*  

Zhao Yan’s eyes curved into crescents as she said, “Thank you, Grand Tutor.”  

Just then, the prince’s household steward arrived with organized ledgers. Zhao Yan began spooning the yogurt with a delicate silver spoon while flipping through the accounts.  

Xue Nu, after curiously exploring the hall, curled up beside Zhao Yan and purred herself to sleep.  

The only sounds in the hall were the crackle of candle wicks and the occasional rustle of turning pages. The tranquility was addictive, and Zhao Yan unconsciously relaxed, shifting from the formal kneeling posture to a more comfortable side-sit.  

Wenren Lin picked up a commentary Zhao Yan had written and began reading, one hand holding the scroll, the other resting on the armrest.  

Occasionally glancing up, he saw her sometimes frowning, sometimes serious. Setting the scroll aside, he leaned closer. “Why the sudden interest in checking accounts?”  

Caught off guard, Zhao Yan instinctively covered the embarrassingly sparse ledgers, a smudge of yogurt still on her upper lip.  

“This prince has seen even Your Highness’s undergarments—what’s there to hide?”  

Wenren Lin’s gaze lingered on her lips. After a moment, he slowly wiped the yogurt from the corner of her mouth, his touch feather-light and tingling.  

A faint ripple passed through his eyes. “Besides, the Eastern Palace’s ledgers are more interesting than Your Highness’s undergarments.”  

Zhao Yan’s ears burned. She wanted to retort but found no words.  

“Short on funds?” Wenren Lin saw through her embarrassment instantly.  

Zhao Yan nodded reluctantly. “I’m auditing the Eastern Palace’s output to see if I can scrape together some money.”  

“To implement new policies and reduce clan expenses, the crown prince must lead by example. There’s no room left for profit.”  

Wenren Lin gently moved her hand from the ledger, his voice low. “But this prince can help.”  

Zhao Yan was stunned, then shook her head. “I don’t want your charity.”  

“Helping and charity are vastly different.”  

Wenren Lin corrected her patiently, chuckling softly. “Rest assured, this prince wouldn’t demean Your Highness by throwing money at you.”  

He recalled that after Prince Yong’s downfall, his wealth and lands were confiscated to fund temple rituals and rebuild the Stargazing Observatory.  

However, a few of Yong’s loyalists remained unconvicted.  

Wenren Lin had planned to keep these pawns for stirring trouble if needed. But since the little princess needed help, he’d sacrifice them instead.  

The world was chaotic enough already.  

He felt a rare pleasure: doing something selfless for once, as a reward for her.  

…  

Zhao Yan hadn’t finished the ledgers before falling asleep at the desk.  

When she woke, she was tucked neatly in bed, the covers snug. The candles outside had burned out, dawn light filtering in, and Wenren Lin was long gone.  

It wasn’t until that afternoon that Zhao Yan understood what he’d meant by “help.”  

This time, it was Cai Tian who came, saluting her. “Your Highness, the Liu and Jiang families, who conspired with Prince Yong to frame the Eastern Palace, have been found guilty. Their assets have been confiscated, and the inventory is here, to be handled by Your Highness per the law.”  

“For me?”  

Zhao Yan took the list skeptically. As she opened it, the accordion-folded document spilled to the floor, its dense text stretching over ten feet.  

Li Fu and another eunuch hurriedly stepped forward to hold up the trailing pages.  

“Prince Yong’s confiscated assets were the real prize, equivalent to a year’s imperial revenue. These are just a drop in the bucket. Per imperial law, the assets of those who frame a prince can be awarded to the prince as compensation—there’s precedent.”  

Cai Tian explained succinctly, adding, “His Highness said it’s a reward for Your Highness’s role in uprooting Yong’s faction and for your excellent commentary.”  

*Commentary?*  

Zhao Yan recalled the scroll Wenren Lin had read last night. She said to Cai Tian, “Thank you, Deputy General. Please convey my thanks to Prince Su.”  

With that, she gathered the absurdly long list and handed it to Li Fu. Striding back to the hall, she retrieved the commentary Wenren Lin had reviewed.  

It was a casual reflection she’d written after half a month of lectures, now covered in bold, incisive red annotations, with her naive insights and misused references marked.  

This was a sloppy piece, hardly worthy of “reward.” Yet Zhao Yan’s lips curved uncontrollably, her smile reaching her eyes.  

“Your Highness,” Li Fu, still holding the massive list, asked, “What should we do with these?”  

Zhao Yan collected herself, thought briefly, and said, “Return all seized lands and properties to the local people—no one may reclaim them for any reason. Convert the gold, silver, paintings, and artifacts into funds. I have other plans for them.”  

Though these families paled compared to Yong’s wealth, their ill-gotten gains were substantial.  

Using unjust wealth for just causes shouldn’t violate her brother’s principles, right?  

Zhao Yan thought to herself: *This money will expand Mingde Academy, selecting talent regardless of gender or status, drawing the world’s heroes into my fold…*  

*Zhao Yan, you’d better understand.*  

…  

Wenren Lin vanished for two days, but the autumn rain in the capital didn’t let up.  

Rainy days meant no outings, and with no lectures scheduled for the Double Ninth Festival, Zhao Yan sat at her desk, meticulously sorting Li Fu’s organized lists, ensuring every coin was used where it was needed most.  

When tired, she stretched, petted Xue Nu, and felt fulfilled.  

Now that Xu Maoyun’s career was ruined and the engagement dissolved, she seemed no threat. Yet Zhao Yan felt uneasy.  

The “Immortal Master” of the Divine Light Sect was dead, but Wenren Lin still took medicine for poison at the month’s start. The sect’s shadow still loomed over the capital, pervasive and chilling as the autumn rain.  

Zhao Yan trusted her instincts—there was a hidden scheme she hadn’t yet unraveled.  

Xu Maoyun’s covert support was proof enough.  

With that, she sat on the bed, opened the hidden compartment under her pillow, and retrieved a repaired rosewood jewelry box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Beneath it lay Zhao Yan’s final letter and the half-burned ledger of the Divine Light Master.  

She took out the ledger, flipping through it for the umpteenth time. She knew the names and elixir references by heart, yet no new clues emerged.  

Her gaze lingered on the familiar name at the end.  

Perhaps there was someone she could ask.

Previous

Next