Quick Update ✨
I’ve changed Wen Renlin to Wenren Lin for consistency—sorry for the mix-up! Also giving earlier chapters a little glow-up ? with some edits to improve the flow and reader experience.

Thanks so much for your patience and support ? It really means a lot!

Chapter 82: You’re Crazy, You Know That?!

“What did you say?”

Zhao Yan’s fingers loosened in shock, forgetting she was still clutching his collar.

The starlike clarity in her eyes dimmed. A flicker of emotion crossed Wenren Lin’s face. He half-closed his eyes and continued, “Since Your Highness cares about Wei Yan’s words, rather than letting you guess alone, I’ll be honest. Is this answer satisfactory?”

Why wait eight years to act?

Zhao Yan had asked Wenren Lin this on the palace path after the imperial trial.

He’d answered, “Because I want more than just his life.”

Exhausted then, Zhao Yan assumed “he” meant Wei Yan. Taking a head was easy for Wenren Lin; waiting until now must mean he wanted not just Wei Yan’s life but his ruin and eternal infamy.

Now, she realized his words hid a chilling ambition.

Her throat tightened, words jumbling in her chest.

“So your target isn’t just Wei Yan. You resent Da Xuan…”

But why?

He held immense power, had everything…

The thought barely surfaced before it shattered like thin ice, leaving a desolate ache.

Eighty thousand corpses, his father and brothers gone, monthly poison flare-ups—this man bore a heavy past, walking alone through the court’s blood and storms. Half feared him, half hated him…

How could that be “everything”? He had nothing left.

Zhao Yan’s strength drained, her grip on his collar slackening.

Noticing her tremble, Wenren Lin’s hand on her nape shifted, his thumb grazing her neck, lingering yet distant.

“My own uncle became my enemy. Now you too?”

Zhao Yan stubbornly met his fathomless eyes, searching for a ripple, her lips tight. “Will you stand against me too, Grand Tutor?”

Wenren Lin’s gaze flickered, but he stayed silent.

Fearless, he towered over the world, yet now he instinctively dodged the question.

“The deep palace locks its nine gates; nobody won’t descend from the heaven to hear grievances. Does what you seek to destroy include the common people… and me?”

Seeing his silence, Zhao Yan’s eyes grew wet. Softly, she asked, “Does it include me?”

Her faint voice hit Wenren Lin like a weight on his chest.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the tiny mole at their corner red as blood. One nod, and her suppressed emotions might spill over.

He couldn’t answer.

“When Your Highness recklessly provoked me, I warned that a faithless, conscienceless man like me would one day drag you down with me.”

Using “I” instead of “this prince,” his casual tone warmed with humanity. “You insisted on the truth, and now that you’ve heard it, you’re this upset.”

His knuckles brushed her eye, feeling the pain spreading in his chest.

So close, he remained seated, legs crossed elegantly, his hand pressing her neck slightly. Tilting his head, he easily kissed her tightly pressed lips.

How could he bear to destroy her when she looked at him with such pain?

Wenren Lin closed his eyes, parting her lips with gentle force, his deepening kiss masking his wavering reluctance.

Zhao Yan’s breath hitched, her hands shifting from his collar to his chest. Her waist softened, and his arm caught her, their bodies nearly pressed together.

This unrestrained kiss was unlike the usual Wenren Lin.

Always a composed observer or a controlled master, he now seemed tinged with madness, as if offering his soul, each kiss a final entanglement.

Zhao Yan felt like prey under claws, powerless against a formidable hunter.

She thought she’d be devoured, bones and soul crushed. Yet the hunter only licked her fur with tender dominance.

“No…”

Her voice broke, her hands on his chest too weak to push him away.

“Want to continue?”

In the pause, amid her pounding heart, Zhao Yan heard Wenren Lin’s low murmur.

Still holding her, his dark eyes studied her flushed face, his voice deep and hoarse. “Whatever Your Highness wishes to do to me today, I won’t refuse.”

He was a demon from the abyss, luring her to final ruin with his flesh.

Zhao Yan felt that even if she stabbed him, he’d accept it fully.

In another time or place, this romantic moment would be utterly tender, but after his world-shattering words moments ago, how could she linger?

“Wenren Lin, what… what are you trying to do?”

Furious, Zhao Yan wiped her tingling lips, panting. “You’re insane.”

Still unsatisfied, she glared at him, a maze of unknowns, and repeated, “You’re insane, you know that!”

“Yes, for someone like me, it’d be odd not to be.”

Wenren Lin admitted it candidly, even smiling. “Pretending to be a wise mentor before Your Highness is exhausting.”

“You…”

“Now, will Your Highness kill me?”

For a moment, Zhao Yan truly wanted to strangle him.

The more her thoughts churned, the less she could act rashly. Forcing herself to calm, she studied the formidable, ruthless man before her.

“Does what you seek to destroy include innocent people and me?”

She pursed her still-red lips. “Once you answer, I’ll decide whether to…”

Whether to take up a blade and stand against you, she added silently.

Wenren Lin rarely made promises or let others glimpse his heart.

His oaths, once given, he’d keep even in death. Now, he hesitated to add more weight to their fragile balance, fearing he couldn’t deliver.

Yes, he was beginning to feel fear, though his expression remained calm.

But facing her reddened eyes, he couldn’t stay silent.

A faint smile rippled in his gaze, like moonlight on a deep pool. “I once said I’d drag Your Highness down with me.”

“And now?” Zhao Yan asked, pinching her fingertips.

Wenren Lin said no more.

Gently, he pressed her stubborn head down, his chin nuzzling her fox-fur collar, slowly rubbing her warm, delicate neck.

…

On the sixth day of the soldiers’ families kneeling at Shunyi Gate, the Emperor finally issued Wei Yan’s execution order.

Beheading and public display, his body exposed for seven days.

Wei Yan had drunk poisoned wine, but its dose was precise, not killing him instantly. To quell public anger, the Emperor needed him alive on the scaffold—death would deny the realm an explanation.

On the day the decree was issued, Liu Baiwei visited the Eastern Palace on orders.

Zhao Yan sat at her study desk, staring blankly, the open book untouched for ages. In the lamplight, her figure, knees hugged, looked frail.

“Hiding in the Eastern Palace growing mushrooms? Huo Zhenzhen’s been turned away multiple times. If she knew you’d see me but not her, she’d throw a fit.”

Liu Baiwei sat beside her, brushing pearl-white, gold-trimmed robe, and looked at Zhao Yan. “The decree to execute Wei Yan is out. Are you… upset about it?”

Wei Yan was her uncle, not a stranger without ties. The Empress, it was said, had fallen ill over it.

Zhao Yan rested her chin on her knees, shaking her head slowly.

Liu Baiwei lowered his voice. “You called me to ask about the Crown Prince, didn’t you?”

“You’re always sharp.”

Zhao Yan propped her chin on her knees, tilting her head. “Last year, why did Zhao Yan suddenly suspect something was off with the Yanluo Pass battle?”

“He and I discussed new policies, not Yanluo Pass, so I don’t know the details.”

Mentioning “Yanluo Pass,” Liu Baiwei’s expression grew grave. “But before the summer retreat, during a chess game, he mentioned that ‘Liu Shun’s death was suspicious.’”

“Who’s Liu Shun?”

“A eunuch, the overseer sent to Yanluo Pass, who died of sudden illness in the eleventh year of Tianyou. It was long ago, and I didn’t know him well, so I didn’t think much of it.”

Who could’ve imagined such a small doubt would spark such a deadly chain?

Zhao Yan frowned.

Guessing her thoughts, Liu Baiwei said, “After what happened to the Crown Prince, any related records would’ve been destroyed.”

Knowing this, Zhao Yan still dimmed, looking forlorn.

Liu Baiwei took a walnut from a tray but didn’t eat it, holding it as he propped his chin, his phoenix eyes watching her with concern. Clearing his throat, he said, “Here, I’ll give Your Highness a hibiscus flower.”

Zhao Yan glanced at him skeptically, listless. “Don’t tease. It’s early winter—chrysanthemums have wilted, and plums haven’t bloomed. What flowers?”

Looking dejected, Liu Baiwei placed the walnut on her desk, smiling. “Just wait.”

He stepped outside, whispering something to Liu Ying.

Liu Ying’s expression turned odd.

Glancing at Zhao Yan, who didn’t object, she complied, soon returning with something for Liu Baiwei.

Liu Baiwei sat back beside Zhao Yan.

Curious, Zhao Yan leaned toward him, only to see him open his palm, revealing… a plump garlic bulb?

What was this?

Zhao Yan laughed despite herself, disappointed, and rested her head back on her knees.

Without explaining, Liu Baiwei deftly peeled the garlic, shaping the pale skins. Soon, he was done.

“Here.”

He handed over his creation—a hibiscus flower crafted from layered garlic skins, its petals faintly pink, strikingly lifelike.

“It really is!” Zhao Yan gaped.

“Looks real, right? My mother used to cheer me up like this.”

Liu Baiwei blew gently, and the fragile garlic-skin hibiscus floated to Zhao Yan’s desk.

Zhao Yan smiled, picking it up to study, still puzzled by how he did it.

Seeing her smile, Liu Baiwei grinned too. “Now, will Your Highness share what’s troubling you?”

Zhao Yan paused, twirling the garlic-skin flower.

“I’ve been grappling with a problem lately.”

She lowered her eyes, shifting to lean on the desk, arms stretched forward. “But I want to figure it out myself.”

Liu Baiwei mimicked her, stretching his arms and resting his chin on the desk.

Frowning, he said, “It’s about Wenren Lin, isn’t it? The last time you were this low was after the Flower-Pinning Banquet…”

He trailed off, as if touching a sore subject.

Zhao Yan stayed silent.

Among smart people, Zhou Ji was better—Zhou Wanlan never exposed secrets to embarrass others.

Lost in their thoughts, they sighed in unison.

October 23rd, frost heavy and winds cold.

Today was Wei Yan’s execution. The imperial street overflowed with angry or relieved onlookers, the front packed with soldiers’ families, a sea of heads.

Zhao Yan ascended the city tower, overlooking the execution ground from the palace gate.

She had to witness this for the late Zhao Yan.

Wenren Lin oversaw the execution, seated in a grand chair, his dark scholar-warrior robes exuding untouchable chill.

Yet he smiled. Even from afar, in the high shadows, Zhao Yan sensed the dark satisfaction in his eyes.

The blade flashed, startling crows into flight. Zhao Yan gripped the railing.

At that moment, Wenren Lin looked up, spotting her familiar figure on the tower.

The cold in his eyes softened—she looked unwell.

Zhao Yan was indeed unwell, clutching her churning stomach, bending to steady herself.

Footsteps approached from behind, followed by the sound of water. A cup of hot tea was gently offered.

Thinking it was Liu Ying, Zhao Yan said, “Thank you…”

But as she took the cup, her slender fingers brushed cold, pale knuckles, and she froze.

Looking up, Wenren Lin’s tall, striking figure stood before her, steady and handsome as ever.

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