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 83: True Immortal Master

Whether it was from standing too long in the cold wind or from overestimating her tolerance for executions, Zhao Yan suddenly felt a wave of nausea churn in her stomach.

Her face turned pale as she accepted the tea Wenren Lin handed her, sipping it slowly in small mouthfuls.

Wenren Lin extended two slender, jade-like fingers and naturally took her pulse. With a slight downward glance, he said, “Your Highness should not have come to such a filthy place. Let not the stench of the execution platform taint your eyes.”

The warm tea soothed the sourness in her throat. Zhao Yan let out a long breath and gently wiped the droplets from her lips. “No, I had to come.”

Suddenly, a commotion broke out below the execution platform. The soldiers shouted loudly, but it was no use.

The families of the fallen soldiers and the outraged citizens were all desperate to rush the platform, to tear a piece of flesh from the traitor’s body—as if only then could their hatred be appeased.

Zhao Yan tightened her grip on the teacup, leaned on the railing, and asked, “Aren’t you going down to watch?”

Surely Wenren Lin wouldn’t want to miss such a satisfying scene.

But Wenren Lin only stepped forward slowly, raising his sleeve naturally to shield her eyes from the chaos and filth below. He was tall, and wherever he stood, even the howling wind seemed to quiet, leaving only the faint, clean scent of his sleeve.

He turned his head slightly and glanced down with disinterest.

As if struck by an amusing thought, a ripple of darkness flickered in his eyes. He asked softly, “If it were I on the execution platform, would Your Highness come to watch?”

Zhao Yan felt as if her heart had been suddenly clenched. She couldn’t understand how Wenren Lin could speak such a terrifying thought in such a calm, leisurely tone.

Her chaotic thoughts were once again stirred up, leaving her nowhere to hide.

“I would.”

Seeing Wenren Lin’s lips curve slightly, Zhao Yan looked up and added seriously, “But I hope that day never comes.”

The fury below gradually subsided. Wenren Lin withdrew his gaze and looked back at Zhao Yan’s face.

He saw the clarity and determination in her eyes. After a long pause, he gave a soft sound of agreement.

“The execution platform is too filthy and noisy. That day will never come.”

He spoke lightly, “If the student surpasses the master, at most I’ll hand the blade to Your Highness and let you personally send me off. Now that would be satisfying.”

Zhao Yan looked at him in disbelief, frowning. “Wenren Lin, you’re seriously ill.”

“This prince has been ill for a long time.”

Wenren Lin let out a low chuckle, lowered the hand that had been shielding her view, and gently adjusted the fox-fur collar around her neck. “Your Highness is becoming easier and easier to tease. Don’t stand in the wind too long—there’s snow today. Head back early.”

He was as calm and composed as ever, effortlessly in control, as if nothing had happened.

True strength is never shaken by external forces. Zhao Yan knew she was still far from that.

She didn’t want to show any hesitation or weakness in front of him, so she forced herself to steady her gaze, nodded, and turned to leave.

Wenren Lin watched her descend the stairs. Only after she had gone far did Cai Tian dare to approach and ask how to handle Wei Yan seven days from now.

Wenren Lin leaned on the railing, gazing into the distance. The warmth and smile in his eyes had completely vanished.

“Hang the head as an offering to the spirits. As for the rest… grind it up and feed it to the dogs.”

Eighty thousand corpses had once been buried in a lonely city, without graves or tombs. Naturally, someone with the surname Wei didn’t deserve a better end.

Dark clouds loomed overhead, and the cold wind carried a biting chill. Heavy snow was coming.

Zhao Yan did not return to the palace. Instead, she first went to the Rong residence.

After Rong Fuyue had coughed up the blood that had long been trapped in her heart that day, Zhao Yan had secretly ordered her sent back to the Rong residence to recover, without letting anyone outside the Rong family and Wenren Lin know.

The current head of the Rong family was Rong Shiqing, Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices. He was an old acquaintance of Empress Wei, and it was through his recommendation that Zhang Xu of the Imperial Medical Bureau had been appointed. He was a trustworthy ally.

Rong Shiqing had never married. Though nearing forty, he remained elegant and handsome, appearing much younger than his age.

He bowed and, when Zhao Yan asked about Rong Fuyue’s condition, shook his head with a pained expression. “My younger sister is deeply troubled, trapped in the past. She still has little appetite.”

Rong Fuyue was sitting by the window reading. Her figure had grown even thinner than before, and even in thick winter clothing, she didn’t appear bulky at all.

She saw Zhao Yan from afar, quickly set down her book, and rose to greet her.

“Aunt Rong, no need for formalities.”

Zhao Yan stood outside the window and raised her hand to signal her to rise.

Rong Fuyue’s thick, cloud-like hair was rare even among women, making her delicate, porcelain-like face appear even paler and smaller—like a beauty painted on paper, devoid of life.

She looked up at the sunless sky and suddenly asked, “Is it past noon?”

“Yes, it’s exactly noon.”

Zhao Yan replied, “That person… has been executed.”

It was a long while before Rong Fuyue finally nodded.

Zhao Yan couldn’t help but recall the scene at Shunyi Gate that day—this frail woman bowing to the crowd in Wei Yan’s place to beg forgiveness. Her heart ached. “Heaven’s justice is clear. Aunt Rong, you need not blame yourself.”

Rong Fuyue shook her head, her gaze vacant. “I just don’t understand… someone like me—why do I still live in this world?”

Why was even death a luxury?

Zhao Yan saw through her thoughts and said softly, “Aunt Rong, have you ever thought—if you were to die just like that, how would you explain yourself to the one you wish to see in the afterlife?”

Rong Fuyue was stunned.

“Life is so precious. Besides, you didn’t marry Wei Yan of your own will. In the end, you were just one of the over eighty thousand victims. If you feel guilty, there are many ways to atone. Ending your life is only the coward’s path—it brings nothing but your own relief, and no meaning at all.”

Rong Fuyue’s shoulders trembled. She bit her lip in shame. “I’ve been so shallow… I’ve embarrassed Your Highness.”

Zhao Yan spoke at just the right moment: “There are many orphaned children of the fallen soldiers, and most have no one to care for them. I plan to establish a school to take them in and teach them to read and write. Many of them are girls, and we’re in need of a female teacher. If you don’t mind, would you be willing to try?”

Rong Fuyue looked up in surprise. After a long pause, she murmured, “I… can I?”

Zhao Yan smiled gently. “Of course you can. You’re well-versed in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and you have a kind temperament. I’m sure you’ll be able to guide those children well. But before that, you must take care of your health—otherwise, I wouldn’t dare ask you.”

As they left the courtyard, Rong Shiqing bowed deeply to Zhao Yan, sleeves gathered respectfully.

“Thank you, Your Highness, for enlightening my sister and giving her a thread of hope to live on.”

“Hope is something she gave herself. I merely pointed out a path.”

Zhao Yan lifted the corners of her lips and accepted the hand warmer from Liu Ying. “Besides, I may still need to rely on you in the future, Lord Rong.”

Rong Shiqing bowed even lower and said humbly, “It is my duty. I dare not accept the word ‘rely.’”

Zhao Yan smiled but said nothing more.

To light up a dark and murky world, every wick—no matter how small—matters.

Before she left, Rong Shiqing asked casually, “Her Majesty the Empress has been unwell. How is she lately?”

Zhao Yan replied, “Much better now.”

Rong Shiqing acknowledged with a quiet “I see,” and bowed once more in farewell.

…

Dark clouds spread like ink across the sky. The palace was silent and desolate.

“Wei Yan is dead. He said not a word before his death.”

A young Taoist stood before the hall, hands lowered in report.

Wei Yan had been imprisoned. To protect Rong Fuyue’s life, he would surely have kept silent. But who would have thought Rong Fuyue would attempt suicide right in front of him? Fearing this was a deliberate act to remove his last weakness and force him to speak, the master had gone to the execution ground personally to confirm that Wei Yan could no longer talk—only then did he return to report.

The wind swept in through the palace doors, lifting the hanging gauze curtains. A hundred ever-burning lanterns flickered in response, and the shadow behind the screen twisted and writhed like claws in the dim light.

On the desk, a red-lacquered wooden box lay open, revealing two freshly made, dark crimson pills.

The figure raised a hand slightly. The Taoist immediately pressed his palms together, thumb and forefinger forming a mudra, and said, “Yes, Immortal Master.”

…

Zhao Yan returned to the palace and first went to Kunning Palace to attend to the Empress Wei’s illness.

The Empress had removed her heavy phoenix crown and robe. Her long hair was half-pinned as she reclined on the couch, revealing a rare fragility, like that of an ordinary woman.

“This is nothing serious. You needn’t come every day to serve me medicine. But with such a scandal involving Wei Yan, I had no choice but to take this step to avoid suspicion and stay out of your father’s sight.”

After drinking her medicine, she handed the empty bowl to a maid and said coldly, “The Three Judicial Offices and your father originally sentenced Wei Yan to death. It was I who removed my hairpin and knelt before His Majesty to have it changed to beheading and dismemberment.”

As she spoke, her nails dug into her palm, her lips trembling. “You know why.”

Of course Zhao Yan knew where her mother’s hatred came from.

The Crown Prince’s death had always been a secret. Others believed the Empress was simply upholding justice, unaware of the grief of a mother who had lost her son.

He had been her pride.

The Crown Prince had been diligent, intelligent, and full of grand ambition. Even when gravely ill and coughing blood, he still smiled to comfort others… Yet such a bright and noble youth had died at the hands of his own kin. How absurd and cruel.

“Though Wei Yan was my own brother, we had little contact after I entered the palace. I never imagined he would, for his own selfish gain, harm even his own nephew…”

The Empress rubbed her brow, her breath strained. “He was always extreme—if not a saint, then a demon. I only regret that, trapped in the deep palace, I kept avoiding and tolerating him. In the end, I brought disaster upon myself.”

“I understand.”

Zhao Yan knelt by the couch, eyes lowered, fingers gently pinching the edge of her sleeve. “I didn’t understand before why Mother was always so cold and distant to everyone. But now, I think perhaps you saw things more clearly than I did.”

The Empress slowly returned from the pain in her heart and looked at the young figure beside the couch. At some point, the face that once resembled another now bore no one’s shadow but its own.

Just like the name Changfeng—long wind—resilient and unrestrained, invisible yet powerful enough to stir still waters and make all things bow.

“Does Mother have any other instructions?”

Zhao Yan instinctively lowered her lashes, concealing the tear-shaped mole at the corner of her eye.

Her mother had been staring at her face in a daze—perhaps she was thinking of Zhao Yan’s late brother, Zhao Yan thought.

Empress Wei’s red lips moved slightly, but after a long pause, she only said, “Your father has been under great pressure from the public lately. His qi is stagnant, and he’s become increasingly dependent on elixirs to sleep. When you go to the Taiji Hall to pay your respects, be mindful of your words.”

Zhao Yan nodded. “I understand.”

The Empress seemed to want to say more, but Zhao Yan rose abruptly, as if unable to sit still, and bowed. “I’ll take my leave now. May Mother’s health continue to improve.”

As she watched her daughter’s retreating figure, the Empress moved her arm slightly and sighed.

Zhao Yan left Kunning Palace and headed straight for the Taiji Hall.

The Wenren Cang case had shocked the entire nation and dealt a serious blow to the emperor’s authority. Though he said nothing, her father was deeply concerned about whether public sentiment had been appeased. Now that the case had concluded, she needed to report to him.

Lost in thought, Zhao Yan quickened her pace. As she ascended the stone steps of the terrace, she didn’t notice Eunuch Feng emerging from a side hall, also walking along the corridor.

She nearly bumped into him. Startled, Eunuch Feng exclaimed, “Oh dear! Your Highness, this old servant hopes he didn’t run into you!”

“It’s nothing…”

Before she could finish, Zhao Yan caught sight of the red-lacquered wooden box covered by a cloth on the eunuch’s tray.

Only a corner of the box was visible, but Zhao Yan recognized it immediately—it looked exactly like the one Wenren Lin had used to carry the antidote!

Her heart clenched.

She paused, then asked calmly, “What are you carrying, Eunuch Feng?”

Eunuch Feng adjusted the silk cloth on the tray and smiled. “A gift for His Majesty’s review, Your Highness.”

Zhao Yan lowered her gaze to hide her emotions and replied modestly, “Since it’s for Father, please go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t dare. This old servant is in no rush. Your Highness should go first.” With that, the old eunuch stepped aside.

Zhao Yan said no more and entered the hall to pay her respects to the emperor.

Whatever the emperor said, Zhao Yan didn’t hear clearly. Her mind was entirely preoccupied with that red-lacquered box.

Was Wenren Lin’s antidote a gift from the Emperor? But wasn’t Master Shen Guang already dead? If he wasn’t the true Immortal Master, then… who was refining the medicine now? 

Kneeling on the palace floor to report the events at the execution ground, Zhao Yan couldn’t help but feel a chill that pierced to the bone.

As she exited the Taiji Hall, she happened to brush past the old eunuch.

The northern wind carried flurries of sand and snow, stinging her face like blades. The snow and grit bounced on the ground like grains of salt. When she looked up, all she saw was a world of gray and white.

Snow falling on a red brazier—Zhao Yan suddenly understood something. In her moment of realization, the cold wind rushed into her lungs, and she began to cough violently, covering her mouth.

Liu Ying, who had been waiting outside the hall, immediately opened an umbrella to shield her from the wind and snow. The umbrella was painted with red plum blossoms, reminiscent of that man’s crimson official robes.

Perhaps, beyond opposition, there was still a second path between her and Wenren Lin.

“Send Li Fu to summon Prince Su. Tell him I wish to see him.”

Zhao Yan pressed her fist to her lips and urged softly, “Quickly, go.”

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