On the death anniversary of the Eldest Prince, Jiang Song had just personally interrogated a major criminal and walked out of the Ministry of Justice Prison. He lowered his head to wipe the blood of others from his hands.
From afar, he saw several sorcerers carrying ritual implements entering the palace one after another. Jiang Song did not hurry to take his carriage home. Instead, he stood by the fragrant steps beside the palace gate and looked toward the pomegranate tree that the Yide Empress had planted there in her lifetime.
Pomegranate trees symbolized the continuous line of heirs, yet her only son had been treated as an evil spirit by Your Majesty.
The ritual implements carried by the sorcerers were meant for exorcism and subduing evil.
Every year on this day, the rear palace was filled with exorcising sorcerers, especially in front of Your Majesty’s sleeping chambers, where from morning till night, the sorcerers took turns chanting spells.
Jiang Song recalled the rainy night seventeen years ago, when the four-year-old Eldest Prince was escorted into the Northern Pacification Division Imperial Prison by the imperial guards.
He, as the warden, had personally overseen the custody.
In the deep of night, with the wall fires flickering, the small child huddled silently in the corner of the cell, his face full of stubbornness.
He sat on the long bench outside the cell, dismissed the other jailers, and asked the child a question.
“Has Your Highness considered the cost of acting on impulse?”
If not for his young age, plotting to assassinate Your Majesty would have meant certain death.
Though even a tiger wouldn’t devour its own cubs, the imperial family could easily drive a fierce tiger mad, and a maddened tiger cared nothing for humanity or kinship.
” Is Your Highness listening to this official’s words?”
“Mm.”
The childish voice carried a depth beyond his years.
Perhaps out of a father’s soft heart, Jiang Song did not bring up heavier topics again.
At that moment, a jailer came running over. “Sir, Madam has brought the young miss.”
Jiang Song rubbed his forehead. The Imperial Prison was a place thick with baleful yin energy and dampness; children should avoid it if possible and not set foot here. But his own daughter had been clingy with him since young; it was always he who coaxed her to sleep.
The two-year-old girl had been crying nonstop, but upon seeing her father sitting in front of the cell, she immediately broke into a beaming smile.
“Daddy, hug.”
Jiang Song quickly walked to his wife’s side, took Little Niannian who reached out to him, and draped her over his arm. He said helplessly yet amusedly, “Daddy’s not home, so you bully Mommy, huh? In the dead of night, tormenting your mother.”
The beautiful woman had meant to tease the father and daughter, but her gaze inadvertently fell on the child in the cell.
She tugged her husband’s sleeve and nodded her chin toward the cell, inquiring silently.
Jiang Song whispered to his wife, eliciting a sigh from the beautiful woman.
Little Niannian, held in her father’s arms, stared at the little brother shrouded in darkness. She let out a “yi ya” and stretched out her tiny sleeve-covered hand, her words still lisping. “I wanna go in too.”
“No eating prison food, now.” Jiang Song turned toward the cell with his daughter in his arms and introduced her to the child inside. “This is my little daughter Niannian, about the same age as Your Highness. She’s naughty by nature; please don’t mind her, Your Highness.”
Wei Yihe glanced over. “A little child—how is she the same age?”
In the eyes of a four-year-old, a two-year-old toddler was indeed far too young. One had been forced to grow up prematurely by the Shunren Emperor, the other pampered in the palm of Jiang Song’s hand, shielded from wind and sun, wishing his daughter could stay small forever.
The two children differed vastly in mental maturity.
That night, Little Niannian lay on her father’s shoulder, curiously staring at the little brother in the cell. She nodded off sleepily until she finally succumbed to drowsiness and fell into a deep sleep. When she woke, the cell was empty.
It was not yet midnight when the imperial guards came on orders to take Wei Yihe away. Jiang Song never saw the child again.
The next news of Wei Yihe was his obituary.
Many times, Jiang Song imagined that if that child had not detonated the carriage back then and survived amid the thorns, he would have grown into an unyielding blade of grass, heroic and unbowed.
Unfortunately, there were no ifs.
Early in the morning, as Wei Xichen led his men past the gate of Huai Jin County Princess Mansion, he saw the long-burning lamps lit once more in the County Princess Mansion.
His little aunt was mourning her nephew whom she had never met.
Yet the Crown Prince, who had spent four years with the Eldest Prince, had never lit a long-burning lamp for his imperial brother.
At five years old, he had hidden in his Eastern Palace bedchamber and secretly lit a fire starter, only for his mother the Empress to forcibly snuff it out.
The unlit long-burning lamp was also taken away by the palace servants.
“Prioritize the big picture, my son. Do not indulge in petty sentiments.”
“But that was my imperial brother.”
“The imperial family has no brothers.”
The Emperor and Empress’s teachings to the Crown Prince were either to eschew woman’s compassion or to recognize no kin. Fu Zhongcai, who had accompanied the Crown Prince in growing up, was glad that His Highness had his own mind and showed no signs of tyranny.
As Wei Xichen passed Huai Jin County Princess Mansion, he paused slightly and ordered Fu Zhongcai to deliver greetings.
Fu Zhongcai, nearly turned away at the door, slunk back dejectedly. He did not embellish, only saying that Huai Jin County Princess expressed gratitude for the Crown Prince’s concern.
The grudge between the Dong and Cui families ran too deep; even as an outsider, Fu Zhongcai felt weary for their children and did not wish to stir more trouble.
Wei Xichen did not probe whether Cui Shihan had truly expressed gratitude for his concern. He had no interest in guessing any woman’s true thoughts, except for Jiang Yinyue’s.
The group continued onward toward the Wei Residence. As they entered the market streets, Wei Xichen noticed a youth passing by carrying a white lantern.
In broad daylight, the eerie sight of someone carrying a white lantern scared away the children playing and blocking the street.
As the youth stepped onto a stone arch bridge, he turned in the wind, his ink-black hair lifted by the breeze and wrapping around the painting scroll under his arm.
Painter Xie left the market and entered a small courtyard.
The burly man practicing martial arts by the well glanced over and rolled his eyes. “I’m thanking you on behalf of the young master.”
Painter Xie hung the lantern on a tree branch and drawled lazily, “Can’t light one for yourself?”
“Ah! Just remembered—your death anniversary’s coming up too.”
“Yours too.”
Yan Yi, scarred on his face, came out holding a frying pan and pointed at Painter Xie. “First thing in the morning, don’t say inauspicious things. It gives me the creeps.”
Painter Xie propped his legs up on a stone bench. “Do you believe or not, once that old man kicks the bucket, we can rise from the ashes.”
“Fire? There’s fire at the stove—come roast yourself?”
“Warm two pots of wine. Today, we’ll raise a cup to the young master.”
“You Xie fellow, I’m thanking you on behalf of the young master too.”
Painter Xie paid it no mind, fetched two large jars of yellow wine, warmed them in an iron pot, and during breakfast, filled three wine bowls.
“Come, may we all be upright stalks of grass that fire can’t burn, thriving with the spring breeze.”
Yan Yi gulped down several mouthfuls. “Why do you get all sentimental every year on this day? Meet soldiers with generals, earth with water—what’s there to worry about? Drink!”
Painter Xie also downed a big gulp. “You haven’t spent as much time with the young master as I have. You didn’t witness with your own eyes the trials he endured after that calamity, the grinding hardships.”
The “crack crack” of whips echoed through the winds of time.
The young young master was being lashed with a horsewhip.
Covered in wounds.
“I picked you up, not for you to defy me! Little bastard, won’t call me Daddy, huh? Let’s see how stubborn you can be!”
Painter Xie no longer drank freely, brooding over his wine alone.
Fabricated experiences would slip up in some unguarded moment; only true ones had no flaws. To make his background more authentic, their young master had chosen a merchant family. The head was a horse ranch owner and a gambler who, to escape debts, frequently moved with his wife and returned to the old trade of managing horse ranches for others.
The couple, married for years without children, took in a street urchin. For face, wherever they moved, they claimed him as their own flesh and blood.
It perfectly fit the background needed for the young master’s birth.
But a gambler’s nature was hard to change—violent and irascible. He used to beat his sickly wife, then the adopted child. After the wife died of illness, the punishments grew even harsher.
Family matters behind closed doors were hard for “onlookers” to know, but the scars on the body were plain to see.
As an “onlooker,” Painter Xie had repeatedly harbored murderous intent toward that violent merchant, but the young master said to endure a bit more—treat it as trial upon trial. The more the wounds hurt, the deeper the memories; in future, no matter the probing, he could make it convincing.
When Wei Xichen led his men into the Wei Residence, he felt a sense of returning to a familiar place. The last time he had fainted at the Wei family gate, he never imagined stepping into this humble household again.
Jiang Yinyue was nowhere to be seen in Hanlan Courtyard. The one leading him in was not her mother-in-law Lady Gu, but the wife in charge of the household, Zhang Shi.
“Your Highness, please come in. Mind the threshold.”
Usually glib-tongued Zhang Shi’s heart was in her throat. She feigned composure, not wanting to lose face and draw contempt from these noble guests.
Wei Xichen entered the East Wing Room. His snow-white robes brushed the worn threshold. He subtly surveyed the simple room that seemed crude to him—no partitions, visible from end to end at a glance.
He had no intention of looking down on the Wei family. To recruit hermits, he had more than once entered even humbler thatched huts, sitting by the hearth boiling tea and conversing amiably.
It was just that this was where Jiang Yinyue lived—rather aggrieved for a proud daughter born to wealth and honor.
After a quick scan of the surroundings, Wei Xichen looked toward Wei Qin, who was struggling to sit up on the rack bed. “Advisor Wei looks very unwell.”
Zhang Shi brought over a stool. Wei Xichen thanked her with a faint smile, lifted his robes, and sat down, mere three inches from the bed’s edge.
He could faintly smell the fresh, elegant scent wafting from the bed curtains.
Goose pear fragrance—clear and refined, the kind Jiang Yinyue would use.
On this rack bed, who knew how many times Wei Qin and Jiang Yinyue had been intimate.
Wei Xichen’s hands on his knees unconsciously tightened.
How could such absurd thoughts arise…
Wei Qin said weakly, “Thank you for Your Highness’s concern. This official is fine; a few days’ rest will suffice.”
Zhang Shi stood at the foot of the bed, unable to hold back her tears. “Please have mercy on us Weis—we have few people. An elderly patriarch above, a foolish eldest son and frail medicine-jar below, and a lame second uncle in between. We can’t afford any mishaps in the lineage!”
Zhang Shi covered her face and sobbed. “My nephew has toiled diligently for Yangzhou’s salt affairs, making countless enemies. He absolutely cannot take the post of Salt Transport Envoy—that’s putting him on the fire to roast!”
The accompanying Fu Zhongcai stole a glance and saw the woman’s tears were genuine, no acting.
Wei Xichen did not interrupt the shrill-voiced woman but made no statement either. He closely observed Wei Qin’s pale face and bloodless lips, then smiled faintly. “Sometimes, This Prince even envies Advisor Wei’s luck.”
The would-be assassin surnamed Xu had delivered Wei Qin a great gift.
Luck?
Wei Qin, who had never possessed fortune since birth, did not argue. He coughed, his weakness falling into the visitor’s eyes.
After giving instructions, Wei Xichen rose to take his leave. In his sweeping gaze, he still saw no sign of that woman—not even Qi Bao had been hidden away by her.
“Let’s go.”
Wei Xichen stepped forward, the people behind him moving in unison.
Zhang Shi curtsied. As she returned to Hanlan Courtyard, she patted her chest—nearly unable to cry.
Jiang Yinyue appeared in the courtyard, released Qi Bao, and massaged her great-aunt’s shoulders. “Tears streaming down—quite the performance.”
To ensure no mishaps, the Wei family—except Jiang Yinyue—had all been kept in the dark, believing Wei Qin’s injuries truly severe. Zhang Shi had been genuinely moved and thus wept convincingly when her nephew suggested using her voice to confront the Crown Prince outright.
When Jiang Yinyue entered the East Wing, she saw Du Juan changing the bedding and bed curtains and asked puzzledly, “Weren’t they just changed the day before yesterday?”
Du Juan explained, “Second Young Master asked this servant to replace them.”
Not only that—per Wei Qin’s request, Du Juan had cleaned the entire East Wing inside and out.
In the evening, Jiang Yinyue sat by the bed and pushed the man pretending to sleep on his side, half-annoyed and half-amused. “Stop acting.”
Any more, and even she would believe it.
She took a wrung-out wet cloth and wiped away the dark rouge he’d used to fake his haggard look. “Wake up.”
“Wake up?”
Sensing something amiss, Jiang Yinyue knelt one knee on the bed and leaned close to Wei Qin’s face. “What’s wrong?”
The man feigning sleep had his eyelids tightly shut, brows furrowed, as if trapped in a nightmare.
“Wei Qin, Wei Qin!”
Jiang Yinyue shook the unrousable sleeper vigorously, unable to hide her concern.
Suddenly, a hand gripped her waist and pulled her to the inner side of the bed.
She ended up atop him, flipped halfway around.
In his sleep, Wei Qin was lost amid flying sand and rolling stones, his keen sense of direction disrupted by wave after wave of incantations.
He saw a black flood dragon trapped in a birdcage torture device.
Flames roared around it.
The black flood dragon feared fire and rammed the device nonstop, covered in wounds.
As the black flood dragon grew weaker, a surge of blood welled up in his throat. Wei Qin clutched his neck, bent over gasping for breath, and felt on the verge of suffocation when suddenly a gentle breeze blew in.
Soft and warm.
He reached out to grasp it, but his palm closed on empty air. Instead, he simply spread his arms wide to embrace it.
He embraced that last trace of hope, a warm hope.
A man who had never felt the slightest warmth since he could remember must have craved it deep in his heart.
He hugged the source of that warmth tightly and felt its tangible form.
Soft as cotton, fluffy as down.
He curled up within it, and his tense body and mind finally relaxed.
“Don’t go.”
The tangible “warmth” struggled in his arms. He tightened his hold, buried his face in it, and a flush of healthy color returned to his face.
The trapped Jiang Yinyue was still trying to rouse the unconscious man, but he had already buried his head in her bosom, rubbing against it with his prominent nose bridge.
“No…”
The bridge of his nose brushed over her, leaving a tingling numbness that lingered.
In her panic, Jiang Yinyue bit her lower lip hard, afraid she would let out a strange moan.
She pushed at him bashfully. “Wei Qin, are you awake?”
But Wei Qin’s gasps came with a suffocating rasp. Even the greatest actor could not fake the body’s instinctive cry for help.
Jiang Yinyue dismissed her own suspicion.
“Don’t go.”
Wei Qin rolled over with the woman in his arms, pinning her beneath him, and continued burying his head in the warm breeze, greedily drawing in her fresh breath.
Amid the warm breeze rose undulating hills, a heart-refreshing fruity fragrance, and the soft, sweet chirps of birds.
His breathing grew heavier as he greedily inhaled, using it to drive away the dream’s interference.
The black flood dragon in the cage recovered a bit of its energy and coiled within, hissing at the middle-aged man outside.
Wei Qin finally saw the man’s face.
A detestable face!
The slight recovery of energy shattered once more, but the blood surged wildly from his fury. With all his strength, he clung to the warm breeze that was about to slip away.
The black flood dragon broke free of the birdcage and soared into the clouds on the wind.
Jiang Yinyue, whose waist felt on the verge of snapping, let out a pained whimper. She tugged at Wei Qin’s iron-clamp hands, but it was like an ant trying to shake a tree.
“Wei Qin, wake up.”
Unable to move, Jiang Yinyue twisted with her knee and barely managed to turn sideways, but in the next instant, Wei Qin locked her firmly against his chest again.
Wei Qin bent his leg, pressing it against her.
Scorching and dangerous, it settled into the hollow of her waist.
Jiang Yinyue couldn’t help but recall that night in the village hut, when the Wei Qin who had passed out amid the sea of flames had pinned her awkwardly between his knees.
This time was even more embarrassing and urgent.
Jiang Yinyue didn’t dare struggle anymore. Each struggle only made him wrap around her more tightly.
She was on the verge of suffocating too.
Her slightly parted lips trembled, revealing her pearly white teeth.