Her tone showed no change, and with the dim light in the room, Yan Yiqing actually couldn’t see the expression on Zhao Huairen’s face clearly. Yet deep in her heart, she faintly felt an illusion—that Huairen seemed unhappy.
…
She wouldn’t chat with Huairen at night anymore.
Was this settling scores after the fact?
Did Huairen think she had been too perfunctory on their wedding day?
“The Heir Apparent is both talented and beautiful, with such a fine personality—how could I possibly be upset?” Yan Yiqing said dryly, trying to melt the icicles forming around her with flattery. She added earnestly, “Besides… aren’t we getting along quite well now?”
It was like a grain of sand falling into the deep sea.
Not even a ripple stirred.
She wouldn’t even acknowledge her? Why…? Huairen hadn’t been angry back then, so why was she suddenly like this now? Confusion flashed in her dark, glossy peach-blossom eyes, but Yan Yiqing didn’t dwell on it for long. Instead, she abruptly sat up from the bed.
“Why won’t the Heir Apparent speak?” she asked as she walked toward the daybed.
The flickering candlelight draped a thin veil over the beauty.
Zhao Huairen’s phoenix eyes were slightly closed, her long lashes casting butterfly-wing shadows beneath them.
The woman’s breathing was long and even, one hand pillowed under her cheek, the other draped casually at her side. Clearly, she had already fallen asleep.
Yan Maomao stared unblinkingly at her wife, her delicate brows furrowing slightly.
Hadn’t she hesitated for long?
In just this short while, had Huairen already fallen asleep?
Gazing at the beauty’s slightly pale thin lips, Yan Yiqing narrowed her eyes and crouched sneakily by the daybed. She extended her claw—lightly poking her lips with a fingertip.
The tormented lip flesh dented inward.
The color grew even paler, white and glossy, like the flesh of a freshly peeled lotus seed wrapped in green.
So soft…
She really wanted to take a bite.
Her long lashes trembled almost imperceptibly, like butterflies perched on snow-laden branches sensing a breeze and quivering gently with it. Yan Yiqing’s pupils contracted. Guilty as a thief, she quickly withdrew her claw and, in a flash, came up with an excuse. But the woman on the daybed did not open her eyes.
Yan Yiqing stole a glance at Zhao Huairen with her peripheral vision, confirming she hadn’t woken. Only then did she exhale the breath caught in her throat. Her delicate brows furrowed: With Huairen’s personality, she wouldn’t pretend to sleep. And she hadn’t dodged when touched… It seemed she really was asleep?
That supposed unhappiness.
It must have just been her imagination.
Her gaze returned to the woman. Yan Yiqing hummed a little tune, her eyes delighting in admiring her wife’s beauty.
Hee hee, Huairen was so beautiful…
She looked so obedient in sleep.
Like a little snow-white rabbit.
Not only did her lover’s gaze favor Zhao Huairen—the moonlight leaking through the window lattice gaps did too, its silver glow lingering on her shoulders, tinting her fair skin and raven hair with a cool sheen.
Maomao suddenly remembered something.
Her eyes brightened abruptly, her fluffy tail shooting straight up.
She held her breath in concentration, using her fingertip to hook a lock of Zhao Huairen’s hair dangling off the daybed. She wound the strand around her left finger joint by joint, then devoutly closed her eyes.
Raven locks entwined around her finger, hearts bound by blood.
Though she didn’t much believe in gods and spirits.
But it was worth a try, right? What if it worked?
Yan Yiqing stared at the strand linking them, two red clouds blooming on her cheeks, her mouth nearly splitting to the back of her head. The restless Maomao stayed by her side for a long time like this, until her eyelids grew heavy. Only then did she reluctantly stand.
Dew had gathered thick on the locust tree branches.
The pitch-black night sky was sliced by a faint band of white.
Yan Yiqing on the bed made no more sounds. She had fully fallen into dreamland, her soft breaths slow and light.
The phoenix eyes veiled in mist slowly opened.
There was no sleepy haze upon waking—only murky depths.
If she kept pressing, Qingqing might… reveal the true reason.
But she didn’t want to—
Much less hear another person’s name from Qingqing’s lips.
Her clenched fist trembled faintly. Zhao Huairen gazed complexly at the sweetly sleeping woman, her glass-clear eyes invaded by jealous sourness.
–
Pale golden morning light slowly climbed the window eaves, falling on the dust-accumulated floorboards before spreading to the bed.
The oil lamp from last night had burned out.
In the lamp basin remained only congealed oil and a short wick.
Raven hair scattered messily by the pillow, curly lashes quivering lightly. Yan Yiqing raised a hand to rub her eyes. Her bright, vivid features softened in the morning light, gaining a hazy laziness unique to waking.
Maomao instinctively shifted.
The motion tugged her left shoulder unexpectedly, drawing a sharp hiss of pain.
The ache gathered her thoughts. Her eyes flickered as she immediately turned toward the daybed—but the figure there was gone.
Had Huairen risen so early today?
Of course—uncovering the truth was now her top priority.
Disappointment flashed in her eyes, but it didn’t linger. Yan Yiqing propped herself up on the bed with her right arm.
…
Hong Xiujie knew Zhao Huairen and Zhuyu would come today. At the first faint light of dawn, she waited early outside the village.
Two figures appeared, one ahead of the other.
They seemed utterly out of place amid the crude surroundings.
“This humble girl greets Lord Zhao and Miss Zhuyu.” Hong Xiujie hurried out to meet them, sincere gratitude in her eyes, her posture respectful.
Zhao Huairen raised a hand to wave off formalities and asked warmly, “How is your mother’s condition?”
“In response to Lord Zhao, my mother was able to drink her medicine last night. The physician said that as long as she can keep it down, she’ll improve day by day,” Hong Xiujie replied. She walked on the road’s far right, leading the way while speaking to Zhao Huairen. “My father and brother’s injuries are too severe for them to come out and greet you—please don’t take offense, Lord Zhao. They’re waiting in the courtyard and said… they have something important to give you.”
At this, Zhao Huairen’s steps paused slightly.
Unaware of her change, Hong Xiujie pointed to the nearby courtyard gate and called out cheerfully, “Lord Zhao, see— that’s the one up ahead.”
Their footsteps grew clearer. Before Zhao Huairen even entered the yard, Sun Shi yanked Sun Yongfu hard. Father and son kowtowed together, bowing low to Zhao Huairen.
“This old man… this old man and my unworthy son thank Lord Zhao for saving our lives.”
“Thank you, my lord, for saving our lives.”
“No need for such formalities.” Zhao Huairen’s sword brows furrowed slightly. She impassively surveyed the dilapidated little courtyard before turning to Hong Xiujie. “Have your father and brother rise. This official didn’t come here just to hear thanks.”
Hong Xiujie had met Zhao Huairen several times before and knew she was unlike those corrupt officials—this wasn’t false modesty. With her permission, she moved to help her father and brother up—
“Lord Zhao, several months ago… did you send someone to Willow Tree Ditch looking for this old man?”
“Father?” Hearing Sun Shi’s words, Hong Xiujie widened her eyes slightly, confusion flickering within.
Zhao Huairen’s gaze was calm, her voice carrying just the right distance, betraying no ripples. “Mm, I did send someone.”
The visitor had a Yanjing accent.
He had feared trouble and kept silent.
But now… the whole family owed her a life debt, and she held high authority.
Sun Shi recalled his earlier feigned ignorance, his throat bobbing several times. Turbid tears suddenly rolled down unbidden as he wailed, “Forgive me, Lord Zhao! This old man failed to recognize Mount Tai… I slighted your subordinate then. I beg you not to hold it against me.”
“So, he really did see it back then?” Zhao Huairen’s gaze sharpened, falling on Sun Yongfu’s dazed face. Her hand at her side clenched unconsciously.
The air in the courtyard chilled abruptly.
Wind whipped up dust, like yellowed, aged rice paper.
Sun Shi gripped Sun Yongfu’s arm with branch-like hands, as if it were his sole support. He shook his head and spoke before Zhao Huairen could, “A’fu didn’t see it… but that day, A’fu picked up something and brought it home.”
Hearing this, Zhuyu couldn’t help stepping forward half a pace.
Zhao Huairen, standing before the Sun father and son, remained outwardly serene as still water—not even her lashes quivered. Yet in those deep, tranquil phoenix eyes like abyssal pools—beneath the ice, turbulent waves surged.
Her thin lips curved faintly, her voice cooler than before. “What item?”
His right hand, missing half its index finger, shook like a leaf in the wind. Sun Shi tremblingly reached into his sleeve, his movements heavy with dread. His gaze wavered, as if unsure whether to proceed.
Impatient with his slowness, Zhuyu furrowed her brows and stepped forward, but withdrew her long legs under Zhao Huairen’s look.
“Father, Lord Zhao is our family’s lifesaver!”
Hearing his daughter, Sun Shi drew a sharp breath. Gratitude and awe drowned his terror. “This commoner was originally a hunter on Yushan. Seven years ago… A’fu went out… and picked up something he shouldn’t have brought home…”
As he spoke, he drew out an object wrapped in layers of coarse cloth from his sleeve.
“Dad?” The foolish Sun Yongfu suddenly opened his mouth. He wobbled his head, reaching to snatch the thing from Sun Shi’s hand. “Dad said… no one else can see this!”
Sun Shi acted deaf.
His breathing grew rapid as he peeled back the coarse cloth layer by layer.
His rough fingers shook violently; the fabric’s rasp was piercing in the silence, like rats gnawing incessantly at wood—”creak creak.”
Finally, the contents emerged—
A half token.
Made of dull black iron, edges heavily worn, the engraved patterns mostly eroded by rust. Only the upper half’s complex emblem was discernible—fierce lines, as if still carrying the stench of stale blood.
Sun Shi held the token in both hands like a mountain—or the lives of his entire family. He could barely grip it. He didn’t even know what kind of token it was, but… he remembered the imperial edict.
The Deposed Crown Prince colluded with foreign enemies to assassinate court heavyweights.
Yet the token A’fu picked up bore the characters of Great Yong.
Bright sunlight fell on the token, reflecting an eerie dark gleam that bisected Zhao Huairen’s jade-like, aloof face into stark halves—one shadowed, one lit—like a white epiphyllum blooming to wither.
“It’s a token… A’fu picked it up at the foot of Yushan that day… May twenty-third…” Sun Shi’s chest heaved violently. Fearing for his family’s lives, he spoke in broken gasps like a dying fish. “The Minister of Personnel… Zhao Guishan… was assassinated at the foot of Yushan that very day…”
Hong Xiujie had never quite understood.
Her father was just an ordinary village rustic.
What was Lord Zhao asking?
What could her father possibly help with?
Only now, hearing “Zhao Guishan,” did realization dawn on her as she stood by.
