Who could easily refuse an invitation from Prince Yongping? Although his father had ceded the throne to Empress Wu, thereby stepping down from emperor to crown prince, Li Chengqi remained the eldest son—and thus still held the highest status among his imperial cousins.

After leaving the Yeting Palace with him, he chose a secluded palace corridor to walk along. I had traversed most of the Daming Palace by now, yet this particular path was one I’d never taken before. After all, having grown up in the palace since childhood, he naturally knew its layout far better than I—a newcomer who’d only entered the palace two years ago.

“Just now, I heard you say you came to Yeting Palace looking for a palace maid,” Li Chengqi casually struck up a conversation. “Is there something urgent?”

I thought for a moment—it wasn’t as if there was anything worth hiding. “A handwritten poetry manuscript has gone missing from my chambers, so I came to ask Yípíng whether she’s seen it. She’s been with me the longest, so naturally she’s more familiar with my things than the duty attendants.”

Lǐ Chéngqì gazed at me leisurely and said, “I’ve heard that the young princess is fond of reading—indeed, it seems quite true.”

“It’s not entirely so,” I replied awkwardly, smiling. “I’ve read all sorts of things haphazardly, but I’m nowhere near as well-versed in serious scholarship as Sister Wǎn’ér.”

Along the palace pathway, the willow trees had shed nearly all their leaves, leaving only bare branches. Several eunuchs were setting up ladders against the trunks; one young eunuch stood atop a ladder trimming the branches, while others below directed him left and right. Spotting Lǐ Chéngqì, they quickly bowed deeply in salute.

Li Chengqi nodded to signal them to continue, then asked, “What poetry collection is so important that the Princess is so concerned about it?”

I remained silent for a moment before replying, “It’s a collection of poems by Luo Binwang. I was afraid it might have fallen and been seen by someone else, so I hurried to ask Yiping about it.”

For some reason, after two encounters that hardly qualified as life-or-death ordeals, my wariness toward him had gradually lessened. Only after speaking did I realize I had deliberately been testing him—testing his reaction, or perhaps something else entirely.

Li Chengqi seemed unmoved, merely pausing in quiet contemplation for a moment: “The earth covering the grave has yet to dry; where does the six-foot orphan stand?”

I turned my head to look at him; his expression remained calm and composed, as if he were reciting an ordinary verse. Yet these lines came from the “Proclamation Against Wu,” a document that, though once highly praised by His Majesty the Emperor, was strictly taboo within the palace. When Luo Bingwang joined Xu Jingye’s rebellion against the Emperor, I was merely three years old—yet I still recall how our family tutor once secretly recited this very line. Though I did not yet understand its meaning, he was dismissed by my mother shortly afterward.

Later, as I grew older, I learned that this verse was directed against the Wu clan—and that I myself belonged to the Wu family.

“When Xu Jingye’s rebellion failed, Luo Binwang vanished without a trace,” Li Chengqi said, a faint smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. “That year, I was named Crown Prince. My Grandmother the Empress Dowager once mentioned this line and even praised Luo as possessing the talent of a chancellor. At the time, however, I didn’t fully grasp the meaning behind her words.”

He did not continue, yet I felt a chill run through me. The Emperor had long harbored ambitions of seizing power for himself—how much of what he’d just said was mere probing? Though I knew he remained unharmed for now, I couldn’t help but press further: “What did His Highness say in reply?”

Li Chengqi gently shook his head: “I haven’t said anything. One must speak freely and fully before the Empress Dowager—yet if one truly knows nothing, naturally one cannot speak.”

I secretly breathed a sigh of relief, only then realizing that, in the course of those few sentences, we had already drawn near the West Gate of the Imperial Garden. Beneath the warm sunlight, chrysanthemums bloomed profusely at the gate, a dazzling golden expanse that shimmered like a celestial realm. Yet, by the gate stood a familiar figure pacing back and forth, seemingly waiting for someone—and only as we drew closer did I recognize her as Yiping.

Yiping spotted me just then and hurried over, bowing respectfully to Li Chengqi before turning to me and saying, “At last—I’ve found Her Highness the Commandery Princess!”

I asked, puzzled, “Is something the matter?”

Yi Ping rose and said, “Yes, something urgent has come up—several princesses have arrived at the Junzhu’s residence, claiming they have important matters to discuss with her. The maids attending them couldn’t locate the Junzhu and grew flustered, so they came to me for help.”

Several princesses? I grew even more confused: “How did you know I’d be coming to the Imperial Garden?”

Li Chengqi was gazing elsewhere at that moment, deliberately avoiding eye contact with either of us. Seizing the opportunity, Yi Ping quickly shot me a meaningful glance: “I didn’t know beforehand—on my way here, I happened to run into Miss Wan’er, who mentioned the Junzhu might be heading to the Imperial Garden.”

Even if she’d encountered Wan’er, there was no reason she should know I’d entered through the West Gate… Not wanting to press further given Yi Ping’s evasive expression, I simply bowed to Li Chengqi and took my leave: “Something urgent has come up within the palace—I won’t keep His Highness company any longer.”

Li Chengqi nodded, signaling that I could leave. I hurriedly tugged at Yiping and took two steps forward—only to be called back by Li Chengqi. Turning around, I saw his eyes filled with an autumnal depth so profound it seemed impossible to dispel: “Within this palace, it’s best to read fewer idle books.”

This veiled admonition warmed my heart, and I bowed once more before turning away. Though I couldn’t see the Prince Yongping behind me, I somehow felt his gaze following me—and that made me increasingly uneasy. Only after we’d moved far from the Imperial Garden did I suddenly stop and look intently at Yiping: “Go on—tell me the truth. Who sent you to find me? And how did you even know I was in the Imperial Garden?”

Yiping let out a soft “Ah!” and murmured, “The Princess has guessed it after all.”

I smiled wryly at her: “Your deception might fool strangers, but surely not me—I’ve known you for two years!”

Yiping frowned slightly and said, “It was Miss Wan’er who specifically sought me out and instructed me to wait for Her Highness at the western gate of the Imperial Garden.” I looked at her in confusion and gestured for her to continue. After a moment’s thought, Yiping added, “Miss Wan’er also said that if Her Highness had any questions, she herself would come explain everything this evening.”

I casually plucked a chrysanthemum from a flowerbed beside the path and pondered for a while. Wan’er was certainly trying to protect me—that much was certain. Yet even if I’d strolled through the Imperial Garden with Li Chengqi, it wasn’t anything serious—so why was she so anxious? I glanced at Yiping and smiled, saying, “So there are no princesses in my palace—everything you’ve just said must all be lessons taught to you by Sister Wan’er?”

When the lamps were lit that evening, I picked up my brush to practice calligraphy using the model characters Wan’er had given me. My wrist had grown sore before I even realized someone had already entered the room behind me. Turning around, I saw her standing there, smiling brightly—her beauty radiant and striking in the flickering lamplight.

“You truly grow more beautiful every day, Sister,” I set down my brush and sank into my chair with a long sigh. “Just like His Majesty—the Emperor—time leaves not the faintest trace upon you.”

Yiping brought a chair to the side of the table, helped Wan’er sit down, and served her a cup of hot tea before discreetly dismissing all the palace maids, leaving only the two of us alone in the room.

“You ought to speak these words to His Majesty directly—she’ll surely praise you again,” Wan’er said, leaning casually in her chair. “Though you call me ‘elder sister,’ I’m actually over a decade older than you—so, inevitably, I’m growing old.” After speaking, she scrutinized me closely, her eyes seeming to hold some unspoken meaning—yet she remained silent.

I pouted and said, “I’m waiting for Elder Sister’s explanation.”

Wan’er rose, walked over to the lamp, picked up a red-bronze candle snuffer, and trimmed away the charred wick still burning in the flame. Instantly, the flame grew noticeably brighter, flickering gently in the breeze drifting in through the window.

“It’s you who should be explaining yourself to me,” she said, her slender eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “Go on—how did you come to know Prince Yongping?”

I’d anticipated this question and simply smiled. “At the banquet held to celebrate Di Renjie’s appointment as chancellor.” That night, Wan’er hadn’t attended, so naturally she wouldn’t know this was a lie.

“But it’s only been a month…” Wan’er idly twirled the candle snuffers in her hands. “And yet you’re already willing to become his confidante—the one who ‘holds the lamp and trims the wick.’ Yong’an, the Daming Palace has no room for genuine sincerity.”

“Not entirely true,” I replied offhandedly. “Empress Wende, Changsun Wuji, married Emperor Taizong at age twelve, and for over twenty years enjoyed his exclusive favor—so much so that even after her death, she remained his greatest love throughout his life.”

Wan’er scoffed, “Even if he concentrates all his affection on one person? Then why do other beauties of the harem still regularly share his bed? This is the ‘devotion’ found in imperial families. If Emperor Taizong were truly unwavering in his love, how could Xu Xianfei have risen to such favor—and how could the current emperor himself have been so favored?”

“Emperor Gaozong held deep affection for His Majesty the current emperor,” I said, noticing her earnest expression and feeling a playful urge, “otherwise, how could the precedent of the ‘Two Sagely Sovereigns’ jointly presiding over court affairs have ever occurred?”

Wan’er fixed her gaze on me. “How much political maneuvering lay behind that—you’ve surely heard whispered accounts yourself. Moreover, even if his intense favor back then stemmed from genuine love, what followed afterward remains known only to Emperor Gaozong himself.”

I smiled faintly and said nothing more.

I’d only said it offhandedly just now—I’ve never been able to best her in an argument, so why invite unnecessary trouble? Besides, this matter is already shrouded in complications; stirring up a bit of confusion by feigning interest might even make her genuinely believe I harbor such intentions. And now, by quietly stepping back, I’ll let her enjoy a small advantage—perhaps she’ll reveal something more interesting.

Wan’er set down the candle snuffers and came to sit beside me: “Leaving aside whether the imperial family truly harbors sincere feelings, consider merely your respective identities and surnames—this matter demands utmost caution. Ever since His Majesty ascended the throne last year, the Wu family has reached the pinnacle of power. But what comes after His Majesty? His legitimate sons and grandsons will still bear the Li surname. So, who can truly predict whose name the realm will ultimately bear in the future? Why, then, must you insist on entangling yourself with the Lis?”

Wan’er has always treated me with kindness and generosity, and she frequently speaks frankly—even on taboo subjects—to offer me guidance. Though she may have ulterior motives—such as drawing me closer—I can still distinguish sincerity from calculation. Her words just now, for instance, are undeniably truthful; how could I possibly fail to understand?

I hummed softly and propped my chin in my hand as I gazed at her: “So you deliberately had Yiping pull me away today?”

“I’m afraid someone might see you and cause unnecessary trouble,” Wan’er gave a faint, dismissive snort and said, “What I said just now was meant to persuade you—but what I’m saying now is a warning. Between Wei Tuan’er and you, whom do you think the Emperor trusts more?”

My heart tightened. “In ordinary, trivial matters, the Emperor might trust me more. But if it concerns the imperial throne or the Emperor himself, he might believe her instead.” After speaking, I picked up the teacup beside me and took a sip—yet I still couldn’t quite grasp Wan’er’s intention.

Wei Tuan’er was a favorite at court, nearly as influential as Wan’er herself. Though she lacked Wan’er’s political acumen, her status within the inner palace was formidable. So what exactly did Wan’er mean by that remark? I didn’t believe my involvement with Prince Yongping would provoke that woman’s enmity.

Wan’er paused thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Wei Tuan’er has set her sights on the Crown Prince.”

I nearly choked on my tea: “Really?”

Wan’er also lifted her teacup and sipped delicately: “Of course it’s true.”

Wei Tuan’er had set her sights on Li Chengqi’s father—just thinking about it struck me as truly bizarre. I couldn’t help but smile: before Empress Wu ascended the throne, all the palace maids had schemed relentlessly to please the sole genuine man in the palace; now that Empress Wu had taken the throne, those same maids were exhausting every effort to marry one of the imperial princes or grandsons…

I reined in my wandering thoughts and said, “Even if she’s taken a fancy to the Crown Prince, what does that have to do with me?” Though she’d set her sights on Li Chengqi’s father, at most it felt a little odd—what possible taboo could there be?

Wan’er let out a soft sigh and remained silent for half a moment.

My mind raced in endless circles, yet I could find no flaw in the situation—so I simply finished my tea and waited quietly for her guidance.

“The problem lies in the fact that she has set her sights on the Crown Prince, yet he is a shrewd man who would never dare entangle himself with her. I know Wei Tuan’er’s temperament well: if she cannot have something, she will destroy it herself. Thus, I suspect she is currently seeking an opportunity to punish the Crown Prince. And if she were to learn of your relationship with the Imperial Grandson, it might just become the perfect chance to frame you,” Wan’er set down her teacup and said, “Love brings a thousand trials and tribulations—back then, even I could not escape this trap, so I cannot truly help you. Still, within this palace’s intricate web of schemes and calculations, avoid them wherever you can.”

A chill ran through me—how unjust it was for the Crown Prince to be embroiled in such trouble merely because of a woman’s infatuation.

Wan’er rose and adjusted her brocade披帛 embroidered with golden threads, then suddenly remembered something and casually asked, “There’s one thing I’ve been puzzling over endlessly—why were you and Prince Yongping in Yidu’s room?”