Chapter 10

The heavy gates were bolted shut. The flower pavilion was tucked away in a secluded corner, where the dense canopy blocked the sunlight, leaving the interior in a dim, murky gloom that necessitated the lighting of several palace lanterns beside the pillars.

Marquis Wen’an, Yun Zheng, knelt on the floor, drenched in cold sweat. He dared not raise his eyes to look at the figure presiding on the dais. Moments ago, he had recited every carefully prepared, ingratiating word he could muster, convincing himself that his display of earnestness—even going so far as to weep—would stir some pity in the man before him. He hoped that the noble, who possessed half the blood of the Yun family, would show mercy to his maternal grandfather’s house, which had fallen on hard times, and refrain from pushing them to the brink of extinction.

He had not expected to receive only this in return: "Before the late Prince departed, his only wish was for the total annihilation of the Marquis Wen’an estate. Seeing you so servile now, Lord Yun, truly puts this Prince in a difficult position."

The words were spoken without haste or hesitation. There was no sign of conflict in the Prince’s tone, only a cold, mocking impatience.

A frigid gaze bore down from above, pressing heavily upon him. Marquis Wen’an felt a chill run through his marrow, as if the man seated there were the late Prince Jin himself. Swallowing hard, the Marquis clenched his fists and cast his final trump card, his voice trembling as he spoke with desperate fervor:

"Your Highness... Your Highness is a man of grand vision, with a heart broad enough to contain all rivers. My estate knows well that we failed the late Princess back then. After my father was dismissed and imprisoned, he lived in constant remorse, lamenting how his own greed and ambition had harmed his own daughter. But now, he has spent years consumed by grief and resentment. How long must this cycle of retribution continue?"

"If Your Highness is willing, our Yun family is prepared to serve you like dogs and horses, never wavering even in the face of death. A great cause cannot be pursued without assistance. Though I lack talent, my household possesses some modest assets. I can offer Your Highness five thousand taels of gold immediately, and every year hereafter, the tribute shall only increase."

He lowered his voice to a whisper at the end. After all, they were in the imperial villa, and though the grounds were guarded by the Prince’s own men, caution was paramount.

Zong Lin stared coldly at the Marquis, who was trembling while forcing a fawning smile. After a long silence, just as the Marquis felt he might drown in his own sweat, Zong Lin suddenly clapped his hands and laughed.

"Lord Yun is truly sincere." Zong Lin stood up, stepped down from the dais, and made a show of helping him up. "How could I not appreciate the Marquis’s kind intentions?"

Marquis Wen’an let out a long breath, on the verge of tears. The dark clouds hanging over him seemed to have finally parted. "That Your Highness can let go of past grievances, I am truly, truly... If there is any way this humble servant can be of use, my entire clan would face death without regret!"

Zong Lin’s thin lips curled slightly as his large hand patted Yun Zheng’s shoulder, almost imperceptibly. "There is no need for your entire clan to die in my service, Lord Yun. You speak too heavily."

The Marquis trembled even more. "This humble servant speaks from the heart, Your Highness, truly."

Zong Lin’s expression remained unreadable as he shifted the topic. "You said earlier that the late Princess’s former residence remains exactly as it was?"

"Yes, yes!" At the mention of the late Princess Jin, the Marquis grew instantly agitated, caught between fear and anticipation. "The Miao Pavilion where the Princess once lived remains unchanged, and all the items from her maiden years are still there."

Zong Lin was silent for a moment before saying, "Later, I shall pay a visit personally."

This meant he intended to grace the Marquis’s estate with his presence. The Marquis was overcome with joy and nodded repeatedly. "For Your Highness to visit my humble abode is the greatest honor for my entire house!"

Emboldened, he continued, "I will not hide it from Your Highness—my relatives have missed you dearly. I have four daughters, and whenever they hear of your heroic deeds on the battlefield, they all speak of their admiration for their cousin."

"Oh?" Zong Lin glanced at him with a faint, mocking smile. "Is that so?"

The Marquis wished he could strike his own chest to prove his sincerity. "It is absolutely true!"

Lowering his voice again, he sighed, "Furthermore, our clan has always held the late Princess as a model when raising our unmarried daughters. As luck would have it, my eldest daughter bears an uncanny resemblance to the Princess. Many times, I feel as if I am looking at the Princess in her youth."

This time, the man before him did not respond with warmth. Instead, he smiled, but the coldness in his eyes intensified sharply. The Marquis, lost in his own words, looked up and met Zong Lin’s sudden, bone-chilling glare. His smile froze instantly.

"Yo-Your Highness?"

"Get out." The change in tone was as swift and heartless as a turning page.

Marquis Wen’an felt his hair stand on end. Frozen for a few seconds, he didn't even have time to offer a formal farewell before turning and stumbling out of the room, not daring to linger for even a second. He had seen clearly into those ink-black eyes, and they were filled with nothing but the intent to kill. Even in his foolishness, he realized he had overstepped, touching the Prince’s forbidden scale.

He Cheng stood by the door, watching the Marquis scramble away, his face livid. He had practiced martial arts since childhood and had heard every word of the conversation clearly. He had always known the Marquis of Wen’an was base, but he had not realized they could remain so shameless after all these years.

When the late Princess had married the old Prince and was heavily pregnant with the young Prince, her own mother—a concubine—had died suddenly in the Marquis’s estate. Upon hearing the news, the Princess had been so shocked that she suffered a traumatic labor and nearly lost her life. Though mother and child survived, the Princess remained frail. The old Prince, heart-broken, refused to let her stay in that den of vipers and, following the Emperor's decree, took his wife and child to his fiefdom.

The northwest was harsh and cold. The Princess, weak in health, fell ill repeatedly. Once, during a high fever that lasted a month, the Prince summoned every great physician in the realm to save her. Just as she was barely holding on, a caravan arrived from the capital. It was from the Marquis’s estate, sent by a younger half-sister of the Princess, claiming that her family was deeply worried about the Princess’s long illness and had sent her to visit.

The old Prince disliked the Marquis’s estate and did not want the girl to stay, but the Princess was overjoyed to see her younger sister. Her own mother and this girl’s mother had lived together for years in the Marquis’s household, and the girl had been close to her. Seeing her sister brought the Princess such joy that her health actually began to improve, so she asked the Prince to let her stay for a time. The Prince, seeing his wife so happy, reluctantly agreed, though he ordered his servants to watch closely, fearing the Marquis’s household harbored ill intentions.

His fears proved prophetic. The girl had come carrying the venomous words of the old Marquis. After a few days, seeing that the Princess was so weak she could barely walk, she revealed her purpose. The old Marquis had assumed the Princess was dying and, fearing that if the Prince remarried, the imperial connection would be severed, he had sent the girl to demand that the Princess persuade her husband to make her sister the next Princess Jin after she died.

The Princess, never imagining her own family could be so cruel—and that the sister she had been so close to would come to steal her husband and child—was seized by such grief and rage that she passed away shortly thereafter.

The old Prince, devastated, went nearly mad. He had everyone from the Marquis’s estate executed, including the sister, whom he had hacked to pieces. He held the Princess’s body and wept, refusing to let anyone near, completely lost in his madness. When news reached the capital, the Emperor—already dealing with border incursions—was furious to learn that the stupidity of the Marquis’s estate had cost him his best commander and driven his brother to madness. He immediately stripped the old Marquis of his titles and had him imprisoned, subjected to daily floggings.

Only later, looking at his young son, who bore a striking resemblance to his mother, did the old Prince finally recover, though he became cold and violent thereafter. The young Prince, though only a child at the time, had been old enough to remember, and he could never forget that deep grudge.

And now, this Marquis had the audacity to talk about his daughter resembling the Princess and admiring her cousin. It was nauseating. They had used the Princess as a model to send a sister to replace her, and now they were using her again, their intentions plain to see. They clearly did not realize that their Prince was no fool; there was no place in the Prince’s residence for the Marquis’s estate to interfere.

"He Cheng." The call came from inside.

He Cheng hurried into the room and bowed his head respectfully. "Your Highness."

"Accompany me for a walk." Zong Lin said in a low voice and stepped out of the pavilion.

He Cheng pursed his lips and followed closely behind. He knew his master was deeply agitated; as a trusted aide who had served him for years, how could he fail to notice?

The moment they stepped out of the pavilion, Zong Lin waved his hand, signaling the hidden guards to disperse.

The garden was filled with lush summer foliage. As they walked away from the pavilion, they could occasionally see noble men and women fishing in the ponds or reciting poetry, but as they moved deeper into the grounds, it became increasingly quiet. Zong Lin’s brows were locked in a deep furrow. He had no heart for scenery; he strode forward, parting branches and brushing aside leaves.

Perhaps due to the heat, the agitation in his heart flared like a wildfire. His long fingers twitched, and the thick calluses on his palms, formed by years of training, felt strangely sensitive. He hungered for his long sword, wishing he could decapitate those who had offended him on the spot.

He walked faster and faster, his back radiating a dark, angry aura that left He Cheng terrified.

Turning a secret path through the woods, he heard a sound.

*Plop.*

A stone hit the water, followed by the crisp, rhythmic sound of ripples. In the deep silence of the garden, where only the occasional bird or insect chirped, it was crystal clear.

Zong Lin tilted his head and signaled his follower to stop, then walked slowly toward the sound. Rounding a rockery, he found the entrance to a small bridge over a pond. The pond was not large, and in the center stood a solitary pavilion. The sound of the stone-throwing had come from the person inside.

Zong Lin’s eyesight was excellent; the scene in the pavilion was perfectly clear.

A woman was leaning lazily against a pavilion pillar. She was dressed in extremely plain attire, and the hairpins in her hair were made of silver—by conventional standards, quite shabby. Yet, these modest clothes could not hide her snow-white skin. Without makeup, with her hair styled simply, she appeared even more alluring, her features radiant and charming. Her expression was incredibly soft, her eyes as gentle as spring water. These two qualities, which should have been at odds, melted together into an indescribable charm.

She instantly dispelled the heat of early summer, leaving behind a strange, lingering warmth.

Zong Lin could tell at a glance that she was a woman of humble origins. If she were of high status and her husband were capable, why would she be dressed like this in the imperial villa?

The woman seemed to be waiting for someone. Bored, she had run out of stones and had begun plucking petals from the branches. They fell from her white, delicate palm like snow onto the surface of the pond.

Zong Lin stood by a tree, watching, his pupils deepening.

Tired of her play, the woman pulled a small handkerchief from her sleeve. She seemed to be suffering from the heat; she used the pale gauze to dab her forehead, her cheeks, and then lower. She tilted her head back, her red lips parting slightly in a soft breath. As she wiped away the thin layer of sweat, her graceful figure was revealed through the simple dress: delicate collarbones, soft, lush curves, and a willow-thin waist.

It was not the nimble, agile beauty of noble ladies, but the softness of deep, still water.

Zong Lin narrowed his eyes, his breathing suddenly growing heavier.