The Emperor returned to his bedchamber late at night. Softly and quietly, he pushed open the hidden door to the warm chamber. As expected, Li Fuxiang had once again nestled into Yagu’s embrace and was already sound asleep. The Emperor extended an index finger, hooked the boy’s small hand from under the quilt, and carefully examined it under the dim candlelight.
He tried to find traces of past suffering on Li Fuxiang’s hands. Perhaps due to the rapid healing ability of children, Li Fuxiang’s hands now bore no obvious scars. Only upon close inspection could one notice an unusual darkness at the base of the nails, resembling dried blood—neither fully black nor truly red.
Yagu pointed to Li Fuxiang’s right thumb and said, “Broken.”
That cunning fox-like spy had once cruelly snapped one of his fingers. Later, Yagu used a tree branch as a splint and went through countless hardships, obtaining various medicines to nurse it back to its current state.
The Emperor, now able to understand some simple sign language, furrowed his brows and fell silent for a while before taking Li Fuxiang out of Yagu’s embrace and carrying him away.
The next day, when Li Fuxiang woke up and saw the glaringly bright yellow curtains, he once again revealed a confused expression.
Gao Yuexing always woke early and would appear in his line of sight the moment he opened his eyes.
The moment Li Fuxiang saw her, he smiled with crescent-shaped eyes.
As a result, the Emperor’s gaze toward Gao Yuexing grew noticeably dangerous.
Gao Yuexing noticed but didn’t care.
The Emperor’s eccentricities were nothing new—after all, who could blame her husband for having such an unusual father?
After breakfast, the Emperor solemnly asked Yagu if she still remembered any distinguishing features of the perpetrator. Yagu only recalled the overwhelming blood and the unbearable terror of that time. She had no clear memory of the thief clad in night clothes. So, she turned to Li Fuxiang and asked if he could recall anything.
Li Fuxiang took a sip of tea and, surprisingly, nodded. He obediently sat at the desk, motioning for paper and a brush.
The palace attendants received the order and bustled about in haste to serve him.
Gao Yuexing observed carefully from the side. Li Fuxiang’s hand trembled subtly whenever he held the brush. In that instant, she suddenly realized—his poor handwriting wasn’t due to a lack of talent or practice. His hand, having been broken in childhood, had suffered irreversible damage, leaving him incapable of producing bold and vigorous strokes.
Li Fuxiang used the fine tip of a small, delicate brush to draw an object on the rice paper—a jade accessory often worn on a man’s waist.
A pipa-shaped fastener with double-ringed pendants.
The sight of the pipa fastener made Gao Yuexing’s pupils contract sharply.
Indeed, there was no inexplicable hatred in this world; all love and resentment had their reasons.
Li Fuxiang’s hatred for pipa fasteners had already shown signs long ago.
The Emperor picked up the rice paper and blew the ink dry. Without a doubt, this was an extremely important clue. He approvingly patted Li Fuxiang’s head and tucked the drawing into his robe.
Gao Yuexing had a gut feeling that unrest would soon sweep through the palace, as if hidden currents were surging everywhere.
Under the pretext of recovering from illness, the Emperor confined Li Fuxiang, forbidding him from wandering outside. This suited Li Fuxiang perfectly; he contentedly buried himself in dreams, sleeping through day and night in blissful oblivion.
Gao Yuexing remained awake, resting her chin in her hands, staring at the small figure on the bed. She thought: How can he sleep so much? Bored out of her mind, she sat idly for a while. Then, emboldened by mischief, she tiptoed closer. Seizing a moment when no one was watching, she planted a light kiss on his forehead, as fleeting as a dragonfly skimming water.
After doing something mischievous, she acted as though nothing had happened and tried to quietly retreat. Unexpectedly, Li Fuxiang suddenly opened his eyes at that moment, catching her red-handed without warning.
Gao Yuexing unfolded a silk handkerchief to cover the lower half of her face, pretending to be calm as she met his gaze.
Li Fuxiang, no longer sleepy, sat up holding the quilt and gestured, “What are you doing?”
Gao Yuexing thought she might have imagined it, but it seemed as though he was faintly excited.
After a moment’s thought, Gao Yuexing dismissed her guilt. He didn’t understand anything yet anyway, so she simply cast away her shame and boldly replied, “I was kissing you.”
Li Fuxiang asked, “Kiss? What is that?”
Gao Yuexing looked around to confirm no one was there, then reached out to pull down the bed’s curtain. The faint yellow gauze veiled them in shadows. Gao Yuexing, with great seriousness, kissed his face again.
She even smugly instructed, “Only I can kiss you because I’m your wife. You can’t tell anyone, either, because it’s a secret. And if the secret is revealed…” She glanced at a plum blossom bonsai on a small table by the window and said, “Your wife will wither and die in the snow like this flower in winter.”
Li Fuxiang was terrified and immediately clung to Gao Yuexing, refusing to let go.
Gao Yuexing froze.
In truth, she regretted her words the moment they left her mouth.
Although she was not particularly religious, she adhered to the principle of maintaining respectful distance from superstitions. Occasionally, when she let her mind wander, she harbored some taboos. A vague thought struck her: in her previous life, the day she died seemed to coincide with the first snowfall of that winter.
Gao Yuexing slapped herself and spat twice in frustration.
Ding Wenfu, hidden on a ceiling beam above, watched the affectionate pair below and felt increasingly troubled. As an observer, he had long noticed the unusual dynamics between the two children.
He had seen true childhood sweethearts before. He himself had once grown up with a little girl by his side.
Genuine affection between children was like a bowl of clear water—transparent and pure, with nothing to hide. Only desire was dirty and muddy, tainting what should be a straightforward and beautiful bond, making it obscure and difficult to understand.
Two children: one six years old, the other ten.
The one who should understand did not, while the one who shouldn’t seemed to have a hundred and twenty schemes brewing at all times.
It was clear that in a few years, the young prince’s body would begin to awaken to certain instincts. How could anyone not worry?
Gao Yuexing didn’t linger with Li Fuxiang for long because Fu Yun suddenly entered to report that the princess had sent a palace maid to invite her to Chunhe Palace for a chat.
The palace maid from Chunhe Palace was waiting outside the Qianqing Palace.
Gao Yuexing noticed nothing unusual. A few days earlier, when she and the princess had parted hurriedly at the training grounds, the princess had mentioned wanting to invite her for a chat at Chunhe Palace when they had time. Gao Yuexing had agreed then.
The Emperor forbade Li Fuxiang from running around but hadn’t restricted Gao Yuexing’s movements.
Gao Yuexing patted her skirt and stood up. Li Fuxiang tugged at the hem of her sleeve, pulling her toward him, clearly not wanting her to leave.
At that moment, Gao Yuexing’s expression turned cold and indifferent. She remained unmoved. “Go to sleep. When you wake up, I’ll be back.”
Having been firmly refused, Li Fuxiang obediently let go and watched Gao Yuexing put on a cloak and step into the snowy winter landscape outside, accompanied by Fu Yun.
Li Fuxiang followed her for a few steps to the doorway, where two eunuchs gently stopped him and coaxed him to return inside. Li Fuxiang had never been one to throw tantrums, so he complied and went back. However, as soon as he returned to his room, he pushed open a crack in the window and, like a slippery eel, climbed out.
He wasn’t even wearing a cloak to shield himself from the snow and wind.
Ding Wenfu silently cursed, “This is bad,” and leapt to the ground. Grabbing a fox fur from the bedside, he darted out the window in pursuit.
Gao Yuexing followed the palace maid from Chunhe Palace. Snow kept falling, covering the palace paths, which had just been swept, with a fresh layer of pure white. As Gao Yuexing walked, she glanced down at the snow-covered ground. The tips of her embroidered shoes peeked out beneath her pleated skirt, the crimson and gold hem swirling like petals. For a fleeting moment, she felt as though she were treading snow in search of plum blossoms. She removed her hood and turned back to look at the path she had taken. A faint, solitary trail of footprints meandered through the snow.
A smile lingered on Gao Yuexing’s lips, but as she smiled, it froze along with the icy snow around her.
Clearly, there had been two people walking, one in front and one behind. Why, then, were there footprints only from her?
The snow was thin.
Gao Yuexing struggled to turn her head and looked at the so-called palace maid leading the way.
The maid was not truly leaving no trace in the snow, but each of her steps left only the faintest, almost imperceptible impression, as thin as cicada wings. A gust of wind would erase them entirely.
It was the dead of winter.
In that instant, cold sweat broke out on Gao Yuexing’s back. A chill crept up her spine.
Was she really a palace maid from Chunhe Palace?
Gao Yuexing tried her best to recall but couldn’t remember anything specific.
When she had first seen her outside Qianqing Palace, Gao Yuexing had felt a vague familiarity, as though she had often seen this person before. That sense of recognition had kept her from questioning anything. But upon closer reflection, she realized it was only a hazy impression.
It was the kind of feeling where she thought, “I know this person; I’ve seen her frequently, but I can’t remember exactly where or when.”
Moments like this required only the smallest hint to dispel her wariness.
For example, the palace maid had not introduced herself when they first met, merely extended a fabricated invitation to Chunhe Palace. Naturally, Gao Yuexing had assumed she was from there.
Up ahead, the path split into two.
The left path led to Chunhe Palace, while the right led to the secluded Xiaonan Pavilion.
The maid stopped at the fork in the road.
Gao Yuexing forced herself to remain calm.
The maid’s face appeared plain and unassuming as she smiled and said, “Miss Gao, would you mind coming with me to Rouqi Pavilion to fetch the Fifth Prince? The princess is hosting a winter banquet today and has invited all her siblings to gather.”
Gao Yuexing quietly edged closer to the path leading to Chunhe Palace and smiled back. “No need to trouble yourself. You go ahead and fetch the Fifth Prince. Don’t worry about me; I know the way to Chunhe Palace. It’s terribly cold today, so please forgive me for being lazy.”
As she spoke, she folded her sleeves across her chest and stomped her feet, feigning a shiver from the cold.
Gao Yuexing had expected the maid to hesitate and insist further, but to her surprise, the maid readily agreed. “Very well. Please forgive me for any lack of attention. In this freezing weather, Miss Gao, be careful where you step.”
Be careful where you step…
Gao Yuexing’s heart tightened.
Was that genuine concern or a veiled warning?
She stood in place and surveyed her surroundings. The snowy day had already silenced the palace grounds, but now, not a single soul was visible on the broad, well-lit path.
What lay before her was no longer just two diverging roads.
Gao Yuexing turned back again, staring at the path she had taken.
Turning back the way she came was likely fraught with unknown dangers as well.
The palace maid entered the path leading to the secluded Xiaonan Pavilion, her figure soon vanishing into the swirling snow.
Gao Yuexing felt as though her seven senses and wits were utterly inadequate for the situation.
She had to admit—at that moment, she was afraid.
Fear would inevitably reveal weakness.
And weakness meant defeat.
Gao Yuexing understood that she had already fallen into a trap. This was a game she could neither avoid nor escape.