Li Xuan’s voice was low and resonant. The sudden sound of her own name from his lips made Chun Feng’s ears tingle as if brushed by something unseen. She rubbed at her ear while drooping her head, shuffling toward the door. Her gaze fell on the dark patterns embroidered into the leather of his boots.
Zou Huan ventured, “Your Highness, the princess is still young, so she came up with this idea…”
Chun Feng was about to reply, but Li Xuan turned his foot slightly toward Zou Huan. His tone was calm yet carried authority: “How old is the princess? And how old are you?”
Often, Li Xuan did not need to spell things out—anyone perceptive could grasp his meaning. Zou Huan was perceptive. He instantly understood: the princess was sixteen, while he was seventy-six. No matter what the princess did, it was not his place to indulge her mischief.
Zou Huan felt the dignity he had preserved all his life crumble in that moment. He dropped to his knees: “I acknowledge my fault. Please, Your Highness, punish me.”
Chun Feng kept her eyes lowered, steadying herself. As expected, Li Xuan’s next words were directed at her, though he did not ask her age. His voice was deep: “Your temperament needs tempering.”
Chun Feng bobbed her head quickly in agreement.
With that, Li Xuan instructed her maid Xiang Rui: “Pack your mistress’s books. She is to practice writing in the study.”
Chun Feng nodded again, while Xiang Rui stepped forward and bowed: “Yes.”
Moments earlier, Xiang Rui had been anxious when Li Xuan suddenly returned to the side hall. But unlike Chun Feng, she was an observer and could see more clearly. The crown prince was sending the princess to the study not as punishment, but simply to discipline her character. She thought to herself: she had once said the crown prince was “lenient”—and indeed, she had not been wrong.
The East Palace study lay beneath the guest quarters. Sunlight streamed in, dust motes dancing. The furnishings were austere: a nanmu chair at the center, several officials’ hat chairs to the sides, clearly arranged for frequent visits by ministers.
A folding screen painted with calligraphy from the Spring and Autumn Annals divided the hall. Attendants brought in a desk and chair—this would be Chun Feng’s “whetstone.”
Since the floor heating had not yet been lit, Chun Feng shivered. She glanced around; Chun Shu had surely never been here. At this rate, if Li Xuan caught her a few more times, she would have “toured” the entire East Palace.
Chang Ying took the ink stick from Xiang Rui, grinding it in the inkstone, then whispered to Chun Feng: “Princess, while you write your lessons here, if you need anything, just call for Jin Yun.”
After giving the instructions, he handed the ink stick back to Xiang Rui, signaling her and Jin Yun to serve attentively, then slipped behind the screen.
On the other side, Li Xuan sat upright in the nanmu chair, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. “Summon Chen Jin.”
Chang Ying obeyed: “Yes. Summon Chen Jin—”
Soon, the official arrived. Chen Jin, a palace diarist who recorded the emperor’s words and deeds, walked in with small, cautious steps. Bowing deeply, he said nervously: “This humble servant greets Your Highness. With the Winter Solstice grand sacrifice approaching, should we request His Majesty to emerge from seclusion?”
Li Xuan said, “Go remind Eunuch Kang—he knows what to do.”
Minister Chen replied, “I obey,” then added a few words: “Seven days ago, Daoist Wang presented His Majesty with new elixirs. Yesterday, His Majesty swallowed five at once. I fear…”
Li Xuan answered carelessly, “Understood.”
Realizing Li Xuan had no wish to listen further, Minister Chen quickly stopped and withdrew: “This minister takes his leave.”
Behind the screen, Chun Feng, emboldened by being unseen, shrugged her shoulders and mouthed the words in imitation: This minister takes his leave~
Xiang Rui and Jin Yun lowered their heads, stifling laughter.
With this little scene, Chun Feng suddenly realized Li Xuan was quite busy and had no time to manage her. Rather than copying dull characters, she thought it better to use the chance—while she could sit still—to resolve the matter weighing on her heart. She beckoned, and Xiang Rui fetched a stack of papers from her book chest.
On those sheets were copied explanations of the characters from Lin Qingxiao’s letter. Following her memory, she pieced together the words. The opening read: “To Chun Feng, in person. It has been many days—are you still well…?”
In the middle was a long passage sending regards to Lin Datian and Yu Xiujun. Only in the final section did it mention their present situation: “Don’t worry. Everything has its ups and downs. As long as your days go well…”
Reading on, Chun Feng furrowed her brows. She realized Master Zou hadn’t deceived her—there truly was nothing of substance in the letter.
If one had to summarize, it could be boiled down to a single line: I didn’t mean to harm your family. After receiving this letter, you can ask others—there’s nothing written here. Live well; I am living well too.
Chun Feng: “?”
After all that effort, she’d only managed to piece together a letter full of empty words? Was someone playing a trick on her? She sprang up and threw a few punches at the air.
On the other side, Li Xuan was discussing state affairs with his minister. Mid‑sentence, both of them paused and turned their gaze toward the screen.
The few ministers who entered and left the Eastern Palace at set hours all noticed the newly added screen. To say they weren’t curious would be false. Yet they were all too polished to betray it, pretending not to see.
But now, through the calligraphy on the screen, a blurred shadow could be seen flailing about—hard to act as though one hadn’t noticed.
Li Xuan’s gaze sharpened. “Has the air offended you?”
The minister quickly lowered his head. From behind the screen came a moment’s silence, then the guilty voice of a girl: “There was a mosquito.”
The minister was startled—it was a girl? And dumbfounded: in weather this cold, where would a mosquito come from?
The Crown Prince seemed to know she was talking nonsense. He gave a soft, dismissive laugh. He slowly sipped his tea, no longer paying attention to the person behind the screen, and said to the minister, “Bring out the memorial from the Censorate impeaching Chancellor Wang…”
The minister held his breath and listened closely to the Crown Prince’s instructions.
Before long, Chang Ying entered the study with two young eunuchs, carrying bundles of mugwort to drive away mosquitoes.
The smell of burning mugwort was strong. Chun Feng grew dizzy and asked Jin Yun to open the window lattice. A gust of cold wind swept in, carrying fallen leaves against her face. She breathed in deeply, feeling refreshed, and tried to focus on copying large characters.
Moments later, her head tilted back and she sneezed softly: “Ah‑choo!”
Chang Ying returned with attendants. They shut the window to a narrow crack; some lit the floor‑heating dragon, others added a charcoal brazier.
When all was done, Chang Ying glanced at Chun Feng—oblivious to the changes around her, absorbed in sketching pig heads. He couldn’t help but smile. Truly, the Eastern Palace had welcomed a little ancestor.
Fortunately, after that, the “little ancestor” caused no further commotion.
With the floor‑heating lit, the room grew suddenly warm. Li Xuan loosened one sleeve button, and Chang Ying, tactful as ever, replaced the hot tea with warm.
Li Xuan remained busy until dusk quietly fell. When the last minister withdrew, he rose. Chang Ying stepped forward with a handkerchief.
Li Xuan wiped his jaw, then, recalling something, walked around the screen—and stopped. Xiang Rui and Jin Yun moved to bow, but he raised a hand to spare them.
Chang Ying followed his gaze. Ah, so that was why the princess had been so quiet—she had fallen asleep.
Chun Feng lay sideways on the desk, one hand clutching a brush. The fine wolf‑hair tip had splayed across the paper. Compared to the brush, her thick lashes drooped meekly. A fox‑fur cloak wrapped her into a small bundle, yet she was sweating, her cheeks flushed red. She did not look entirely at ease.
Chang Ying worried aloud: “Could the Princess be unwell?”
Li Xuan frowned. “Summon the Imperial Physician.”
Soon, the Court Physician arrived at the Eastern Palace with his medicine chest.
Unlike the Taiji Palace, the Eastern Palace hardly ever summoned the Imperial Physicians—perhaps twice in a whole year. The Court Physician, fearing the Crown Prince himself was ill, ignored his old bones and rushed headlong. Only upon arrival did he learn the patient was the little princess.
Just moments before, several palace maids had helped Chun Feng lie flat upon the couch. Even with all that fuss, she remained asleep.
The physician took her pulse through a handkerchief. After a long while, he put the cloth away and whispered to Li Xuan: “Reporting to Your Highness, the princess’s pulse is neither floating nor sinking. It should only be deep sleep.”
So, no illness—the beads of sweat on her brow were simply from the heat.
Li Xuan: “…”
Chang Ying gave a sheepish smile. “If she’s fine, that’s good.” He quickly called to Xiang Rui: “Well, aren’t you going to wipe the princess’s sweat?”
Xiang Rui answered, “Yes,” and knelt, using a silk handkerchief to dab Chun Feng’s brow. She secretly admired the little princess: reluctant in the Eastern Palace, yet sleeping so sweetly—was she truly afraid of the Crown Prince or not?
After a few strokes, Chun Feng turned her head aside, murmuring faintly: “Mother…”
Xiang Rui froze. From the side, a hand reached out—its knuckles pale, Buddhist beads tight around the wrist, faint veins rising beneath the skin.
Li Xuan: “Give it to me.”
Startled, Xiang Rui quietly handed him the handkerchief and withdrew.
Li Xuan did not lean in as she had. Standing a step away, he bent slightly, one hand behind his back, the other brushing lightly across the girl’s temple through the soft silk.
Just once—and he withdrew.
At that moment, she rolled over to avoid him, muttering in her sleep, presenting the round back of her head. Yet the disordered strands at her temple brushed against his fingertips.
Li Xuan looked at her, his gaze shadowed and deep.