He withdrew his gaze expressionlessly.
As expected, to have any expectation from the Princess of Lin’an was entirely a mistake.
He stopped five paces west of her, bowed formally, and said, “Your servant pays respects to the Princess.”
His eyes fell on the rough tree trunk behind her. “May I ask, Princess, what brings you to the yamen in person?”
His voice was clear, cold, and distant.
Princess Ming Zhao’s smile froze, and in her heart, she cursed, “What a blockhead.”
She quickly adjusted, reaching into the wide sleeves to pull out a thick stack of handwritten palace regulations, holding it with both hands and extending it forward.
“Lord Cui,” her voice intentionally husky, “these are the palace rules I copied three hundred times. I’ve already finished them.”
She looked at him with admiration. “I thought, as you are the Imperial Father’s most trusted court official, and that day you taught me where I lacked in etiquette, I should first bring them for your inspection. See if my handwriting is acceptable. If not, I will revise it.”
Cui Weijin’s gaze fell on the thick stack of papers. He said nothing and reached out to take it.
The stack was heavy, with a tangible weight in his hands.
He flipped to the top page. The characters were neat “zhan hua” small regular script, carefully written stroke by stroke, clearly by someone trying hard to make it proper.
He flipped a few more pages—still neat.
Then he flipped back to the beginning to compare, stopping roughly a third of the way through.
The earlier pages were slightly loose in structure, with awkward turns and uneven pressure—sometimes heavy, sometimes light.
The later pages, while superficially similar, revealed careful imitation, smoother and more natural, with fluent starts and finishes.
Two people had written this!
Throughout the process, his brow furrowed tightly.
Princess Ming Zhao stared at his face, panicking when she saw his frown.
“No way… he can tell just from this? Is he a reincarnated Sun Wukong with golden eyes?”
“I only copied the first hundred pages myself; the remaining two hundred were too painful on my wrist. I had Cuiguo help me…”
She and Cuiguo had grown up together in Lingyang. Although the Imperial Father had hired a teacher for her to study reading and writing, she could never sit still, so Cuiguo, the maid who studied alongside her, often helped complete her lessons, perfectly mimicking her handwriting.
She thought her plan was flawless…
Seeing Cui Weijin simply flip through the pages without comment, Princess Ming Zhao decided to take the initiative.
She lifted her right wrist, presenting it under Cui Weijin’s gaze.
The sleeve slipped down slightly, revealing a fair, slender wrist, slightly reddened by the cold.
“Lord Cui, please see,” she said, feigning grievance, “my wrist is sore and aching after copying such a thick stack. It feels like a strained tendon; every movement is painful.”
She cast a sidelong glance at his reaction. “And these palace rules… there are just too many!”
“I counted—five thousand in total. Who could have the talent to make five thousand distinct rules without a single repetition?”
She counted on her fingers, the words flowing naturally: “Like ‘Do not rush while walking in the palace’ or ‘During non-festive banquets, palace ladies must not drink to excess’… so tedious, stricter than the old Senior Maid at Lingyang village gate!”
“Really…”
Her mind wandered, recalling the vulgar words of street vendors in Lingyang arguing, and she blurted out impulsively:
“Truly, an old sow wearing a bra, one set after another!”
Cui Weijin paused, his thin lips parting slightly. “Princess,” he said.
“These ‘Da Xian Palace Regulations,’ a total of five thousand and seven items,” he continued, his expression serious, “were revised under my supervision by imperial decree.”
Princess Ming Zhao’s carefully maintained delicate and pitiful expression froze instantly. Her mouth parted slightly. She felt as if she had been doused with icy water from head to toe in mid-winter, turning into a rigid ice sculpture.
“Did I just… insult… the ancestor of palace regulations?”
“And in person, no less?”
She stared at Cui Weijin’s face, every pore radiating the message: Yes, I personally revised them. Her mind went blank, leaving only the crude metaphor: old sow wearing a bra, one set after another.
The cold, solemn wind still blew mercilessly.
“Ha… ha… ha!”
Princess Ming Zhao laughed awkwardly.
“Utter humiliation, right in front of the original!”
“My mouth, my luck—what a disaster!”
“Completely doomed!”
She wished she could dig a hole and disappear, but instead forced a fawning smile, holding her hands in a thumbs-up gesture.
“Lord Cui, you are truly amazing!” she said extravagantly. “How could the palace regulations be written so well?”
“Organized, thorough, coming from your hand, no wonder you are the Chancellor, so learned, so talented, brimming with knowledge!”
“Your little servant admires you!”
Her flattery sounded stiff even to her own ears, giving her goosebumps, but in that moment, hard praise was the only way to diffuse the mortifying situation.
A gust of wind blew past, and Princess Ming Zhao deliberately sneezed.
“Ah-choo!”
Rubbing her reddened nose, she looked at Cui Weijin. “It’s far too cold outside.”
“Lord Cui, may I step in for a cup of warm tea to recover?”
“Also, there is a matter I wish to consult you about.”
Cui Weijin’s gaze lingered on her thin skirt for a moment. The fabric was light, the padded coat thin. Standing in the harsh winter wind, she could not withstand it for long.
He slightly nodded, stepping aside to make a path. “Princess, please follow me.”
They walked toward the corridor.
Princess Ming Zhao exhaled, quickening her pace to keep up.
The corridor connected the main halls of the yamen. During office hours, officials in various robes hurried past, carrying scrolls and documents.
Seeing Cui Weijin, they all immediately stopped and bowed. “Lord Cui.”
Most of the time, Cui Weijin only nodded slightly, continuing forward with his posture straight and dignified.
Princess Ming Zhao followed half a step behind, curiously observing the officials.
“He seems well-liked, doesn’t he?”
Her gaze drifted back to him.
“The way he walks… so upright, like the books say: ‘Stand like orchid and jade tree, smile like bright moon in the arms.’ Orchid and jade tree—check. Bright moon in the arms—haven’t seen him smile much.”
Her eyes traced down his straight back, sweeping past his neatly tapered waist, then quickly shifted away, her cheeks warming.
“Good looks aside, broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs… was heaven biased when making him, piling all the best traits onto one person?”
She glanced at a middle-aged official bowing nearby, a bit overweight, thinking, “Now that’s just an NPC, ordinary and unremarkable.”
From a side hall, the door opened and a young official stepped out.
He wore a moon-white embroidered robe, delicate and refined, with soft, curved brows, gentle features—a masculine face with a touch of femininity—Xie Xing, the heir of the Xie family and current Minister of the Secretariat.
Xie Xing bowed. “Brother Yi Ze.”
Cui Weijin stopped, returning the bow. “Heng Zhi.”