【Cui Weijin.】
【So it’s him. I actually ran straight into him.】
Her eyes couldn’t help but quickly sweep over the man before her.
His black court robe was worn with absolute precision, even the topmost collar fastened tightly. The seals hanging from his belt—she couldn’t recognize all of them, but the outline of the golden seal at the bottom looked faintly familiar from the fragmented court bulletins she had seen in Lingyang.
It was the insignia of a prime minister.
【The head of the Cui Clan of Qinghe. The true leader of the aristocratic families.】
Cui Weijin clearly heard the voice of a young woman echo in his mind, directly stating his identity and power.
His gaze swept the surroundings—only the submissive court eunuchs, the flustered maid, and the Princess of Lin’an standing before him.
No one had spoken.
Was it an auditory hallucination caused by exhaustion from handling state affairs through the night?
“Lord Cui?” she paused, then asked, “How did you know who I am?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she felt she had asked something pointless.
【Stupid question.】
That voice appeared again, carrying merciless self-mockery.
【Isn’t this Princess title something those noble families like him granted with a nod? What in this world is there that he doesn’t know?】
The voice again!
This time, he heard it even more clearly—“Princess title.”
Cui Weijin’s gaze instantly locked onto Princess Ming Zhao’s face. Her lips had not moved at all.
Yet the voice was unmistakably hers.
He glanced around. Everyone else looked normal, completely unaware—only he could hear it?
What kind of sorcery was this? Someone dared to use such forbidden arts within the palace—and on him?
The coldness and disgust in his eyes were undisguised.
His gaze returned to Princess Ming Zhao. First, she had collided with him in breach of etiquette; now, she was using such sinister techniques. This Princess of Lin’an, newly returned to Ye City, was full of “surprises.”
According to the law, those who used witchcraft to manipulate minds could face the harshest punishment—execution.
She had already committed two offenses upon arrival.
Troublesome.
Cui Weijin recalled her anxious urgency to see the Emperor—that anxiety had been completely unmasked…
Could it be not her? Or perhaps she herself didn’t even know?
First, there was no evidence—he could not conclude anything based solely on hearing an intangible voice.
Second, this involved a royal Princess. Mishandling it could cause unrest and shake the court.
In a brief moment, Cui Weijin had already made his decision.
He said nothing more, stepping aside to yield the palace path leading toward the Golden Throne Hall. His movements were smooth yet distant.
“Princess, please.”
Princess Ming Zhao was slightly surprised. She had expected this renowned Lord Cui to at least put on airs and lecture her about “proper conduct in the palace.”
Yet he simply stepped aside?
She didn’t stand on ceremony. She gave a casual nod as acknowledgment and lifted her foot to leave.
After a few steps, her boots striking the stone pavement, she suddenly stopped and turned around.
Cui Weijin had already taken a few steps in the opposite direction.
“Lord Cui,” Princess Ming Zhao called, raising her voice.
Cui Weijin stopped and turned back.
The snowy light illuminated half his face, making his features appear even colder and sharper, like ink painting.
He stood there quietly, waiting for her to continue.
Princess Ming Zhao sized him up from top to bottom. Her gaze was unabashed, traveling from his meticulously arranged crown to the seals at his waist, and finally returning to his face.
Her lips curved upward into a bright smile, tinged with a hint of teasing. In the silent palace road, it was especially clear.
“You’re the most handsome young master I’ve seen since coming to Ye City!”
As soon as the words fell, she didn’t wait for his reply. She didn’t even notice the instant darkening of Cui Weijin’s eyes. She turned neatly and left.
Her red robe swept through the air in a bold arc as she walked off briskly with Cuiguo and the court eunuchs, soon disappearing around the palace corner.
Only Cui Weijin and a few eunuchs remained.
The eunuchs stood stiff as wooden figures, heads lowered, wishing they could block their ears.
What had they just heard?
The Princess of Lin’an had actually flirted with Lord Cui in public?
What kind of impropriety was that!
Cui Weijin’s face remained expressionless, though his gaze deepened slightly as he watched the flash of red disappear.
An attendant beside him couldn’t hold back and muttered disdainfully, “This Princess of Lin’an has grown wild outside. She has no bearing of a Princess—full of street vulgarity. Truly a mad Princess.”
Hearing this, Cui Weijin cast a faint glance at him. There was no visible emotion, yet the attendant immediately fell silent, cold sweat breaking out on his back.
“How the Princess conducts herself,” Cui Weijin said, “is not for subjects to discuss recklessly.”
“If it happens again—”
The attendant immediately dropped to his knees. “This servant was wrong! I won’t dare again!”
Cui Weijin turned and walked in the opposite direction from Princess Ming Zhao. The hem of his black robe brushed silently across the cold ground.
The attendants hurried after him, hardly daring to breathe.
His steps were steady, as always.
Yet beneath those usually calm eyes, something stirred slowly.
The matter of witchcraft that bewitched the mind—this must be investigated.
But it had to be done in secret, without alerting anyone.
He had seen many women—consorts of the palace, daughters of noble families, even dancers and musicians. Before him, all had been proper, restrained, and dignified.
Even those who admired him did so subtly—through poetry or paintings, indirect and reserved.
Never had anyone so bluntly appraised him like an object, publicly declaring him handsome.
Lively. Unrestrained. Like a fireball crashing in without care.
Troublesome as well.
Rules, propriety, boundaries—these things that formed his world and kept it functioning—
Seemed not to exist at all for her.
They were not the same kind of people.
Cui Weijin lowered his eyes, concealing all thoughts within.
The cold wind lifted the wide sleeves of his official robe, making his tall figure appear solitary and upright—blending into the red walls and white snow of the palace, yet somehow entirely out of place.
…
Inside the Golden Throne Hall, the charcoal burned brightly. The air carried a mix of medicinal scent and incense, making it somewhat stifling.
Princess Ming Zhao pushed open the heavy hall doors and rushed in. The person seated on the couch inside was coughing with his head lowered, shoulders trembling.
He held a handkerchief to his mouth. Hearing the noise, he looked up.
Princess Ming Zhao paused for only a moment, then rushed forward in a few quick steps. She stretched out her arms and tightly embraced her Imperial Father, burying her face in his slightly worn everyday robes.
【Warm… Imperial Father is still here…】
Her arms tightened, so tight that she herself trembled slightly.
Emperor Ming Chong was knocked back slightly by the impact before steadying himself.
The handkerchief fell onto the couch. He looked down blankly, seeing only the top of his daughter’s dark hair.
After a long moment, he slowly raised a trembling hand and gently patted her thin back, again and again.
“Awu,” he called her childhood name.
“My Awu has returned.” He lifted his other hand as if to touch her head, but stopped halfway, letting it rest lightly on her shoulder instead.
“You’ve grown so much… Imperial Father can barely hold you anymore.”
Princess Ming Zhao rubbed against him, then lifted her head. Her eyes were red, yet her lips stretched into a wide smile.
She reached out a finger and poked his sunken cheek.
“Imperial Father has grown old,” she said. “But you look younger than the last time I saw you in my dream.”