The Record of the Transmission of the Lamp states:
That night became one that Zhan Zhao and Zhan Yuan would never forget for the rest of their lives.
Their master had raced thousands of miles back to Yanjing for one reason only—to see Second Miss Pei before the day ended, wish her a happy birthday, and apologize in person.
By all logic, after returning from the Marquis’ residence, even if he was not overflowing with joy, his mood should at least have been better than the gloomy silence that had accompanied him on the journey home.
Yet the moment he left Liuli Courtyard, he shut himself inside his room, remaining there for more than half an hour.
Listening to the pacing footsteps from within, Zhan Zhao and Zhan Yuan dared not speak.
Unexpectedly, some time later, Yan Huaijin flung open the doors, ordered the shadow guards to keep a strict watch over Chengqian Palace, then summoned the two of them inside.
Everyone in the palace knew that the Third Prince differed from the other princes in one particular respect—he kept no eunuchs or young attendants by his side, nor were palace maids allowed anywhere near his private chambers. All personal matters were handled solely by Zhan Zhao and Zhan Yuan, a decision jointly made by both the Empress and Yan Huaijin himself.
There were two reasons.
First, the Empress had long grown accustomed to seeing ambitious people in the palace resort to every underhanded trick imaginable in order to climb higher. One careless mistake could implicate everyone involved and ruin everything, so she preferred cutting off the root of the problem before it could grow.
Second, an incident had once occurred in Chengqian Palace that had nearly harmed Pei Yunting. Yan Huaijin had flown into a towering rage, dismissing every palace maid from his residence. In the end, it was only after the Empress Dowager personally intervened and promised that no palace maid would ever again be allowed within his private quarters—while all other arrangements remained unchanged—that he finally relented. Anyone who violated the order would be executed by dismemberment, with even their families implicated.
Only then was the matter finally settled.
After the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the two men emerged from the room wearing identical expressions of bewilderment and utter disbelief.
The shadow guard arriving to relieve their shift had never seen such haunted expressions before and asked curiously,
“Brother Zhan Zhao, what did His Highness say to the two of you? Why do you both look as though you’ve seen a ghost…”
Zhan Zhao and Zhan Yuan exchanged hurried glances, each seeing the other’s indescribable misery. Their lips twitched before they simultaneously shook their heads.
“We still have something to do. We’re leaving first.”
With that, they practically fled.
Yan Huaijin knew nothing of this. Throwing himself onto his bed in resignation, he recalled everything that had happened that evening, his thoughts hopelessly tangled.
He still remembered the expressions on his subordinates’ faces when he had ordered them to remove their upper garments and expose their backs for inspection.
Their reactions had been priceless.
Yet no matter how he looked, neither of their backs had stirred him the way that fleeting glimpse of Pei Yunting’s butterfly bones beneath her clothes in Liuli Courtyard had.
Yan Huaijin did not want to admit the change—or the reaction—that had arisen within him at that moment.
But it had happened all the same.
Desire had quietly surfaced.
…
Two hours earlier, they had still been sitting shoulder to shoulder atop the roof of Liuli Courtyard, drinking together.
Pei Yunting’s cheeks were flushed with wine, her eyes shimmering hazily.
The bitter winter wind howled through the night, but Yan Huaijin sat where the wind struck hardest, shielding her from every icy gust.
After that kiss, she had rested limply against his chest, soft as though boneless.
Surely she had heard every thunderous beat of his heart.
There was no drunken recklessness.
No wild abandon.
With no one else around, there was only the unchecked growth of a young man’s feelings, spreading like untamed grass.
The moon had just risen, hanging bright in the clear heavens.
A breeze swept through the courtyard, tangling strands of hair beneath her chin and setting her sleeves fluttering gently.
The Record of the Transmission of the Lamp says:
“Two monks argued over whether it was the wind or the banner that moved. The Sixth Patriarch said, ‘Neither the wind nor the banner moves. It is your mind that moves.'”
Indeed, Yan Huaijin had no certainty that when Pei Yunting awoke the next morning, she would remember any of this.
All he could hear now was the pounding of his own heartbeat.
The noise in his ears was not the movement of a banner.
It was the stirring of his heart.
Something even fiercer and more unrestrained than mere affection.
After carrying the sleepy Pei Yunting back to her room and coaxing her into slumber, Yan Huaijin stood silently beside her bed and finally let out a relieved breath.
Only then did he realize that the wounds on his body had begun aching faintly again.
Fortunately, he had managed to return on the day of her coming-of-age ceremony.
The gift had also been placed where she would see it the moment she opened her eyes.
After returning, he would still have to write an official report detailing everything he had investigated and handled in Youzhou over the past several months.
He gazed deeply at Pei Yunting’s peaceful sleeping face, preparing to leave.
Just then, she suddenly turned over, presenting her back to him.
Earlier, before falling asleep, she had drunkenly caused a small commotion.
Taking advantage of an unguarded moment, she had removed her outer robe and cloak herself, mumbling that she was too hot, leaving only a thin inner garment.
And so, the butterfly bones that were usually hidden beneath layer after layer of clothing once again appeared before Yan Huaijin’s eyes, like the wings of a butterfly on the verge of breaking free from its cocoon.
He even remembered exactly where the birthmark rested upon those delicate bones, whether its color was dark or light.
Strange.
He had only seen it once.
Yet even after so many years, the memory remained astonishingly vivid.
The candlelight flickered softly within the room.
Curled beneath the blankets like a kitten, her silky black hair flowed like the finest satin.
The bones along her back rose and fell gently with each breath, as though butterfly wings were about to burst through her skin and inner robe, flying directly into his soul.
For reasons unknown, he seemed a little intoxicated himself.
In a fleeting illusion, he found himself embracing her in lingering tenderness…
A gentle breeze drifted through the room.
Under his breath, the name he whispered was her childhood nickname.
…
When Pei Yunting finally awoke, the sun was already high in the sky.
Having drunk far too much the night before, she woke with a splitting headache and stubbornly refused to get out of bed.
Pei Yaosheng came to chat with her and laughed at the sight.
“You’ve already come of age. Why are you still acting like such a child?”
Pei Yunting merely grumbled before reluctantly sitting up, her eyes still closed as Yiner and Yier helped dress her.
Pei Yaosheng immediately noticed the gift box resting on the table.
She looked from Pei Yunting to the box, utterly puzzled.
So… had they made up?
Or hadn’t they?
Yier entered carrying breakfast from the kitchen.
Just as Pei Yunting sat down, footsteps sounded outside.
A handsome young man strode confidently into the room.
Standing as graceful as a jade tree and smiling like the bright moon entering one’s embrace.
After several months apart, he was still as eye-catching as ever.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he nodded to Pei Yaosheng in greeting before turning toward Pei Yunting.
“Pei Wanwan,” he said. “Do you like the gift?”
Pretending not to see him, Pei Yunting quietly continued drinking her soup, her entire face practically saying:
So you still remembered to come back.
Yan Huaijin was not annoyed.
He simply sat down across from her.
Reading the atmosphere perfectly, Pei Yaosheng rose and excused herself, tactfully leaving the two little rivals alone.
Once Yiner and Yier had also withdrawn, Yan Huaijin lifted the hem of his robe, moved to the seat beside Pei Yunting, and said,
“When would you like to go to Gusu? Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you out of Yanjing.”
Pei Yunting nearly dropped her bowl.
Looking up at him, she finally understood.
He had been gone for so long that he had nearly missed her coming-of-age ceremony.
Even his letters had become infrequent, proving just how busy his official duties truly were.
Every time he returned from carrying out assignments outside the capital, Emperor Ren’an rewarded him generously.
And whatever he requested, the Emperor almost always granted.
Among those countless rewards, Yan Huaijin had given many to Pei Yunting.
After months of exhausting work in Youzhou, the very first thing he thought about upon returning was still her.
According to the old laws of Great Qi, the children of military officials were forbidden from leaving Yanjing without imperial permission.
If caught, the consequences could be severe enough to bring extermination upon the entire family.
Thus, no matter how recklessly Pei Yunting had followed Yan Huaijin around since childhood, she had always remained trapped within the city walls, unable to step beyond Yanjing.
Every time Yan Huaijin left the capital on official business, she secretly envied him.
Though she had never spoken it aloud, they had spent over ten years together.
He naturally understood the loneliness hidden in her heart.
So, on his fifteenth birthday, the two of them had made a promise.
When he one day possessed enough strength to support a world of his own…
He would take Pei Yunting traveling across the realm.
Together, they would see every corner of the human world.
Pei Yunting remained silent for a long while before finally smiling with quiet relief.
So…
He had remembered the promise they made as children all along.