Within Penglai Pond lay an island known as Penglai Immortal Island. Yin Zhuli followed Shen Tingyao as they drifted there by boat. Looking up, she saw the island was ringed by emerald bamboo and clusters of blossoms. Yellow irises grew by the water’s edge, their large, brilliant blooms reclining among green leaves like drunken butterflies or swallows, set against the backdrop of misty green waves—a scene of pure, elegant beauty.
Stepping onto the shore felt like wandering into a sea of flowers.
After a brief moment of surprise, Yin Zhuli remained composed. "It is rare for Your Majesty, amidst your myriad of state affairs, to remember that a commoner like me favors these yellow irises."
Shen Tingyao tied the boat and reached out to rest his hand on her waist. "Every detail concerning you is something I have never forgotten."
Yin Zhuli glanced sideways at the hand on her waist. He withdrew it with a hint of awkwardness, then grasped her arm through her sleeve. "Walk with me."
Knowing his character, Yin Zhuli frowned slightly but followed him onto the island. Shen Tingyao wore pale gold casual robes; his figure was tall and lean. Rumor had it that during the reign of the Sacred Ancestor, Emperor Shen Wanyan, the Crown Prince had died young and the position of Empress had long remained vacant. Shen Wanyan had once doted on Consort He, and everyone at the time believed he would name the Ninth Prince, Shen Tingjiao, as his heir.
Later, for reasons unknown, Consort He suddenly fell from favor. Without a word, Shen Wanyan established his eldest son, Shen Tingyao, as the Crown Prince and invested Shen Tingyao’s mother, Noble Consort Fu, as Empress, leaving the court in a state of bewildered speculation.
From then on, Consort He withdrew her sharp edges and lived in seclusion within Jiaoshu Palace, devoted to Buddhism. Consequently, the Ninth Prince, Shen Tingjiao, rarely moved about the palace. During their period of rivalry, old grudges had accumulated; once Noble Consort Fu gained power and became mistress of the inner palace, life became difficult for the Ninth Prince and his mother. Seeing their fall from grace, the palace servants naturally became predatory, holding the pair in contempt. Daily supplies were often short, making Jiaoshu Palace feel like a cold, forgotten prison.
Consort He’s temperament grew increasingly volatile, and she frequently took her frustrations out on the Ninth Prince.
The Ninth Prince’s health had always been poor. Previously, relying on Shen Wanyan’s favor, there was no shortage of medicinal herbs, and imperial physicians checked on him daily, so his condition was manageable. Once the medicine and care stopped, he grew even weaker. It was only through his acquaintance with Yin Zhuli, who occasionally provided for him, that he managed to stumble through those years.
By the time Shen Tingyao ascended the throne, of the five princes in the palace, two were imprisoned, one had died falling from a horse, and one had been banished. Only this weak, unremarkable Ninth Prince was still granted the title of a Prince of the First Rank and allowed to remain in Chang'an. Though he held no power, he lived a life of wealthy leisure. Consort He’s situation had also improved slightly.
Yin Zhuli and Shen Tingyao walked to the center of the island, where a delicately crafted wooden cabin stood. Before the eaves, several strings of bone wind chimes whispered in the breeze. Mingled with the scent of flowers and the song of birds, the disturbances of the court faded away, leaving only the drifting clouds and falling petals—a place to forget the mortal world.
Not wishing to disappoint him entirely, Big Boss Yin allowed a trace of a smile to touch her face. "This place could truly rival the tranquility of the *Guangling Zhixi*."
Shen Tingyao took her hand and led her into the small cabin. The interior furnishings were simple: a low table in the center, a zither stand to the left holding a seven-stringed zither, and a hand-woven tapestry hanging on the wall. Beside it sat a daybed for resting. With the two of them alone inside, the bed lent the room a faint air of ambiguity.
Yin Zhuli sat with him by the low table. Seeing the tea set, she laid it out and took up the flint to prepare the tea. Shen Tingyao watched her quietly for a long while before speaking. "I have always seen a flute tied to your waist, yet I have never heard you play. Can you make an exception for me today?"
Yin Zhuli pressed her lips together, offering a forced smile. "I fear I must disappoint Your Majesty. Zhuli does not know how to play the flute. The reason I always carry it is simply because it was a gift from my mentor, and I dare not let it leave my side."
Shen Tingyao did not press her. "Then I shall play the zither for you."
Yin Zhuli could not refuse. He sat at the zither stand and began to play.
Shen Tingyao’s mastery of music was extraordinary, and Yin Zhuli herself was an expert in the five tones. However, having spent her life dealing with all sorts of clients, she was accustomed to putting on a performance. Even when faced with something she loathed, she had long since lost the ability to show even a hint of impatience. Having played a part for so long, very few things could truly move her.
Thus, whether the music before her was ethereal and sublime or a cacophony that pierced the brain, she could act as the most perfect listener. Every look and every expression appeared attentive and sincere, while in reality, her mind might not be there at all.
When the piece ended, her tea had cooled sufficiently. She carried a cup to Shen Tingyao. He took the cup and set it on the stand, but caught her hand instead.
As his rough palm rubbed against the back of her hand, Yin Zhuli’s smile remained as light as a passing cloud. "Your Majesty, I left the Prince of Fortune’s estate for a matter last night. Your Majesty should be aware of this, yes?"
A flash of crimson appeared in Shen Tingyao’s eyes. He slowly pulled her toward him and kissed her fingers. "Mhm."
Yin Zhuli’s expression remained indifferent, showing neither willingness nor refusal. "Therefore, I did not share a bed with the Prince. If Your Majesty wishes for a fleeting tryst today, I would naturally be most honored. However, Your Majesty knows the Ninth Prince’s temperament. I fear that tomorrow, he would not let the matter rest with me." A shallow smile played on her lips, making Shen Tingyao’s heart burn like fire, yet her words struck precisely at the vital points. "If the Ninth Prince and I fall into discord, would that not waste Your Majesty’s kind intentions in decreeing this marriage?"
Shen Tingyao’s gaze flickered several times. Finally, after a long silence, he released her hand. "Zhuli, I will not let you suffer this grievance for long."
Yin Zhuli withdrew her hand and continued to serve him tea. They listened to the music and tasted the brew, engaging in no further untoward behavior.
It was not until the end of the hour of the Monkey that the two returned from Penglai Immortal Island. Shen Tingjiao had been searching for them for quite some time. Shen Tingyao gave them a routine lecture before finally allowing them to leave the palace.
Once they passed the palace gates and boarded their carriage, Shen Tingjiao still appeared somewhat weary. Seeing his lack of energy, Yin Zhuli pulled him into her arms and called out to the driver, Tan Yue, "Have Ke Tingfeng come over this evening..."
She suddenly remembered Tang Yin’s injuries and cut her words short. The young Prince lowered his eyes, his long, thick lashes casting faint shadows; he seemed not to notice. She leaned down and gave his jade-like cheek a soft kiss. "Tan Yue, go directly to the Yin estate."
Tan Yue acknowledged the order from outside and cracked the whip, sending the carriage galloping toward the Yin family mansion.
Danfeng Pavilion.
Ke Tingfeng checked Shen Tingjiao’s pulse and repeated his usual diagnosis. "The Ninth Lord’s condition is a poison brought from the womb. There is no cure; it can only be managed. He is fine today, though. I will prescribe two doses of medicine."
The Ninth Prince looked displeased. "If you say I am fine, why must you prescribe medicine!"
Ke Tingfeng knew who truly called the shots here and ignored him, keeping his head down as he wrote the prescription. The young Prince looked up at Big Boss Yin. Yin Zhuli gave his cheek a light pat. "Behave."
Ignoring their intimacy, Ke Tingfeng sent his medical apprentice to fetch the herbs, then packed his bag and left Danfeng Pavilion.
Yin Zhuli let the Prince rest in her room. She had intended to visit Tang Yin, but looking at Shen Tingjiao on the daybed, she temporarily set the idea aside. Having stayed with Tang Yin all through the previous night and then dealing with Shen Tingyao today, she was also quite exhausted. She lifted the silk quilt and climbed onto the bed.
Shen Tingjiao shrank slightly toward the wall, but she pulled him close, sliding one arm under his neck and the other around his waist, letting him pillow his head on her arm. "Sleep with me for a while."
Shen Tingjiao remained motionless. As the sound of her breathing grew shallow beside his ear, he also began to drift. Fragmented images flickered through his mind: Consort He’s cold face, Consort Zhuang’s blood, and finally, those two hours when Yin Zhuli and his Imperial Brother had boarded the boat hand-in-hand...
He dozed fitfully, not daring to move for fear of disturbing Yin Zhuli. Fortunately, before long, a maid named Dingdang brought the medicine in. Yin Zhuli was startled awake by her arrival; she took the bowl herself and dismissed the girl.
As it happened, Shen Tingjiao feared taking medicine above all else. Seeing the thick, bitter liquid in the bowl, his brow was already halfway furrowed. With a faint smile, Yin Zhuli stirred the bowl with a silver spoon, showing great patience. "Come here. I’ll feed you."
He slowly opened his mouth, but after just one sip, a mist appeared in his beautiful eyes. Yin Zhuli could only sigh. "Ke Tingfeng’s medicine is good for everything except the taste."
Shen Tingjiao couldn't care less; he immediately ducked under the covers, refusing to take a second sip. Yin Zhuli called to him a few times, then finally took a mouthful of the medicine herself, pinned him to the bed, and passed it to him mouth-to-mouth. He resisted at first, but Yin Zhuli pinned his hands down, turning every mouthful into a lingering entanglement of lips and teeth. The bed curtains were lowered and the light was dim; his lips were naturally as red as cinnabar, making the scene intensely erotic.
Only after feeding him every drop of the medicine did Yin Zhuli set the bowl aside. Shen Tingjiao felt a terrible bitterness in his mouth; it felt as though the medicinal air had seeped into his very heart and lungs. Faint brown stains of medicine clung to the corners of his mouth, and the mist in his eyes grew heavier.
Yin Zhuli leaned over him, using a silk handkerchief to wipe his face. After a long moment, he suddenly spoke in a soft voice, "Zhuli, actually... you don't really like me, do you?"
Yin Zhuli was stunned for a moment, then laughed and scolded, "Nonsense. Everyone in Chang'an knows I like you. It’s only you whose heart is blinded, with your mind entirely set on that Qu Lingyu."
The young Prince was still hesitant. "But you... last night you were..."
Yin Zhuli’s eyes darkened. After a pause, she curled her lips into a shallow smile. "So, the Ninth Lord was overthinking things because of that..."
Using the silk handkerchief to wipe her own lips as a cover, Yin Zhuli slipped two medicinal pills into her mouth, then reached out to unfasten his jade belt. Having returned in a hurry, he was still wearing his purple-black court robes embroidered with water dragons. Amidst the shadows of the curtains and the candlelight, his snowy skin and red lips looked even more like blossoming peach blossoms.
She partially undid his clothing, her smile wicked. "How can there be a man of such beauty as the Ninth Lord in this world?" Shen Tingjiao turned his face away to avoid her reaching hand, his cheeks flushed crimson, his lips pressed tight in silence.
Yin Zhuli rose to hook back the bed curtains and pulled the candle stand closer to make the light brighter. Shen Tingjiao was momentarily at a loss as she pinned him back onto the bed. Her fingertips brushed slowly over his skin, which was as translucent and bright as fine jade. It so happened that the young Prince’s entire body was exceptionally delicate, making it very easy to leave marks.
Finding it amusing, Yin Zhuli kissed him thoroughly along the way, leaving a trail of red marks—ambiguous and vivid. Shen Tingjiao could not struggle against her and had no choice but to let her have her way. Yin Zhuli gave his shoulder a light bite; seeing the red mark like a drop of rouge accidentally spilled on white jade, it was a beauty beyond words. Yet, she felt not the slightest ripple of emotion in her heart. She smiled bitterly internally, though she showed nothing on the surface.
After about fifteen minutes of this entanglement, the effects of the medicine she had taken became significantly more pronounced than before. Her breathing gradually quickened, and a wave of heat rose within her heart.
