It was the tangy scent of tangerine peel soup, brought in by the young maid Shuiwen, that roused Ye Jiao from slumber. Daylight had already spilled across the sky—it was the next morning. She lay in her familiar chamber, the aroma of the sobering decoction curling into her nose, and slowly, the memories of the previous day came back to her: the beef hotpot at Drunken Immortal House, the heady wine, the warm glow of lanterns, and Yan Congzheng's voice laced with guilt.
"How did I get home?" Ye Jiao asked.
Shuiwen, clearly waiting for this very question, burst into rapid speech as if scattering beans across a tray. "It was His Highness the Ninth Prince who carried you back, Miss. Luckily, I had gone out to greet you, so no one else saw. His Highness looked utterly exhausted, soaked in sweat. After bringing you in, he had to support himself against the wall just to walk away."
Against the wall… Ye Jiao shrank under the brocade quilt, pinching the flesh on her thigh. Was he even capable of it? He looked so frail that even a willow branch might break him, let alone bear her weight—she, a girl of a full hundred jin.
As these thoughts swirled, she rolled over and lay flat on her stomach, her chest pressed against the bed. A sudden familiarity struck her. She squinted, recalling how she had drifted in and out of sleep on Li Ce's back. And then—
A jolt thundered through her mind. She remembered more.
Moonlight spilled across the long street. Her lips brushed his ear, her limbs draped over him like overcooked noodles. She had slurred nonsense, wiped her mouth on his shoulder, bit his ear, demanded that he spin her in circles, and coerced him into singing scandalous verses.
He had laughed while spinning her, but the poem he recited was anything but risqué.
"Oh fleeting light, I toast thee with wine.I know not the heights of heaven, nor depths of earth.I only see the cold moon and warm sunSlowly sear away a man's brief years…"
It was "Bitter Daylight" by Li Changji—a poem brimming with heroic boldness, disdainful of fate, and proud in its defiance. Nothing lewd about it.
Li Ce had shed some disguise in that moment—his voice firm, bright, and uninhibited, yet infused with a fearlessness that stirred the soul. Like a raptor battered by gales, a spirit-beast crushed under stone, a dragon submerged in the abyssal deep.
Li Ce had broken the rules. And she—Ye Jiao—had been more shameless than a belly-dancing courtesan.
Ruined! she thought. I can't face the world!
"Miss, what's wrong?" Shuiwen reached out to touch her forehead. "You're not feverish—so why is your face so red?"
Mortified, Ye Jiao pounded the bedpost. Weren't we supposed to argue and break up? How did that turn into wine and hotpot, and him carrying me home?
"Did I throw up?" she asked groggily.
Shuiwen rushed to reassure her. "No, Miss. Were you worried about soiling His Highness's robes?"
"No." Ye Jiao sat up, her tone solemn. "The food and wine were too good last night. I would've hated to waste them."
This matter needed to end. There had to be closure.
She downed the soup in large gulps. Outside, Shuiwen chattered on about the big news.
"His Majesty has conferred princely titles upon five of the imperial sons, including the Ninth Prince."
"Oh." Ye Jiao answered absentmindedly.
"The Second Prince, ever so virtuous and filial, took it upon himself to guard the ancestral tombs in place of the Ninth Prince."
"In his place?" Ye Jiao lowered her bowl. "Isn't the one buried there his own ancestor?"
Only Li Ce was so easy to bully—ailing and still holding vigil at the tomb.
Shuiwen chuckled and switched topics. "Remember Prince Su, who sought a bride at the Qiqiao Banquet?"
Ye Jiao perked up, leapt out of bed, and replied, "Of course. I remember his dog, too."
Word had it the dog had awakened but had lost all its former spirit—trembling at the sight of women, meeker than a mouse.
"As for Prince Su…" Shuiwen teased, "His Majesty has sent him to the southern provinces to take up feudal duties."
His men and influence were all in the north. After years acclimating to its terrain and politics, being sent south was a polite way of stripping him of military power, severing connections, and eliminating any claim to succession. By now, his retinue had likely scattered like startled birds and beasts.
Ye Jiao thought of Li Ce again—how he had urged her to endure, how he had asked Li Jing to wait. She hadn't expected Prince Su's downfall to be this severe. So severe that even switching dance partners seemed trivial by comparison.
Had the battle for the crown already begun?
Li Ce had now been granted the title Prince of Chu. Though frail, his demeanor and intellect could not be hidden. Even the verses he recited marked him as someone extraordinary.
Ye Jiao hugged her arms. A chill seeped into her bones.
No, she thought. The Duke of Anguo's household must not be caught in the succession struggle.
It hadn't always been like this.
Her brother once told her that, in his youth, the house overflowed with visitors—noble families seeking connections, offering their children for friendships that might bloom into alliances. On New Year's Eve, the palace would send lavish gifts. The Empress Dowager sent some. Others came from the Emperor and Empress. The Duke's household even received an extra dessert "for the children."
Her father held no official post but served the Emperor discreetly, often traveling far to settle sensitive matters, sometimes not returning for half a year.
But later—when her brother visited to offer birthday wishes, he was cast out. Their family's gifts were thrown into the street, followed by spitting sounds of disdain.
Her brother was now over twenty, yet unmarried. Her sister, once married off, had suffered mistreatment.
Her brother once confessed: it was all because their aunt had married Prince Chen, whose rebellion had dragged the family into disaster. A fortune in silver spent, countless debts owed, her father had left to seek spiritual solace, and their grandfather's old allies had distanced themselves. Only then was the matter considered closed.
What had once been a flourishing noble house now resembled a battered skiff, unfit for the lightest wave.
Ye Jiao fell into brooding. She preferred fists over pondering, but today, her thoughts would not rest. Now that she understood, she knew the matter could wait no longer.
She should've drawn the line yesterday.
How could she have been so greedy?
As she reflected, Shuiwen had already finished braiding her hair.
"What are your plans today, Miss?" she asked. "The kitchen made steamed pork and lamb stew."
Ye Jiao's stomach growled. She hesitated, then asked, "Are there sesame cakes?"
"Of course! Crisp and fragrant with spice."
Ye Jiao made her decision. "Then let's eat first."
"What are you smiling about?"
In the Prince of Zhao's residence, Li Jing stared at the chessboard for a long time before placing a piece, then quietly adjusted its position again and looked up at Li Ce.
He was worried Li Ce had noticed the switch. It hadn't been easy persuading him into a wager—whoever lost would treat the other to wine and an opera show. Of course, Li Ce's health prevented him from drinking much, so the real beneficiary would be Li Jing.
It was a win-win—especially since he had already invited a few brothers to give Prince Su a send-off. With so many guests, Li Ce was bound to go broke.
"I'm not smiling," Li Ce said, glancing at the board as he placed another piece, then calmly waited for Li Jing's next move.
Li Jing fell into deep thought again, made a move, then stealthily adjusted an earlier one before feigning casual banter.
"You've been smiling with your cheek in your hand for ages! Your ears are red as cinnabar—something must have happened!"
Had something happened?
Li Ce glanced at the chessboard, dropped a piece, then couldn't help but glance at the copper mirror.
The smile on his lips refused to fade.
He recalled the previous night—how that girl stretched her arms and legs across his back, and shouted with glee as he spun her around:
"I am the reincarnation of the Gyroscope Spirit!"
The Gyroscope Spirit…
She was utterly delightful. He had smiled all the way home.
"You'd better prepare your coin purse," Li Jing warned as he made a move. "Our brothers can really eat."
And not just eat. They liked to be entertained. He'd probably have to summon the whole street's Huji dancers, musicians, and performers. A feast fit to bankrupt a prince.
This is perfect, Li Jing thought. With Her Highness in a good mood, perhaps she'll allow me a few more concubines.
Li Ce nodded at the board, placed another piece, and rose to his feet.