Jiang Rao’s gaze flickered. “Why is he here?”

She was a beat too slow in her reaction, only then recalling the teasing tone in Madam Qi’s earlier words.

Her face flushed as she shrank back, pulling her neck into the hood of her cloak. She gently shook her head and said. “I… I’m not fond of him.”

Even with ten times the courage, she wouldn’t dare.

Though she had done her utmost to help him, every now and then, when she looked at him, she couldn’t help but recall the image of his future self—volatile, cruel, and tyrannical. Whenever she was near him, a faint sense of fear lingered. She didn’t dare grow too close, only wishing to heal his legs so she could retreat once her task was complete.

Yet, if Jiang Rao had denied it outright, it would have been better. But her slight hesitation made it seem as though she had tacitly agreed with Madam Qi’s jest before rushing, flustered, to explain herself in a way that only highlighted her unease.

Her naturally gentle disposition and soft voice—always a touch lacking in assertiveness—only made her denial seem even more like an embarrassed confession.

Madam Qi watched the girl before her, misinterpreting her reaction as shy embarrassment, and couldn’t help but chuckle.

Across the street, the red tiles of a tall building gleamed. On its eaves, a thick, fluffy layer of snow had gathered.

Standing just beneath that red roof and white snow was Rong Ting.

Dressed in plain cloth, yet exuding a natural air of nobility, his presence was captivating.

The streets bustled with noise and movement, crowded with townsfolk who had rushed over to gawk after hearing that someone had been apprehended.

In the jostling throng, being bumped and pushed was inevitable. Even a mere brush from someone’s clothing would make Rong Ting’s eyes fill with disdain. Yet, the moment he spotted Jiang Rao across the street, his gaze abruptly softened.

She was dressed in a rabbit-fur snow hat and a red cloak lined with satin as vivid as flames. The edges of her hood were trimmed with a fluffy ring of white rabbit fur. Her small face, no larger than the size of a palm, nestled within the hood, mostly obscured by its brim.

He saw her, and naturally, he saw Madam Qi standing beside her.

He also noticed the set of jeweled and pearl-studded hair ornaments Madam Qi held in her arms—a lavish set whose opulence was evident at a glance.

The question that had been bothering him moments ago suddenly had an answer.

An inexplicable storm of emotions churned within Rong Ting. His fingers clenched tightly around the armrest of his wheelchair, and a faint hoarseness rose in his throat.

He was nothing more than a powerless, downtrodden prince—anyone with eyes would dismiss him as the first pawn to be sacrificed in the palace’s ruthless power struggles, a chess piece of no worth.

Yet she, who didn’t even know his true identity, had chosen to treat him with unreserved kindness, simply out of a desire to make amends.

Had he not seen it with his own eyes, she might never have told him about all the things she’d done for him.

Rong Ting’s gaze grew dark and complicated as his fists clenched tightly.

…

Jiang Rao noticed Rong Ting watching her. After bidding Madam Qi farewell, she hurried over to him, voicing her concern directly. “Why are you here?”

There was a hint of dissatisfaction in her eyes. “Why aren’t you at home properly resting your injury? You keep running around—how long do you think it’ll take for your leg to heal like this?”

Perhaps because she had noticed his clenched fists and mistakenly thought his leg was hurting, Jiang Rao became anxious. Her words quickened, and her tone took on an unintentional scolding quality, much like the way she usually chastised her younger brother.

Rong Ting raised his eyes to her worried expression, and a strange warmth spread through his chest.

In the past, whenever he was injured, all he heard were the triumphant sneers of his elder royal brothers.

He adjusted the position of his wheelchair, moving a little closer to her. In a calm voice, he replied. “I heard Wang Zhou was captured, so I came out to see.”

Although she had already witnessed the wretched sight of Wang Zhou being taken away, bringing it up again made Jiang Rao’s heart fill with delight. She had always hated how, in the storybooks she read, villains often seemed to enjoy better lives than good people. Justice being served—evil punished—was what truly brought satisfaction.

But after her joy passed, a new worry began to creep in. “Now that he’s been captured, you don’t have any servants left by your side.”

His injured leg clearly still required someone to take care of him.

Rong Ting lowered his head, his expression tinged with melancholy. “I’ve long since grown used to being alone.”

Jiang Rao thought about it and realized he was right. Even when Wang Zhou had been around, he had only caused trouble rather than fulfilling his duties.

As she pondered how to suggest sending one of her family’s servants to his side without arousing his suspicion or wariness, she saw him lower his eyes and softly say. “If you’re worried, could you come and keep me company more often?”

His lashes, thick and dark, cast shadows against his pale, snow-like skin.

Jiang Rao wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but at that moment, he seemed almost… docile.

Even his tone, gentle and laced with a hint of entreaty, was something she had never heard from him before.

The image of him that day—collapsed on the ground, covered in sweat from the pain, yet uttering not a single complaint—flashed through her mind.

How much difficulty must he endure to bring himself to make such a request of her?

Especially since, after speaking, he raised his eyes just slightly. Those long, narrow phoenix-shaped eyes, usually sharp and imposing, were now filled with a fragile, almost pleading light. Like delicate glass, vulnerable and beautiful, they pierced right through her defenses, hitting the softest part of her heart.

Overwhelmed with tenderness, Jiang Rao found herself blurting out. “I’ll come keep you company often.”

Her tone, without her realizing it, carried the same coaxing warmth she used when playing the role of an elder sister soothing her younger brother.

In Rong Ting’s usually cold, dark eyes, a faint light flickered to life. He lowered his head, and in a place she couldn’t see, his thin lips curved ever so slightly.

She had merely promised to spend more time with him.

Yet, in his heart, an unfamiliar sense of anticipation and joy quietly blossomed.

Though she was still standing right before him, he found himself already… looking forward to the next time they would meet.

……….

Qin Lian’s men, tasked with escorting Wang Zhou, drove their horses hard, traveling swiftly all the way to Jinling, where they delivered him to the Ministry of Justice.

Inside the interrogation hall—

Wang Zhou knelt on the cold stone floor, his hands bound tightly with rope. Behind him stood two burly bailiffs in dark official uniforms, their eyes never leaving him for even a second, watching his every move with unyielding vigilance.

Cold sweat dripped from Wang Zhou’s forehead as he knelt, his legs trembling uncontrollably.

Back in Ye City, he might still have been able to pull some strings, bribing officials involved in the case through his family connections.

But this was the imperial capital, Jinling. His meager connections from a small town were utterly useless here, leaving him stewing in helpless frustration.

All along the journey, he had been scheming ways to escape, but none had succeeded and this baffled him. When he had first started serving Rong Ting, the steward who had recruited him seemed completely indifferent to Rong Ting’s fate—whether he lived or died. The steward hadn’t even bothered to give him instructions, brushing off questions about Rong Ting’s background with a dismissive remark that he was merely an unwanted, unprotected illegitimate son.

Yet now, seeing the grandeur of this arrangement, it was clear someone was going to great lengths to back Rong Ting!

When the court officials finally arrived in the interrogation hall, a bailiff called out. “His Highness, the Fourth Prince, has arrived!”

Wang Zhou’s anxiety deepened, his expression growing increasingly panicked.

Who exactly was Rong Ting? How had his case drawn the attention of the Fourth Prince himself?

The Fourth Prince, aged twenty-seven, bore a countenance that appeared more mature than his years. His gaze swept briefly over Wang Zhou as he remarked. “So, this is the servant who was tasked with looking after my Ninth Royal Brother this past year?”

Ninth… Royal… Brother?

Wang Zhou froze, his eyes widening in shock.

In an instant, all his doubts fell into place, the truth striking him like lightning. Yet, it was as though an invisible hand had clamped around his throat, rendering him speechless.

At first, Wang Zhou had assumed Rong Ting was, at best, an illegitimate son of some marquis. Who could have imagined he was actually the emperor’s child?

The person he had been bullying all this time was someone who could one day become the emperor himself?

Panic-stricken, Wang Zhou scrambled to explain himself, but before he could utter a word, the Fourth Prince delivered his judgment.

With an air of casual indifference, the Fourth Prince said. “Neglecting your duty and abusing your master, embezzling twenty taels of silver monthly—two hundred taels in just a year. Such egregious misconduct warrants thirty strokes of the cane and exile to the frontier.”

Wang Zhou let out a wretched howl. “Your Highness! Your Highness! The punishment is too severe!”

Thirty strokes of the cane, followed by exile to the frontier—a desolate place where even the dead found no peace, their bones devoured by wild beasts. Such a fate was worse than death itself!

He cried out desperately. “Every month, Lord Qin only sent sixteen taels! It wasn’t even twenty!”

The Fourth Prince’s lips curled into a faint smile, as if he knew something Wang Zhou didn’t.

Seeing this, Wang Zhou’s heart leapt with hope. Believing there was still a chance to turn things around, he shouted. “It must be the Empress! The Empress must have been withholding my master’s allowance!”

Wang Zhou was rotten to the core, but he wasn’t entirely foolish.

Rong Ting’s lack of favor from the household matriarch—wasn’t that a direct reference to the Empress herself?

Unfortunately for him, Wang Zhou didn’t realize that the Fourth Prince’s mother and the Empress came from the same family. The Fourth Prince had always been firmly aligned with the Empress’s side.

It was precisely because the Empress Jiahe had learned that Qin Lian had written to the emperor about this case, fearing that Emperor Zhaowu might take an interest, that she dispatched the Fourth Prince to oversee the trial.

Wang Zhou’s exile to the frontier had been a preordained conclusion, carefully planned in advance.

This ensured that, whether he lived or died, he would have no chance to reveal the truth.

The Fourth Prince watched Wang Zhou’s desperate struggle with a glint of mockery and disdain in his eyes. “Her Majesty the Empress is the epitome of virtue and grace. How could she covet a mere four taels of silver? You dare to slander the Mother of the Nation? That adds another crime to your record. Ten more strokes of the cane. Exile, effective immediately!”

He waved his hand, signaling for the bailiffs to drag Wang Zhou away for his punishment.

Wang Zhou struggled as he was hauled off, his mouth covered by a bailiff’s hand.

Just then, a commotion broke out outside the hall.

Emperor Zhaowu, dressed in a resplendent robe of imperial yellow, stepped into the hall.

As everyone hastily knelt and bowed in deference, Wang Zhou seized the moment. With all his strength, he broke free from the bailiffs’ grasp, throwing himself forward.

He fell to his knees before Emperor Zhaowu, crying out. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please grant justice to this humble subject!”

=^_^=