His movements woke Ji Zhaohé. When the Third Princess awoke, she saw the rabbit-eyed man glaring at her with tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes, a faint bite mark imprinted on his cheek.

Ji Zhaohé was dazed for a few seconds before slowly coming to her senses. Realizing from his expression that this was her doing, she was instantly overwhelmed with guilt. In a impulsive move, she leaned forward and kissed the bite mark. As her lips touched his soft cheek, her strange urges stirred again—she wanted to bite him once more.

Tears immediately began to flow like a breached dam. Shěn Qīngtáng felt like killing her; all he could think was that he was no longer pure, that he had been disfigured.

Since childhood, he could count the number of times he had cried on one hand. He had always been exceedingly well-behaved. But ever since meeting Ji Zhaohé, he couldn’t stop crying, as if his tears cost nothing. If outsiders were to see him, they would surely accuse him of being overly dramatic.

Flustered, Ji Zhaohé scrambled up and cupped his fair face, gently wiping his tears. Shěn Qīngtáng’s tear-streaked face looked too much like a chilled, creamy pudding. Seeing that he had mostly stopped crying, she couldn’t resist pinching his cheeks a few times.

Instantly, the crying in the room grew louder.

Outside the room, Fú Jiǔ and Jiāng Démíng exchanged glances, unsure whether they should enter.

So early in the morning, and Her Highness was already bullying the young master—and so ruthlessly at that, with no regard for his delicate nature. Jiāng Démíng sighed inwardly.

It took Ji Zhaohé half the morning to coax him out the door. Shěn Qīngtáng kept insisting he was disfigured, but the bite mark was shallow, barely a faint impression that would fade on its own without any attention. Yet Shěn Qīngtáng refused to believe it. Left with no other choice, Ji Zhaohé rolled up her sleeve and showed him the scar from the bite he had given her on the day they first met.

“Now are you reassured?” Ji Zhaohé watched his expression carefully.

Having already pieced together what happened, Jiāng Démíng wiped nonexistent sweat from his forehead and chimed in soothingly, “Young Master, if you’re still worried, we can stop by a pharmacy while we’re out. I’ve heard there’s a famous one in this area with excellent medicines.”

Only then did Shěn Qīngtáng agree to go out—on the condition that he wear a veil.

This was a minor issue. Now that the little ancestor had finally settled down, Ji Zhaohé breathed a sigh of relief and secretly gave Jiāng Démíng a thumbs-up.

As they were about to leave, Shěn Qīngtáng sat back down at the dressing table, preparing to powder his face in an attempt to cover the unsightly bite mark. Ji Zhaohé sat boldly beside him, swiftly grabbing his wrist and asking, “If you cover it with powder, how will you apply the ointment we buy?”

Shěn Qīngtáng saw the logic in this and reluctantly gave up, pulling his wrist back and ignoring her.

Once in the carriage, the little ancestor turned his back to her, gazing out the window at the street scenes.

“So temperamental,” Ji Zhaohé muttered under her breath.

Shěn Qīngtáng shot her a sidelong glance before turning back to the window. He clutched the carriage curtain, deliberately shielding the side of his face with the bite mark.

When they set out, the morning market was still in full swing, but only a few people remained at the breakfast stalls. Peddlers carrying shoulder poles wove through the crowd, hawking their wares. Their long, melodic cries echoed through the streets, mingling with the sounds of children playing—a lively and bustling scene.

Shěn Qīngtáng rarely witnessed such sights, so he craned his neck to watch, completely engrossed and oblivious to the strain.

When they reached the pharmacy Jiāng Démíng had mentioned, the carriage gradually came to a stop. Ji Zhaohé hopped out in a few strides and waited beside the carriage for her delicate companion. After a moment of silence from inside, she lifted the curtain and found the beautiful man sitting upright inside. Their eyes met, and she signaled with a glance: “Come on out.”

Shěn Qīngtáng tilted his head slightly, as if confused.

Ji Zhaohé climbed back into the carriage, picked up the veil from the small table, placed it on his head, and pulled him out.

Intent on provoking her, Shěn Qīngtáng deliberately avoided using the footstep and instead leaped directly toward her, landing in her arms. The brim of his veil hat struck her chin with a sharp thud.

“You…” Ji Zhaohé rubbed her chin and stared at him in astonishment. He was taking advantage of her guilt, betting she wouldn’t scold him!

Where was the wifely dignity in this?

With an air of detached elegance, the delicate Shěn Qīngtáng entered the pharmacy, exuding the aura of a cold and aloof widower whose wife had long since passed.

Ji Zhaohé crossed her arms and followed behind him. Jiāng Démíng quietly whispered to her, “Your Highness, the young master is just throwing a tantrum. He’ll calm down soon. Please don’t take it to heart.”

Ji Zhaohé shot him a sidelong glance. “It’s only been a few days, and you’re already taking his side.”

Jiāng Démíng laughed awkwardly. When the masters quarreled, it was the servants who suffered!

The shopkeeper, seeing a young gentleman who resembled an immortal, smiled and asked what he wished to buy. Shěn Qīngtáng opened his mouth to speak, but the words felt scorching on his tongue. He turned to glare at Ji Zhaohé in frustration.

Ji Zhaohé raised an eyebrow, unable to see his expression beneath the veil. She thought he was seeking reconciliation and even imagined his pitiful little face hidden under the veil.

Thus, the Third Princess strode cheerfully to the counter and waved her hand grandly. “Bring out your best ointment for reducing swelling and relieving pain.”

As her wide sleeve was tugged, Ji Zhaohé felt a secret thrill. “Yes, and it must also remove scars.”

Now the shopkeeper fully understood. The young gentleman must have been too shy earlier, which was why he had his wife speak for him. Judging by their attire, they were clearly nobility. The shopkeeper retrieved a delicate small porcelain jar from the inner room and handed it to the esteemed customer.

“This is our pharmacy’s secret formula. Many people travel thousands of miles just to buy it!”

The esteemed customer opened the jar, brought it to her nose, and sniffed. Then she added, “Good. Also, prepare some herbs for me.”

“Please list them,” the shopkeeper said, taking out paper and a brush.

“Bái jí, bái zhǐ, bái liǎn, bái fú líng…” (Note: Chinese herbal medicines)

After collecting the medicine, Ji Zhaohé waited for Shěn Qīngtáng to board the carriage and whispered a few words to Jiāng Démíng.

Inside the carriage, Shěn Qīngtáng opened the small porcelain jar and imitated Ji Zhaohé by sniffing it, though he couldn’t detect anything unusual. He knew very little about medicinal properties.

Fú Jiǔ held a bronze mirror, helping Shěn Qīngtáng apply the ointment.

After boarding the carriage, Ji Zhaohé noticed he was still wearing the veil. “Why haven’t you taken it off?”

Shěn Qīngtáng turned away without responding. His face was smeared with a glob of white ointment—it was far too unsightly.

Ji Zhaohé had no choice but to set down the pastries she was holding and lean over to remove it for him. “It’s getting hotter these days. If you keep covering up like this, you’ll break out.” Without the veil, his fair little face was revealed, now coated with a thick layer of white ointment that looked quite comical.

Ji Zhaohé suppressed a laugh, afraid that if she laughed again, the rabbit would bolt immediately. She calmly unfolded the oiled paper and introduced each item: “This is osmanthus cake, this is pineapple pastry, lotus flower pastry, chestnut cake…”

There were too many varieties; she had only picked her favorites. “You ate hawthorn cake yesterday. Hawthorn aids digestion, so you must be hungry now, right? Eat up.”

Shěn Qīngtáng reluctantly turned his stubborn head and let his gaze sweep over the pastries.

“There’s too much,” he said. He couldn’t finish it all.

Ji Zhaohé chuckled softly. “It’s fine. Just do your best. If you can’t finish, I’ll eat the rest. Or we can break them into pieces so you can taste a bit of each.”

Shěn Qīngtáng frowned. How could the Third Princess, a delicate noble, eat pastries that someone else had broken?

“Also, Tángtáng,” Ji Zhaohé added earnestly, “you shouldn’t apply too much of this ointment. A thin layer spread gently with your fingertip works better.”

Shěn Qīngtáng’s hand, holding the osmanthus cake, stiffened slightly. He silently resisted her suggestion.

His hands were now greasy from handling the pastries—how could he rub it on his face?

It was all Ji Zhaohé’s fault for biting him so early in the morning.

And she had to do it on his first day out—utterly despicable.

When they arrived at the teahouse, Ji Zhaohé pulled him out of the carriage. Fortunately, Shěn Qīngtáng wasn’t a stubborn ox—at most, a stubborn rabbit—so she could still manage to guide him.

Inside, a waiter eagerly approached to escort them. This esteemed guest had visited a few days prior, booking the top-floor viewing booth and spending half the day there while ordering a large table of tea and snacks. The waiter remembered her clearly.

Ji Zhaohé followed the waiter with ease, but Shěn Qīngtáng frowned. Had Her Highness been here before?

The top-floor booth offered an expansive view, overlooking the storyteller below. Once they were seated, Ji Zhaohé asked, “What would you like to drink?”

Shěn Qīngtáng shook his head. “You decide, Wife.”

This was the first time he had called her “Wife” instead of “Your Highness.” Ji Zhaohé raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t see his expression beneath the veil. “Then we’ll have Lushan Cloud Mist tea.”

Below, the storyteller struck his gavel and began: “Distinguished guests, lend me your ears for a tale of The White Deer Treading on Clouds. They say in the southwestern frontier lies Bailu County, perpetually shrouded in mist. The mountain folk often see a white deer treading on clouds as it patrols the peaks…”

With a sharp crack of the gavel, the steam rising from teacups in the room seemed to coalesce into white mist. The storyteller’s fingers traced the air as though outlining antlers in the fog.

“This white deer, silver-furred with nine-tined antlers, transforms into human form atop the mountain peak every new moon.” The old man’s voice suddenly deepened. “Anyone in the county with a grievance need only tie their petition to the red silk draped over its antlers, and by the next day, it will be returned with vermilion annotations. In years of disaster, should the antlers dip into a mountain spring—why, the water turns milky white in an instant, curing all who drink it!”

The tea guests listened, enthralled, but then the storyteller suddenly seized a three-stringed lute. The strings erupted with a sound like tearing silk as he sang: “Yet gaze upon the Golden Platform in the highest heavens!” His bow pointed northward. “Behind glazed palace gates, a golden-winged peacock is trapped. By day, it fans its tail in dazzling splendor, but by night, it devours the souls of a hundred birds to nourish its plumage. One day, a young sparrow official strayed into the forbidden grounds and saw the peacock using its tail feathers to strangle a cloud crane that had dared to advise against its ways…”

In a corner, a scholar suddenly overturned his teacup, and the teahouse manager hurriedly coughed in warning.

Shěn Qīngtáng glanced at the Third Princess, only to find her listening with keen enjoyment.

The storyteller paid no mind, continuing with a lotus ballad: “Before the white deer’s mountain, red beans are planted; beside the peacock’s platform, white bones are buried.”

“To learn how the white deer shatters the golden cage, pray listen next time.” As the gavel fell, the tea guests broke into applause, clamoring for more. Ji Zhaohé set down her teacup and chuckled softly.

Her laughter sent a chill down Shěn Qīngtáng’s spine. “Your Highness… what did you think of the story?”

If the Third Princess had been here before, she might have been noticed by informed parties. This story was clearly designed to provoke her anger. Bailu County in the southwestern frontier alluded to the fiefdom of the differently surnamed Princess, with the white deer symbolizing the king himself—a wise ruler who cared for his people and reduced taxes. The Golden Platform represented the capital, where the current emperor ruled with ruthless decisiveness, the Crown Princess abetted tyranny, and the Third Princess was known for her extreme cruelty and abuse of palace servants, leaving court ministers in constant fear.

How would the white deer break the golden cage? By biding its time, gathering strength, and marching to the capital to seize the throne.

Some tea guests simply took it as an idle tale, but others understood its deeper meaning. If such stories spread far and wide, the different-surname princess’s claim to the throne would become the people’s aspiration—a righteous crusade to uphold justice and eradicate evil, thus establishing “legitimacy.”

Since the Third Princess had read The Debate on Salt and Iron, she must understand political discourse. How could she not grasp the story’s metaphors?

If she flew into a rage and ordered the storyteller killed, wouldn’t that perfectly suit the schemer’s intentions?

The Third Princess’s usual amiability had lulled him into momentarily forgetting her brutal nature—that she might still kill on a whim.

Ji Zhaohé refilled her teacup and said leisurely, “Tángtáng, you weren’t calling me that earlier.”

Shěn Qīngtáng explained, “You’re traveling incognito. We mustn’t let others learn your identity.”

Ji Zhaohé pressed, “But there are so many people around now. Aren’t you afraid of eavesdroppers?”

Shěn Qīngtáng had no choice but to murmur softly, “Wife.”

Ji Zhaohé nodded in satisfaction before returning to the earlier topic. “This princess thought it was quite well-told. Before we leave, I’ll have someone reward her with silver.”

Shěn Qīngtáng couldn’t tell whether she meant it sincerely or not. The more he learned about Ji Zhaohé, the more inscrutable she seemed.

Yet when they left, Ji Zhaohé indeed instructed Jiāng Démíng to leave extra silver behind.