Seeing the figure of the girl across the pool unsteady, Mei Heting suddenly spoke up.

Xue Tang was momentarily taken aback and almost reprimanded him, but her eyes involuntarily filled with tears.

After clenching her teeth for a long time, she finally stepped aside to clear the way.

In the fragmented moonlight of that cool summer night, Xuan Mingzhu was unaware of how she ultimately lost consciousness.

She only felt the cold stone warming, her body seemingly floating light as a cloud.

The lights in the palace flickered on and off.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Ying Xiao appeared, dissatisfied.

Xue Tang’s lips moved as if to reply, but she said nothing.

That statement, even she didn’t believe it; if she spoke it aloud, Ying Xiao would probably scold her for being ridiculous.

But after hearing the prince consort’s earnest tone, there was a moment when she wished it were true.

“The grand princess can discard me like a worn-out shoe, but I cannot bear to part with her for even a moment.”

Xuan Mingzhu dreamt she had returned to that winter when she was eleven.

Cold winds continually swept into the grand and empty Great Hall, where ancient iron horses hung beneath the eaves, making sounds of mockery.

In the vast temple, only a girl in a plain skirt was kneeling before the golden Buddha statue, repeatedly bowing and praying.

Even after many years, the pain in her knees and forehead was still vivid in Xuan Mingzhu’s memory.

Knowing it was all a dream, she still couldn’t bring herself to stand.

There was nothing left to lose; if she could see her mother one more time in the dream, it was a wish she could hardly ask for.

She didn’t know how many times she bowed, when suddenly a palace servant shouted, “The empress has awakened! The empress’s illness is cured!”

Xuan Mingzhu sprang up, stumbling as she rushed back to the palace.

Excitedly, she burst into Cuiwei Palace, her joyful expression still lingering, but found her mother’s chamber empty.

“Where is my mother? Someone! Where has the empress gone?!”

No one responded to her.

Xuan Mingzhu turned sharply, seeing the eunuchs surrounding the peach tree in Qiong Ying Garden, axes in hand.

The girl’s heart raced with anxiety, her feet felt as though they were stuck in mud, and she could only repeatedly cry out, “Don’t touch my mother’s peach tree!”

No one paid her any mind.

Peach leaves and blossoms fell from the branches, and the dead tree crashed to the ground.

“Cucu.”

At that moment, a gentle voice sounded from behind her, “Have the peach blossoms in the garden bloomed? You should take your mother to see them.”

“No.” Xuan Mingzhu crouched down, covering her ears, not daring to look at her mother’s smile or endure another word.

In an instant, she felt like a helpless child again, powerless to protect herself and those she loved.

“No, no, no, the peach blossoms haven’t bloomed yet. Mother, don’t go… Please, don’t go.”

Tears blurred her vision, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself back in Qiong Ying Garden.

Before her, the pear and apricot trees were in full bloom, and beside her stood a figure as graceful as a plum blossom.

The man gazed at her with deep, penetrating eyes, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.

Xuan Mingzhu looked down at her feet, suddenly remembering it was just a dream.

Silently, she wiped away her tears and stamped her boots on the fresh pine-scented ground.

“I buried two jars of Yulu Chun down there. When Baoya gets married, remember to teach her to come and collect them.”

After saying this, Xuan Mingzhu felt there was nothing left to cling to.

In the man’s indifferent demeanor, she turned and jumped into the clear pond.

As she fell, the remnants of her drunkenness faded, and her phoenix eyes abruptly opened to meet a pair of deep black ones.

Xuan Mingzhu didn’t know if she was still dreaming; her eyelashes trembled as she instinctively reached out to touch that face.

Cold, it offered no warmth of this world.

Her expression grew more confused as she rubbed her aching temples, looking around and realizing she was in Qingyuan Hall, still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

“Your Highness.” The shadow above her suddenly loomed larger, a raspy voice whispering in her ear, “Did you have a dream?”

Mei Heting supported himself on either side of her, strands of hair falling haphazardly, his eyes as red as if he hadn’t slept all night.

Within those eyes was a glimmer of moisture, like two cool black crystals, gazing intently at her.

Xuan Mingzhu instantly became alert, enduring her headache, and frowned as she sat up.

He gently pinched one of her wrists, sending a shiver through her heart, and she fell back against the pillow, realizing he had her wrist firmly in his grasp.

There was a soft spot next to the point on her wrist, and when pressed, it sent a ticklish sensation through her.

This little unspoken secret was from the past, yet he had used it here.

“Mei family’s son!”

After a night of heavy drinking, the princess was often irritable upon waking.

In recent years, she had refrained from excessive drinking, but now, all her old anger resurfaced.

She wondered how her subordinates could perform their duties so poorly and exclaimed in frustration:

“Was there anything yesterday that you didn’t understand? We should part ways amicably; don’t make me say that word.”

Her cold voice, mixed with the dullness of alcohol, was like her callused fingertips carelessly brushing over the thickest old strings of a pipa.

Mei Heting’s prominent Adam’s apple moved as his gaze lingered on the mole between her brows, then drifted down to her snowy white neck, his breath hitching. “Under the pear tree, did you bury two jars of jade wine for the treasured crow?”

Xuan Mingzhu frowned slightly. “How do you know that?”

Could it be that she accidentally spoke in her sleep?

But that wasn’t important now; she only wanted to bathe and wash off the smell of alcohol, with no desire to reminisce with Mei Heting.

She called out, “Hong’er, Cheng…”

Suddenly, the man bent down and embraced her, his eyes filled with sorrow where she couldn’t see.

Just as he had guessed, he had entered her dream.

The scenes he saw were ones he had never known, memories that belonged solely to Xuan Mingzhu.

He remembered that at the beginning of their marriage, she used to share various royal tales with him, but each time he interrupted her, claiming that as an outsider, he shouldn’t delve into palace matters.

After a few times, her expressions turned disappointed, and eventually, she stopped talking altogether.

Thus, he didn’t know that she had once knelt before the Buddha, cried over the peach tree, or felt so helpless at a certain moment, unable to seek help from anyone, only able to curl up and hold her small body tightly.

In her dream, he could only stand behind her, helplessly watching, unable to step forward to offer her any comfort.

In her dream, he was just a bystander.

Mei Heting watched helplessly as she jumped into the pool, unable to move his legs or call out.

He suddenly woke up, relieved but realizing that his heart had suffered a kind of slow torment.

No wonder she had been unusually angry with him.

“I’m sorry,” Mei Heting said, his eyes filled with remorse. “I was wrong.”

Xuan Mingzhu, her patience worn thin, lifted a foot and kicked him.

Mei Heting tilted his head slightly, letting out a muffled grunt.

The kick had struck a sensitive spot, and both fell silent.

Xuan Mingzhu hadn’t intended it; in her anger, she refused to back down, staring into his perpetually cold, snowy eyes.

It was early morning, and the blood surged in their veins.

Her beautiful eyes, like deep wells, only toyed with him cruelly.

Knowing her well, if he had any sense of pride, he should have scolded her, saying, “You disgrace yourself,” and left in anger.

Yet, Mei Heting maintained an expression of abstinent frost, his thin lips pressed tightly, the dark glow in his eyes intensifying.

He sank down inch by inch.

“Mei family’s son,” Xuan Mingzhu’s expression was indifferent, with no trace of affection in her mocking gaze. “Do you still know where this is? Do you remember your own identity?”

He had said that one shouldn’t be reckless in the ancestral halls; how could he forget?

“Your Highness, what you said yesterday, I do not agree with, and it doesn’t count—”

Suddenly, Xuan Mingzhu moved, causing Mei Heting to let out a low groan, his brows furrowed tightly.

Desperate to do something, to forget the image of the woman resolutely jumping into the water, he wanted to take her hand instead…

But Mei Heting had never acted this way; he had always been self-possessed and never lost control like this.

In the past, it was always Xuan Mingzhu who took the initiative.

As long as she whispered in his ear or hugged his waist, he understood her hints and let her come close as a matter of course.

Guilt surged within him for indulging in carnal pleasures, yet his body craved deeper descent.

“No matter where we are…” His gaze was deep and suppressed, unable to hide the words spilling from his heart. “No matter where we are, Your Highness will always be my wife.”

Xuan Mingzhu shot him a glance. “You really drank too much and want to vomit.”

She nimbly slipped out of his grasp, her hair cascading down her chest like a waterfall, shouting, “Qingxiao, come in!”

Mei Heting felt a sense of loss as he hurriedly adjusted his clothing, slightly flustered.

When Qingxiao entered and saw the prince in the princess’s inner chamber, she was taken aback.

She frowned and asked, “How did you get in here, my lord?”

Mei Heting didn’t want to explain to the princess, but he knew that Qingxiao trusted his character.

Had he not repeatedly assured her last night that he only wanted to guard the intoxicated princess while he slept in the outer hall, Qingxiao would never have let him in.

Xuan Mingzhu said coolly, “You and Xue Tang should each take ten lashes from the Shenching Department. There’s no need to stay in the palace; go back home.”

Mei Heting protested, “It wasn’t their fault…” Before he could finish, Qingxiao knelt down to accept punishment, looking ashamed.

After dealing with this matter, Xuan Mingzhu headed toward the bathing pool in the corner hall.

She instructed the palace servants to bring a few light dishes from the royal kitchen to the Zhongyu Palace, where she would have breakfast with her aunt.

At the palace gates, a golden light cascaded over the blue stone steps and the red railing, creating a perfect day for poetry and wine.

Xuan Mingzhu raised her hand to shield her eyes, peering through her fingers at the bright spring sunlight, her jade-like cheeks softening, lips curling into a smile.

Footsteps approached from behind.

The woman facing the rising sun didn’t turn around and casually yawned, “We need to hurry with the moving preparations. The Dali Temple must be on alert, right? Don’t let me miss anything important.”

“I’ve taken a few days off,” Mei Heting tried to ignore her distant tone as he stepped up behind her, feeling awkward but still managing to say the rest, “Just to accompany you.”

“Oh, then you should enjoy wandering around the palace,” Xuan Mingzhu replied, sensing his reluctance, and turned toward the study, leaving behind a figure dressed in blue and white.

“After all, there won’t be many chances in the future.”

Mei Heting stood frozen in place.

After enjoying a warm bath in the hot springs, the princess stretched luxuriously, her face glowing with a rosy sheen, feeling refreshed.

Returning to her chamber wrapped in a loose white robe, Mei Heting was already gone.

Xuan Mingzhu didn’t care whether he had left on his own or if the guards had escorted him out.

She sat before the mirror, without any elaborate makeup, lightly brushing her brows with a dark powder and pinning her long hair up with a pair of flat golden hairpins, finishing with a touch of crimson on her lips.

Throughout her grooming, Granny Cui watched her closely.

Xuan Mingzhu smiled obediently at the old woman, getting dressed in the bright vermilion robes prepared for her before the bath.

She tightened the leather belt around her waist; even with a gentle smile, she exuded a refreshing vigor.

Granny Cui looked at her outfit and asked, “Are you going to ride in the upper garden?”

“Granny knows me well!” Xuan Mingzhu exclaimed, lifting her thumb in excitement. “On such a beautiful day, how can I not make the most of it?”

With her red lips and white teeth, she looked like a young immortal from a painting, her youthful beauty accentuated by the dot of vermilion between her brows.

Granny Cui’s expression remained stern. “Are you ready?”

Xuan Mingzhu playfully shook her sleeve, “I’m already sober. It was all Zhao Le’s fault last night for scaring you. Please don’t be angry anymore, okay?”

Granny Cui didn’t blame her for drinking; she just felt sorry that the girl hid so many sorrows within.

Normally cheerful, a night of heavy drinking had drawn them all out.

Worrying all night, she felt relieved to see the princess’s clear gaze and radiant smile this morning, as if she had been reborn.

Knowing the princess had truly moved on this time.

Xuan Mingzhu assured her, “Granny, don’t worry. The past can’t be changed, but the future can still be pursued.”

The past cannot be changed, but the future can still be pursued.

In the shadows around the corner of the palace gate, the man who had overheard their conversation slowly curled his hand into a fist.

This phrase had been his guiding principle since childhood.

He was practical and valued accomplishments, disliking meaningless reminiscing.

Things lost could not be recalled, and what was determined would not be abandoned.

He couldn’t afford to forget his teacher’s teachings, and his gaze should always remain fixed on the lofty goals, adhering to righteousness and propriety to take cautious steps toward success.

Yet now she had used it to sever ties with him.

Ha, he had become the “past” of the princess.

Mei Heting felt this was wrong.

Xuan Mingzhu had already become an undeniable part of his life.

They had been married for seven years, their bond intertwined and inseparable.

Moreover, royal marriages were not something to be hastily changed.

After that dream, Mei Heting understood more clearly.

He realized he hadn’t cared enough for the princess in the past and decided to pay more attention to her feelings and spend more time with her moving forward.

Thinking back to what had happened in the palace, his ears still felt warm, and his heart raced.

Xuan Mingzhu’s feelings for him wouldn’t simply vanish overnight; time would reveal her heart, and she would surely come around.

With this thought, Mei Heting felt a bit more reassured.

The most important thing now…

The young scholar recalled the unfinished “Pearl Collection” that he had meant to present, and a spark of inspiration appeared in his clear eyes.

The Grand princess loved surprises and cared about appearances, so he would find a rare gift to present publicly, hoping to win her favor once more.

“Let’s go!”

At the same time, a swift horse galloped towards Mingde Gate.

It was a rare Southern warhorse in the capital, adorned with iron armor on its head and a beautifully embroidered saddle.

On the saddle sat a young man in a jade crown and green clothing, holding the reins with one hand.

His eyes sparkled like stars, and he carried a narrow, intricately carved box almost as tall as a person on his back.

He looked up at the watchtower and smiled, “Open the gate!”

The guards on the tower, recognizing him, beamed with joy and opened the city gates wide.

“Hurry and report to His Majesty! General Yan from the Duke’s residence has returned!”