The Fourth Prince’s expression darkened instantly. Without hesitation, he lifted his leg and delivered a fierce kick to Wang Zhou’s back.

He used his full strength.

A heavy thud echoed through the hall.

Wang Zhou’s body collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Only then did the Fourth Prince allow himself a slight breath of relief. Gathering his robes, he quickly knelt before the emperor.

“Your son has failed in his duties and disturbed Your Majesty’s presence. I beg for your forgiveness!”

He cautiously lifted his eyes to glance at Emperor Zhaowu, only to see the emperor’s face darkened, like storm clouds gathering on a cold winter’s day.

The Fourth Prince bit down on his lip, his brow furrowing deeply.

He shouldn’t have involved himself in this matter.

But the Empress Jiahe had orchestrated his involvement.

As his maternal aunt, her fortunes were closely tied to his. Her glory was his, her downfall his ruin.

At this moment, the Fourth Prince began to understand the deeper intention behind Empress Jiahe’s insistence on having him handle this matter.

If it hadn’t been for his presence today, another official might have allowed this troublemaker, Wang Zhou, to cause even more chaos!

Fortunately, he had reacted quickly, kicking Wang Zhou into unconsciousness before the man could succeed in his schemes.

“Rise,” Emperor Zhaowu commanded.

The Fourth Prince stood up, signaling with his eyes for the bailiffs to hurry and drag the unconscious Wang Zhou away. He then moved to stand beside the emperor, bowing respectfully. With genuine concern, he asked. “Father, you’re burdened with so much state business. What brings you to my humble court?”

Emperor Zhaowu replied. “I came to look into the case of little Ninth.”

The Fourth Prince was momentarily taken aback, but quickly responded. “If Your Majesty wished to examine the case, you should have informed me in advance. Instead, you allowed this villain to find an opening and nearly disturbed Your Majesty’s health.”

Internally, doubts began to arise.

His father had ascended the throne at a young age. After becoming emperor, he purged the remaining factions from the previous regime and focused on stabilizing the court. His days were filled with matters of state, leaving him little time for anything else. The royal princes could hardly ever see their father, except from a distance at the occasional banquet.

Children of less-favored consorts, like himself, didn’t even have the privilege of catching a glimpse of the emperor during these events.

It was as though he were a child without a father.

Moreover, Emperor Zhaowu was not a ruler who placed much value on family ties. He rarely dedicated time or energy to his children. Out of his nearly twenty offspring, some were born and died without ever seeing their father’s face.

In the Emperor’s heart, he should have been a son who went unnoticed, whose death would hardly stir any attention.

Compared to those who had died young, he had only one thing more—his life.

So why, then, was his father suddenly paying attention to Rong Ting?

Emperor Zhaowu replied, “I simply thought of it suddenly.”

After reading Qin Lian’s letter, he had set it aside, but in moments of idle time, he recalled the recent meeting with foreign ambassadors. With nothing else to occupy his thoughts, he remembered little Ninth.

Yet, when Emperor Zhaowu tried to recall the image of his ninth son, his memory grew faint. He vaguely remembered that he looked much like his mother, with an exceptionally handsome appearance.

Anyone who had even a trace of their features could be described as beautiful.

Unfortunately, his fate had been equally unfortunate—one died during childbirth from excessive bleeding, while the other was severely injured by an arrow during a hunting trip.

Emperor Zhaowu suddenly felt a pang of frustration.

If little Ninth’s leg didn’t heal soon, it would be a blow to his face when the Diqiang people came to pay tribute next year.

His expression darkened as he turned to the Fourth Prince and asked, “I clearly assigned you to the Ducha Yuan. Why are you handling this case at the Ministry of Justice today?”

The Fourth Prince, having received his mother’s instructions, had already prepared a flawless answer. “Ninth Brother has been wronged, and I’ve been worried about him. I wanted to personally oversee the case so that I could be at ease.”

The emperor nodded, recalling that the Empress was the Fourth Prince’s maternal aunt, and that little Ninth had been raised under her care. It was normal for the two brothers to have a closer bond. “I understand you care for your brother.”

The Fourth Prince’s heart relaxed as he feigned modesty and lowered his eyes. Internally, he was praising his maternal aunt’s foresight, as she had anticipated his father’s return and had him prepared.

At this point, Emperor Zhaowu asked, “I heard the man earlier cry out in protest. What is this about?”

The Fourth Prince replied, “That man is nothing but a thug and a scoundrel. He’s the one who wronged little Ninth. I won’t let him off lightly!”

His expression was one of clenched teeth and barely contained anger.

Emperor Zhaowu listened to the Fourth Prince’s words, noting the excessive anger in his tone, and frowned. “If you were to judge this case, the common people outside might criticize you for favoring your younger brother, questioning your impartiality.”

“Come here.” The emperor called over a eunuch standing nearby. “Issue a decree on my behalf to transfer this case to Senior Minister Cui Li. Let him reschedule the trial for tomorrow and pass judgment accordingly.”

The eunuch responded with a smile, “Your Majesty is most considerate. I will take care of it immediately.”

The Fourth Prince was stunned.

He had never anticipated this turn of events.

A change in the judge?

Would it be Senior Minister Cui Li, the highly respected and incorruptible official from the Ministry of Justice?

If Cui Li took over, it would strip the Fourth Prince and the Empress of their ability to manipulate the situation.

Matters such as withholding monthly allowances and abusing little Ninth would likely be exposed.

It was as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over him, freezing him in place. The Fourth Prince stood rooted to the spot, completely at a loss for a moment, unable to move or think clearly.

Emperor Zhaowu rubbed his temple and stepped toward the palace entrance.

His mind was preoccupied with next year’s competition with the neighboring states, but he also thought about making time to personally visit his Ninth Son. He wanted to check on his injury and ensure his recovery was going well. He couldn’t afford to let his son embarrass him in front of others next year.

…

After Wang Zhou was escorted to Jinling, Jiang Rao couldn’t immediately learn of his whereabouts, so she placed her hopes on her dreams.

However, the more she thought about what she hoped to dream of, the more her dreams didn’t unfold the way she expected.

Instead, she dreamed of events from the past.

Not her own experiences, but those from Rong Ting’s childhood.

In the dream, colorful lanterns hung everywhere, creating a lively atmosphere—it seemed like a festive occasion.

All the children wore new clothes, their faces full of joy, laughing and running around.

But Rong Ting stood out, wearing a tattered little coat, completely out of place among the others. His small body was hidden behind a tree, his head tilted slightly, with just his eyes peeking out as he secretly watched.

His gaze was not like that of the carefree children around him. Instead, his eyes were filled with envy and confusion.

Why did every other child have everything?

Yet, he had nothing.

…..

Suddenly, there was a commotion from outside.

It was Ming Shao speaking. “Young Master, you come half an hour later, Miss still hasn’t woken up.”

Jiang Rao rubbed her sleepy eyes and sat up. She grabbed a cloak and got out of bed, walking into the outer room. As she lifted the curtain, a soft little bundle pounced onto her legs.

The little bundle cheerfully exclaimed. “Sister is awake!”

In his hands, he was holding something, calling out repeatedly. “Sister, sister, help me apply the cinnabar!”

Jiang Rao steadied her brother and looked at the cinnabar box in his hands, puzzled. “Apply cinnabar?”

Ming Shao added from the side, “Miss, today is the festival here in Ye City, celebrating the arrival of spring. We apply cinnabar and eat sweet treats to symbolize a year of sweetness and peace.”

Jiang Jinxing, who had crawled onto her lap, pouted and began to plead, both sweet and demanding.”I want peace!”

Her brother’s eager expression amused her. She opened the cinnabar box, dipped her finger in, and applied the cinnabar to the center of his forehead.

His round, chubby face, like a little peanut, now had a touch of red, giving him the festive look of a lucky doll from a New Year’s painting.

Jiang Jinxing ran to the copper mirror to take a look, thoroughly pleased with himself.

He then rushed back to Jiang Rao’s side, his chubby fingers extending to help her apply the cinnabar. “I want Sister to have peace too.”

Once the cinnabar was applied, he was completely satisfied and happily toddled off to play.

Ming Shao went out for a moment and returned holding an oil paper package.

Jiang Rao asked, “What’s that you’re holding?”

Ming Shao weighed the oil paper package in her hand. “I don’t know who sent it, but there was a handwritten prescription pressed under it. It’s for bruising. The physician in the house looked at it and said it was a good remedy with good medicine. He told me to bring it to the young lady for use.”

She continued. “Miss, your skin is so fair and delicate. If a scar remains, I’d feel so sorry for you. This medicine isn’t for internal use, so it’s not bitter. Please don’t avoid it.”

Jiang Rao knew she was referring to her avoiding taking medicine making her ears turned slightly red as she took the prescription, glancing at it. The handwriting was elegant, flowing, and exquisite—far more beautiful than her own clumsy script. She was in awe. “This handwriting is really beautiful.”

“Indeed, if you show this to Master, he might even say it’s beautiful.”

Fourth Master Jiang’s handwriting was exceptional, unrivaled in Da Zhao. It had reached such a level that a single scroll of his calligraphy could be worth a whole restaurant. The owner of the restaurant had even happily claimed to have made a profit.

Talented individuals often develop a certain arrogance, an air of self-assuredness that makes them dismissive of others’ work. Jiang Rao thought the handwriting was beautiful, but it probably wouldn’t be enough to earn her father’s praise.

After all, she had never once heard her father compliment someone else’s writing.

She handed the prescription back to Ming Shao. “Keep this safe. When we find out who sent it, we’ll make sure to thank them properly.”

The streets outside were bustling, filled with the lively sounds of a festival. The atmosphere was vibrant with the celebration, and Jiang Rao couldn’t help but think back to the dream she’d had.

Seeing that child hiding behind the tree, seemingly abandoned, made her wish she could go back to the past, hold that lonely, desolate little one, and offer some comfort.

She sighed softly and said to Ming Shao. “Prepare some cinnabar and candy. I need to go to the west side of the city.”

…

The sounds of children playing filled the streets.

This year’s Spring Festival was livelier than usual. With the snow melting and the warmth of spring returning, it signaled that the city of Ye was soon to be opened up again. The whole city was celebrating.

On the streets, children nestled in their parents’ arms, asking for candy. When they received it, they cheered with delight.

Inside Rong Ting’s room, there was an air of silence and desolation.

A medical book lay open on the table. He sat in his wheelchair, following the techniques from the book, pressing his palm firmly to massage his injured leg.

His brows furrowed deeply, a crease forming between them, clearly from the intense pain, though he bore it in silence.

The sounds from the street filtered into the room. Rong Ting’s eyes turned cold as he shut the window.

With the noise muffled, his impatience eased just a little.

When he was younger, he was foolish enough to look forward to the festive days.

He once longed for new clothes, for the gifts that other children received, even if it was just a simple blessing.

But as time passed, he saw the truth: as a worthless prince, he didn’t even deserve a single blessing.

He wasn’t worthy of anything that had value.

Eventually, he grew to loathe all celebrations.

A wave of irritation surged again between his brows, his narrow eyes narrowing into slits, the sharp edge of hostility lingering in the line of his brows.

Suddenly, a series of soft knocks echoed from the door.

=^_^=