The Grand Ji Dynasty had always maintained the tradition of selecting young scholars of virtue and talent to participate in ceremonial rites. This served two purposes: to remind future generations to cherish the present, and to console the spirits of those who died in service to the country, symbolizing the dynasty’s continued prosperity and capable successors.

Ultimately, Shen Xuefeng was selected with top-tier scores. Chosen alongside him were the Grand Preceptor’s granddaughter, Zhangsun Bòying; the heir of Duke Ying, Fan Qinghe; and Fu Xinxin, daughter of a third-rank founding marquis.

In addition to their usual classes at the Chongwen Hall, the four of them had to regularly report to the Ministry of Rites to review ritual protocols with the ceremonial officials. The entire process was tedious and complex.

Because customs in the Grand Ji Dynasty were open-minded and allowed women to participate in rites, Fu Xinxin was appointed to the most important role in this summer sacrifice, while the other three served as her assistants.

Recently, Shen Xuefeng had been so busy he barely knew whether he was coming or going, spending every day memorizing the dense and lengthy prayers. Whenever he saw Ji Changran around the palace, he couldn’t help but cast a resentful look at his retreating figure.

Sigh, if Ji Changran didn’t need to act out a scripted segment during the ritual, Shen Xuefeng wouldn’t be suffering like this.

Since the rankings were posted that day, Ji Huo had subtly tested Shen Xuefeng with a few probing comments, but had not changed his behavior in any noticeable way.

He was still inattentive during lessons, just as before. The only change was that his calligraphy had improved at an astonishing rate.

Shen Xuefeng was stunned. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed that Ji Huo could now write in handwriting identical to his own!

It had to be said—this was truly protagonist-level talent. Everything he learned came so easily, almost as if guided by divine intervention.

Unlike Shen Xuefeng, who had no choice but to memorize through hard work and sheer effort.

A few days later, a letter from Wu Prefecture in Jiangnan Province arrived, urgently sent by Shen Yuhuai.

The letter reported that the flood disasters across the eastern and western provinces were under control, but the refugee issue had not yet been fully resolved. To make matters worse, the Princess Royal had been attacked during this critical time and likely wouldn’t be able to return to court as scheduled.

After reading the letter, Shen’s father frowned deeply. At the dinner table, he frequently paused mid-bite and sighed, saying, “Had I known Jiangnan was so dangerous, I never would’ve agreed to let Yuhuai go so far away.”

Princess Yongtai had to suppress her growing concern and consoled him instead, “Yuhuai knows what she’s doing. Besides, with her martial skills, she’ll be able to take care of herself. You must have faith in our daughter.”

Shen Xuefeng quietly listened to his parents without interrupting, well-behaved and thoughtful.

He knew clearly that his sister wouldn’t be in any real danger, but didn’t know how to comfort their parents. With the ceremonial preparations weighing on him as well, his body had grown noticeably thinner, and the persistent winter cough had returned. For several days, a bitter herbal scent lingered in the air of the manor.

Before his departure for the summer sacrifice, Princess Yongtai personally assigned a few of her trusted attendants to accompany Shen Xuefeng. She gently pinched her son’s sharp chin, her eyes filled with worry, and said, “With your sister gone, and now you following the imperial carriage for the summer rites, I really can’t stop worrying. When you’re there, don’t be picky with food. Eat whatever you’re given, understood?”

“I understand. I’ll be back soon. You must also take care of yourself,” Shen Xuefeng hugged her. “And Sister will definitely be fine.”

The emperor’s imperial flag carriage led the way, with the princes riding on horseback alongside. Technically, Shen Xuefeng was supposed to ride too, but he lacked the skill, so he accepted Fu Xinxin’s invitation and rode in a carriage with her, Fan Qinghe, and Bòying.

As the carriage curtain was lifted and Shen Xuefeng stepped onto the wooden step, he suddenly felt a cold yet burning gaze fixed on him from nearby.

He turned his head but saw only the usual flow of carriages. Up ahead, the Seventh Prince was holding his reins and talking to Ji Huo, showing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Master Shen?” Fu Xinxin asked curiously from within the carriage. “Is something going on outside?”

Zhangsun Bòying also quietly looked toward Shen Xuefeng.

“It’s nothing—probably just my imagination,” Shen Xuefeng shook his head.

…Strange.

The summer ritual was scheduled for two days later, with the altar set up beside Diyin Temple on Mount Cuihua in the distant outskirts. The journey was bumpy and exhausting. By the time they arrived, Shen Xuefeng’s face had turned pale. He held an umbrella as he walked to the roadside, gripping a tree and vomiting heavily.

Fan Qinghe jumped down from the carriage, a blade of foxtail grass in his mouth. “You can’t keep feeling this awful. Want me to find a good Buddha statue in the temple for you to pray to?”

“No need,” Shen Xuefeng choked out, his eyes misty from vomiting. “I’m probably just too worn out. Once the summer rites are over, I’ll be fine.”

He deliberately lagged behind the group, walking slowly. The summer heat was intense, and the humid mountain air made it worse. His energy drained rapidly.

As he walked, a small stone on the path caught his shoe, and he stumbled forward. Just then, a steady hand caught him.

Startled, he tried to get up quickly, but a water pouch appeared in front of his face. The hand guided it to his lips, and a voice ordered, “Drink.”

Recognizing Ji Huo’s voice, Shen Xuefeng relaxed a little. He tried turning his head away a few times but couldn’t avoid it, and in the end had no choice but to drink from the pouch while Ji Huo held it.

He drank slowly, taking tiny sips. Ji Huo slightly tilted the pouch, and a thin stream of water trickled down Shen Xuefeng’s jawline, slipping along his neck and vanishing into his collar.

Under the sunlight, his pale skin appeared almost translucent—smooth and flawless. The elegant curve of his collarbone shimmered with beauty, barely visible beneath his robes.

Seeing that the young man truly couldn’t drink any more, Ji Wu put the water pouch away, leisurely screwing the cap back on.

Shen Xuefeng wiped the water stains from his body with his sleeve and felt much more refreshed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the water pouch he had just drunk from and hesitated before saying, “Your Highness, why don’t you just give that to me?”

“What, didn’t drink enough?” Ji Wu asked.

“No, that’s not it,” Shen Xuefeng quickly explained. “I’ve been sick recently… it wouldn’t be appropriate for Your Highness to use something I’ve used.”

Hearing that, Ji Wu asked, half-joking and half-serious, “If I gave you my water, then what about me?”

“Your Highness can use mine,” Shen Xuefeng said as he reached for his waist—only to remember his own water pouch had been left in the carriage.

“No rush,” Ji Wu seemed quite amused by the suggestion of exchanging water pouches. “We can look for it once we get to Diyan Temple.”

The grand procession finally arrived at their destination. The Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Rites, who was in charge of this ritual, had already been waiting at Diyan Temple for some time. As soon as the carriages arrived, attendants came forward to guide the honored guests to their resting places.

This ancient temple didn’t resemble a monastery; it looked more like an imperial residence. According to legend, it was built specifically for the Summer Sacrifice. As soon as Shen Xuefeng stepped into the temple’s gardens and walked a few laps along the lake’s covered corridor, he was certain that the design was his father Shen Lan’s work.

Shen Lan had grown up in Yizhou and had a unique perspective on garden design. His greatest strength was creating shifting vistas with every step. As one walked through Diyan Temple, each view was different, yet harmoniously unified—remarkably similar to the design of the Shen family estate.

Shen Xuefeng was assigned to share a small courtyard with other classmates. Though the location was secluded, it was quiet and peaceful.

As soon as he returned to his room and finished unpacking, he turned around—and was startled to see Ji Wu silently leaning against the doorframe, watching him intently.

Shen Xuefeng jumped in shock: “!!!”

“Your Highness, how did you find this place?”

He quickly invited Ji Wu inside and closed the door, feeling flustered. “I haven’t had a chance to tidy up yet. There’s really nothing here to entertain Your Highness with.”

“I came to ask Xuefeng for a drink of water,” Ji Wu said casually, sitting down on a chair and idly playing with something shiny. “If Xuefeng’s too busy, I can wait.”

Shen Xuefeng suddenly remembered the promise he made earlier. He turned around, lifted the bed curtain, and rummaged through his bag, eventually pulling out a small, finely crafted flask. He returned and handed it to Ji Wu.

“I haven’t used this one yet—my mother packed it for me. Your Highness can have it.” Then, catching sight of the item in Ji Wu’s fingers, he gasped. “Your Highness, how could you play with something that dangerous?”

As he spoke, he reached forward to snatch it.

But Ji Wu was faster. In an instant, he casually tossed it aside and said lightly, “Alright, it’s just a tiny blade—nothing dangerous.”

Shen Xuefeng couldn’t tell where it had gone. He grabbed Ji Wu’s sleeves with both hands and curiously peeked inside. “Your Highness isn’t tricking me, right? You hid it, didn’t you?”

Ji Wu spread his arms open. “If you don’t believe me, go ahead and check.”

Shen Xuefeng squeezed the empty sleeves, then looked toward Ji Wu’s waist. After a moment of thought, he decided to let it go. “Fine, I believe you—”

“…Shh.” Ji Wu suddenly covered his mouth, the curve of his lips fading. “Someone’s coming.”

Their conversation abruptly stopped.

Shen Xuefeng blinked and glanced toward the door, only to see a tall silhouette cast across the window.

The person seemed to hesitate, raising a hand and lightly tapping the door. “Young Master Shen, are you in?”

It was Ji Changran’s voice.

Shen Xuefeng’s eyes widened in surprise and he looked at Ji Wu, who gave him a deeply meaningful glance—so probing it felt like an interrogation.

…That look was like catching someone cheating red-handed.

“Young Master Shen,” Ji Changran’s voice came again, “would it be convenient for me to come in? I brought some loquat syrup for cough relief. I heard you’ve been having respiratory trouble—this should help.”

Inside the room, Ji Wu sighed, “Royal Brother really is like a ghost that won’t go away. If you don’t let him in, it’d be a waste of the effort he made to come all this way.”

Shen Xuefeng originally wanted to refuse, but after hearing that, he had to admit the point. Still, he asked cautiously, “Can I really let His Highness in?”

“What?” Ji Wu chuckled. “I was only making polite conversation, and you’re actually thinking of letting him in?”