In the sixteenth year of the Yongming era, mid-winter, eleventh month. Restrained from desire for one day, no obstacles encountered, diligent in reading, good.

The white snow blanketing the ground reflected a stark, blinding light. To prevent the students from dozing off, the master had specifically opened the windows. This was a misery for Ji Linxi, who sat at the back by the window. Once opened, the bone-chilling wind lashed against his entire body. He sat at his desk, his hands clutching his book turned pale and blue with cold, yet he gritted his teeth and held his ground.

It’s just the cold, he thought. I endured it plenty when I was young; what does it matter if I endure it now?

After opening the windows, the master returned to the lectern to lecture on history. Although Ji Linxi had spent his youth doing odd jobs at academies and eavesdropping on lectures, then buying various books to fill his stomach with a semblance of knowledge, it had all been a crooked path, not the scholarly way. Over time, his temperament had grown unrefined. When others listened to the master speak of historical figures’ loyalty and filial piety, Ji Linxi heard only the cunning schemes of treacherous officials seeking pleasure.

They were simply not on the same path.

Yet, this didn’t stop him from listening intently. The master, seeing him so motivated, raised an eyebrow and called him to stand. Ji Linxi clenched his fists to keep them warm and supported himself on the table as he rose.

“Master.”

The teacher looked at the handsome youth and asked a question. It wasn’t difficult—it concerned a legal reform mentioned in the dynasty they were just discussing. The master had only briefly touched upon it, and most students could recite the content by heart. But this stumped Ji Linxi. He had only just learned the name of this reform; how could he know its contents?

Unable to answer, the master frowned, punished him by making him stand, and lectured the other students on not putting on airs of learning.

Ji Linxi stood up respectfully without offering excuses. Once the class ended, he chased after the master on frozen, numb legs and said humbly, “Teacher, I have only just entered the academy and have not read many books before this. I beg you to tell me which books I should read. I will certainly study them well so that I may answer your questions next time.”

A true teacher is one who imparts the Way, teaches professional knowledge, and resolves doubts. A student with a fine appearance lowering his head and humbly calling one “Teacher” is difficult for any person to face with a cold heart.

The master’s expression softened slightly. “You at least have sincerity.” He listed the books Ji Linxi ought to read. Ji Linxi thanked him repeatedly before returning to the classroom.

The provincial examinations were next August. Before then, he had to pass the county and prefectural exams to qualify. He didn’t have much time left.

After a long day of lectures, Ji Linxi’s hands and feet were nearly devoid of feeling. His first priority wasn’t returning to his room, but sprinting to the academy’s canteen. Studying was not just mentally taxing; it consumed physical strength. He had only eaten four buns at noon and was now famished, like a starving ghost.

At the canteen, he scooped twelve ounces of rice and gulped down the coarse food until he felt somewhat alive again. He had always had a big appetite, but due to poverty, he often split one meal into many just to survive. The only time he had truly been full was when he worked as a fraudulent Taoist at the Wang family estate.

Back in his room, Ji Linxi carried a basin of hot water and submerged his frozen hands, watching them slowly turn red. Once they were warm enough, while the others were still out, he retrieved the Jade Scar Ointment given to him by the “Beautiful Young Master” from the bottom of his bedding. He cherished it, scooping out a tiny amount to apply to his hands, then buried his cheek into his hands, taking a deep breath and inhaling.

It smells so good—it smells like the Beautiful Young Master. The fatigue of the entire day vanished.

Just as he was intoxicated by this scent, he heard movement outside; the other students were returning. He hurriedly hid the box back at the bottom of his bedding. When they pushed the door open, they cast a surprised glance at him, then resumed their own conversations. Ji Linxi saw their coldness toward him, an outsider, but he wasn’t about to stick his warm face against their cold posteriors. His face was reserved for the Beautiful Young Master alone.

He washed his face and feet with cold water, lit a candle from his pack, and picked up his book again. He read until the others had washed up and gone to sleep, reciting softly under his breath. Late at night, the wind crept through the cracks in the window, making his teeth chatter. The snoring of his dorm-mates tempted him to dive into his quilt for warmth.

“The Master said: ‘People all say, “I know.” But they are driven into pits and traps, and none know to avoid them.’ The Master said: ‘People all say, “I know.” But they choose the Middle Way and cannot maintain it for even a month.'”

He gripped his shivering shoulders, rubbed his hands, and when he couldn’t hold back the desire to sleep, he reached into his chest and felt the chess piece he had caressed countless times. Almost dropping it, he pressed it to his lips, kissing it again and again. He fantasized that he was wearing magnificent silk robes, the Beautiful Young Master sitting in his lap, him pinching the Young Master’s chin for a kiss. The Young Master would push him away with a finger to his forehead, acting shy and coy: “Sir, please study a while longer for my sake.”

Encouraged by this, he eagerly read another twenty pages.

When the candle was nearly burned out, Ji Linxi finally stopped. Content and ready to dive into his quilt, he hesitated, then secretly pulled out paper and brush. By the last flicker of candlelight, he wrote a private note:

[Sixteenth year of Yongming, winter, eleventh month. Restrained from desire for one day, no obstacles encountered, diligent in reading, good. Thinking of my dear, I pray my dear forgets me not.]

“Achoo!”

Inside the Eastern Palace, Chu Yu suddenly sneezed.

Outside, the sky was dim. Palace servants pushed the palace gate open just enough to slip through. The wind raged outside, but inside, the hall was warm, permeated by a delicate fragrance. This scent, Snow-Treading Immortal, was a medicinal incense developed by the Imperial Hospital to soothe the mind and aid sleep. It underwent rigorous inspection before being sent to the Eastern Palace for the Crown Prince’s use.

“Your Highness.”

One servant placed hot water on the table while two others tied the gauze curtains to the pillars and drew back the bed curtains, serving the Prince. Hot water to wash his face, rinse his mouth, and clean his lips. Then, changing clothes and dressing his hair. Every movement was methodical. The head eunuch, Chen, was currently at his quarters recovering from a punishment by the Empress, so the burden fell to the servants.

Even though the Prince before them possessed peerless beauty, the servants dared not look up. The Empress was strictly controlling the Prince’s exposure to women. Two years ago, a new palace maid had tried to climb into the Prince’s bed in the middle of the night. The Prince had merely told her to leave, but the next morning, the Empress had taken her away, and she had never been seen again. Later, Eunuch Chen had warned them repeatedly: until the Crown Princess entered the Eastern Palace, they were to harbor no thoughts toward the Prince, or face execution.

Under this threat, even with the Prince’s celestial appearance, no servant dared to look, filled only with awe and fear. Yet, two years had passed, and the Eastern Palace still had no Crown Princess. Twice the Empress had recommended candidates, and twice the Emperor had rejected them. The Eastern Palace remained cold and lonely.

Chu Yu did not care. He had to attend lessons at the Wenhua Hall. As his study companion, Yan Huai had already entered the palace and was waiting outside.

As the servants inserted the jade pin into his hair, they retreated. Chu Yu brushed his sleeves and stepped out of the sleeping quarters. In the cold wind, he saw Yan Huai standing there.

“I heard Zhu Qi is ill and cannot be your companion, so they replaced him with Minister Wang’s son,” Yan Huai said, well-informed as always.

Chu Yu nodded. “Indeed.” With ears everywhere outside, he said no more.

The two went to another room in the Eastern Palace to dine. After breakfast, they headed to the Wenhua Hall. Wang Chiyi, the Prime Minister’s son, was already waiting. As Chu Yu stepped off his sedan, he heard Wang Chiyi haughtily ordering a servant to kneel and wipe his shoes.

Seeing the Crown Prince approach, Wang Chiyi kicked the kneeling servant aside and knelt down to salute. “Wang Chiyi greets the Crown Prince. Long live the Crown Prince, long live, long live.”

He possessed neither the status of Yan Huai, a hereditary prince, nor the merit of Shen Wenzhi, whose essays had been adopted by the Emperor. He didn’t even have the qualification to call himself a “subject,” so he could only use his own name. As instructed by Minister Wang, the first thing he did when Chu Yu told him to rise was to have a servant hand over a bundle of thorns, presenting it to Chu Yu with both hands.

“My uncle offended Your Highness; his crime is unforgivable. My father has begged the Emperor for mercy, and I have come to beg Your Highness for mercy.”

Although he was begging for mercy, Wang Chiyi, kneeling on the ground, lifted his chin slightly, showing little fear. Father said I only need to make a show of ‘begging for mercy with thorns on my back.’ The Crown Prince wouldn’t dare take these thorns, let alone hit me with them.

Chu Yu lowered his eyes to look at the bundle of thorns. The thorns held in Wang Chiyi’s palms were thin, long, and covered in sharp needles—an excellent instrument of torture. Striking someone with them would only cause pain and itching.

His jade-like finger picked up the top of the bundle where the thorns had been stripped away. Chu Yu looked at Wang Chiyi with a half-smile, repeating the two words he had just spoken: “Begging for mercy?”