Time passed in a blink, and the capital of Yan welcomed its first snowfall of winter.
Jiu Yue was even more excited than a dog, rushing outside to frolic without even bothering to drape herself in a cloak.
Mei Wuchang, perched on a swing, pelted her with snowballs, prompting Jiu Yue to roll a massive snowball in retaliation, chasing after him.
The two ran back and forth, their laughter and playful shouts echoing so loudly that even the palace servants outside the Eastern Palace could hear them.
Meanwhile, Sima Qing sat by the window, reading by the warmth of a stove, with Trumpet and Bell dozing at his feet.
The scene carried an air of tranquil contentment.
"Royal Consort, Mo Jin and the others have sent a letter," Qiu Dongfang called from outside the window, handing over an envelope.
After reading the letter, Sima Qing's gaze lingered on the words "Rakshasa Gang." Resting his chin on his hand, he fell into deep thought.
In his earlier years of wandering the lands, he had visited Great Yan more than once. Compared to Tianqi, the martial world of Great Yan was far more vibrant, teeming with skilled masters and active factions.
However, in recent years, the martial forces of Great Yan had quieted down. Some masters had chosen seclusion, while others disbanded their factions altogether.
Yet the Rakshasa Gang had persisted, thriving through sheer strength and endurance.
After a moment of contemplation, Sima Qing turned his gaze back outside.
Jiu Yue had just thrown Mei Wuchang into a snowdrift and was dusting off her hands with satisfaction when she sensed someone watching her. She turned her head and, sure enough, met Sima Qing's eyes.
Noticing her glance, he beckoned her over.
Jiu Yue returned indoors, still carrying the chill of the snow.
Sima Qing handed her the letter. She skimmed through it swiftly, her expression turning serious when she, too, fixed her eyes on "Rakshasa Gang."
"From what I know, the Rakshasa Gang has been active around Muzhou. They’re now one of the top factions in Great Yan. If Consort Ning truly has ties to them..." Sima Qing slid a cup of hot tea toward her. "Perhaps we can use this to our advantage and send Young Master Nangong a generous gift."
"You mean... let Nangong Xun take over the Rakshasa Gang?" Jiu Yue sat down across from him.
Sima Qing lifted his gaze. "Isn’t he expanding his influence?"
Jiu Yue cradled the teacup, her eyes darkening. "But so far, the mole in Consort Ning’s palace still hasn’t slipped up."
With their target remaining inactive, they could only wait passively.
"She’s really testing my patience," Jiu Yue muttered.
"It won’t be long now," Sima Qing said with a faint smile. "Haven’t you noticed? Consort Ning has been visiting your father far more frequently lately."
Jiu Yue blinked. "Isn’t that because of the palace banquet?"
As one of the most distinguished imperial consorts, Consort Ning had taken an active role in organizing the banquet, which naturally led to more meetings with Emperor Yan.
Sima Qing, however, looked out the window.
A few snowflakes drifted inside, and he absentmindedly brushed them away.
"Not quite," he said meaningfully, turning back to her. "These next few days, you should invite your younger brother to visit more often."
Lately, Jiu Yue and Emperor Yan had been buried in work in the imperial study to ensure a smooth New Year’s celebration. As a result, Yan Zhouheng hadn’t visited in a while to see his cat.
But the look on Sima Qing’s face was anything but innocent.
Jiu Yue couldn’t help but ask, "Are you planning to use Yan Zhouheng to threaten her?"
"Threaten is too strong a word. I’m merely suggesting he spend some quality time with his elder sister."
"Consort Ning won’t see it that way."
"Exactly," Sima Qing said, raising a brow. "She won’t."
Jiu Yue: "..."
Was this what high-level scheming looked like? How had he grasped the intricacies of Great Yan’s court so quickly?
Sima Qing averted his gaze and refilled her teacup.
"Just trust me."
Warmed by the tea, Jiu Yue leaned back lazily and smiled.
"Of course."
As the New Year’s Eve banquet approached, Yan Zhouheng fell ill.
Consort Ning kept vigil by his bedside all night.
"Mother..." Yan Zhouheng startled awake to find Consort Ning’s eyes red-rimmed. Coughing heavily, he struggled to sit up.
Consort Ning hurriedly brought him the medicine she had kept warm.
"Heng’er, drink this and rest," she urged, her voice thick with concern.
Yan Zhouheng obediently drank the medicine and tried to reassure her. "Mother, don’t worry. This son merely..."
"There’s no need to explain. I already know," Consort Ning interrupted. "Running around in the freezing snow—who else would catch a chill but you?"
"Heng’er, listen to me. From now on, if the Crown Princess summons you, use your studies as an excuse." She stroked his hair. "Stay away from the Eastern Palace."
Yan Zhouheng frowned. "Mother misunderstands. Eldest Sister didn’t expose me to the cold."
His illness had been caused by a careless servant leaving his window open at night.
Consort Ning’s hand stilled, and her gaze shifted slightly.
"My Heng’er, you’re too kind-hearted." Her grip on his arm tightened unconsciously. "But remember what I’ve told you."
"In this palace, Lingshuang is your only sister."
Yan Zhouheng froze.
For a moment, his gentle, virtuous mother seemed almost unfamiliar.
Consort Ning softened her expression. "Are you still feeling unwell? Sleep now. Rest will help you recover."
"...Mother has worked hard," Yan Zhouheng murmured, lying back down and closing his eyes under her watchful gaze.
As his breathing steadied into sleep, the warmth drained from Consort Ning’s face.
She had been restraining herself, yet those two troublemakers in the Eastern Palace dared to target her Heng’er! The audacity.
Thankfully, she had been cautious this time and refrained from planting poison in the Eastern Palace—otherwise, Yan Zhaoning would have ruined her son!
What stung even more was that Heng’er had defended Yan Zhaoning.
Her heart ached at the thought.
After a long, silent look at Yan Zhouheng, she rose and left.
Not long after, Yan Zhouheng’s eyes fluttered open.
Suddenly, he recalled the question Yan Lingshuang had once asked him—
Choose your sister, or choose your mother.
On New Year’s Eve, snow fell thickly over the palace.
Glazed lanterns lit up one after another, their glow reflecting brilliantly off the fresh snow piled on the eaves.
Musicians strummed pipas, and dancers performed lively routines to warm up the crowd. The ministers had already taken their seats, chatting in small groups.
This was Jiu Yue’s first time attending such a grand banquet—aside from her wedding, of course.
Back then, she had been the center of attention. Now, she was merely a spectator, and she relished the carefree anonymity.
As she glanced around curiously, she spotted her cousin Fu Yan'an and excused herself from Sima Qing to join him.
High-ranking officials were permitted to bring family members to the banquet, and Fu Yan'an had come with his wife, Madam Gu.
When Jiu Yue approached, Madam Gu flusteredly moved to bow—only to be stopped mid-gesture.
"No need for formalities, sister-in-law," Jiu Yue said lightly, catching her wrist.
Madam Gu: "..."
Fu Yan'an subtly shifted to block a certain direction. "Thank you, Your Highness."
His eyes held a silent warning, and Jiu Yue withdrew her hand with an innocent smile.
Though Jiu Yue had yet to publicly reveal her martial prowess, an expert could easily discern something unusual in that brief exchange.
The two didn’t speak for long before Jiu Yue lifted the hem of her skirt and returned to her seat.
She leaned slightly toward Sima Qing, discreetly whispering to him under the guise of eating a grape, "I’ve spoken to my cousin. When the time is right, he will submit the petition for Muzhou."
But Sima Qing stopped her from reaching for the wine cup.
"Not yet," he said.
His gaze lifted toward Consort Ning, who was mingling with the other concubines, and a faint smile touched his lips.
"Care to guess—will Consort Ning make her move tonight?"
