CHAPTER 99 — WHEN THE PAVILION BECAME A BATTLEFIELD
"Yes."
Feng Qingyan stepped forward at once, convinced the Third Prince's summons had been directed at her. After all, she stood closest to him, and his earlier glance had seemed to fall in her direction.
Tang Ke Xin, hearing his voice, instinctively shifted her foot as well—only to freeze when she saw Feng Qingyan practically rushing toward the pavilion with unrestrained delight.
Her eyes narrowed.
Wait.
He had not specified a name.
He had not said who he was calling.
She had almost walked forward out of sheer reflex—an automatic response to his voice. That was dangerous. Too dangerous. She could not allow herself to develop such conditioned obedience to him.
Feng Qingyan, meanwhile, was nearly trembling with excitement.
After so many years of silent devotion, this was the first time the Third Prince had openly beckoned her. She felt as though all her patience, all her waiting, had finally borne fruit.
If propriety had not restrained her, she would have run.
Ye Lan Jue's gaze shifted slightly.
He saw Feng Qingyan's eager approach.
He also saw Tang Ke Xin standing motionless in the distance—clearly contemplating escape.
His eyes cooled.
"Tang Ke Xin," he said, voice smooth and unhurried, "do you wish this king to carry you over?"
The chess piece in his hand paused mid‑air.
The words were not loud, but they struck the garden like a thunderclap.
Carry her?
Carry her over?
Feng Qingyan stopped dead.
The smile drained from her face, replaced by disbelief and a rising pallor.
Ye Lan Chen nearly dropped his own chess piece.
"Th‑Third Brother… what did you say? Carry… carry who?"
Yesterday, the Third Prince had held Tang Ke Xin only because she had been unwell. That had been excusable. But now? She was only a few steps away. Why would he carry her?
Dong'er's eyes sparkled knowingly. She remembered that night. Her lips twitched.
Tang Ke Xin exhaled slowly.
She knew he was bluffing.
He would not actually carry her in front of half the palace.
So she stepped forward—very slowly. Painfully slowly. Her head lowered, her steps measured to the point of absurdity.
Ye Lan Jue's eyes narrowed.
This damned woman. Could she move any slower?
Still, she eventually reached the pavilion.
Feng Qingyan stood stiffly at the entrance—unable to advance, unable to retreat. Her expression was a storm of humiliation and disbelief.
The moment Tang Ke Xin stepped beneath the pavilion roof, Ye Lan Jue shifted the teacup before him.
"Pour tea," he commanded.
A palace maid stepped forward at once, but the cold glance he sent her way made her knees tremble. She nearly dropped the teapot.
She understood immediately.
He wanted Tang Ke Xin to pour it.
Tang Ke Xin stared.
"There is a maid here," she muttered under her breath.
"I do not like tea poured by her," Ye Lan Jue replied lazily. "I prefer yours."
The implication was unmistakable.
And utterly shameless.
Tang Ke Xin wanted to throw the teapot at his head.
But she poured the tea.
Feng Qingyan's face darkened further.
Why?
Why Tang Ke Xin?
Why not her?
What did Tang Ke Xin have that she did not?
Ye Lan Jue accepted the tea, but his frown deepened.
He was dissatisfied.
And when she remained standing beside him after pouring, his expression darkened further.
She truly had no sense of self-preservation.
"Come here and assist this king."
He extended a chess piece toward her—then, without waiting for her response, reached out and pulled her directly into his arms.
Not merely in front of him—
into him.
He sat on the stone bench.
She stood between his knees, her back brushing his chest.
The posture was intimate.
Too intimate.
Far too intimate for the imperial garden, where nobles passed by at any moment.
Tang Ke Xin froze, breath catching.
This is the palace. There is a banquet. People are everywhere. And he—he actually—
Ye Lan Chen stared, stunned.
A faint sadness flickered in his eyes.
He had once thought… perhaps…
But Tang Ke Xin had never looked at him that way.
She had always treated him as a friend.
If his Third Brother truly cherished her, then he would bless them.
Ye Lan Jue pressed the chess piece into her hand.
"Assist this king," he murmured.
"I don't know how," she whispered, stiff as a board.
"It is fine," he said, lips curving. "This king will tell you where to place it."
His breath brushed her ear.
His presence enveloped her.
Tang Ke Xin wanted to flee.
But his hand tightened at her waist.
"Have you forgotten our agreement from yesterday?" he whispered, voice low enough for only her to hear.
"I've changed my mind," she hissed. "Yesterday's agreement is void."
Ye Lan Jue's eyes darkened.
Regret?
In front of him?
Impossible.
"What you mean," he said softly, "is that this king helped you yesterday, yet today you refuse to uphold your end?"
Tang Ke Xin stiffened.
He was right.
She had agreed.
He had helped her with the Crown Prince.
So she had to help him with Feng Qingyan.
He continued, voice deceptively calm:
"You know well how much this king sacrificed yesterday. You clung to me, embraced me, kissed me—and bit my lips until they swelled. And now you wish to abandon the agreement?"
Tang Ke Xin's face heated.
He was exaggerating.
He was absolutely exaggerating.
But… she had agreed.
"Fine," she muttered. "I'll help you this time. Then we're even. After this, no one owes anyone anything."
Even?
Ye Lan Jue nearly laughed.
This innocent woman…
Did she truly believe he would let her go?
Even if the mark on her shoulder had vanished, even if there was no proof yet, he would find it.
He would find it, and she would never escape him.
But he said none of this.
He simply tapped the chessboard lightly.
"Place it here."
Feng Qingyan's face had gone completely ashen.
She could only watch—helpless, humiliated—as the Third Prince guided Tang Ke Xin's hand across the board.
The Third Prince was not known for playing chess.
Unlike Ye Lan Chen—whose skill was formidable—Ye Lan Jue rarely touched the board. Their abilities were worlds apart, and the Third Prince had never shown more than a casual, brotherly interest in the game.
Yet now, he was teaching Tang Ke Xin.
Not merely teaching her—
but guiding her hand while practically enveloping her in his arms, his posture intimate enough to make even the stone pavilion feel too small.
How could such instruction be considered "personal"?
It was practically scandalous.
At that very moment, footsteps approached from the garden path.
The Crown Prince.
He slowed as he neared the pavilion, his gaze falling upon the tableau before him:
Tang Ke Xin standing between Ye Lan Jue's knees, her hand held in his, their bodies close enough that a breath could not pass between them.
The Crown Prince's eyes narrowed—sharply, dangerously—his expression darkening with every step he took.