Chapter 721: First Meeting with the Crown Prince

To the Esteemed Li Gongfeng:

We have not seen each other for several days, and my humble abode has recently acquired several rare items from Nanzhao.

This evening at the third watch, I await you in the “Listening Spring Pavilion” of the Su Courtyard.

With golden thread as token, enter without waiting for escort.

Su Yu bows deeply.

Gazing at the indigo silk invitation, embossed in gold, Li Yan furrowed his brow.

He had asked for help—but not from the Golden Swallow Gate.

The reason was simple: the Golden Swallow Gate’s methods were too unorthodox; they dealt in connecting people and exchanging favors, inevitably drawing trouble. Earlier, when the Ministry of Works’ Lu Xun leaked secrets, it was the Golden Swallow Gate that arranged the setup with Zhao Qingxu’s Wang Fu steward.

Though he himself was unaware at the time, the aftermath brought considerable trouble.

So later, when Su Yu came to him requesting intervention with Luo Mingzi, asking for leniency,

he gained no benefit, only trouble.

Since then, Li Yan had little desire to deal with the Golden Swallow Gate.

This time, he did not know how they had learned of his needs…

But after a moment’s thought, Li Yan decided to attend the meeting.

This urgent search for celestial treasures would inevitably incur debts. He needed them urgently—if he missed this chance, it would delay him by at least half a month.

…………

Li Yan looked up at the sky, seeing dusk staining the layered eaves, then stepped through the gates of the Su Garden.

“Young Master Li, this way, please~”

It was the same attendant who had guided him before; now he was even more respectful.

Passing through flowers and willows, the two bypassed two screen walls, the sound of water growing clearer.

The Su Garden was famed among Beijing’s elite, and its scenery was naturally extraordinary. Along the pebble path, curved streams fed by living springs tinkled in grooves of blue stone; several golden carp stirred lotus leaves, sending ripples spiraling outward.

Around the winding corridors, lanterns stretched in a golden trail, the faint strains of silk and bamboo music drifting like smoke into the dusk.

The “Listening Spring Pavilion” was a small waterside pavilion, open on three sides beneath its eaves.

Li Yan slowed his steps; the attendant behind him silently withdrew.

Inside, a woman sat with her back turned, tuning strings, her lotus-hued cloud-silk skirt trailing on the ground, her sleeve-silk fluttering gently in the evening breeze.

Hearing footsteps, she turned swiftly—beneath her willow-browed eyes, almond-shaped pupils curved like a new moon. She smiled: “Since our parting at Linqing, Young Master Li, you are late.”

The speaker was Zhao Wanfang, her smile radiant.

“When did you return?”

Li Yan chuckled softly, stepping boldly into the pavilion, his tone devoid of formalities.

The two had once shared peril in Chang’an, and both bore grudges against Jianmu. Though Zhao Wanfang had changed since arriving in Beijing, and he was no longer the insignificant man he once was, their relationship remained cordial.

“I returned just two days ago.”

Zhao Wanfang lifted a small red-clay stove’s porcelain teapot, “Before even reaching Beijing, I heard your name. Just as before—you are always the center of attention wherever you go.”

As she spoke, she lowered her lashes and poured tea; amber liquid filled a sky-blue cup, releasing a clear, fragrant mist.

“Oh? What’s new in the south?”

Li Yan sipped his tea and asked with a smile.

He was not asking about scenery—he was asking for intelligence.

“It’s very lively down there.”

Zhao Wanfang did not conceal it. As she placed delicate pastries beside them, she whispered: “Since the sea lanes opened, wealthy merchants have opened countless workshops—silk, tea, porcelain—all yield dozens of times profit per voyage.”

“Jianghu figures, Daoist adepts—all are hired with heavy gold to board ships. The seas are bustling; the interior is restless too. Bandit gangs have revived, and malevolent spirits take advantage. Manpower is scarce; even the lowliest rogues have doubled in value. If your Twelve Zodiacs went down, everyone would beg you to join.”

Li Yan was stunned. “The south is this chaotic?”

According to Zhao Wanfang, it was nothing like the north.

“Human affairs are like tides—everyone simply drifts with the current.”

Zhao Wanfang glanced toward the door and whispered: “My master previously troubled you, and often speaks of repaying you. Hearing you urgently need spirit materials, she sent word to inquire—and unexpectedly, a nobleman personally invited you. Today, I’m merely making the connection.”

“If you wish to avoid trouble, say nothing tonight. My master will handle the aftermath.”

“Oh?”

Li Yan was surprised. “Even the Golden Swallow Gate fears this person? Who is it?”

Zhao Wanfang said nothing. She dipped her finger in tea and wrote “Zhao De” on the table, then flipped her wrist and wiped it clean with a hemp cloth.

Zhao De?!

Li Yan’s brow tightened at once.

“Zhao De” referred to Crown Prince Xiao Jingheng.

His title, Zhao De, was famed for literary grace and benevolent demeanor, deeply favored by Confucian scholars—but since childhood, after a fright, he had been frail and chronically ill.

Precisely because of this, his position as heir was only confirmed this year.

Matters of imperial princes and grandsons were always troublesome—no wonder Zhao Wanfang spoke so cautiously.

Just as he was about to ask more, Li Yan’s nose twitched—he turned toward the door.

Along the winding path outside, beside the jagged ink-shadow of Taihu stone, candlelight flickered, accompanied by a faint, sweet incense. Su Yu himself carried a lantern, leading the way.

Behind him walked a slender figure, even in early summer, draped in a white fox fur cloak.

He wore a jade crown, a white robe, his face pale with illness, yet his gaze was remarkably gentle. Two others followed him.

One was a towering eunuch, carefully supporting him.

The other, a middle-aged scholar with a goatee.

Li Yan hesitated, then rose to greet him, bowing: “Commoner Li Yan bows before Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”

“Young Master Li, no need for such formality.”

Crown Prince Xiao Jingheng’s voice was clear and refined, his lips curved in a gentle smile.

After the eunuch helped him enter and sit, Su Yu smiled and said: “Today, fresh items arrived. I feared I was unworthy to enjoy them alone, so I invited Young Master Li and the Crown Prince. Zhao Wanfang says Young Master Li is a connoisseur of fine cuisine—tonight, you shall not leave empty-handed.”

Li Yan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he smiled and bowed: “Madam Su, you are too kind.”

No wonder she was a senior of the Golden Swallow Gate—her words were veiled indeed.

“Not leave empty-handed”—clearly a hint at tonight’s transaction.

But it piqued Li Yan’s interest.

The Crown Prince himself had come—though his purpose was unknown, his generosity would surely be substantial…

No sooner had Su Yu finished speaking than several attendants entered swiftly with dishes.

This garden was the finest in Beijing; the food would not disappoint.

A white jade basin held “Snow Frog and Fritillary Soup”; small celadon cups contained “Golden Silk Bird’s Nest Porridge”; “Amber Walnut Cream,” “Crystal Lamb Delicacies,” and more filled the table, each dish a feast for the eyes, nose, and palate.

Most striking to Li Yan was the massive lotus-leaf platter at the center.

When opened, it revealed a two-foot-long Long Dun!

Li Yan’s expression showed clear surprise. “Even in Beijing? How was it transported?”

This was a large deep-sea grouper.

With the Crown Prince dining, such a dish was not unusual—but this was inland Beijing.

“Not surprising at all.”

Su Yu smiled gently. “Along the coast, there are ‘ice-fresh ships’—layers of ice, ‘living-water chambers,’ and a touch of Daoist artifice. They race day and night to Beijing, preserving the meat’s freshness.”

“But a Long Dun this size, still alive—it’s the first ever. When I learned the Fujian Merchants’ Guild had brought one, I immediately went to request it, to honor you both.”

Li Yan was speechless.

In today’s coastal regions, Long Dun was no rarity—but transporting it to Beijing cost more than forging a solid silver replica. This was pure luxury.

After the meal had warmed the atmosphere, Su Yu gracefully rose and departed.

Zhao Wanfang remained, standing three paces behind Li Yan, head bowed.

She poured wine, served dishes, her fingertips steady as plucking petals, not a drop spilling beyond the cup’s rim.

“I offer a toast to the Crown Prince.”

“Young Master Li, no need for formality. My health is poor—I can only offer tea in place of wine.”

“Your Highness is too modest.”