The palace is on high alert following the assassination attempt. King Moyao beefs up security precautions even as he pretends to relax them, becoming increasingly paranoid. Wuji cautions Yǔlín to keep his wits about him and tells him about how Xiéyàn is being spotted lurking about and whispering in the king's ear increasingly often lately. "Be aware," Wuji advises him gravely. "It's never the blade that kills—it's the guiding hand."
That night, Yǔlín comes upon Su Shu alone in the courtyard, her pensive face bathed in silver by the moonlight. Her jaw is set, her eyes blank as she gazes up at the moon, lost in thoughts she won't reveal. Yǔlín stands still for a moment, observing her. He removes his robe quietly and puts it over her shoulders without speaking a word. She startles and then relaxes a little. They sit in quiet contemplation, the cold night air settling in.
"Are you going to continue to pretend that you don't want to kill my father?" Yǔlín speaks in a level but inquiring tone.
Su Shu lets out a bitter laugh. "So why do you insist on guarding me then?"
Yǔlín reclines against the stone pillar, his gaze raised to meet the sky. "Possibly I see something in you that you do not see in yourself."
She is quiet, her fingers tightening into a grip on his robe. The heat of his smell remains behind, disturbing her more than his words do. She softly says at last, "What if you're wrong?"
Yǔlín's look becomes sharper, but he says nothing.
In the meantime, Xiéyàn encounters a figure with unknown motives in a secret corridor. "The queen is suspicioning about the prince," is all the figure says, glancing about suspiciously. Xiéyàn's face is still expressionless, but his thoughts spin. "Then let's step up the plan. But quietly. We don't have time for missteps."
In Yǔlín's room, Wuji sees that Yǔlín's face is paler than normal, dark circles under his eyes. "You look dead," Wuji says, brow creasing.
Yǔlín brushes off the concern with a forced smirk. "Not been sleeping well. Had nightmares."
Wuji regards him for a beat too long before deciding to let it go.
The following morning, Yǔlín is summoned by the queen to her quarters. She smiles warmly to him, her eyes gentle as she draws him close to her, her fingers stroking a strand from his forehead. "You look so worn out, my son. Take better care of yourself," she says to him.
Yǔlín forces a smile. "I'm fine, Mother.
"Listen," she says matter-of-factly, "I heard you have a new maid in your rooms now. And she is very beautiful, they say. How helpful is she?"
Yǔlín grits his teeth, but tries to maintain his expressionless face. "She's just a servant. That's all."
The fingers of the queen trace over his cheek, her eyes burning into his face. "Be cautious, Yǔlín. All smiles aren't friendly smiles."
Yǔlín gives a slow nod but feels a shiver go through him as he steps out. He clenches his fists, replaying in his mind what she's said. Was that a threat—or a warning?