Li Shimin faked his death? Then I will be powerful enough to conquer the world!

The drizzle was as soft as silk threads, quietly wetting the bluestone slabs in front of the Su Mansion.

The copper bells hanging on the eaves swayed gently in the draft, making a fine, ethereal sound, as if the lingering sound of chimes coming from afar.

Chen Fusheng stood in front of the vermilion lacquered gate, a corner of the hem of his black brocade robe lifted by the wind. He raised his hand to brush away the raindrops on the hem, his eyes falling on the mottled copper nails, those copper nails polished to a shine by time, each one like solidified amber.

Suddenly, the scene of ten years ago unfolded before my eyes like a picture scroll. Back then, the late emperor was in his prime, and the golden dragon on his robe gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

He bent down and picked up Li Jingyi, who was wearing a double bun, and laughed heartily: "Yier, you bitch grew up here."

The little girl in his arms hid timidly behind her father, with only half of her face showing. Her dark eyes looked at the strange young scholar curiously.

At that time, Chen Fusheng was only a young man, but he had already been awarded the title of Minister. When he first saw the princess in the Su Mansion, he remembered her lively eyes.

The girl who walked out of the door was wearing a moon-white skirt and a Pisces jade pendant given by the late emperor on her waist. The pearls and jade jingled as she walked.

Li Jingyi looked at Mr. Chen, who in his memory was always painting in his study, but was surprised to find that time had already carved deep wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Only his eyes were still as bright as before, filled with a soft light that saw through the world.

The two moved to the flower hall, and the maids carefully placed the celadon teacups on the table. The Biluochun tea leaves stretched out their curls under the impact of boiling water, and the lingering tea fragrance intertwined with the smell of damp earth outside the window.

Chen Fusheng looked at Li Jingyi opposite him. Her eyebrows and eyes were seven points similar to those of the late emperor, which made him feel a surge of emotions.

The little girl who once ran after kites in the imperial garden is now sitting upright on a carved sandalwood chair, her back straight, dignified and proper to the point of being rigid. Only the loneliness that occasionally flashes in her eyes reveals her true emotions.

"Your Highness, I would like to ask you, are you living a good life?"

Chen Fusheng's voice was low, with a few barely perceptible sobs, "This is not just what I want to ask, but what all the students of the late emperor want to ask."

As soon as the words fell, the flower hall fell into silence, with only the copper bells on the eaves still ringing softly.

Li Jingyi's fingers gripping the teacup tightened slightly, but the warmth from the cup wall couldn't dispel the chill in her heart.

It had been a long time since she had heard such sincere concern since her father, Emperor Long Yu, passed away.

Everyone in the court knew that she was the most noble pearl of the Tang Dynasty and a princess blessed by the late emperor. However, no one cared about the bloody marks on her skin under her gorgeous clothes, and no one heard her silent sighs in front of the bronze mirror in the middle of the night.

Even though the Tang Dynasty was on a western expedition and the treasury was empty, the emperor uncle still spent a fortune to hold a coming-of-age ceremony for her.

"Mr. Chen, I'm doing well."

Li Jingyi lowered her eyes, her voice as soft as petals falling to the ground. Even she herself felt that this was ridiculous, but how else could she respond?

Should I cry to the students of the late emperor about my loneliness and how no one can confide in me?

Chen Fusheng stared at her face that was trying to be calm. His bright eyes seemed to be able to penetrate layers of disguise and see the scars in the girl's heart.

He recalled the late emperor holding his hand tightly in Nanjing, his breath weak but every word heavy: "Yier...I entrust you..." Now, looking at his teacher's daughter, he felt his throat tighten.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Your Highness, the teacher once prepared a small house in Nanjing for Your Highness the Princess."

"When he said the word 'teacher', his voice softened unconsciously,"

The house was built by the water, right in front of Conductor Zhang's house.

The teacher later often stayed there for a short time and even specially designated that area for meritorious officials, saying that he wanted them to live next to each other...&34;

His voice gradually became low, with a regret that was hard to conceal: "Originally, the teacher wanted to spend his remaining years there, but unfortunately..."

The lingering sound dissipated in the fragrance of tea, and Li Jingyi's heart suddenly moved.

Nanjing, the southern city that always appeared in my father's mouth, has the Qinhuai River with the sound of oars and lights, the Confucius Temple with the sound of reading, and a world of fireworks that is different from Chang'an.

She had sketched that place name on the map countless times, imagining herself strolling in the bluestone alleys.

But soon, she shook her head: "Mr. Chen, the housekeeper of my Su Mansion, is now seventy years old."

Speaking of Su Bo, her voice softened unconsciously, "He is an old friend of my grandfather. He has been taking care of this mansion since my mother was still alive."

"These years..." She paused, her eyelashes casting trembling shadows under her eyes, "I've been so grateful to him all these years, and now I should say goodbye to him no matter what."

Su Bo's hunched figure, his calloused hands, and the bowl of soup he warmed for her late at night have long become the warmest support in her life.

Chen Fusheng nodded in understanding, a trace of relief in his eyes: "Your Highness is loyal and righteous. If the teacher knew about this in the afterlife, he would also be relieved."

He raised his hand to signal his attendants, and several gilded lacquer boxes were respectfully carried into the hall. "This time we went south, we specially collected some small items from Nanjing, shadow puppets, sugar paintings, brocade handkerchiefs..."

He paused, his eyes becoming serious, "There are also these personal belongings of the late emperor. I have the audacity to bring them here. I hope Your Highness will not mind the inconvenience."

Li Jingyi looked at the lacquer boxes and his heart beat faster.

Since her father passed away, she has never seen anything related to him again. Those memories seem to be locked in a bottomless ancient well.

Hearing about the relics at this moment, a bitter taste suddenly rose in my throat.

"I have important matters to attend to in the capital this time. I must go to the palace to meet Your Majesty. I will take my leave now!"

Chen Fusheng stood up and straightened his clothes, and a faint scent of ink wafted from his sleeves.

Li Jingyi looked at his back as he turned around, and suddenly felt that this person who carried her father's memories seemed to be her last link with the past world.

Once he leaves, all that warmth will sink into darkness again.

"Then let me take you there, Mr. Chen."

When she said this, even she was a little surprised.

Chen Fusheng was slightly startled, then smiled and said, "Thank you, Your Highness."

The two walked side by side on the corridor, and they didn't know when the rain had stopped.

Wisteria flowers washed by rain hung all over the ground, and the air was filled with sweet floral fragrance.

Chen Fusheng's footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, and Li Jingyi seemed to have returned to his childhood.

At that time, she always liked to walk in her father's shadow and listen to his stories.

In front of the Su Mansion, Chen Fusheng boarded the carriage.

He opened the curtain and looked back one last time: "Your Highness, take care. The weather is cold, please keep warm."

Li Jingyi watched the carriage go farther and farther away. The ruts rolled over the wet bluestone slabs, leaving two winding traces that were gradually filled with accumulated water.

Not until the carriage disappeared at the end of the long street did she slowly turn around and her eyes fell on the lacquer boxes on the ground.

Back in the bedroom, Li Jingyi dismissed everyone and faced these objects that carried memories alone.

The moment the sandalwood box was opened, a familiar scent hit her face - it was a blend of sandalwood, ink and medicine, the scent she had loved most in her childhood.

The first thing that caught her eye was a faded lining. The edges of the fabric were already fuzzy, and among the fine stitches, she recognized her mother's unique twisted needlework.

Those marks of varying depths are the saliva she shed when she was sleepy as a child, the marks from scratching when she was learning to walk, and the most precious bond between her and her parents.

She shivered as she pressed the liner against her cheek and took a deep breath.

In an instant, countless fragments of memories came flooding back like a tide: her father was holding her in his arms as he read memorials in the study, and she was dozing off on his shoulder.

The queen mother sat by the window, mending clothes and humming a tune.

And that year during the Lantern Festival, she rode on her father's shoulders, watching the lights all over the city pour down like a galaxy of stars...

Tears flowed uncontrollably, dripping onto the faded fabric. At this moment, Li Jingyi finally understood that this small lining carried more than just things.

It is the warmth of home, the bond of blood, and her last warm comfort.

Outside the window, dusk deepens, and the copper bells on the eaves are still ringing softly in the wind, like a distant call.