The Third Prince pushed open the door—and halted in surprise.
The chamber had been transformed. Warm hues now washed the walls, and scattered across them were rather garish flowers and grasses painted in childish strokes. Yet in their clumsiness there was an unmistakable warmth.
For a fleeting instant, he recalled his own childhood—Lin Yue holding his hand, tracing simple blossoms in the earth. They had looked much like these. Naïve. Untutored. Yet quietly comforting.
When Mu Xueshi saw the softened lines of the Third Prince’s face, all his earlier disappointment dissolved like mist beneath the sun. He knew better than to expect praise—such a thing would never pass those cold lips. But if the prince’s expression grew gentler, even slightly, then he had succeeded.
“Thank you, Xi, for giving me such encouragement!”
Mu Xueshi threw his arms around the Third Prince in an exuberant embrace, radiant with delight.
The prince had intended to offer thanks himself—yet instead he found himself being thanked. For a moment, he did not know whether to laugh or sigh.
Held in Mu Xueshi’s arms, he felt… unexpectedly at ease. When he had once forced this closeness, there had never been such warmth. A faint milky scent clung to Mu Xueshi—clean, youthful, almost innocent—drawing one nearer despite oneself.
Realizing he was indulging too deeply in this softness, the Third Prince gently pushed him away, restoring the frost to his features.
Mu Xueshi had grown used to these brief flickers of tenderness. He did not dwell on the prince’s habitual coldness.
The moment the Third Prince’s expression thawed even slightly, Mu Xueshi hurried forward eagerly.
“Take me out to play! Ever since I arrived, you haven’t shown me around. I’m suffocating staying in here all day! Is the marketplace lively? Do you hunt? Can you shoot arrows? Teach me!”
“No,” the Third Prince replied mercilessly. “During the Eight Homage Festival, one must show reverence to the ancestors. No thoughts of amusement are permitted.”
At once Mu Xueshi’s face fell.
“But once the festival ends,” he said softly, “I’ll be thrown into prison. I won’t be able to accompany you anymore… Or perhaps… I won’t even be alive.”
The Third Prince frowned. “Why would you not be alive?”
Mu Xueshi hurried to explain, “I only fear you may punish me… that I might not escape it.”
The words struck like a sudden blade.
Only then did the Third Prince remember: this was the enemy he had once intended to torment. In less than half a month, everything would revert to how it was before.
Then what was he doing now?
Was this still the man he had sworn to punish?
Why did he no longer feel the slightest urge to do so?
Seeing hesitation flicker across the prince’s face, Mu Xueshi pressed his advantage.
“Could we… just play for one day? After the festival, you may spare me that single day. Just one.”
He dropped to his knees, clinging tightly to the prince’s leg. His voice pleaded—but his eyes were resolute. He would not retreat until he achieved his goal. No matter what, he would make this “ice chest” take him out for one day. He would not leave regrets behind.
The Third Prince could have shaken him off with the slightest force.
Instead, he remained unmoving.
“We shall speak of it later,” he said coolly.
“Ha!”
Mu Xueshi sprang to his feet, laughing in triumph.
“So you’ve agreed! I knew you would!”
Skipping into the courtyard, he seized the sword the Third Prince had gifted him and began waving it wildly, his antics utterly ridiculous.
Futile Devices Scans 
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