He turned his head and saw a hand with distinct knuckles protruding from a magnificent carriage not far away, holding the crossbow that had pierced his wrist.

The onlookers gasped in shock. This was the Imperial Censor, a fourth-rank official, and the son of Grand Tutor Shen. Who was so audacious as to commit violence in the street?

Chongyang reached out and lifted the carriage curtain, standing respectfully to the side.

A boy of about seventeen or eighteen years old jumped off the carriage, casually tossed aside the weapon that had been used to injure someone, and arrogantly looked at Shen Huaixu.

The boy was tall and slender, casually standing with one hand on his hip, exuding both a wicked charm and handsome looks.

He was dressed in a red brocade robe with wide sleeves and white trim, the garment embroidered with intricate dark patterns in gold thread, which shimmered with an otherworldly light under the setting sun.

Her waist was cinched slenderly by an ornate sash, and her dark hair, like seaweed, was tied up high, swaying gently as he approached.

Zhang Yang.

Everyone who saw it had only one feeling: flamboyant, too flamboyant.

The young man was dressed in a magnificent red robe embroidered with gold thread; the splendor of the carriages and horses paled in comparison to his face, which made everything else pale in comparison.

His features were sharp and stern, like frost in winter, keeping people at a distance. But the corners of his cherry-pink lips turned up slightly, as if unintentionally sketching a smile, instantly melting away the coldness around him, like the warm spring sun shining on ice, quietly dissolving it.

Upon closer inspection, beneath his slightly upturned eyelashes, a hint of playful cunning lurked deep within his eyes, as if silently provoking, both surprising and delightful. This stunning, unrestrained, and flamboyant quality seemed to emanate from his very being, making him unforgettable.

Upon seeing the newcomer, Shen Huaixu knew in his heart that something was wrong; he feared the visitor was up to no good.

"Greetings, Your Highness."

Despite the excruciating pain in his wrist, Shen Huaixu bowed respectfully to the young man.

His Royal Highness?

The onlookers all gasped. If we're talking about princes, there's only one prince in the entire capital who's the most famous, and that's the current emperor's beloved son—Gu Zhixing, courtesy name Tuizhi.

However, his temperament has absolutely nothing to do with his name.

He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and was born a prince. Gold and silver jewelry were nothing more than embellishments to him, and great power was within his grasp.

That alone wouldn't be enough to make the people of Kyoto tremble with fear.

Most importantly, he took his mother's surname. His name, like that of all the other princes, was recorded in the royal register, which meant he was eligible to compete for the throne.

Not to mention that now that the emperor is seriously ill, the emperor is acting as regent, second only to the emperor. It's really hard to say who will ultimately inherit the throne.

The emperor doted on this prince so much that he acted recklessly in the capital, making him someone no one dared to offend.

"Greetings, Your Highness."

Shen Huaixu spoke again, bending even lower, but he didn't hear Gu Zhixing tell him to get up.

Silence, a deathly silence all around.

Even in late autumn, Shen Huaixu's forehead was still covered with beads of sweat.

Who knows what this spoiled brat is capable of doing?

After an unknown amount of time, a youthful voice rang out: "Shen Jintang?"

Shen Jintang looked up at Gu Zhixing, the afterglow of the setting sun casting a golden glow on him, making him extremely dazzling.

"An extremely handsome person," was Shen Jintang's first impression of Gu Zhixing.

"So ugly." Gu Zhixing only stared at Shen Jintang's face for a second before making his assessment.