Mark studied the young prince for a while, feeling pity for this one. Zetian may have looked composed and polite, but underneath, he was the kind of youth who had been forced to grow up cautiously, quietly, and with constant restraint. "I see," Mark finally said, leaning back slightly. "It must not have been easy."
A soft, self-deprecating smile formed on Zetian's lips. "Compared to many others, I have lived comfortably, Patriarch Lan. I was raised in the palace, fed well, and taught well. But… I will not pretend that I didn't grow up wondering whether I should exist at all. My mother died because she loved a man she shouldn't have. My father spared me but avoided me. The Emperor treats me better than my own father, ironically. And the nobles pretend to respect me while whispering behind my back. So, yes… I'm familiar with layers of masks."
Mark could relate, far more than Zetian realized. Everyone believed he was simply Lu Zhen, a prodigy with monstrous talent.
