Looking out over the courtyard before them, and the figures of students drifting sparsely in the distance, a hundred different feelings rose in Feng Jiu’er’s chest.

They sat on the rooftop, and a bottle of wine appeared in front of her.

She looked up at Mu Mu. He said, “It’s fruit wine. Very little alcohol.”

Feng Jiu’er took a sip — and was pleasantly surprised to find it quite good.

Fruit wine of this era was brewed entirely by hand, something the machine-produced varieties of the twenty-first century could not remotely rival. Whether in purity, taste, color, or fragrance, they were simply not in the same class.

“It’s good.” She could not help taking another two sips.

“It may be light, but you have a poor tolerance. Don’t overindulge.” Mu Mu settled down beside her and produced another bottle for himself, drinking in measured sips.

“Why did you suddenly bring me here?”

“It is once again the season for selecting the new intake of students.” Mu Mu gazed down below. The wind moved gently, swaying the figures of the students with it — a clear breeze, a bright moon, quiet in a way that felt almost unreal.

A pang moved through Feng Jiu’er’s heart. She had not realized, without even noticing, that a full year had slipped by.

So it was once again the early period of selection for new students. She wondered how many had come this time, burning with youthful ambition, to compete for the handful of available places.

“When you first came here,” she said suddenly, “was your true purpose to assassinate the Ninth Imperial Uncle?”

Mu Mu watched the shadows of the trees below. After a long pause, he gave a single nod. “That was one of them.”

Naturally, no organization existed purely to cause another party harm. The dismantling of the most powerful war god of the Bei Mu nation — Zhan Qingcheng — was only one objective among many. Beyond that, there were other matters he had come to attend to.

Feng Jiu’er had no wish to press further. Now that he knew the Ninth Imperial Uncle was his elder brother, those things, at least, had been put behind him.

“Was there something you wanted to say to me?” Mu Mu had not forgotten — back at the bedchamber in the rear courtyard of the Hall of Heavenly Mechanisms, she had said as much.

Feng Jiu’er had nearly let the matter slip her mind entirely. She asked, “You once said that whoever wins the Phoenix Woman wins the realm. What did you mean by that?”

“Hmm?”

“Why?” Now she knew she was the Phoenix Woman — but why would possessing her bring someone the entire world?

True, over the past half year her martial skill had advanced with remarkable speed — but there were countless people in the world who surpassed her. Even Mu Mu himself was her superior in martial arts.

With a Phoenix Woman like her, where would the power come from to deliver an entire realm to anyone?

“Even my shifu does not know the answer to that.” So he had even less chance of unraveling the mystery behind it. He only knew that it was his shifu who had spoken those words — and that he had subsequently discovered Feng Jiu’er was the Phoenix Woman and used it as a reason to grow close to her.

As for what had happened after that — Jiu’er knew it well enough herself. Aside from the deception at the very beginning, he had never been less than honest with her since.

“Tonight I looked carefully at the Phoenix Mark on my lower back. I realized that when I examined it closely, it doesn’t quite seem to be a phoenix.”

Feng Jiu’er took another sip of the fruit wine, gaze drifting to the shadows below, brow gently furrowed.

If it was not a phoenix, what was it? She had not been able to look clearly before Mu Mu had arrived. And now her lower back felt nothing in particular — the Phoenix Mark had probably faded considerably. Though she could still summon it through her vital energy, unless it had surfaced on its own, forcing it out would not make it especially clear.

She had yet to fully master the technique of drawing the Phoenix Mark out deliberately — she could only go by instinct.

The frustrating thing was: as much as she wanted to examine it with Mu Mu, the Phoenix Mark could not be replicated. Which meant — would she have to bare her lower back for him to see?

In the modern world, that would obviously have been nothing. A lower back, honestly.

But this was the ancient era. If she let him see, she feared he would latch onto his principles again and say something about how having seen her body meant he was now responsible for her.

One could not carelessly tease men of this time. Tease them and there would be consequences.

“If it’s not a phoenix, what is it?” Mu Mu’s gaze instinctively dropped toward her lower back. “Are you trying to tell me that you are not truly the Phoenix Woman?”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then stay with me.” After all, that man was going to be Emperor someday. If he found the true Phoenix Woman and made her his own, then this Jiu’er — who was not the Phoenix Woman — would naturally belong to him instead.

Mu Mu’s thinking was, in its way, quite cheerful.

Feng Jiu’er cast him a sideways glance. “I regard you only as an elder brother. A friend.”

“Time changes all things.” So why despair now? It was not as though all hope was gone. And that man would one day be Emperor — he believed Jiu’er would never be willing to be merely one among three thousand beauties in an imperial harem. If she refused that life, she would eventually leave. And when she did, he would still have his chance.

Though Jiu’er had no idea what precisely he was thinking, the smug, gloating expression on his face made her want to give him a good thrashing. For what reason, she could not even articulate.

“You truly have no idea what the secret of the Phoenix Mark is?”

“When have I ever deceived you?”

“Please.”

“Fine — all of that is in the past now. Can we let it go?” Was it not just that at the very beginning he had drawn close to her because of her identity as the Phoenix Woman? Women really did hold onto things — remembering such a small matter for a lifetime.

“I won’t deceive you again. I promise.”

Feng Jiu’er said nothing, gaze still fixed on the distant students below.

The past was like smoke. Now that it was gone, why let it linger? When it came up, she treated it as nothing more than something to laugh about, and once she had laughed, it was over.

“What are your plans from here?” Feng Jiu’er asked it half-idly — and the moment the words left her mouth, she realized she should not have. They each had too many affairs of their own, too many secrets that belonged only to themselves. And she, now, was an outsider to all of it. She had no business asking.

“I…”

She was about to change the subject when she heard Mu Mu say, quietly and without inflection: “Once I have helped him accomplish his great ambition, I will wander the world with no fixed home.”

“That is hardly fair to him.” In truth, Feng Jiu’er was not entirely sure what “fair” or “unfair” even meant in this context. She and the Ninth Imperial Uncle had never once spoken of the future, and she had no way of knowing what was truly in his heart.

He had been the Crown Prince of the former dynasty. If the restoration of his kingdom was to come, he would naturally become its sovereign — what was fair or unfair about that?

And yet, she could not explain it: the moment she heard Mu Mu speak of wandering the world alone, a sudden, quiet ache rose in her heart for the image of that white-robed figure, drifting alone.

To be sovereign of a kingdom — that was the dream and ambition of countless men. Most spent entire lifetimes never touching that supreme authority.

So why, despite everything, did she ache?

“You think I am the one who has wronged him?” Mu Mu lifted the bottle and poured a great deal of it down in one go. “You feel tenderness for him?”

Feng Jiu’er did not answer. Whether she ached for him or not — why say it aloud?

Mu Mu drank several more long pulls, then abruptly tilted his head back and gazed at the sky above. In a low, drifting voice, he said:

“You feel tenderness for him. Why have you never once felt tenderness for me?”