Upon returning to the Princess’s chambers, Feng Jiang saw there was nothing for him to do there and went off to keep their Fourth Imperial Uncle company over a game of chess.

However, Jiu’er had given him a task — for the time being, he was to keep their Fourth Imperial Uncle detained within the palace.

The reason she gave was that she intended to visit their Fourth Imperial Uncle from time to time and have him teach her martial arts.

Feng Jiang was thoroughly pleased with this assignment. Having their Fourth Imperial Uncle remain meant he could see him every single day and seek his guidance on battlefield strategy and the deeper mysteries of martial arts.

Whenever Fourth Imperial Uncle so much as hinted at wanting to leave, Feng Jiang would say that Jiu’er had asked him to stay.

Since Fourth Imperial Uncle listened so well to Jiu’er, naturally he would not leave if she had asked him to remain.

After Feng Jiang departed, only Jiu’er and Yanu were left in the side parlor of Princess Jiu’er’s chambers.

The two of them faced each other in silence.

Yanu simply sat watching her quietly, as though merely looking at her was enough — even without speaking, it was a contentment in itself.

No one knew how much time had passed before Jiu’er suddenly said: “You have always been by my side? For more than ten years?”

Yanu hesitated for a moment, then nodded, then shook his head slightly: “There were some periods in between when I was away.”

“But I did not grow up in the so-called separate villa.”

At these words, Yanu’s complexion changed abruptly, and his fingertips clenched tightly.

The gaze that had been fixed on Feng Jiu’er the whole time shifted away in an instant, looking elsewhere.

She had indeed not grown up at the separate villa — seeing Yanu’s expression now confirmed that her words were correct.

But on one point, just as she had guessed, Yanu truly was the person who had spent the most time accompanying her in the past.

Yet he was now visibly unsettled — was he afraid she might learn too much about what had happened before?

“Yanu, are you ultimately the Emperor’s man, or are you mine?” Feng Jiu’er leaned back against her chair, her gaze fixed steadily on his face.

Yanu did not look at her. His palms only pressed tighter together, until in the end even his fingertips trembled.

Jiu’er simply watched him, without any intent to coerce.

Such matters could not be forced — it had to come from his own willingness.

Whichever he chose, the Emperor or her, she would not do anything to him regardless.

But the Emperor’s side might be different.

If he chose wrongly, what he would face in the future was a threat to his life.

So she waited — neither urging him nor trying to entice him — simply letting him make his choice in peace.

More time passed, and then Jiu’er suddenly rose to her feet.

Yanu’s heart tightened, but in the next moment, only despair remained in his eyes.

The Princess no longer wished to trust him.

Jiu’er made to leave, and Yanu did not stop her — he only watched silently as her slender figure withdrew, watching her step out of the side parlor, as though she were stepping out of his life.

Yet Jiu’er, upon reaching the doorway, suddenly stopped. She turned her head back to look at him.

“Why did you not choose the Emperor?” she asked.

In truth, Yanu had made no choice at all — he had neither chosen her nor chosen the Emperor.

Yanu met her gaze, his lips parting slightly, but still he would not speak a single word.

“Then allow me to speak for you. Shall I?”

He still said nothing. Jiu’er turned back into the parlor and walked to stand before him.

Standing this close to him, she only now realized how tall he truly was.

With Yanu seated and herself standing, they were nearly at eye level with each other.

When she reached him and Yanu rose to his feet, she would have to look upward just to speak with him.

“You may remain seated — it strains my neck to speak with you while looking up.” Feng Jiu’er pressed him back down.

Yanu felt rather ill at ease with her standing while he sat — it was improper by the rules of propriety.

But in Feng Jiu’er’s world, such rules of propriety had never been of much concern.

“I do not need you to betray the Emperor. But I hope that your heart can also turn toward me.”

Were it not for an inexplicable sense of closeness she felt toward him, these words were not ones Feng Jiu’er would dare say before Yanu.

In truth, wishing to share what was in her heart with Yanu was a very risky thing to do.

After all, Yanu was the Emperor’s man.

She was simply taking a gamble — gambling that Yanu still held some measure of loyalty toward her.

The look in Yanu’s eyes was gentle — at least in this moment, it was filled with unwavering certainty.

“I have never harbored any intent to harm the Princess. I swear it.”

“I believe you. There is no need to swear — oaths hold no meaning for me.”

Jiu’er quietly exhaled. At the very least, Yanu had finally agreed to communicate with her.

“Did you and I truly live together at the separate villa all that time?” In truth, she already had the answer within herself — she simply wanted to hear what Yanu would say.

Yanu did not answer. He did not want to deceive her, but there were certain things he could not speak of, not a single word.

“Very well then. Tell me — the friends I once knew from before, do you know them as well?” This was the most crucial point.

Yanu looked at her for a long moment before inclining his head: “For the most part, yes.”

“Then can you promise me that from now on, you will try to mention as little as possible about my former friends in front of the Emperor?”

“Princess, what is it exactly that you are trying to do?” Yanu was not afraid to help her — what weighed on him were many other concerns.

“To stand against the Emperor would bring you no benefit. As long as you remain quietly in the palace, this entire realm will one day be yours.”

“Everyone says this realm will one day be mine — but has anyone ever asked whether I want any of it?”

These words left Yanu momentarily speechless.

He had in fact once wondered before whether this was something she truly desired.

On the boat, he had thought about this very question, but in the end he had never found an opportunity to ask her.

“Is Princess not happy with her life as it is now?” he asked.

She could have anything she wished for, free from sorrow and worry, set above all others — was this not the life that everyone dreamed of?

“That depends on what price must be paid in exchange for it.”

Jiu’er kept her gaze on him, not missing the flicker of complex emotion that crossed the depths of his eyes.

Something like regret, something like confusion, and something like not knowing what to do.

This young man — though his bearing was noble and not inferior to anyone — was forever meek and silent, as though he truly had no thoughts or desires of his own.

What kind of environment had shaped him into this?

He genuinely seemed to have no aspirations of his own, no pursuits of his own.

Everything he did was either in obedience to her, or in obedience to the Emperor.

“Yanu, do you have a name?” Jiu’er suddenly asked.

Yanu startled slightly, then shook his head.

A pang of sadness touched Jiu’er’s heart. A man this outstanding, without even a name.

Had no one ever truly cared for him, from the moment he came into this world until now?

“Never mind. You dare not betray the Emperor — perhaps part of the reason, at some level, is that you are afraid I too would be harmed.”

“You are the Emperor’s own daughter — the Emperor would never harm you!”

At least on this point, Yanu was still willing to believe.

A tiger does not devour its own cubs — what father would harm his own child?

“Princess…”

“One can only hope.” Jiu’er smiled faintly and said: “From this day forward, you shall be called Wuyou.”