“She was injured by a palace maid.”

Before Feng Jiu’er could say a word, Jian Yi’s voice carried over from behind.

She turned and fixed Jian Yi with a glare, her eyes sharp as drawn blades.

“Did you not say that Prince Ye is not an outsider?”

Jian Yi raised an eyebrow, carrying the meal tray over on his own.

He reached the stone table, set the dishes down without ceremony, and settled himself in the seat across from Feng Jiu’er and Feng Li.

Feng Jiu’er exhaled a sharp breath, then drew her gaze from him and turned to Feng Li.

“It was Second Imperial Brother’s sweetheart. She believed I meant to compete with her for Second Imperial Brother’s affections and slashed my arm.”

“It was all a misunderstanding. Everything has been explained. Fourth Imperial Uncle, please do not be angry — I will be more careful in the future.”

Feng Jiu’er looked at Feng Li, her large, limpid eyes blinking, doing her best to temper his fury.

“Fourth Imperial Uncle, I truly am all right. That little maid had no real nerve — she only took the reckless gamble because Jian Yi had startled her into a panic.”

“Look.”

She lifted her sleeve once more, raised her arm, and held it out before Feng Li, giving it a light shake.

“See? Not a thing wrong with me. Such a small injury — in three days it may well leave no trace of a scar.”

Feng Li regarded his daughter without blinking, his expression shadowed.

She was the noble lady of the Feng clan — the future heir, even the future Empress — and a mere palace maid had managed to draw her blood. One could well imagine the state of Feng Li’s heart.

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together, a quiet discomfort squeezing at her chest.

In that moment, she desperately wanted to make herself stronger — if only so that her Fourth Imperial Uncle would never have cause to worry.

“Fourth Imperial Uncle, I promise I will be more careful from now on. Will you not smile for me?”

Still receiving no response from Feng Li, Feng Jiu’er glanced at Jian Yi, who was sitting across from her and eating in solitude — she did not know when he had started. She drew her gaze away and rubbed her own belly.

“Fourth Imperial Uncle, I am so hungry.”

“I came looking for you the moment I opened my eyes this morning. I did not even have time to eat.”

At the sight of the little girl’s pitiful appearance, Feng Li reached out his large hand, intending to ruffle her small head.

But his long fingers only grazed the tips of her hair before he withdrew his hand.

“Eat.”

“Thank you, Fourth Imperial Uncle.”

Feng Jiu’er’s face brightened at once, and she went to take the seat beside Jian Yi.

She picked up her chopsticks — and with a sharp click, they met Jian Yi’s chopsticks head-on.

Jian Yi’s brow furrowed; he glanced up at her with a trace of confusion, as though nothing whatsoever had transpired between them just moments ago.

Feng Jiu’er pouted, and deftly plucked up the steamed bun he had been about to take, setting it in front of herself.

“That is your punishment for talking too much — go hungry.”

She gave Jian Yi a sideways glance and took a satisfied bite of the bun.

Jian Yi raised an eyebrow and reached for another one.

“The only time I tend to be quiet is when I am eating.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he stuffed the bun into his own and fell truly silent.

Feng Jiu’er stared at the man before her, cheeks puffed out, the bun in her mouth suddenly difficult to swallow.

And this man called himself the number one assassin of Bei Mu? At this moment, where was even the slightest trace of an assassin about him?

The number one assassin of Bei Mu.

Feng Jiu’er tilted her head and looked at Jian Yi, her crescent brows drawing together.

“What is it?”

Jian Yi met her changed expression, his own turning noticeably more serious.

“You are the number one assassin of Bei Mu?”

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and asked.

Jian Yi gave her a sideways glance and reached for yet another bun.

“Only now remembering.”

Jian Yi could not forget — just a few days past, when they crossed paths again, she had actually called out for help.

Feng Jiu’er pouted, casting a sidelong look at the man in front of her.

“I genuinely lost my memories. The fact that I remembered you at all — consider it your good fortune.”

“Whether fortune or disaster, who can say.”

Jian Yi was utterly indifferent.

Feng Jiu’er let out a hard breath, completely at a loss.

Assassins were supposed to be cold-blooded and ruthless, were they not?

Could this man truly be an assassin?

Across from the two young people, Feng Li lifted his teacup and took a quiet, unhurried sip.

His expression had softened considerably, yet a trace of something unreadable still lingered in the depths of his eyes.

“What is all this about — a palace maid from which hall getting into trouble so early in the morning? I heard that His Majesty himself issued the decree to put her to death.”

“Is that truly the case? At this hour, His Majesty ought to be preparing for morning court — which hall’s maid could be so reckless?”

From a distance, two palace maids were approaching with pastries in hand.

Their voices were not loud, but Feng Jiu’er caught every word with perfect clarity.

Feng Jiu’er seized Jian Yi by the arm. Jian Yi stilled his hands and followed her gaze toward the approaching walkway.

“I have no idea either. But if she has offended His Majesty, that palace maid likely has no chance of surviving.”

“How dreadful.”

“Dreadful for what? She was not careful enough herself — she has no one to blame.”

The two palace maids had not imagined that their conversation, carried from such a distance, would fall clearly upon the ears of everyone in the rear courtyard.

A sudden feeling that something was terribly wrong seized Feng Jiu’er. She stood up immediately and headed for the exit.

Jian Yi set down his chopsticks, cast Feng Li a glance, and followed in long strides.

“Where is she?”

Feng Jiu’er’s voice was urgent as she pressed forward.

Before the two palace maids had time to react, two figures were suddenly standing right before them.

“Princess.”

“Princess.”

The two maids carrying the pastries dropped to their knees with a thud.

“I said — where is she?”

Feng Jiu’er’s brows were tightly knitted, urgency written plainly across her face.

“Who?”

One maid raised her eyes and looked cautiously at Feng Jiu’er.

“The palace maid you just said is to be put to death — where is she?”

Feng Jiu’er’s eyes went wide as she pressed for an answer.

“Princess, His — His Majesty’s side… that—” The maid truly had not known her words had been overheard by the Princess, and was so frightened she could barely form a coherent sentence.

Feng Jiu’er paid her no further heed, flung back her sleeve, and swept out like the wind.

It must be her — it must be Second Imperial Brother’s sweetheart.

She herself had suffered nothing more than a surface wound. Yet that palace maid carried Second Imperial Brother’s child in her womb — Imperial Father’s own grandchild. Could he truly be so ruthless?

Feng Jiu’er dared not linger on the thought, had no time to linger on it. She moved at the fastest speed she could muster toward where Emperor Feng Qiangcang resided.

“Princess.”

Before the entrance of Feng Luan Hall, two guards stepped to block Feng Jiu’er’s path.

“I wish to see Imperial Father.”

Feng Jiu’er flung the words coldly behind her and continued forward without breaking stride.

The guards dared not obstruct her and had no choice but to stand aside.

At the sight of the great characters of Feng Luan Hall gleaming not far ahead, Feng Jiu’er’s complexion had long since drained of all color.

She wanted nothing more than to rush inside this very instant and stop all of this — yet why did the path leading into the hall seem so impossibly long?

Suddenly, a feeling of weightlessness swept over her. As Feng Jiu’er looked down at the large hand resting at her waist, she found herself already standing before the main hall.

The sound of sharp, rhythmic strikes was issuing from within. Without allowing herself another moment’s thought, Feng Jiu’er pressed on through the doors.

Jian Yi said not a word, following in long, urgent strides.

“Princess.”

The guards stationed before the hall saluted with a bow.

The moment she made out the silhouettes inside the main hall, Feng Jiu’er had broken into a near-run.

“Imperial Father.”

Just as she drew close to Emperor Feng Qiangcang, Feng Jiu’er halted her steps and dropped to her knees. “Imperial Father, is it Second Imperial Brother receiving punishment inside?”

Receiving no response from Emperor Feng Qiangcang, Feng Jiu’er raised her eyes and met his gaze.

“Imperial Father, is the one being punished inside — Second Imperial Brother? Is it?”

The sound of the whip striking flesh rang out loud and heavy. Second Imperial Brother only occasionally let out a low groan. Feng Jiu’er listened, and her entire heart felt as though it were being wrung.

But what mattered most in this very moment — where was the palace maid?

Was she still all right?