“Have you truly stopped resenting him?” Qiaomu’s brows furrowed slightly. “No matter what, he deceived you — deceived you for more than a decade.”
Feng Jiu’er gave Qiaomu a gentle push, smiling as she replied, “Since when did you become such a chatterbox? If you have the time, go deal with your own affairs first.”
“Me?” Qiaomu’s gaze flickered, and she looked away. “I’m perfectly fine. There’s nothing that needs dealing with.”
“Is that truly so?” Feng Jiu’er studied Qiaomu’s profile, her expression carrying a shade of tenderness.
Had the heavens been a little too cruel to this one?
For the sake of the person she admired, she had become the rival’s friend. And just when she had managed to meet someone she liked again, in the blink of an eye, they were parting ways once more.
“Every step we take puts more distance between you and him.”
“If we truly manage to escape back to Bei Mu this time… you and he… who knows when you’ll be able to see each other again. Doesn’t that sting?”
“Feng Jiu’er, can you please stop being so insufferable?” Qiaomu shot Feng Jiu’er a glance over her shoulder, her face full of complaint. “It takes so much effort for me to pretend nothing happened, and here you are, reminding me to feel miserable.”
“It’s so hard — so hard for me!” With a cold snort, Qiaomu felt she deserved some credit for not sending Feng Jiu’er flying.
Still, this little girl had suddenly become so remarkably capable. Qiaomu knew full well she was no longer her match.
“If it weren’t for the fact that he’s still constrained by my father — the Feng Clan’s Emperor — I might have suggested you stay behind. After all, finding someone you genuinely like isn’t easy.”
“Why did it suddenly become ‘the Feng Clan’s Emperor’? Aren’t you a princess of the Feng Clan? That’s what everyone says — surely it’s not false?” Qiaomu raised an eyebrow.
“And besides — am I really the sort of person who values romance over friendship? Please!”
“You are not!” Feng Jiu’er lightly patted Qiaomu’s shoulder, lifting her eyes to look at her with a smile that held a hint of mischief.
“Qiaomu, I’ve noticed you’ve grown taller again. But your head still hasn’t grown with you.”
“Feng Jiu’er, what is that supposed to mean? You’re the short one, and you’re calling someone else dim-witted?”
Qiaomu pushed Feng Jiu’er’s hand away and turned to gaze at the bright moon hanging over the horizon.
Who said she wasn’t upset? She was utterly heartbroken — did they expect her to collapse on the ground and weep? How childish.
“Fighting desperately for a love rival — in all my life, I, Feng Jiu’er, have never encountered such a person. Miss Qiao, your head truly isn’t working right.”
Feng Jiu’er stepped forward and reached out to drape her arm over Qiaomu’s other shoulder, only to find that the height difference between them was quite significant. She abandoned the attempt.
“I feel that I am a princess of the Feng Clan, yet I don’t feel that Feng Qiongcang is my Emperor Father. It’s that simple.”
“Some things — I’ll explain to you later. I haven’t fully sorted it out myself.”
“Don’t tell me anything you shouldn’t say — I don’t want to end up with a death sentence on my head. Handsome men in this world aren’t limited to just one or two. I simply refuse to believe I can’t hold onto a single one.”
At that moment, two men of breathtaking beauty came walking toward them, and Qiaomu stepped forward to greet them with a cheerful expression.
“Jian Yi, what did you find to eat?”
Watching that deliberately carefree retreating figure, Feng Jiu’er shook her head and fell into step behind her.
With Jian Yi around, finding something to eat was never a problem.
Before long, the fragrant aroma of meat porridge drifted through the cave.
Feng Jiu’er accepted a bowl of porridge from Xue Gu, then turned to look at the two men sitting not far apart — one on each side — and felt a mild headache coming on.
Clearing her throat softly, she steeled herself and walked toward Feng Li.
“Father.”
Feng Jiu’er sat down beside Feng Li and, without thinking, glanced over at the man sitting cross-legged not far away, eyes closed in quiet meditation.
She had not expected that at some unknown moment, the man had opened his eyes and was looking directly at her.
Meeting the Ninth Prince’s unreadable gaze, Feng Jiu’er averted her eyes with a slightly guilty conscience.
“Father, have some porridge.”
The moment Feng Jiu’er came over, Feng Li had already stirred from his rest and sat up.
“Let me.” Feng Li extended a large hand and took the bowl of porridge from Feng Jiu’er.
“Jiu’er, eat more yourself. These past two days, you’ve grown thinner.”
“Mm.” Feng Jiu’er nodded with a smile and then stood up. “Xue Gu, is there any more porridge?”
Whether she was hungry or not hardly mattered. What was most important was that a certain gentleman seemed to have taken quite an interest in today’s meat porridge.
Mu Mu had brought over a piece of roasted chicken, only to be turned away. He took no offense and simply sat down to enjoy it himself.
Accepting a second bowl of porridge from Xue Gu, Feng Jiu’er stood and turned to look at Zhan Qingcheng.
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, would you like some porridge? Xue Gu’s porridge is quite good.” The young woman asked the question with an air of already knowing the answer, smiling at the cool, lofty man before her.
“Mm.” The man gave a faux-imperious nod.
Feng Jiu’er smiled with some effort and walked over toward Zhan Qingcheng.
From a very long time ago, she had known that she could not afford to take offense at the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s temperament.
Sitting down beside Zhan Qingcheng, Feng Jiu’er scooped up a spoonful of meat porridge and blew on it gently several times.
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, it’s ready.” She tilted her face upward and looked at him with a smile.
Zhan Qingcheng crossed his long legs, appearing completely at ease in his seated posture — and yet he somehow managed to make it the most captivating pose in the world.
That face, capable of toppling kingdoms, was flawless from every conceivable angle — nothing but beauty, pure and absolute.
That physique could rival that of the world’s greatest supermodels. His bent knees, even in a seated position, rose nearly as high as where Feng Jiu’er’s head came to.
Stealing a glance at those impossibly long legs, Feng Jiu’er let out a faint sigh.
My, my… this man — truly too perfect for words.
Zhan Qingcheng gave a light cough, and Feng Jiu’er snapped her attention back with a start.
She gulped hard, not entirely certain whether anything had, in fact, slipped out just now.
In the future, whenever circumstances weren’t entirely appropriate, she really ought not to sit too close to the Ninth Imperial Uncle.
Simply breathing in the distinctive fragrance that clung to him was enough to send her into a daze without any effort at all.
The Ninth Imperial Uncle is toxic — strangers, beware.
“Taste it first,” Zhan Qingcheng said, lowering his eyes to glance at the spoon, his tone flat.
Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and placed the scooped porridge into her own mouth.
Was there truly someone here who might poison him? Half the time, she genuinely could not fathom what the Ninth Imperial Uncle was thinking.
She hadn’t even asked him yet — who was that Buddhist nun from that day?
The woman had clearly still been there when they left the Night Prince’s manor the previous evening, yet she hadn’t appeared again since.
Though it had been only a single brief encounter, Feng Jiu’er could say with certainty that the person who had met her mother on the rooftop that night was precisely this nun.
She had appeared profoundly enigmatic. And yet, to walk around with a face so disfigured without even wearing a veil — that was something no ordinary person could manage.
Lost in her own thoughts, Feng Jiu’er had eaten several more spoonfuls of porridge before she came back to herself.
She glanced up at the person sitting beside her and smiled with a trace of sheepishness.
“I’m sorry! The flavor was so good, I wasn’t paying attention for a moment.”
“You’ve eaten from it. This Prince will not eat from it.” Zhan Qingcheng tossed out the words with cool indifference.
Feng Jiu’er stared at the man before her, completely at a loss for words.
Fine — then don’t eat it!
Rolling her eyes at Zhan Qingcheng, Feng Jiu’er finished off the remaining porridge in the bowl in two or three bites.
After a full day and night of continuous travel, both body and spirit were exhausted, and her stomach had suffered for it as well. Now that there was finally a bowl of hot porridge to eat, the last thing on Feng Jiu’er’s mind was picking a quarrel.
But she had barely stood up — intending to go over and find something else good to eat — when that cool, lofty voice sounded once more behind her.
“This Prince… is hungry.”