“Yes.” Qing Yun nodded. “Your Highness, your subordinate will go and ask Miss Qingyin to come over now.”
He cupped his fists, took a few steps back, and turned to leave.
Half an incense stick of time later, he came rushing back in.
“Your Highness, Miss Qingyin has disappeared.”
Zhan Yuheng, who had been reclining against the chair, sat up straight and fixed his gaze on the man before him.
“What do you mean, disappeared?”
“Your subordinate searched many places but could not find Miss Qingyin. Perhaps out of fear, she has gone into hiding.” Qing Yun replied quietly.
“The brothers are searching for her now. The imperial physicians wish to perform a thorough examination on Your Highness — they are waiting outside the tent at this very moment.”
“Your Highness, please allow the physicians to examine you first. Your subordinate will immediately go and assist in the search for Miss Qingyin.”
“The encampment is vast. Even if she wished to leave, she could not do so in a matter of minutes. Please set your mind at ease, Your Highness.”
Zhan Yuheng leaned back against the chair and gave a wave of his hand. “Go then. Tell them to come in.”
Qing Yun nodded and departed. A moment later, a group of imperial physicians filed into the tent.
Having finally driven the enemy forces clear of Ya Mu City and the key passage routes leading to Mo City, Feng Jiu’er and her brothers all let out a great, collective breath of relief.
The position where Feng Jiu’er’s army was encamped happened to perfectly block any passage for Zhan Yuheng’s forces. In other words, whether his army wished to march south to Mo City or back to Ya Mu City, they would have to cross directly through her camp.
The camp had only just been set up when Feng Jiu’er set out with Xiao Yingtao and Qiao Mu to survey the surrounding area.
Suddenly, a lone rider came galloping toward them.
“Xiao Yingtao! Look what I’ve brought back for you!” Xing Zizhou’s voice rang out before he had even arrived.
Hearing that voice, Xiao Yingtao — as though waking from another lifetime — spun around so sharply she nearly lost her grip on the reins and slid from her horse.
Xing Zizhou came racing in on horseback, and just as Xiao Yingtao tightened her grip and steadied herself in the saddle, he launched himself from the horse’s back with a flying leap.
He landed behind her, pulling her tightly into his arms.
“Did you miss me?”
He held the woman in his embrace, burying his face in the curve of her neck, eyes closed — a look of pure, indulgent contentment on his face.
Xiao Yingtao went rigid for a moment before she came to her senses and tried to push him away.
But the instant both her hands moved, they were pinned.
“Don’t move. Let me hold you for a moment.”
Xing Zizhou looked down at Xiao Yingtao, his voice softer than it had ever been.
Xiao Yingtao closed her eyes, drew a long breath, then opened them again and pressed her elbows back with force.
“Stop this. Everyone is watching.”
“I don’t see anyone.” Feng Jiu’er raised an eyebrow and turned her horse around. “Qiao Mu, let’s go check the other side.”
“Very well.” Qiao Mu nodded and turned her horse as well. “Jiu’er didn’t see anything, and neither did I, then.”
“Ahem… none of the brothers saw anything either. Everyone’s having a bit of trouble with their eyes today.”
With that, Qiao Mu followed Feng Jiu’er away.
Not far off, a good number of the brothers were murmuring the same thing among themselves, just as Feng Jiu’er and Qiao Mu had.
In the blink of an eye, everyone who could make themselves scarce had done so. Those who couldn’t simply looked away, pretending to have something wrong with their eyes.
Watching them all, Xiao Yingtao bit down on her lip — caught somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.
She struggled again and said firmly, “Let go! I really mean it—”
Just as Xiao Yingtao turned her head to issue a warning, Xing Zizhou suddenly dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
In the bright sunlight — atop a magnificent horse — a tall, strikingly handsome young man held a small, delicately built girl close in his arms.
The moment Xing Zizhou kissed Xiao Yingtao, the brothers all around them, who had been trying so hard to feign eye trouble, could no longer keep up the pretense.
The collective sighs that rippled through the crowd were so audible that Feng Jiu’er and Qiao Mu, who had ridden some distance away, both instinctively turned their heads to look.
“Xiao Yingtao is far too fortunate.” Qiao Mu could not help but exclaim aloud.
“Xing Zizhou isn’t bad either.” Feng Jiu’er smiled, the corners of her lips curling up.
They watched for a moment, then both turned their horses and rode on ahead.
“Jiu’er, do you miss the Ninth Prince?” Qiao Mu glanced sideways at the person beside her, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Feng Jiu’er turned her head and raised an eyebrow at Qiao Mu.
“And what about you? Is it Yanu you’re missing, or my Third Imperial Brother?”
“Neither.” Qiao Mu gave Feng Jiu’er a sidelong look and turned her gaze back to the road ahead.
But whether she did or didn’t was not something she could control.
She… truly did miss him.
“If Zhao Yusheng had introduced me to the messenger bird sooner, I might have been able to correspond with Ninth Imperial Uncle by now.” Feng Jiu’er gazed into the distance and let out a soft sigh.
“I have missed him terribly, I won’t pretend otherwise. And I worry too — how much longer will the battle at Phoenix City drag on?”
“As for Mu Mu’s situation, I don’t know the details either. I can only hope that everyone is safe and well.”
Was war ever truly necessary? It was a question Feng Jiu’er had turned over in her mind many times these past days.
Yet as things stood, it was no longer a matter of whether they chose to fight. Others had brought the war to them.
And in the not-so-distant future, she would still have to march back against the Dream Tribe — for the sake of all the years her father had endured humiliation and borne his grievances in silence.
“The Eighth Prince, however capable, is no match for the Ninth Prince. Rest easy.” Qiao Mu caught up and gave Feng Jiu’er’s shoulder a light pat.
Feng Jiu’er turned to meet her gaze and curved her lips into a faint smile.
“That goes without saying. But I still ache for him.”
“And I’m free to ache for him and say so — unlike some people, who clearly care deeply but won’t dare admit it and won’t even acknowledge it.”
Qiao Mu frowned and cast Feng Jiu’er a sideways glance. “Who refuses to admit it?”
“Who else but our very own Miss Qiao?” Feng Jiu’er raised an eyebrow.
Qiao Mu gave the person beside her a look, then turned her gaze back to the horizon.
“My situation is nothing like yours. The person I miss has no feelings for me. What good does missing him do?”
“I’m nowhere near as fortunate as you — the man in your heart thinks of you day and night as well. If I could have someone think of me that way, what would there be to worry about?”
Feng Jiu’er smiled faintly and said nothing more.
She was a daughter of the Phoenix Tribe — she would return to the Phoenix Clan sooner or later. She dared not let herself want too much.
Yet whenever she thought back to every moment she had shared with Ninth Imperial Uncle, a warmth bloomed in her chest. That much, at least, was undeniably true.
The midday meal that day was something special, and it was all because of a certain young woman who had mentioned she was craving hot pot. Once Zhao Yusheng grasped the concept, he had thrown himself into making it happen.
Feng Jiu’er would never have imagined that a few idle words from her would actually come true.
When she returned to the main tent, she caught the scent of hot pot even from outside.
“Is there actually hot pot?” Her heart surged with excitement, and Feng Jiu’er strode toward the tent with quick steps.
Standing at the entrance, breathing in the rich, fragrant aroma, she blinked — momentarily unable to process the sight.
In the biting cold of deep winter, nothing in this world could compare to a warm, delicious hot pot.
After a brief daze, Feng Jiu’er stepped inside.
In the center of the tent, a fire had been lit, and a large pot sat secured atop the frame above the flames. To keep the fire from catching the tent walls, a large opening had been cut in the top of the tent. The white steam drifted upward and escaped through the gap. The tent held little smoke, but was thick with the most glorious aroma.