At the moment Meido’s wedding procession wended its way out of the grasslands, Feng Zhiwei was perusing secret reports from various regions provided by Zong Chen.
She had never asked about the true extent of the organization that belonged to her, established by Gu Nanyi and Zong Chen. She vaguely knew that Zong Chen was extremely well-informed, and that this organization seemed to have only part of its forces stationed by her side, with another part scattered across different regions. As for their exact identities and activities, she had no knowledge.
Zong Chen had once said that the less she knew, the better. Not knowing would allow her to display genuine innocence in certain cunning situations, avoiding suspicion.
Feng Zhiwei deeply agreed, though inwardly she had formed a certain conclusion about Zong Chen’s identity—among the Four Great Families skilled in medicine, the Xuanyuan clan’s early revival emperor, Emperor Chengqing Xuanyuan Yue, had once used the surname Zong as an alias.
In the small booklet Zong Chen had given her to help her rise steadily, that woman had written over and over:
“Zong Yue, Zong Yue, I only wish flowers would forever bloom, that people would forever remain, lifelong companions, never betraying each other.”
If only people could forever remain, forever remain—yet that brilliantly talented Emperor Xuanyuan ultimately reigned for only five years.
Before leaving the capital, Feng Zhiwei had gathered portions of the Great Cheng national history, from which she had gleaned certain information.
In those days, Great Cheng’s glory reached its peak. At that time, the Five Continents still contained four nations: Great Han, Xuanyuan, Fufeng, and Great Yan. Among them, Fufeng voluntarily became a vassal state. It was said that the five emperors of that era each shared certain bonds, and while Empress Shenying lived, they swore never to invade each other. But after several to over a dozen generations, as Great Cheng grew increasingly powerful, national circumstances changed, and the various nations gradually submitted to powerful Cheng.
In year 127 of Great Cheng, Great Yan surrendered.
In year 215 of Great Cheng, Emperor Xuanjing of Great Cheng seized the Xuanyuan capital; Xuanyuan fell.
In year 329 of Great Cheng, the last emperor of Great Han, Zhan Tianyang, abdicated.
From then on, the realm was unified. Across the vast lands spanning ten thousand directions, only the fire-red Lingxiao flower banners of Great Cheng flew.
The resounding oath that extraordinary woman of heroic and brilliant spirit had proclaimed atop Mount Changqing hundreds of years ago had ultimately been dissolved by the passage of time, along with those passionate legends, those peerless sons and daughters, those moments of stunning first encounters and lifelong pledges she and they had written into the long river of history—all left on history’s reverse side, no longer remembered.
It was said that when the heirs of the five nations’ emperors were asked, because of that mutual non-aggression oath, how long it should be honored in the future, the Great Han emperor laughed heartily: “This realm—whoever wants it, take it.”
The Xuanyuan emperor coughed softly: “Don’t ask me such boring questions.”
The Great Yan emperor gazed toward the south of the land, his expression calm: “To gain it would be my fortune; to lose it, my fate.”
And the Great Cheng emperor and empress, hand in hand atop their palace towers, responded with equal indifference: “We can manage the present, but not future generations. There has never been an iron-clad empire. Even if Great Cheng today flourishes with brocade flowers and temporary wealth, in the future our descendants may prove unworthy and the realm may lose its peace. Why worry so much about it?”
This was a story circulated in unofficial histories, still echoing today with the boundless magnificence of those five absolute sovereigns. It was said that at the end of that story, Empress Shenying, facing Mount Changqing’s perpetual snows, left an iron rule for future generations. As for the content of that rule, only the eldest imperial descendants of Great Cheng could know.
And those imperial family members who withdrew from court in those days must have also left instructions to future generations to protect the Great Cheng imperial bloodline. Yet times changed, seas transformed into mulberry fields, and by now, it seemed only the Xuanyuan clan still remembered and honored their oath.
This imperial descendant had a gentle nature. After Madam Feng’s death, he had hinted to Feng Zhiwei that his organization would obey all her commands and permanently protect her safety. As for this sword held in her palm—whether to use it for self-protection or to draw it to harm others—the decision was hers alone.
Feng Zhiwei gave no definitive answer to this question.
Some matters, when followed to their conclusion, often came down to four words: “beyond one’s control.”
“Qiu Shangqi died from severe injuries, Chunyu Hong has been promoted to commander-in-chief, and the court may send a supervisor.” Feng Zhiwei looked up at Zong Chen from the secret report under the oil lamp. “Qiu Shangqi… did he really die from battlefield injuries?”
After a long silence, Zong Chen answered: “No.”
Feng Zhiwei fell silent, not continuing her questions, feeling a slight chill in her heart.
When the imperial succession case erupted, Zong Chen would inevitably cut off, from every angle, all possible threads that could expose her origins. So Madam Qiu suddenly fell gravely ill and unable to speak. So Qiu Shangqi was “struck by stray arrows” in the Northern Frontier.
Preserving one life required so many sacrifices, and moreover, she had no say in refusing them.
Unknowingly, she had already borne the weight of so many lives.
“Great Yue changed commanders during battle…” Feng Zhiwei opened another report. “With the war at a stalemate, the Great Yue emperor was displeased. He originally sent Third Prince, Prince An Jin Siyu to supervise, but unexpectedly this highness, after supervising for just two days, executed a general on the spot and appointed himself commander-in-chief!”
She clicked her tongue in admiration. “Good, good—to dare defy convention by executing a general during battle and appointing himself. Who is this person? I previously paid little attention to foreign nations and have never heard of him.”
“This is one of Great Yue’s legitimate princes, said to be much favored by the emperor. Unlike Tiansheng, Great Yue has never established a crown prince—this one has the highest support.”
“What is his character like?”
Even Zong Chen fell silent at this before finally saying: “Difficult to fathom.”
For someone as seemingly gentle yet truly arrogant as Zong Chen to give such an assessment, this new Great Yue commander was clearly no simple character.
Feng Zhiwei smiled slightly and switched to another report.
“…The ruler of Xi Liang has died, his one-and-a-half-year-old crown prince has ascended the throne, with the empress dowager regent.” Feng Zhiwei exclaimed softly, “Yin Zhiliang is dead?”
“He’s said to have been dead for some time, but they kept it secret.” Zong Chen said, “Only after confirming the regency ministers did the crown prince ascend at such a young age.”
“Why keep it secret?”
“Unknown. After Yin Zhiliang’s death, Xi Liang apparently went through some turmoil, though it was carefully concealed. At that time, Tiansheng had the Great Yue conflict in the Northern Frontier and the Chang family upheaval in the Southern Border, so they paid no attention to Xi Liang’s abnormalities. We happened to have some people in Minnan region near Xi Liang who vaguely obtained some information, and only now has the crown prince ascended.”
Feng Zhiwei smiled, tossing aside the secret report. “In the end, that’s another nation’s affair… What’s this?”
Several note slips, not in Tiansheng style, were tucked among the reports.
“These are copies of documents our agents obtained from Xi Liang—official correspondence. It was from these Xi Liang internal documents that we detected they had suppressed news of the ruler’s death.”
As Feng Zhiwei was about to examine them, Gu Zhixiao suddenly crawled over and snatched the slips from her hand, crumpling them in her chubby paws.
When Feng Zhiwei tried to retrieve them, Young Master Gu had already joined forces with his Gu Zhixiao to fold the slips into paper toys. Two monkey brushes, each grabbing a corner, pulled—*rip*—the good slips tore in half.
Feng Zhiwei’s willow brows shot up, ready to grab those troublemakers for a spanking. Zong Chen mediated: “It’s fine, just an appendix, nothing important.”
“Children mustn’t be spoiled.” Feng Zhiwei sighed, earnestly educating her obstinate Gu the Blockhead. “If you spoil a girl, she’ll become very troublesome when she grows up.”
Why was this person who cared about nothing even better at spoiling children than her?
“Not like you.” Gu the Blockhead concentrated on folding paper for his Gu Zhixiao, not looking up. “Zhixiao should be happy.”
Gu Zhixiao was so moved she pounced on him, gnawing his fingers with her few glutinous rice-grain teeth. Her father pushed her away in disgust.
Feng Zhiwei lowered her eyes, pressing her lips together slightly.
Was he saying he didn’t want Gu Zhixiao to become someone like her—a life bound and burdened, unable to be herself?
This solid jade carving—since when had he seen things so clearly?
Over there, Gu Zhixiao giggled. Gu the Blockhead had finished his paper folding.
The fold was simple—a slender leaf shape. Feng Zhiwei paused, recognizing it as the leaf whistle she had once taught Young Master Gu to make.
The grasslands had few trees. Young Master Gu hadn’t been able to play his leaf whistle for a long time. Unable to forget it, he’d even folded one from paper.
Gu Zhixiao babbled to take it, but Young Master Gu avoided her, staring blankly at the paper leaf whistle in his hand.
In an instant, he thought of that night at Jiyang Manor in Longxi, when she sat beside him, her fingers gracefully folding leaves, her eyes holding flowing starlight.
Or perhaps those days when he truly understood what death’s separation meant, when he sat on the rooftop in the rain, playing that leaf whistle until blood bloomed at the corners of his lips.
That icy, slightly salty sensation—perhaps that was the flavor of life’s hundred tastes called bitterness.
Perhaps he preferred the eternal tranquility of the past, but now, he was willing to understand those things.
Understanding what bitterness meant would help him understand what joy after bitterness meant.
Clutching that paper leaf whistle in his palm for a long time, he stood up, found a box, and carefully stored it inside.
Gu Zhixiao sat bewildered on the felt mat, not understanding why her father had folded a toy for her yet ultimately wouldn’t give it to her, treasuring it so preciously instead.
The one who understood silently picked her up, pressing her face against the child’s porcelain-like small face. Her features remained as delicate as spring flowers, but her heart had already aged in the flowing waters of time.
Some inexpressible emotions aged in the flowing waters of time; some incidents ready to erupt matured in the flowing waters of time.
The border town at nightfall.
North led to the grasslands, south to the interior. Tomorrow, in this town called Huiyao, the wedding party coming to receive Meido would meet the grasslands’ royal court sending-off procession, and the owner of the Dezhou horse ranch would bring back his second wife.
Helian Zheng had dispatched his most trusted Qingniao subordinates to escort the bride. The Golden Lion tribe answered directly to the royal court and had long suffered Meido’s oppression. To avoid incidents, not only were the escorts chosen from royal troops Meido didn’t know, but not a single female slave from Meido’s retinue had been brought along.
The massive sending-off procession occupied every inn in the small town, surrounding Meido’s room in protective layers. The courtyard maintained rotating guard shifts with blazing lights. Several burly matrons rotated watch duty. Even if Meido wanted to die, she had no opportunity, let alone to speak a word to anyone.
Feng Zhiwei had said that all treatment of Meido should remain as honorable as before, but she absolutely would not allow anything to happen to Meido, nor permit anyone to speak with her. Violators should bring their own heads to her.
After the recent series of incidents, the grasslands’ royal troops no longer dared show any contempt toward Central Plains women. Toward this Grand Consort whose commands were absolute and whose thoughts ran deep, none dared disobey her orders.
Meido sat in her room, staring blankly at the lamplight, her eyes swollen like peaches from three days of crying and making scenes on the journey. She had tried tantrums, bribery, pleading, feigning illness to escape—every method had failed. The surrounding people were like iron, silent as towering mountains. Whichever direction she tried to slip through, she hit an insurmountable wall.
After tomorrow, everything would be settled. Dezhou was far from the royal court—returning would be difficult. And becoming another’s wife, she would surely have no face to return.
Meido bit her teeth, despair showing in her eyes as she contemplated while unconsciously clutching and twisting her sash.
Immediately a matron came over, sitting beside her, eyes burning as they fixed on her hands, as if fearing she might pull out her sash and immediately hang herself from a beam.
Meido smiled bitterly, releasing her grip.
The door creaked. A matron entered. The previous matron sighed in relief, laughing: “You’re here at last. I’m going to sleep.”
The new matron nodded slightly. The previous one yawned and left.
The new matron plopped down beside Meido, movements stiff.
Meido sighed desperately, rising from the table and walking toward the bed.
“Do you still want to return?”
A somewhat familiar male voice shocked Meido, her whole body trembling as she whirled around.
No one else was present—only that matron watching her. Seeing her looking over, the eyes narrowed.
In that narrowing, the gaze flowed like gold, generating infinite bewitching allure—in a flash, the unique charm of one particular person.
“Ke…” Meido’s shocked cry nearly escaped before being stopped by the other’s gaze.
“…Feng Zhiwei really is a formidable character…” Kelei, stuffed into a matron’s disguise, stretched lazily. “My sect mobilized almost entirely, following from the royal court all the way here. So many people exhausting their wits and methods—only today, taking advantage of their slight relaxation as their mission nears completion, could we find a small opening to reach you… tsk tsk…”
“You came to rescue me?” Meido could hardly believe her ears. She had no particular friendship with Kelei ordinarily. This person didn’t even care about his own wife and children, yet he was willing to risk such effort to rescue her.
“More or less.” Kelei laughed low. Meido immediately turned to pack her things. “Then let’s go now!”
“No need.”
Meido turned around in shock. Meeting her gaze, Kelei smiled enchantingly. “To be honest, I have no way to take you out of here. Given the relationship between you and me, I can hardly sacrifice my subordinates heavily for your sake.”
Though heartless, these were honest words. Meido’s expression darkened. She stopped her hands, saying coldly: “Then why did you come?”
“To give you a way to return in the future.” Kelei drew out a paper packet from his robes. “This is a miraculous medicine from my sect. After using it, your body will gradually develop purplish-blue marks that look like abuse. Your pulse will also weaken somewhat, though it actually causes no bodily harm. In the future, if you can return appearing this way before Zhadalan, given his longstanding affection for you, you could say…” He smiled and stopped.
Meido thought it over, joy blooming on her face, though she remained half-skeptical. Women naturally loved beauty and instinctively rejected such medicinal effects. After a moment: “How can I trust you won’t harm me? Besides, if this medicine’s effects won’t fade…”
Kelei produced a small vial. “The antidote.”
Meido looked at the medicine without speaking. Kelei raised his brows indifferently. “This medicine takes time to produce the marks—meaning if you take it now, the marks will gradually appear after you’re married over. That will make it easier to convince Zhadalan in the future, making him believe Feng Zhiwei arranged for you to marry into a wolf’s den where you suffered terribly. So even if you want me to take it now to show you, it’s useless. Believe it or don’t, suit yourself. If you’re really uneasy, give it back.”
As he reached for the medicine, Meido snatched it away, clutching the packet tightly, a fierce gleam flashing in her eyes as she said slowly: “I’ve never been forced to this point before… What does death matter? If not for wanting to see Zhadalan once more and ask him face to face, I would have plunged a dagger into my heart that very day!”
Kelei glanced at her coolly, a flash of mockery crossing his eyes. He turned away without speaking, narrowing his eyes as he recalled their first meeting—that yellow-faced woman approaching with a gentle smile at the tent entrance, the one who had calmly helped Zhadalan resolve the Golden Alliance crisis, who with one arrow at the enthronement ceremony had eliminated him, Jiade, Nata, Meido, Dama and others in one stroke—that extraordinary woman. He thought of her exquisite features beneath that yellow face and lowered brows, features too refined to belong to an ugly woman.
He smiled enchantingly, his fox-like eyes gleaming cunningly… Whether or not he became grasslands king didn’t matter so much. But if life had no challenges and ups and downs, without the embellishment of beautiful bloodshed and bones, what meaning would it have?
How fortunate there would still be games to play…
Smiling, he pushed over a cup of tea.
Meido bit her teeth, eyes flickering. Kelei said with a smile: “This medicine has another benefit—looking like that, that widower won’t touch you anymore. In the future when you take the antidote, you can return to Zhadalan’s side still pure.”
Without further hesitation, Meido drank the tea and swallowed the gray powder from the packet.
Watching her consume every bit, Kelei’s smile deepened.
After a moment’s stillness, Meido’s face gradually flushed. She pressed her chest, gasping softly: “Your medicine… your medicine…”
“Oh, forgot to tell you.” Kelei said lazily, “I added some aphrodisiac beforehand.”
“You—” Meido looked up sharply, struggling to rise but finding her whole body weak and powerless.
Kelei stepped forward, lightly picking her up.
He carried her toward the bed, smiling as he bent down, whispering dreamlike in her ear: “That old widower has surely received Feng Zhiwei’s instructions to guard you strictly. But Central Plains people value chastity highly. Once you’re not pure, his disgust and relaxed vigilance will eventually give you a day to escape…”
Meido struggled weakly in his arms, wanting to speak but finding she lacked even the strength for that.
The bed curtain fell, clothes were cast aside. A pale pink shadow faded within the gauze, hazy and graceful. The man’s slender form covered the pliant, yielding woman’s body…
The candlelight flickered dimly.
After a long moment, a low, anguished cry.
That cry was heart-rending yet couldn’t fully escape—as if quickly muffled by cotton bedding, stifled in complete darkness.
In the darkness, the bed shook slightly—whether bed or person, whether from pleasure or pain, none could tell.
The candlelight trembled twice and went out.
Low laughter wended through the room.
“…Aunt Meido, oh Aunt Meido… When you arrive in Dezhou with such a ruined body, what do you think that widower will believe? That the Grasslands’ Prince Shunyi threw him damaged goods? Will he hate Zhadalan and Feng Zhiwei for it? This horse ranch owner is said to have an unknown background, with quite some connection to the grain commissioner of Yuzhou who manages frontline supply transport… Aunt Meido, thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you, thank you.”
A faint bloody scent gradually wended through the room. The bed hook swayed, the curtain parted. Kelei emerged unhurriedly, donning his disguise clothes. As he left, his slender fingers casually wiped on the door curtain.
A vivid streak of blood.
When Meido, destined to carry bitter hatred into her marriage, entered Dezhou’s horse ranch with a heart full of despair, the grasslands under their new king and grand consort’s leadership entered a completely new era.
Jiade’s rebellion ultimately never left the camp, suppressed by the Qingniao, White Deer, and Golden Lion tribes. The grasslands men were unwilling to fight among themselves. Jiade’s justification for deploying troops—”the king is dead, the consort is in chaos, we must rescue the king”—was immediately refuted on the spot. The twenty thousand royal troops under his command immediately withdrew to camp. Jiade, surrounded by three tribes’ escorts, died fighting. After his death, the former Golden Lion tribe chieftain’s family was formally expelled from the grasslands.
Jiade’s death shocked that group of restless uncles, elder brothers, and nephews into submission. Even the most powerful Kurcha family had failed—others naturally dared not harbor rebellious thoughts, for those who had such thoughts were dead. One night, a group of uncles, elder brothers, and nephews gathered in a tent. The next day, the king cordially summoned all meeting attendees, read aloud everything they had discussed the previous night, and treated them differently according to their conversation content—some were rewarded with seats, some stood, some were forced to kneel, and some were directly pushed out with only their heads returning.
The unruly noble lords of Yinji thereafter fell silent as cicadas in winter—that night, despite strict surveillance on all sides without a ghost in sight, how had the king known every word of their conversation?
Now the royal court’s position was even more secure—the eighteenth Living Buddha was born within the royal court, destining this generation’s Huzhuo Prince Shunyi to have the most solid, indestructible royal authority. Divine power was born within royal power’s embrace. When people knelt before the Living Buddha, they also knelt before Prince Shunyi. What more was there to say?
The Fire Fox tribe, due to Kelei’s rebellion, was forced to abandon their current territory and change chieftains. The black gold mine within their territory, Helian Zheng forcefully declared under royal court control, announcing the court would distribute annual profit shares to tribes based on earnings and merit, preventing the grasslands from again falling into turmoil over this mine.
Almost as soon as the grasslands had settled, Feng Zhiwei began training the Yinji warriors. Grasslands men excelled at horsemanship and lower body techniques, but compared to true Central Plains masters, their combat skills still fell short. Zong Chen personally assigned his subordinate experts to train them, selecting from among them three thousand of the most excellent, elite, and loyal Yinji warriors to form the separate “Shunyi Iron Cavalry.” When Young Master Gu was in a good mood, he would also carry his Living Buddha daughter to personally instruct them. Gu Zhixiao had naturally excellent adaptability—whether flying up or landing down, the Living Buddha found riding on her nanny-father’s back the most comfortable experience in the world.
Zong Chen also prescribed formulas targeting the grasslands people’s physical deficiencies caused by climate and lifestyle, providing remedial care. In past years, during the spring high-epidemic season, large numbers of newborns would die. Since Zong Chen’s arrival, the grasslands had almost no infant deaths.
While Helian Zheng’s royal authority solidified, the new generation’s Grand Consort also gained prestige and status on the grasslands no less than Empress Dowager Mudan.
During later “Shunyi Iron Cavalry” training, the leadership gradually shifted to a youth surnamed Wei.
This character made his entrance as follows:
One day, the warrior-revered Hero Gu brought a blue-robed Han youth to observe the Iron Cavalry drills.
The very eager-to-impress Yinji warriors all felt they’d made tremendous recent progress, thus displayed their full abilities to show their prowess, waiting for that somewhat frail-looking youth to express his amazement and admiration.
Instead, that youth calmly watched and offered only three comments:
“Clumsy movements! Weak strength! Poor adaptability!”
He literally turned three thousand fierce men’s faces green.
That day, that blue-robed youth, facing three thousand murderous glares of defiance, single-handedly challenged the Iron Cavalry’s eight commanders—the king’s Eight Champions bodyguards.
The Eight Champions were beaten into complete defeat, scattered like fallen flowers. The ground rolled with eyeballs.
The Eight Champions “unable to rise,” propped their chins on the ground thinking: Following the king and grand consort, our acting talents have grown increasingly superb—told to fall we fall, told to play dead we play dead, told to roll three times left, we never roll four times right…
The Wei-surnamed youth easily earned the grasslands men’s sincere submission. From then on, he frequently appeared at the warriors’ training grounds, eating and living with them. This person was genial, extremely knowledgeable, and mixed well with the warriors.
Gradually people learned this youth was pitiable—he’d lost his memory in an attack, wandered aimlessly until drifting to the grasslands, knowing neither his origins nor destination, only vaguely remembering his surname was Wei.
The kind, generous grasslands accepted this bewildered wandering son. Even the Grand Consort had held a banquet to receive this Wei-surnamed youth, an act that earned unanimous praise.
In a blink, several months passed. In early autumn of the eighth month, the court sent an envoy to preside over the Living Buddha’s enthronement ceremony.
Huyinmiao prepared a grand celebration for the Living Buddha. Gu Zhixiao was forced to leave her father for the first time, extremely impatient and uncooperative. Feng Zhiwei coerced and cajoled—threatening that if she misbehaved she’d sleep alone from then on, enticing her that if she behaved she could continue sleeping with her father—finally getting the eighteenth Living Buddha settled.
That visiting envoy was actually an acquaintance, a very, very familiar one—Xin Ziyan.
At the sacred enthronement ceremony, in the incense-wreathed Huyinmiao temple, court envoy Xin Ziyan and Princess Shunyi Feng Zhiwei met for the first time in the autumn of Changxi year thirteen, seven days after their parting in the Imperial Capital.
They exchanged smiling glances, bowing with great cordiality.
“Has the Grand Consort been well?” Xin Ziyan gave a deep bow, perfectly polite.
Feng Zhiwei looked at his temples, slightly grayed in the half-year since they’d met, suddenly recalling that year’s moon-white bottom in the Lanxiang Academy tree.
That year she’d saved him from his tigress mother’s cleaver assassination. Soon after, he’d trapped her in Great Cheng’s first imperial succession case, causing her to lose her only relative.
This was an enemy.
But she’d long learned to smile at enemies.
“Thanks to Lord Xin’s blessings.” She returned the courtesy elegantly. “All is well. How have you been, my lord? Living in the Imperial Capital is not easy—seeing your radiant spirit, you must be quite successful.”
Xin Ziyan’s gaze flashed. He looked up at her. He’d never known Feng Zhiwei was Wei Zhi, so his impression included only this woman’s brilliant talent at the imperial consort’s birthday poetry contest and her calm composure when departing the Imperial Capital as Princess Shengying with Helian Zheng. Now, half a year later meeting again, that woman remained as composed as before, but the sharp edges once displayed in the golden hall were now concealed, warm and gentle as flowing hot springs. Yet he suddenly felt cold, like watching a phoenix of the long sky retract its talons, tilting its head atop snowy mountains to regard you with gleaming eyes.
A gaze calm as the sea, calm only because at any moment waves could surge forth to submerge heaven and earth.
“I wouldn’t dare.” Xin Ziyan lowered his eyes, stepping back. “Everything depends on His Majesty’s grace, on Prince Chu’s generosity. Ziyan receives deep favor from his masters. Regarding all matters great and small, if my masters overlook anything for a moment, Ziyan must exert utmost effort on their behalf.”
Was he saying the imperial succession case had nothing to do with Ning Yi, that it was his personal will?
Feng Zhiwei smiled faintly.
If Ning Yi truly wanted to protect her, the Golden Feather Guard wouldn’t have been handed to Xin Ziyan after his departure from the capital.
If Ning Yi truly never considered moving against her, the Golden Feather Guard’s investigation of the Feng family would have ended much earlier.
Without Ning Yi’s tacit permission, many things simply couldn’t have proceeded so smoothly.
He was the controlling hand from the clouds. The hand might not have directly stabbed with the blade, but when the hand released its grip, the falling blade could still wound.
“Yes, everything depends on our masters’ blessings.” Feng Zhiwei’s smile grew more amiable. “It seems Prince Chu is deeply favored by His Majesty—the Eastern Palace position is surely inevitable. When you return to the capital, please convey my congratulations.”
Xin Ziyan looked up at her, hesitating before saying: “…I won’t be returning to the capital immediately. Perhaps the Grand Consort should convey these words to His Highness yourself.”
Feng Zhiwei paused—Xin Ziyan was also going to the Northern Frontier battlefield? Ning Yi was sending his capable confidant to the Northern Frontier to completely control Tiansheng’s military? But what use was a scholar like Xin Ziyan there? Could he be coming as a supervisor?
“My lord jests. The grasslands and Imperial Capital are thousands of miles apart. Since I no longer have relatives in the Imperial Capital, I’ll likely never return in this lifetime and have no chance to pay respects to His Highness again. How regrettable.”
Speaking of regret, her expression showed none. She smiled, turned, preparing to end the conversation.
Since you’ve come, Xin Ziyan, very well—just wait.
Behind her, Xin Ziyan watched her departing back. His mouth opened as if words wanted to rush out, but seeing her resolutely leaving figure, he finally stopped.
Forget it… she’ll learn eventually.
Shortly after the enthronement ceremony came Gu Zhixiao’s second birthday.
Currently only Feng Zhiwei knew Gu Zhixiao’s birthday. That ornate golden lock pendant seemed to have no characters, but one day while admiring it by candlelight, Feng Zhiwei had seen a row of birth date and time characters in the shadow cast on the wall.
The lock’s interior was hollow-carved—only when backlit did it reveal its design. This was extremely exquisite craftsmanship that even wealthy families couldn’t possess.
Central Plains custom held that noble families reported inaccurate birth times for their children externally to prevent exploitation by malicious people. After discovering this secret, Feng Zhiwei went further—she even changed Gu Zhixiao’s date.
That evening, in the royal court’s garden grounds, everyone sat around a bonfire on the grass. The golden roasted whole lamb sizzled with oil. Firelight illuminated Gu Zhixiao’s flushed little face as she smiled at her father, eyes twinkling.
Helian Zheng nudged Feng Zhiwei with his shoulder, winking and raising his eyebrows. “I’ve noticed this girl only smiles best for Gu Nanyi.”
Feng Zhiwei said somewhat jealously: “I was the first one to hold her, yet she’s such an ingrate.”
“All women are like this.” Helian Zheng sighed deeply. “I was the first to propose to you, yet to this day you haven’t let me into your room.”
“I voluntarily entered your room and you’re still not satisfied?” Feng Zhiwei calmly sliced the lamb leg.
“You voluntarily got in my…” Before Helian Zheng could finish, Feng Zhiwei had already stuffed a huge piece of lamb into his mouth, blocking the king’s chattering.
“I’m saying… are you really planning… to go to the battlefield…” Helian Zheng asked, mouth full of meat, mumbling unclearly.
Feng Zhiwei lowered her lashes, hiding her shifting gaze. After a long moment: “Helian, the grasslands should always have been yours alone. Whether Wei Zhi returns or not shouldn’t implicate your grasslands. Why do you insist I command the Shunyi Iron Cavalry?”
“My grasslands are yours.” Helian Zheng swallowed the meat, patting his belly. “I can’t control future generations a hundred years hence, but as long as I live, you must be protected by me.”
Feng Zhiwei fell silent, her eyes misty beneath long lashes.
Helian Zheng couldn’t possibly not know that once she chose to participate as Wei Zhi in Tiansheng’s war against Great Yue, it meant she’d taken the first step toward returning to court politics, meant she would formally step onto the stage of contending for the realm against Ning Yi. Right and wrong, life and death—from then on, no turning back. As king who deeply loved the grasslands, he should choose to play deaf and dumb, protecting himself wisely, not wade into troubled waters without hesitation.
Yet he hadn’t even hesitated.
“Don’t tell me you don’t need protection.” Helian Zheng seemed to think of nothing else, only carefully slicing lamb for her into thin pieces, firmly pushing away Empress Dowager Mudan who tried to sneak bites and eavesdrop. “Don’t tell me you’re not lonely. Zhiwei, I only hope that when you walk through dark nights, you won’t stubbornly choose to be alone.”
Using his knife tip to pick up lamb, he chewed thoughtfully, then suddenly tossed the knife aside, stood up, and roared with raised arms: “Feng Zhiwei, this lord will forever be yours!”
The sudden roar shocked everyone into stupidly looking up at him. Empress Dowager Mudan gaped at her son, mouth hanging open with a thread of drool—*plop*—a lamb leg bone fell out.
“Father!”
Suddenly came another sharp cry—the voice thin and delicate, vastly different from Helian Zheng’s thunderous roar, yet its momentum and fierce killing intent were no less impressive.
“Yours!”
Everyone’s heads swiveled in unison, stupidly discovering that cry had come from two-year-old Gu Zhixiao, who hadn’t yet spoken.
Truly—if you don’t speak, you don’t speak; once you speak, you shatter heaven and earth.
Little Miss Gu stuck out her round belly, standing beside Helian Zheng, mimicking his pose—hands on hips, head tilted back, shouting loudly: “Father! Yours!”
She couldn’t speak complete sentences, only two words at a time, but everyone instantly understood—she was imitating Helian Zheng’s declaration.
That one large, one small stood facing the wind, solemn and sacred. Below, a pile of people gazed up wooden-like.
Zong Chen suddenly began coughing.
Feng Zhiwei, rarely forgetting her image, sat dazed holding a meat slice.
The Eight Champions rolled into the bushes holding their bellies.
Empress Dowager Mudan clutched her Chamutou, seizing the opportunity to educate: “Baby boy, look—this is the negative effect of role models. All bad influences…”
The heavily pregnant Hua Qiong laboriously shifted her large belly, protecting her child from poor influences…
Only Young Master Gu, who’d raised that startlingly outspoken fierce child, remained as calm as before. He picked up his little darling, wiped clean the saliva sprayed from her shouting, pointed at Feng Zhiwei and said: “Hers.”
“Yours.” Gu Zhixiao refused.
The recovered Feng Zhiwei began coughing, desperately trying to stop Young Master Gu’s next words. Unfortunately, Young Master Gu always treated hints as passing wind. Holding his child face to face, he very seriously educated: “I am hers, you are mine, therefore you are hers.”
Helian Zheng sprayed out water.
Feng Zhiwei supported her forehead… Please, Young Master Gu, don’t speak so increasingly fluently.
Not understanding this sentence yet vaguely sensing her father didn’t want her, Gu Zhixiao began crying, her voice sharp as a butcher’s knife.
Chamutuo immediately joined in a duet. Feng Zhiwei helplessly covered her ears. Amid the clamor, she saw bright moonlight rising at the grasslands’ edge. Beneath that moonlight, everyone wore faint smiles. She saw people she cared for gathered around, none missing. In the distance, someone played the grasslands’ unique dongula qin, the song desolate yet enduring.
As dawn approached, Feng Zhiwei drowsily opened her eyes to find herself sleeping on Gu Nanyi’s lap, Helian Zheng sleeping on her lap, Empress Dowager Mudan pillowed on Helian Zheng’s belly with Chamutuo on her own belly, Gu Zhixiao still tear-stained, tightly hugging Gu Nanyi’s waist—that youth who always kept far from crowds now sleeping peacefully among them.
And in the distance, urgent hoofbeats faintly sounded, the friction of weapons being drawn sounded, long powerful horns sounded, blowing across the grasslands.
In the eighth month of Changxi year fourteen, the Huzhuo tribe, in the name of avenging four thousand fallen Yinji warriors, deployed another ten thousand troops to enter Tiansheng’s battlefield against Great Yue.
That same month, Princess Shunyi became pregnant. Due to unstable fetal position, she remained in seclusion at the royal court. Upon learning this news, the court specially ordered Lizhou at the border to send large quantities of pregnancy-supporting medicines to the Grand Consort.
In the eighth month of Changxi year fourteen, due to successive defeats in the war against Great Yue, Tiansheng’s court dispatched supervisors and mobilized two hundred thousand troops from the border provinces of Li, Ping, Yu, and Yu, plus the Mobei Circuit army, to engage Great Yue in decisive battle at Baitou Mountain on the Hulun Grasslands outside Yuzhou.