Under the table were two people, yet his hand reached precisely before one of them.

That person raised their head. Beneath somewhat disheveled long hair, a pair of eyes were misty as autumn water—Feng Zhiwei’s eyes.

Beside her, the one who had earlier been laughing convulsively had eyes sharp as knife blades—naturally, this was Hua Qiong, who had come to the capital to report on her duties.

The two had arrived in the Imperial Capital a day early. Because the Ministry of Rites had notified them that tomorrow civil and military officials would personally welcome Wei Zhi on behalf of the Son of Heaven, they had no choice but to wait at the courier station first. Having nothing to do, while Zong Chen was refining medicine and Gu Nanyi was bathing Gu Zhixiao, the two slipped into the city to drink. They hadn’t expected to hear such a spectacular storytelling session at the wine shop, and nearly got beaten up for it.

Having someone come to their rescue was always good, but that person who came to rescue them…

Hua Qiong lowered her eyes, thinking the time had come to test Zong Chen’s medical technique.

Feng Zhiwei slowly raised her head, her gaze sweeping over those jade-white fingertips, all the way to the moon-white sleeves embroidered with dark bamboo patterns. Her expression was calm with a smile, slightly distant—exactly as it had been in Nanhai back then, when facing Ning Yi in front of others. There was nothing unusual about it. Even Hua Qiong, right beside her, could not find anything special.

A moment later, she smiled and reached out, placing her fingertips in Ning Yi’s palm.

Ning Yi immediately grasped her hand, applying gentle pressure, and Feng Zhiwei crawled out from under the table.

Their eyes met. Feng Zhiwei was first to show Ning Yi a very bureaucratic smile.

“Your Highness has also arrived in the Imperial Capital? Hehe.”

“Only one day ahead of you.” Ning Yi smiled gracefully.

The two looked at each other and smiled, both smiling with clarity like moonlight and pure wind. The year of time and space separating them, the shocking hatred of those seven days in the Imperial Capital, the bloody traces of two lives—in this moment, it all seemed to have never existed.

Hua Qiong let out a breath of relief and laughed self-deprecatingly. “Ah, a pitiful person with no one to care for her can only climb out by herself.”

Three hands reached out to her simultaneously.

Ning Yi’s, Feng Zhiwei’s, and another hand.

That hand appeared very suddenly, as if growing from thin air, its fingers still somewhat trembling.

Hua Qiong stared at those hands.

They lacked the pampered wealth of royalty, weren’t particularly white or slender, but had the tight skin of youth. In the palm was a shallow semicircular scar from when he had delivered a hand warmer to his mother as a child and was accidentally burned by the iron ring. On the middle finger’s knuckle was a cut mark from when she had taken him to climb a tree to see his mother and he was scratched by a branch.

Those hands were too familiar—so familiar that she had personally witnessed them grow from a tender seven-year-old’s hands into the steady palms of a man now, so familiar that she had held those hands night after night in her dreams, pouring out her heart with their owner, only to wake with tears filling her eyes.

Those hands had now walked out of her dreams, crossed the thousand miles from Nanhai, and reached before her eyes.

Hua Qiong sniffed, her eyes turning, and suddenly smiled.

She reached out, placing her hand in Yan Huaishi’s palm. Yan Huaishi immediately grasped it firmly to pull her out, but Hua Qiong suddenly grabbed his hand and yanked him hard. With an “ow,” Yan Huaishi was instead pulled under the table by Hua Qiong.

Outside the table, Ning Yi and Feng Zhiwei stood stunned…

“Why should I come out for you to watch?” Hua Qiong’s voice came from under the table, somewhat muffled, as if pressed into someone’s embrace. “We’ve been apart for so long and are overcome with emotion. We’re too impatient to return to the courier station. Please, you two, clear the place.”

Then Hua Qiong’s hand extended from under the table, waving casually and confidently. She was making His Highness the Prince and His Lordship the Marquis clear the place for her.

Yan Huaishi seemed to have no time to speak at all, or perhaps was too embarrassed to say anything. In any case, the table was shaking quite a bit.

Feng Zhiwei suppressed her laughter and called over the wine shop owner. With one ingot of gold, never mind closing the shop—even the waiters fled far away.

“Truly a clever person,” she muttered while paying. “Knowing they’d be watched if they returned to the courier station, she simply resolved things on the spot.”

Very conscientiously closing the door and leaving the shaking table behind, Feng Zhiwei smiled falsely as she took leave of Ning Yi. “Your Highness, this official must hurry back to the courier station to prepare for tomorrow’s suburban welcome ceremony. I’ll take my leave now.”

Having said this, she turned to leave.

“Zhiwei.”

Feng Zhiwei didn’t turn back, waving her hand. “Ah, no need to see me off, no need to see me off. Your Highness, please definitely don’t trouble yourself, definitely don’t trouble yourself.” Her steps grew even faster.

She didn’t bother checking if the person behind had followed, quickly leaving the city. The courier station was only three miles from the city—with her pace, she would arrive very soon.

She could actually have been faster, but didn’t want to reveal too much—back in Pucheng, her true energy had not actually been lost. It had merely dispersed through her meridians due to the poison. By the time the red mark on her brow had completely faded, the true energy in her lower abdomen had slowly gathered back, even reaching a higher level. Jin Siyu had checked her pulse daily in the early period, confirming she had lost her martial abilities. By the time he completely believed this and stopped investigating, her martial skills had returned and improved even further.

Feng Zhiwei herself felt her martial training was somewhat strange, and her constitution was somewhat strange too. Those burning currents in her body gradually calmed with martial cultivation but didn’t disappear—instead, they grew daily. Moreover, each time she experienced a life-and-death ordeal, those hot currents would surge even more, yet they didn’t harm her body. Instead, they promoted her internal skills to rise another level. It felt as if these innate rushing meridian currents and the martial skills Zong Chen had taught her were actually complementary to each other.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to prepare in advance atop Pucheng’s city wall, using hidden force to shatter the battlement’s interior beforehand, enabling her to ultimately jump from the city successfully.

Feng Zhiwei walked briskly toward the courier station. Before arriving, she saw several small sedan chairs stopped at the courier station entrance, and from afar, a shrill female voice seemed to be calling out.

“How can Wei Zhi not be here!”

“Let me in!”

Faintly, she saw Gu Nanyi holding Gu Zhixiao standing at the entrance, father and daughter both ignoring everything and looking at the sky, blocking the way like door gods.

Feng Zhiwei was wondering how there could be female visitors blocking the courier station entrance, directly calling her name, when upon hearing the voice, her mind boomed with a crash. She thought to herself: after a year, how has this young lady still not married? How is she becoming fiercer and more fiery by the day?

Having mixed her way to this point, Feng Zhiwei could handle anyone and anything from the Son of Heaven down to commoners—only this person she avoided like the plague. For no other reason than this person was determined to play matchmaker incorrectly, while Feng Zhiwei had no intention of accruing romantic debts indiscriminately.

She swiftly pivoted on her heel, preparing to return to the city again—she’d rather go drink flower wine than be caught face-to-face by Princess Shaoning.

Just as she turned around, someone appeared beside her, raising their sleeve with a smile. “Oh, isn’t that my little imperial sister? Haven’t seen her in so long, I miss her dearly. Why don’t we reminisce together?” While speaking, he was about to call out.

Feng Zhiwei lunged over, completely abandoning propriety and decorum as she clapped her hand over that person’s mouth, grinning obsequiously. “Don’t… don’t… Your Highness, men and women should maintain proper distance. With so many people, reminiscing lacks atmosphere. Let’s change places to reminisce privately, privately!”

She emphasized the last two words with special feeling. His Highness’s eyes burned brightly, immediately expressing strong approval of this proposal. His raised hand lowered and very conveniently took her hand, smiling. “There’s a place you’ll definitely be willing to go.”

The corner of Feng Zhiwei’s mouth twitched. She looked at her tightly grasped hand and exerted force with her fingers, poking sharply.

That person’s palm was like forged iron and stone, completely insensible, conversing easily.

He kept holding her hand all the way to a horse. Feng Zhiwei recognized this as his entirely black Yue horse that she had once secretly harmed. Fortunately, the horse didn’t have as good a memory as people and didn’t kick her upon seeing her.

Ning Yi lightly lifted from behind, and she mounted the horse. Then there was a settling weight behind her as Ning Yi sat up.

Feng Zhiwei frowned, somewhat regretting not riding out on her own horse today.

The person behind leaned lightly on her shoulder, his chin resting on her shoulder. His fingers twitched, and the horse began running smoothly, as if knowing its rider needed atmosphere—it didn’t pursue speed, running leisurely.

In the steady rhythm, the clear masculine scent permeated her skin. Warm breath stirred the stray hair at her ear, slightly itchy. Feng Zhiwei stiffened her back and shifted uncomfortably, forcing a smile. “This official should not share a mount with Your Highness. Better Your Highness ride the horse while this official follows on foot behind.”

Ning Yi said nothing. After a long moment, he laughed lazily. “First, I can’t bear it. Second, I’m afraid you’ll run away.”

Before Feng Zhiwei could answer, he continued, “Zhiwei, when did we become so distant? The letter box I sent you last time—why didn’t you write back to me?”

Feng Zhiwei was silent for a moment. Behind her, Ning Yi gently blew on her earlobe. She tilted her head to avoid it, then after a long moment, smiled and said, “That letter box… sank in the river.”

“Oh?” Ning Yi’s voice had no fluctuation, just a bit cool.

“Your Highness.” Feng Zhiwei half-turned, pressing her hand against his chest to avoid closeness from the jolting, saying lightly, “I’ve thought it over. Between you and me, there’s truly no possibility of growing closer. My only relatives all perished at the hands of your imperial father’s Golden Feather Guard. I’m also unsuitable for your imperial family’s treacherous waves and constant trepidation. As I’ve said before, I want to be a simple person, marry a simple man, and live a simple life.”

“Lady Feng and Feng Hao were involved in the Da Cheng imperial bloodline remnant case. This is a grave crime that must be investigated in any dynasty.” Ning Yi said lightly. “In any case, you’ve already cleared yourself of suspicion. His Majesty hasn’t extended punishment to you, Feng Zhiwei. He even feels a sense of apologetic care toward you because of this. This is already extraordinary. I can’t control your resentment toward the court, but your resentment toward me, denying me a chance because of it—I cannot accept.”

“I understand we each have our own positions.” Feng Zhiwei smiled. “But precisely because we each have our positions, we absolutely cannot force ourselves to be together. Otherwise, you won’t dare trust me, and I won’t dare trust you. How could we live like that?”

“I dare trust you.” Ning Yi’s tone was calm, yet held firm conviction.

“Aren’t you afraid I harbor strange thoughts, serving the court in Wei Zhi’s name but actually only to avenge my mother and brother by killing your imperial father?” Feng Zhiwei laughed heartily, in a completely joking tone.

“If you have that ability, feel free to do it.” Ning Yi said lightly. “I dare wager this realm with you, only asking that you not reject me and keep me at a thousand miles’ distance.”

“My life and death are actually in Your Highness’s hands at any time.” Feng Zhiwei narrowed her eyes and said slowly. “As long as Your Highness enters the palace and says one sentence before His Majesty that Wei Zhi is Feng Zhiwei, tomorrow outside the Meridian Gate, Wei Zhi’s head will roll.”

“If I truly wanted to say it, why wait until now?” Ning Yi smiled. “Zhiwei, I know you’re reminding me that you also hold many of my weaknesses. Can we not talk about such mood-killing topics right now?”

“Then what wouldn’t kill the mood?”

“This.”

The steed stopped. Feng Zhiwei looked up and found they had arrived at Wangdu Bridge, the first bridge of Da Cheng.

Though she and Ning Yi first met at the Qiu Mansion, they truly conversed for the first time on Wangdu Bridge.

That year on Wangdu Bridge, amid thin snow and cold frost, two people on the bridge shared a bottle of inferior wine.

This year, spring was approaching. Wangdu Bridge remained mottled as ever, with deep and shallow moss growing beneath the bridge, silently watching the river water.

Everything was as before, yet seemed not as before.

Ning Yi dismounted and extended his hand to her. Feng Zhiwei’s gaze swept emptily past it, and she jumped down herself.

Ning Yi showed no embarrassment. He withdrew his hand and calmly took out a wine flask from his bosom, smiling. “Back then you were stingy, treating me to sour wine at three coins per flask. I’m treating you to the famous Jianghuai brew, Pear Blossom White.”

“Pear Blossom White has a sweet and light taste upon entry, but a mellow aftertaste—it’s good wine.” Feng Zhiwei walked onto the bridge first, her hand resting on the bridge rail as she gazed at the jade-belt-like river. “But I still feel that the three-coin-per-flask wine from back then best captured the true flavor of the human world.”

“What flavor?” Ning Yi followed, standing at her side. The wind from the high bridge lifted both their long hair, tangling them together like two hunting banners.

“Bitter, spicy, sour, thin.” Feng Zhiwei said softly. “The bitterness of parting, the spice of lingering regret, the sourness of a broken heart… the thinness of loyalty.”

Ning Yi fell silent. The wind on the bridge grew even fiercer. An early peach branch tremulously extended over the bridge rail, and the merciless wind snapped it with a crack.

“That year when you and I spoke on this bridge about Da Cheng’s fall, about the Third Prince’s rebellion back then.” After a long moment, he spoke, pointing at Feng Zhiwei’s feet. “He fell right here, my third brother. Wind Feather crossbows from the Imperial Forest Army pierced his heart with ten thousand arrows.”

Feng Zhiwei didn’t move, not even glancing down once.

“He was my best brother, the only person in the cold palace who ever cared for me. In childhood, when other brothers bullied me, he always blocked and protected me. During my childhood and youth, I spent most of my time in his study. That was the most stable place I ever stayed in my life. There, I could sleep more deeply than in my own bedchamber.”

“He was a steady and gentle person, pure-hearted and desireless, neither competing nor seeking. To this day, I don’t believe he would commit treason and usurp the throne. Yet that day, it was also I who was forced by Crown Prince elder brother to lead troops to intercept him… That day, he looked at me from the bridge, his eyes holding so much, so much… That day, I looked at him from below the bridge, then slowly lowered my hand toward the Imperial Forest Army.”

Ning Yi’s tone was calm, without even a trace of pain audible. That night of bridge-separated gazing many years ago, that final look of a lifetime many years ago, that youth beneath the bridge many years ago who issued a fatal order to his beloved brother—that heart once warmed had died on Wangdu Bridge, higher and broader than others, in winds that carved countless hollows through it, winds singing through midnight.

“…That day, his blood flowed across the entire bridge, making one wonder how a person’s body could contain so much blood.” Ning Yi gently stroked the bridge rail, his voice cold as the bridge stone. “Unfortunately, no matter how much blood, it will all be washed away, just like that bitterness of parting, that spice of lingering regret, that sourness of broken hearts, that thinness of loyalty—all those most heart-crushing things in the human world will ultimately be obliterated without trace by time.”

“Callous people choose to forget.” Feng Zhiwei smiled mockingly.

“You can call me callous.” Ning Yi looked at her calmly. “I was also callous enough to kill the Crown Prince, because he framed Third Brother. Third Brother was steady and wise. The calls throughout court and countryside to establish him as Crown Prince were very high. I hated the Crown Prince. He wanted to kill Third Brother. I couldn’t stop it—but why did he make me do the killing?”

Feng Zhiwei unconsciously picked up the wine bottle and drank half of it in one gulp, thinking that year when they discussed the Third Prince’s rebellion on this bridge, she had felt his tone was unusual. It seemed that at that time, the plan to kill the Crown Prince was already in his heart. Today he had come to open his heart to her on this bridge again—who was he planning to kill this time?

“Zhiwei, I’m telling you this not only to help you understand me bit by bit, but also to tell you.” Ning Yi suddenly grasped her hand. “In our lives, we have too many things beyond our control, but we cannot therefore completely abandon that original share of heart.”

Feng Zhiwei remained silent, lowering her long lashes, trying to pull her hand from his. But Ning Yi wouldn’t release it. Instead, he pulled her into his embrace, saying softly by her ear, “Zhiwei… Zhiwei… do you still have a heart…”

His voice trembled slightly. Hot breath brushed her ear, and somewhere instantly grew moist, steaming until it seemed cool dew was rising in her heart. Those lips moved slowly but firmly closer, gently sucking away the wine residue at the corner of her lips. The steaming breath now held the fragrance of Pear Blossom White, sweet and light, flourishing like a pear blossom.

The night wind carried early-falling peach blossoms, rustling down.

Feng Zhiwei remained silent throughout. The wine strength of Pear Blossom White rose up, surprisingly fierce. She felt somewhat dizzy, her limbs seemingly slightly weak. That person’s scent was familiar yet shocking, like this March spring wind swirling and winding. Pear blossom fragrance, peach blossom warmth, touching bit by bit—the frozen emotions seemed about to sound with the music of breaking ice.

Yet ultimately, when those lips were about to draw a fraction closer, she suddenly raised her hand and stuffed the wine flask she’d been holding into Ning Yi’s hand.

Ning Yi was in the heat of passion. The ice-cold wine flask stuffed over froze him into startlement. Feng Zhiwei had already pulled away. She lowered her eyes. In the spreading dusk, her expression couldn’t be seen clearly. The corners of her lips bore a moist sheen, making Ning Yi’s heart tremble slightly again.

Suddenly, an extremely sweet and soft voice full of curiosity asked:

“Clothes Daddy, what are they doing?”

Ning Yi and Feng Zhiwei suddenly turned back to see two figures standing beneath the bridge—one large, one small. The small one held in the large one’s hand, staring at them with round eyes full of curiosity.

Feng Zhiwei covered her forehead and groaned—please, Young Master Gu, don’t you know to shield children from such scenes?

Then she heard Young Master Gu answer dryly, “Not enough wine. That man is stealing the woman’s wine.”

“…”

Feng Zhiwei laughed dryly and quickly slid down from the bridge rail, ingratiatingly taking Gu Zhixiao’s hand, then ingratiatingly smiling at Young Master Gu. “How did you find us?”

Young Master Gu glanced at her but didn’t respond.

Feng Zhiwei’s expression was somewhat awkward—since returning from Pucheng, Young Master had been showing more and more personal emotions, frequently displaying his unique spiritual demeanor. For instance, his current posture—could this be the legendary… jealousy?

Gu Zhixiao, just over two and a half years old, was at the most talkative age. Either she wouldn’t speak, or when she did, she was devastatingly fluent. She said loudly, “Clothes Daddy saw you come and then run away. He said you were hiding from a woman.”

Feng Zhiwei had just said “oh” when she immediately heard her continue, “Clothes Daddy said, ‘Hiding from women, not hiding from men—annoying!'”

Feng Zhiwei made a choking sound and was speechless.

After a long moment, she looked up at Gu Nanyi in disbelief—Sir, did you really say that?

Young Master Gu looked down at Gu Zhixiao—Daughter, you added those last two words very well.

He picked up the little girl with satisfaction, placing her on his shoulder, then turned back, waving one hand.

Feng Zhiwei immediately very obediently filled that position—when Young Master Gu summoned you, if you didn’t respond, you’d die miserably. For instance, you’d be hoisted onto his other shoulder.

Gu Zhixiao sat beaming on her father’s shoulder, gazing at the Imperial Capital’s night scenery. Feng Zhiwei was tightly held by her sleeve by Gu Nanyi as they departed without looking back. The moonlight was like frost, coating the three people’s shadows stretched long, longer and longer, gradually merging into one.

On Wangdu Bridge, Ning Yi held the wine flask, watching the three figures gradually fading in the moonlight. In his eyes floated the lonely chill of falling flowers.

After a long moment, he raised his head and drained the wine in one gulp, then casually tossed the flask. With a splash, the fine porcelain wine flask sank into the water.

The sound of the flask entering the water spread far. He sat without moving. After a long moment, slight footsteps approached.

“Is that the world-renowned Lord Wei…” came a woman’s voice from behind, light and sweet with habitual coquettishness and a smile. She seemed to glance toward where Feng Zhiwei had disappeared. “Your Highness truly values him greatly… ah—”

That last half-teasing sound was viciously choked in her throat.

The woman’s eyes widened, looking in alarm at the Prince of Chu who had just been gracefully refined but now had a vicious expression on his face, single-handedly choking her throat. Just now she had casually joked, not expecting Ning Yi, who had his back to her, to whirl around like the wind. Her vision went black, and the next instant her throat was already gripped.

Moonlight illuminated her face—delicate features, eyes somewhat upturned, with very gaudy vulgar makeup. Shockingly, it was Yin’er who had once sheltered Feng Zhiwei at Lanxiang Court.

“Your… Your…” Yin’er stared in terror with wide eyes, feeling the hand choking her throat showed no sign of loosening. Remembering this master’s ruthless mercilessness, she felt both regret and fear. She blinked, and tears already rolled down, stained with the rouge on her face, falling onto Ning Yi’s hand.

Ning Yi suddenly released his hand, as unexpectedly as when he had struck. Yin’er staggered back, covering her throat and coughing continuously, yet didn’t dare say another word.

Ning Yi turned around with his hands behind his back. Under the moonlight, his black shadow was long and slanted.

“Although you’re not my subordinate, you should understand my rules.” After a long moment, Ning Yi said coldly. “My affairs—how can you probe into them?”

“Yes…” Yin’er trembled, prostrating in the dust.

“Tomorrow I’ll buy Lanxiang Court for you. You won’t need to continue that trade.”

Yin’er, who thought she was about to be punished, raised her head in surprise, thinking she had heard wrong.

“This prince is clear in rewards and punishments.” Ning Yi’s tone had already returned to calm. “You’ve done well at Lanxiang Court for two years. When Fifth Prince wanted to tamper with His Majesty’s will and was looking everywhere for supreme embroiderers, the information came from you through your sisters at the pleasure house. I’ve never rewarded you for that, so now I’ll reward you all at once.”

Yin’er’s face still bore tear stains, but joy already bloomed in her eyes. She murmured, “My master…”

“Your master’s side, I’ll speak to her. She won’t object. You haven’t left Lanxiang Court. From now on, the establishment is yours, and you’ll still need to take care of it.”

“Yes! Thank you, Your Highness!” Yin’er tearfully kowtowed.

Ning Yi said nothing more. Yin’er didn’t dare move either. This deeply scheming prince frightened her even more than her official master.

“Today you didn’t encounter this prince, nor did you see anyone… correct?” After a long moment, Ning Yi said lightly.

Yin’er’s whole body trembled, knowing that if she answered wrong by a single word, the hand that had just choked and released her throat would unhesitatingly choke it again.

“This servant was attending guests at Lanxiang Court tonight and never came out.” She immediately answered. “This servant didn’t even know Your Highness had returned to the capital.”

“What about Lord Wei?” Ning Yi asked lightly again.

“This servant has never seen Lord Wei. I’ve only heard his legends in the marketplace. If Lord Wei comes to the establishment in the future, this servant will certainly attend to him well.”

“Mm.” Ning Yi turned around, the corners of his lips curving. “You haven’t misremembered?”

“This servant will answer the same way before my master. Naturally, I won’t be wrong.”

Nodding, Ning Yi smiled and said, “Prepare well to become the mistress of Lanxiang Court. Congratulations.”

He departed with flowing movements. Walking ten yards away, over ten black shadows emerged from beneath roadside trees, receiving him as he mounted his horse and left.

Yin’er remained prostrate on the ground for a long time, listening to the surging river water, watching the lonely bridge’s silence. Behind her, sweat soaked her heavy clothing.

Feng Zhiwei knew nothing of this interlude after her departure. At this moment, she was eating a steaming hot dinner at the courier station.

Shaoning had waited at the courier station entrance all afternoon but finally couldn’t endure it, fearing the palace gates would close. She returned huffily, declaring as she left that if she couldn’t find him in one day, she’d try two days; if not in two days, then three—she didn’t believe Wei Zhi could shrink into a mouse hole and never emerge!

Hearing this, Feng Zhiwei could only smile bitterly. Zong Chen contacted subordinates left in the Imperial Capital and learned that the marriage Shaoning had arranged—the young man’s family—that youth had actually died suddenly one month before the wedding date. The princess had become a widow-before-marriage before she had even entered the household. Afterward, she cried and demanded to observe mourning for him. The Emperor of Tiansheng naturally refused. Then she demanded to become a nun. The Emperor of Tiansheng sternly refused. After all this commotion, the old emperor didn’t dare raise his only daughter’s marriage again—every time he mentioned it, she would cry hysterically about being an unfortunate person, wanting to go to the imperial nunnery to cultivate for life.

Shaoning had gotten her wish to remain in the palace and to remain there for a long time. Hearing this news, Feng Zhiwei could only shake her head, a thought instantly flashing through her mind—had that family’s suddenly deceased fiancé truly died of illness, or did he die only because of this marriage arrangement?

Given Shaoning’s ruthless decisiveness in killing before the emperor back then, she was capable of such a thing. Their Ning family bloodline was truly ruthless.

Feng Zhiwei speculated that upon returning to the capital, she would certainly have to relinquish military authority, at most receiving an honorary military title. Her former deputy position as Vice Minister of Rites would probably become official, but even if she became full Minister, she absolutely could not interfere in Shaoning’s marriage affairs in the future. This was Shaoning’s warning to her: you arrange one, I’ll kill one.

During dinner, Zong Chen also told her another piece of news. The dancing girl who had performed at Consort Chang’s birthday banquet in the palace—after entering the palace, she had risen rapidly through the ranks, advancing three grades in several months. Recently, she had been enfeoffed as an Imperial Consort with the title Qing. This lady was extremely capable. The harem was now so cowed by her that no one dared breathe loudly. She was also extremely favored by the Emperor of Tiansheng, who spent almost every night at her residence. Now rumors throughout the Tiansheng court said that this Consort Qing would sooner or later bear the Emperor of Tiansheng an eleventh prince.

“No wonder with Ning Yi’s current overwhelmingly popular momentum, the emperor still hasn’t established him as Crown Prince.” Feng Zhiwei laughed. “Turns out he’s waiting for that future eleventh prince?”

“I don’t think Prince Chu is very worried.” Zong Chen smiled. “So what if they establish the so-called eleventh prince? How many more years can the old emperor live? An infant in swaddling clothes—can he compete with the powerful Prince Chu?”

“Half the civil and military officials of the current court are already Prince Chu’s subordinates.” Feng Zhiwei tapped her chopsticks. “I’m waiting for the day I’m recruited.”

Zong Chen and Hua Qiong both glanced at her. Feng Zhiwei’s eyes were clear and bright, without any abnormality.

Yan Huaishi, not knowing the full story, eagerly leaned over and said, “That would be wonderful! Back then, you and His Highness cooperated so seamlessly in Nanhai. Now you can join hands as minister and lord, writing another fine tale… ow.”

His beautiful vision was mercilessly interrupted by a pinch. Yan Huaishi looked back in bewilderment to see Hua Qiong unceremoniously stuffing the whimpering, fist-chewing Hua Changtian into his arms. “Your son needs to sleep. Go coax him.”

Yan Huaishi looked down at the borrowed son in his arms. The little fellow was holding his fist and smiling at him, his pair of slender eyes closely resembling Hua Qiong’s former husband the scholar already showing their form.

Everyone raised their heads to look.

They all held their breath slightly.

The biggest barrier between Hua Qiong and Yan Huaishi was the class consciousness of elite families—the enormous, insurmountable chasm between the most noble imperial family of Nanhai and the daughter of a private school teacher, wife of a failed scholar candidate.

Although Hua Qiong had now used her brilliant self to write another legend as an imperial dynasty’s female general, and Yan Huaishi had also secured his position as head of the Yan family, no longer an insignificant Yan family member subject to oppression, precisely because of this, in Nanhai where family traditions and customs were extremely important, the future mistress of the Yan family would still face severe criticism from the world.

Hua Qiong wouldn’t care about others’ criticism, but she needed to know first whether her husband had the courage to endure such criticism, whether he had the courage to completely accept everything about her without any reservations.

Marriage doesn’t fear momentary torrential washing but often dies from long-term friction caused by reservations.

Not everyone could see the cold cruelty of reality from the beautiful dream of passionate love. Fortunately, Hua Qiong always could.

The barrier between her and Yan Huaishi still had to be crossed by Yan Huaishi himself.

Hua Qiong’s seemingly casual placement was actually the greatest test for her husband. If he couldn’t pass this hurdle, with Hua Qiong’s pride, she would absolutely never marry into the Yan family door with Yan Changtian.

Yan Huaishi gazed at the child, then looked at his wife opposite him. After a year’s separation, during that year his Hua Qiong had been tempered by wind and frost to become even brighter. The slight rustic air of a Nanhai fishing village woman had completely vanished. She was as fresh and beautiful as a brilliant flower on a branch.

During that year, he had regretted countless times—when Hua Qiong asked that question “Could it be that between us, there is only gratitude?” why hadn’t he immediately answered?

He had always believed it was that one moment of hesitation that caused Hua Qiong to fly far away.

When she was present, he had grown accustomed to her existence, so accustomed that it seemed as natural as getting dressed upon waking in the morning. But when she flew away, he discovered what was missing was definitely not a piece of clothing, but a heart.

Some things he thought were habit, not contemplating the source of their existence, yet didn’t realize love’s new shoots had long bloomed unfailingly.

During the first half of that year, he had frantically sent people everywhere searching for her whereabouts, himself traversing all of Nanhai. On many sleepless nights, thinking of her as a pregnant woman drifting outside, wondering if she couldn’t eat well or sleep well, if she was being bullied wandering the martial world, many nights he woke drenched in cold sweat from this, unable to sleep the rest of the night.

Later, he finally had a flash of inspiration and thought of Wei Zhi’s existence. Tentatively sending a letter, he finally received news.

That night he fell asleep with a smile.

Hua Qiong was at Wei Zhi’s side—then he could rest assured. He vaguely knew of Wei Zhi’s female identity. After all, having entered Qingming Academy together back then, how could many details be hidden from the shrewd him? But since Wei Zhi didn’t speak of it, he wouldn’t probe. This was the refinement of elite family members—never crossing one’s boundaries.

During those days when he learned of her illustrious military achievements, he couldn’t help feeling proud for her, excitedly telling his mother. His mother frowned and said that for a daughter to wield sabers and swords, mingling with men in bloody battlefield combat was utterly unseemly. From then on, he stopped speaking of it, but in his heart he was thrilled. His Hua Qiong had always been so different from others.

He loved that difference. Compared to her, those great family young ladies all seemed dull and tasteless.

Later came news of the Battle of Baitou Cliff, that Hua Qiong had died in battle.

Like a thunderbolt from clear skies, shattering all the anticipation and joy in his heart.

Those three months of topsy-turvy drunkenness, those three months of dreamlike death—he didn’t know how he endured them or how to endure the long night of life’s endless journey.

Fortunately… now she finally stood before him. Without coquetry, without retreat, without hesitation—his Hua Qiong.

Lost and regained, his heart overflowed with gratitude and joy. Nothing in the world counted as hardship, as long as he could spend life smiling with her before the lamp.

He looked at his wife with such gratitude, feeling that her ability to bring herself and their son safely before him was already grace.

After a long time, he smiled.

He smiled as he pinched the soft little nose of the child in his arms, saying, “Look at this nose—exactly the same as my Qiong.”

Everyone smiled.

Hua Qiong’s smile rippled from the corners of her eyes, even her eye waves were undulating. She brushed her temples, not finding that phrase “my Qiong” sickening at all, shamelessly saying, “Of course, he’s my son.”

Yan Huaishi chuckled, holding the child as he left his seat. While walking, he pulled his wife along, grinning. “I don’t know how to coax him. You teach me, you teach me—”

The husband and wife left stickily entwined, their two heads gradually merging into one under the lamplight.

Feng Zhiwei watched their retreating figures with joy, saying softly, “I’m truly happy for Hua Qiong.”

Her smile was warm, yet her eyes held something quite desolate.

Young Master Gu suddenly filled a bowl of corn soup for her, passing it over steaming hot. “Your favorite.”

Feng Zhiwei accepted it, suddenly startled, thinking—how does Young Master Gu, who doesn’t care about anything, remember she loves this?

Gu Zhixiao immediately pounced over, loudly declaring, “I want some!”

Young Master Gu perfunctorily stuffed a chicken leg at her.

Gu Zhixiao used the chicken leg to knock her father’s head. “Want corn soup!”

Young Master Gu picked up his daughter and tossed her out. She landed steadily in the washbasin on the basin rack.

Gu Zhixiao sat in the large porcelain basin, resolutely beating the basin’s edge with the chicken leg—bang bang—like performing opera. “Corn!”

This girl from the Gu family had grown accustomed from infancy to being carried, swung, and thrown by her father. Sometimes when her father carried her to fights, he’d casually toss her onto his shoulder like a cloth sack, then leap up and down never minding her existence. Before Gu Zhixiao could fully speak, she already knew that at any time she must hold tight to her father’s neck, or else when her father said jump and jumped, he’d flip her right out.

Because of this, the child grew fiercer as she aged. While other girls might cry for three days after being bumped once, she could be thrown onto the roof beam and still lie down to sleep steadily.

The chicken leg beat the basin’s edge, meat juice splattering everywhere. Combined with Gu Zhixiao’s brain-piercing magic sound, Zong Chen immediately fled. Feng Zhiwei helplessly brought her own corn soup over.

Gu Zhixiao used her chin to point at the corn soup, signaling Feng Zhiwei to put it down. Sitting on the basin rack like a queen, she beckoned to her father. “Feed me!”

Feng Zhiwei watched with mingled laughter and tears, thinking—where did this child learn such airs?

Young Master Gu went over, calmly moved the corn soup aside, and still stuffed it in Feng Zhiwei’s hands. Then…

He suddenly flipped the basin upside down with a backhand.

With a clang, the young Miss Gu was covered under the basin bottom…

Father Gu calmly used a thick book to weigh down the basin, leaving a gap. With one hand, he swept over the dumbfounded Feng Zhiwei and calmly dragged her back to continue drinking soup.

Under the basin bottom, young Miss Gu banged with her chicken leg for quite a while. Finding no one paying attention, she lay down bored, finished gnawing the chicken leg, stared wide-eyed thinking for a long time, couldn’t figure out the reason for the differential treatment, and could only close her eyes.

She fell asleep from boredom.

Before sunlight could shine on the long window, Feng Zhiwei was dragged up to prepare herself.

She put on Wei Zhi’s face—the mask she had originally hidden in the cave beneath Baitou Cliff, pressed under stones. As expected, it hadn’t been discovered. When returning from Pucheng, she had retrieved it.

She changed into a black silk long robe, blue soft armor, and draped a deep blue heavy brocade cloak embroidered with bright blue dragon patterns that flashed brilliantly when it turned. Her black hair was bound high, adorned with a white jade crown, secured with an antique-styled long hairpin. The long hair draped over her shoulders flowed smoothly like water.

The youth’s waist was slender, his bearing upright—gracefully outstanding like a jade tree. Hua Qiong, also in full military dress, personally adjusted her clothing with a smile. “Today you’ll surely captivate the young ladies of the Imperial Capital.”

Feng Zhiwei pulled the corner of her mouth, revealing a bitter smile, thinking—as long as I don’t captivate the Imperial Capital’s first young lady, that’s enough.

Having finished preparations, she lifted the curtain and emerged. In the courtyard, everyone who looked up had their eyes brighten simultaneously. The three hundred most elite Shunyi guards that Helian Zheng had given her saluted with a snap—boot heels and spurs striking together with a crisp, lingering sound.

“Respectfully obeying the imperial command to welcome the Loyal Righteous Marquis, Martial Might General, Vice Minister of Rites, Superintendent of Qingming Academy, Lord Wei—”

The long announcement accompanied the solemn and magnificent ceremonial music from the Imperial Protocol Supervisor. Three drum rolls, and Feng Zhiwei rode forward to meet them.

Sunlight shot down from the horizon. In the pale golden light, a youth in blue approached on horseback, light clothing and thin armor with garments flying, the deep blue cloak turning in the March spring breeze, revealing multicolored, mesmerizing bright blue and dark glimmers.

The youth on horseback had flying brows and a luminous countenance. His clear and outstanding bearing naturally bore the elevated refinement carved by battlefield blood and wind-frost weathering—no longer aggressively sharp-edged as before, but even more captivating and compelling, like a piece of smooth ambergris that had sunk to the ocean depths and been polished long by wind and waves.

The full court of civil and military officials, momentarily dazzled by the peerless youth in sunlight, finally stepped forward with smiles as he approached—led by Grand Secretary Hu Shengshan.

Feng Zhiwei reined in her horse in the March spring breeze.

Her gaze passed over the vermillion-robed and purple-sashed dignitaries before her, passed over the boiling, cheering crowds on both sides, passed over the Imperial Capital’s high city gate, passed over the thoroughfares leading in all directions.

Falling on the approaching princes’ carriages, falling on the small Qiu Mansion courtyard where she had once depended on family, falling on the Ning’an Hall blanketed in that year’s deep snow, falling on the more distant tree grove in the suburbs where two lonely graves lay in silence.

One year’s time—seas overturned.

The fifteenth year of Changxi.

Imperial Capital.

I have finally returned.