Her fingers moved slightly.

In a trance, Ning Yi’s lashes seemed to tremble.

This tremor was extremely subtle—seeming to truly occur, yet also seeming only Feng Zhiwei’s illusion. Her fingers shook again. The internal force about to surge forth abruptly withdrew.

Lowering her head to look carefully again, Ning Yi still appeared deeply unconscious.

The north wind fiercely blew open the carriage curtain, smashing in large pieces of broken snow. Feng Zhiwei didn’t move, didn’t avoid, and didn’t try to shield Ning Yi from wind and snow. She allowed those snowflakes to drift down falling on both herself and Ning Yi’s faces.

Snowflakes meeting heat melted to water—bone-chilling cold flowing down cheeks like tears.

Feng Zhiwei didn’t wipe them. She only stared at Ning Yi, hoping he’d be awakened by the snow water, sparing her from facing such difficult choices again and again.

Yet except for that earlier seemingly illusory lash tremor, Ning Yi still showed no movement. Even ice-cold snowflakes falling on his face couldn’t awaken him.

Feng Zhiwei looked at the snowflakes on his face that barely melted. She frowned.

Ning Yi’s old injury scar—she’d once seen it. A very hideous wound. At the time she didn’t know what it was. Later organizing Mother’s relics, learning everything that happened on Xue Futu’s last night—among them that seven-year-old child with scheming and methods even adults could hardly match, who’d switched the imperial heir, set ambush in tree hollows, waited for prey, nearly forcing adoptive father and herself to death. If not for adoptive father using San Hu’s corpse to wound him and feigning cliff-jumping, perhaps she would already be gone.

Who that seven-year-old child was, adoptive father only told Mother he was an imperial prince. Didn’t know which one.

She knew.

Ning Yi was seven years older than her.

Before age seven, Ning Yi—his prodigy reputation shocked the world.

After age seven, Ning Yi—a serious illness nearly killed him. Afterward his brilliance entirely lost, he kept low profile, nurturing it for many years.

After the snow of Changxi Year Thirteen, when she buried Mother and younger brother, finding some of Mother’s wills already buried long ago underground in the small courtyard—recalling that scar she’d seen in the abandoned palace, she’d already known everything.

He was her enemy. From the very beginning he was.

Even without Mother’s and younger brother’s two lives, there was still adoptive father’s and her old debt.

Such old matters, such a situation—thinking of it brought stern, forest cold. How dare she cast aside one part of her heart? How could she cast aside one part of her heart?

Yet that piece of heart, even forced day by day to turn cold and hard, wanting to become diamond glass stone that couldn’t be cut—ultimately couldn’t withstand slow roasting over time, producing cracks all over her body that only she knew.

Some things—wanting to do and being able to do were extremely far apart.

A lifetime of decisiveness, troubled by only one thing—painfully thorough.

Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes, softly sighing.

The person on her knees was ice-cold without any warmth. Feng Zhiwei didn’t know how that explosion injury back then caused cold poison old injury. But from his past tone, very likely it was his various brothers’ doing. And Xin Ziyan had saved him at his most difficult moment.

At this moment his cold old injury was triggered to relapse. The weather had just turned cold, heavy snow suddenly falling. She didn’t necessarily need to personally kill him. As long as she abandoned him in this carriage, opened the carriage windows, drove the carriage to a place not easily found—he too would find it hard to preserve his life.

Feng Zhiwei pondered for a very long time. Her fingers lightly brushed across his face, brushing away those snowflakes.

Then she stood up, gently placing Ning Yi in the carriage. She herself descended from the carriage.

In the snowy ground, she looked for a while at the vast paths coming and going. Drawing her white cloak tighter, she left.

Wind and snow vast—in the blink of an eye concealing her figure. While the carriage quietly stood silent in the snow.

After a long while, in the heavy snow gradually appeared a blurred figure approaching the carriage. Xiao Bai raised its head to look, neighing joyfully.

The approaching person placed a finger at their lips, making a “shh” sound. Xiao Bai immediately shrank its head, closing its mouth.

The white cloak’s silver fox fur brushed that person’s cheeks. Sallow face, downcast brows—a listless appearance. On the face were still several scrapes. Only a pair of autumn-water eyes revealed soft determination.

Shockingly still Feng Zhiwei.

She climbed onto the carriage. Ning Yi still hadn’t awakened. From her bosom Feng Zhiwei took out several purple-red plant roots and stems.

Her constitution ran hot. What she carried on her body besides wound medicine was cold-natured medicinal substances. Couldn’t be used for Ning Yi. She could only go up the mountain to gather some usable medicine. She remembered Zong Chen mentioning that in mountains of Longbei and other places grew a red-leafed purple-rooted medicinal plant, warm in nature, with great benefit for cold symptoms. She’d wandered the mountain for quite a while before finding several roots in cliff stone crevices.

Feng Zhiwei lowered her head looking at her own boots. Covered in snow and mud, the finely-made leather boots had torn an opening, stained with a long mud mark—just now descending the cliff to pick medicine, on the snowy day stones were slippery, nowhere to climb or borrow force. The boot soles had also gotten ice and snow stuck. Her foot slipped—she nearly fell off the cliff.

Fortunately her reaction was quick. After falling one zhang, seeing a protruding mountain stone, she quickly extended her hand to grab it. Only thus avoiding a calamity. The danger of the situation—even now thinking back she felt some lingering fear.

Simply bandaging her palm, holding the medicine she faced another difficulty. Ning Yi unconscious, unable to swallow—absolutely couldn’t just stuff it in his mouth. That might choke him to death.

Hesitating a moment, Feng Zhiwei’s face flushed with faint redness. Then helplessly she chewed the roots and stems in her mouth. Bending down, gently prying open his teeth, she fed the juice into his mouth, then patting and smoothing his chest.

Ning Yi’s throat emitted a slight sound. He had a swallowing response. After swallowing the medicine, he seemed to recover a bit of consciousness. Instinctively his lips closed together, precisely sticking with Feng Zhiwei’s lips.

Feng Zhiwei thought he’d awakened. She quickly rose. Her lips brushed past his lips. Both trembled. Feng Zhiwei’s face flushed with a slight tide of red. Afterward her complexion paled again.

Sleeping Ning Yi’s hand moved. Then Feng Zhiwei’s palm hurt. That bandaged palm didn’t know when it had already been gripped in his hand.

Feng Zhiwei frowned, wanting to struggle free her hand. Ning Yi clearly hadn’t awakened, yet instinctively grasped and wouldn’t let go. Feng Zhiwei raised her foot. For an instant she very much had the posture of wanting to kick out. Her foot hung in midair yet ultimately stopped. After a long while she slowly lowered it, sighing. Taking advantage of the position she crouched down, turning her arm, moving Ning Yi onto her back.

The carriage had already been damaged earlier, drafty on all sides. Staying here would also be suffering. Just now while finding medicine she’d seen not far away a mountain cave where hunters had lived. Might as well take him there to shelter from the wind.

She covered Ning Yi with her cloak, carrying him all the way up the mountain. In wind and snow, from far away they looked like a moving giant snowball.

Trudging halfway up the mountain, reaching the cave—this cave’s terrain was high. Seemingly people often lived here. On the ground was spread dry grass. On the wall hung animal skins. Even a half-pot of wine hung there.

Feng Zhiwei settled Ning Yi on the grass bedding, lit a fire, covered Ning Yi with the cloak. Ning Yi constantly gripped her hand tightly. She unhesitatingly pried open his hand.

Firelight reflected Ning Yi’s face. He looked somewhat better in complexion.

Feng Zhiwei took down the wine from the wall, smelling it. Mountain hunter’s wine was naturally crude, yet strong. She’d labored half the night. Smelling this wine, her cravings stirred greatly. Yet turning back to look at Ning Yi, she restrained herself again.

Then she held the wine returning to before the grass bedding. Using the cloak and animal skins, she covered Ning Yi tightly and completely. Half-kneeling before the bedding, her hand reached under the cloak.

Outer cloak, robe, pants, undergarments… were tossed out one by one by her with swooshing sounds.

As if still that year in Yilan Palace in the rainstorm, she’d also once before the abandoned palace’s brazier, under covers stripped someone’s clothes. However this time was more efficient than that time. Indeed having experience was good.

Confirming the clothes were about right, she grabbed the wine pot, removing the bandaging cloth. Pouring the strong liquor into her palm—the strong liquor stimulated the wound. She hissed in pain, sucking in breath.

Opening her wounded, wine-soaked palm, she again reached under the cloak.

When her palm touched the smooth yet elastic skin under the cloak, her face uncontrollably reddened again. For an instant somewhat hesitant. Yet that body’s abnormal temperature quickly collected her spirit. Palm flat-pressed, gently rubbing downward.

The mountain cave’s firelight blazed, gradually warming. Illuminating the man and woman by the fire pile. He with black hair scattered, peacefully lying still. His pale, iron-blue lip color gradually showed faint red. She half-knelt before him, eyes slightly lowered. Her movements couldn’t be seen—only the cloak could be seen slightly rising and falling. The surroundings were extremely quiet. Only wind and snow whistling like chanting could be heard. On her forehead gradually rose sweat—fine crystalline in the firelight.

After quite a long while, Feng Zhiwei finally exhaled a long breath.

Following the method Zong Chen taught for clearing blood vessels, she rubbed and massaged his entire body’s meridians carefully once through. Focusing on massaging more around the old injury. Until half the pot of wine was nearly exhausted, the body under her palm began to heat, the heart also recovered orderly, forceful beating—only then did she finally confirm the danger had passed.

“It’s fine now.” She murmured, wiping forehead sweat. Raising her palm to look—the wound from this bout of rubbing was abraded curling and pale. Wave after wave of heart-touching pain. She smiled bitterly, talking to herself, “Consider it alcohol disinfection then…” Slowly crawling up, putting clothes back on him one by one.

The torso under her palms was warm and smooth, no longer the earlier icy stiffness. She could feel the bones’ evenness, skin’s fullness, could feel the heart’s strength, blood vessels’ flow—could feel everything belonging to life not belonging to death’s pulsing.

She slightly lowered her lashes, sighing with complexity.

Taking his pulse again—indeed the pulse was already stable. At most one more hour, he should be able to awaken. What came after only required good recuperation.

Feng Zhiwei poked her head out checking the sky. Dawn approached. Soon people would find them. Staying here longer would instead delay matters.

Again carrying him on her back, like a giant snowball moving down the mountain, returning to the carriage. Feng Zhiwei closed doors and windows properly, put on her own cloak, settled Ning Yi on the seat.

She sat beside him, bending her face to look at him. In her gaze, rippling light flickered and dimmed. After a long while, she gently pulled his clothing corner.

“I’m leaving, Ning Yi. Soon the people receiving you should arrive.”

“I don’t want you to remember my kindness. Our entanglement has already been so endlessly involved—truly no need to add this stroke.” She smiled lightly, unconsciously stroking his face. “Hate me. Make up your mind to be my enemy. Don’t give me any more tenderness—so I can learn to hate you. So I won’t again foolishly save you. So when I have another chance—I can not let you go.”

Ning Yi didn’t awaken. Yet his breathing seemed somewhat more rapid. On his face surfaced faint red. His fingers slightly scratched in empty space, as if wanting to again grasp her hand.

Feng Zhiwei slowly moved her own hand away.

She turned her head.

The instant she turned, a drop of moist liquid fell into Ning Yi’s futilely open palm.

Ning Yi instinctively closed his fingers. Yet that drop of liquid slowly spread into his skin, instantly disappearing from sight.

Feng Zhiwei drew her cloak tighter, straightened her back, descended from the carriage. One whistle—Xiao Bai joyfully ran over.

Feng Zhiwei lovingly stroked its head, turned over mounting the horse. Back toward the carriage’s direction, she raised the whip and left.

The white-clothed, white-horse figure, like flying lightning crossed the wilderness, disappearing into a mass of gray-white flying snow heaven and earth. Like a lightning bolt splitting wind and clouds, leaving that silent carriage once again in wind and snow.

The woman on horseback—black hair flying past, still and cold as a statue. Her gaze like a piece of deep sea crystal.

In a trance many years ago, in Qingming Academy’s lecture hall, when his fingers left her throat’s vital point, she’d said thus:

“Today you spare me. One day, I will also spare you once.”

Today the promise was fulfilled.

Back then you thought that was a joke. Only I knew—not false.

She departed toward wind and snow’s end. While behind her, one rider also at wind and snow’s end headed toward that lonely carriage.

The person on horseback—head and face covered in snow, hand shading eyes anxiously looking around. Suddenly seeing the carriage, immediately eyes brightened. Leaping from the horse, stumbling and rushing toward the carriage. Because steps too hurried, tripping on stone under snow, falling hard. Palm immediately bleeding.

She bit her teeth climbing up. Haphazardly tearing off a section of sleeve wrapping her palm. Again crawling and rolling over, yanking open the carriage door. Then emitting a joyful cry.

“His Highness is here!”

Inside the carriage, the sleeping person was finally awakened by this shriek, slowly opening his eyes.

His lacquer-dark eyes, after an instant’s wavering and confusion, fell on that woman’s cloth-wrapped palm.

Then his gaze swept past a trace of doubt.

Earlier in unconsciousness memories were indistinct. Occasionally waking was also briefly a patch of trance. Only vaguely remembering someone came then left. Remembering fingers had touched that person’s cloth-bandaged palm.

He supported his forehead, asking in a deep voice that woman crying tears of joy.

“…Was it you who saved me?”

The woman stared directly at him. Looking at him in the dim carriage with lustrous radiant complexion. Looking at him whom she’d waited so long, thought of so long.

After a long time, she resolutely answered:

“Yes.”

Late Changxi Year Nineteen, the Seventh Prince was implicated in the Longbei village slaughter case. His Majesty secretly ordered Prince Chu Ning Yi to go to Longbei to investigate. Yet he encountered killer ambush. Afterward killers were captured, escorted to the imperial palace for His Majesty’s personal interrogation. The interrogation results no one knew. Only vaguely leaked news said His Majesty nearly had a stroke from anger.

This was only surface news. A few terse words. No one understood that wind-snow night’s ambush and attack. No one knew that night the princes’ entrapping and being entrapped. Also no one dared scrutinize—since someone was bold enough to assassinate an imperial prince, why couldn’t they do it more efficiently? Instead getting caught with evidence.

Perhaps except those in the game, only Feng Zhiwei who that night crazily drove the carriage past that mountain understood. While the Seventh Prince burned boats using death row prisoners and great army to encircle and kill Ning Yi, the seemingly single-handed Ning Yi had also mobilized troops, waiting at the not-far, not-near mountain hollow. Mantis stalks cicada—cicada flew behind mantis.

This matter’s handling was similarly covered up. Except for a series of covert disposals, the only surface change was the Seventh Prince supervising troops at the front was urgently recalled to the capital. He would face the Emperor’s furious questioning. Or perhaps some other punishments.

Compared to this major case arousing whispered speculation, one piece of news seemed insignificant.

Princess Shengying, King Shunyi’s Grand Consort, responded to summons returning to the capital.

This woman who’d lost mother, lost brother, and lost husband—the Imperial Capital had long forgotten. Now remembering, it was only the assessment “bitter fate.”

It was precisely this assessment that made the old Emperor dissatisfied with every one of his sons rarely feel pity. People always had a portion of compassion for fate-battered women. He gave Feng Zhiwei superior rewards and favors, good words of comfort, several times holding palace banquets for her, granting her right to freely enter and exit the palace.

The Feng Zhiwei that Feng Zhiwei portrayed was gentle, well-behaved—the standard great family’s refined lady. She didn’t dare appear too much before the old Emperor, lest he associate her with Wei Zhi. But couldn’t refuse the Emperor’s concern. Not long after returning to the capital, entering the palace already several times.

This time she again accompanied the Emperor in conversation. Emperor Tiansheng’s mood seemed quite good. Suddenly he asked her, “Yesterday I heard last time you returned to the capital, passing through Longbei, you once encountered Prince Chu on the road?”

Feng Zhiwei’s heart shook. Pondering a bit before answering, “Yes, there was. We also encountered killers causing the horses to bolt.”

“The capital spread rumors you refused to save Prince Chu, abandoning him in a drafty, snow-leaking carriage, nearly causing his death. Is this true?” Emperor Tiansheng stared at her, tone very slow, gaze very heavy.

Feng Zhiwei shortened herself, immediately kneeling down.

“Your Majesty.” She bowed her head to the ground, saying softly, “This subject’s wife was then dozing in the carriage, knew nothing. Only saw Prince Chu suddenly thrown into this servant’s carriage. The horses frightened, galloping wildly all the way. This subject’s wife was extremely panicked, not knowing what to do. His Highness unconscious—this subject’s wife, a mere weak woman, what could she do? Moreover, this subject’s wife is a widowed woman, wearing mourning, an inauspicious person. Lone man and widow privately together alone—also improper by propriety. Helplessly, this subject’s wife could only abandon the carriage and leave, thinking when meeting officials to point them to save His Highness. Only this subject’s wife didn’t know the roads, lost direction. By the time this subject’s wife found officials, that side already had news saying His Highness was saved. Fortunately His Highness, blessed by heaven, was safe and sound… This subject’s wife’s cowardly selfish heart—please Your Majesty punish!”

“Punish you for what?” Emperor Tiansheng hearing that phrase “knew nothing,” his gaze eased. He chuckled, indicating she should rise. “You’re just a woman. In that situation already scared out of your wits. Can’t blame you for anything. Next time encountering Prince Chu, remember to apologize.”

“Yes.” Feng Zhiwei lowered her brows, eyes downcast.

“Old Six is indeed blessed by heaven.” In Emperor Tiansheng’s words no joy could be heard. “Fortunately someone devoted to him saved his life at a critical moment. I originally wasn’t pleased about it… Now looking at it… also good.”

He spoke vaguely. Feng Zhiwei listened completely confused. Then she saw Emperor Tiansheng take over a bright red gilt-embossed booklet, flipping through it. To behind the screen he smiled, “Hiding there silent—what for? Could it be discussing your joyous occasion makes you bashful? Come out.”

“Father Emperor just teases this son.” One person smiling emerged from behind the screen. Feng Zhiwei hearing that voice had already swiftly lowered her head. Even lowering her head swiftly, she still felt Ning Yi’s gaze like a nail, fiercely nailing into her body once.

“You also heard what was just said.” Emperor Tiansheng kindly pointed at Feng Zhiwei, saying to Ning Yi, “The Grand Consort has difficulties. Don’t bear grudges. Speaking of it, she also helped you. If not for her carriage taking you to below Longbei mountain, couldn’t have achieved you and Yuluo’s snow rescue romantic tale. Heard the capital all made this into stories. Something like Worthy Prince in distress amid flying snow, Lady Qiu rescues forming beautiful match. I heard it—sounds quite nice.” Finished speaking, he laughed.

“Father Emperor jests.” Ning Yi half-turned toward Emperor Tiansheng bowing. Throughout, from the corner of his eye he didn’t glance at Feng Zhiwei. “This son naturally doesn’t dare bear grudges against King Shunyi’s Grand Consort.”

Feng Zhiwei lowered her eyes, slowly stepping forward to bow. Sincerely saying, “Your Highness, at that time this subject’s wife was both shocked and afraid. Lost composure. Couldn’t timely save Your Highness—crime deserving ten thousand deaths…”

“Why does Grand Consort say this?” Ning Yi gave empty support, his gaze deep. “This Prince then only had old illness minor ailment. Staying in that carriage, being blown by cold wind wouldn’t cost my life. Could even refresh mind and brain. You’re a mere weak woman, without strength to truss a chicken. Also a widowed woman wearing mourning, an inauspicious person. Lone man and widow privately together alone—truly improper by propriety. Abandoning me and leaving—utterly reasonable and logical. How dare this Prince blame you? Absolutely no need to apologize.”

Feng Zhiwei pressed her lips together. Only felt her throat dry and hoarse. After a long while coughed lightly, saying, “Your Highness’s broad tolerance and elegant magnanimity—Zhiwei admires.” Silently sitting back to one side.

But Ning Yi had already turned around, bowing to receive the bright red gilt-embossed booklet Emperor Tiansheng handed over. Emperor Tiansheng smiled, “Finally waiting until you conduct joyous occasion. Tell the Ministry of Rites to prepare well. Must be lively and bustling—so as not to let down that person’s kindness.”

Ning Yi smiled in assent. Emperor Tiansheng added, “At that time will bestow characters for you. Always must give the new wife dignity… Zhiwei.”

He suddenly called Feng Zhiwei. Yet Feng Zhiwei had a wandering mind appearance, no reaction. Ning Yi quietly watched her, also not reminding. Emperor Tiansheng called to the third time. Only then did Feng Zhiwei give a startled “Ah,” hastily apologizing, “Your Majesty… this subject’s wife is a bit dizzy…”

“Then go back early to rest.” Emperor Tiansheng kindly looked at her, saying, “The day after tomorrow is Prince Chu’s consort-taking auspicious ceremony. I was thinking, you’re still young. Don’t always be stuffy in the manor. Should also move about more, get some of others’ joyous qi. Moreover the new wife is also your cousin. You naturally should go toast a cup of wine.”

Feng Zhiwei raised her head. Autumn-water misty eyes swept past Emperor Tiansheng’s and Ning Yi’s faces. The latter was slightly bending at the waist, personally with both hands presenting a gilt-embossed wedding invitation.

The wedding invitation vivid red—like that night’s blood in the snow.

Feng Zhiwei slowly extended her hand, receiving the wedding invitation.

Smiling, she said:

“Good.”