Her heart ached badly; even the sound of Feng Jiu’er’s voice came out somewhat hoarse. Even now, she still hadn’t fully woken from her dream.

She had dreamed of Qing’er — Qing’er coughing up black blood, collapsing right in front of her.

In the dream, Feng Jiu’er had seen very clearly that Qing’er was still carrying a swollen belly.

She wanted to save her, but was powerless to do so; in the end, the person before her eyes fell to the ground with a thud — two lives lost as one.

“What’s wrong?” Zhan Qingcheng rubbed Feng Jiu’er’s head again, his eyes full of gentle tenderness.

Perhaps it wasn’t that Zhan Qingcheng hadn’t noticed Feng Jiu’er’s mood had been off ever since she came back — it was simply that, since she hadn’t spoken of it, the ever cold and proud Ninth Prince wouldn’t ask on his own either.

Without even a single attendant by his side, Zhan Qingcheng had entered the palace alone, and naturally had no idea what had happened in the palace that morning.

Feng Jiu’er held onto Zhan Qingcheng’s hand, pressing her head into his palm, leaning against it.

Feeling that aura which gave her a sense of familiarity and reassurance, it was quite a while before she finally withdrew her head and looked at the person on the bed.

Before she could even speak, Zhan Qingcheng swung his long legs and sat up on the bed.

He gently scooped Feng Jiu’er up, turning her small frame so her back faced him, and drew her into his embrace.

“Let’s go out for a walk.” Once the girl in his arms had calmed her breathing somewhat, Zhan Qingcheng’s gentle voice drifted down.

“Mm.” Feng Jiu’er nodded, leaving while still in his embrace.

The back garden of the Princess’s Palace had artificial rockeries and flowing water on one side, and a courtyard planted full of flowers and grasses on the other.

Feng Jiu’er disturbed no one, leading Zhan Qingcheng to the back garden.

As they slowly left the grand buildings behind, the surroundings grew quiet.

“What exactly happened?” Zhan Qingcheng asked softly.

Feng Jiu’er glanced up at him, then lowered her head and continued walking.

“Today, Jian Yi and I ran into a maid in the imperial garden.” Feng Jiu’er’s nearly inaudible voice rang out.

“She told me to give the Second Imperial Brother back to her, and said she was already carrying his child.”

Letting out a light sigh, Feng Jiu’er continued, “I checked her pulse — she really was pregnant.”

“But then, unexpectedly, because she’d hurt me…”

Choking up slightly, Feng Jiu’er stopped walking, wanting to sit down on the grass.

Before she could actually do anything, Zhan Qingcheng stretched out his long arm and grabbed her arm.

Seeing the little girl frown, he immediately let her go, and as she sat down, he sat down beside her as well.

“Were you hurt on the arm?” Zhan Qingcheng grasped Feng Jiu’er’s wrist, gently lifting up her sleeve.

Feng Jiu’er wanted to stop him, but in the end didn’t, even raising her arm up herself.

With her sleeve lifted, that scar — faint, yet not short in length — stung at Zhan Qingcheng’s heart.

“She actually dared to hurt you?”

Zhan Qingcheng’s breathing turned heavy, yet the grip with which he held her small hand remained gentle, as if worried he might press against her wound again.

“I’m fine.” Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and withdrew her arm. “But she…”

Recalling the look in Qing’er’s eyes, wave after wave of sorrow washed over her heart.

Looking at the lively scenery in the distance, Feng Jiu’er drew her legs up and buried her head between her knees.

“She’s dead. She was given poisoned wine — two lives lost as one.”

“I couldn’t stop any of it. She really died, and that child never even got the chance to see the world, let alone grow up.”

Feng Jiu’er felt terrible, yet she didn’t cry again.

Looking at the small blades of grass on the ground, her eyes held a certain emptiness.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, tell me, why would Father Emperor be so heartless? Even if the Second Imperial Brother isn’t his own son by blood, he’s still the son he’s raised for over twenty years.”

“How could Father Emperor not even spare his own grandchild? I… feel terrible!”

Feng Jiu’er raised her head to look at the sky above — clear blue and cloudless — yet reflected in her eyes, it took on a misty, hazy gloom.

It would neither dissolve nor disperse.

A large, warm hand rested on top of her head, gently rubbing it.

“If you want to cry, then cry it out. Once you’re done crying, you’ll feel better.”

Zhan Qingcheng knew that his little girl had never disappointed him, and even now was no exception.

Feng Jiu’er lifted her head, turning to look at the man beside her, her small mouth pouting slightly.

“What use is crying anyway? Even after I’m done crying, Qing’er still won’t come back to life.”

Zhan Qingcheng smiled faintly and reached out his long, slender fingers, gently brushing them across her small face.

Under the sunlight, the man’s smile was without question the most beautiful sight in the world, yet Feng Jiu’er still couldn’t bring herself to feel happy.

But with him by her side, her heart truly did seem to ache less.

“The very day I first met Jian Yi and left the palace with him, Father Emperor had a maid from my Princess’s Palace beaten to death with a rod.” Feng Jiu’er continued.

“Today, Qing’er was the second — the second maid to lose her life because of me. And I’ve only been living in this palace for a few days. If…”

“If Father Emperor is ready to kill at the slightest provocation, how many more people will end up losing their lives because of me in the future? I really don’t dare to think about it.”

Pressing her lips together, Feng Jiu’er let out another light sigh.

“Does that mean that, deep within the palace, apart from the masters, everyone else’s life is worth nothing at all?”

“They’re people too — they have lives as well. Shouldn’t every single life deserve the respect it’s due?”

“Qing’er never meant to harm me at all — she simply loved the Second Imperial Brother too much, wanted too badly to be with him, and that drove her to such a desperate act.”

“Whoever hurt you deserved far worse than death.” Zhan Qingcheng cut in flatly.

If it weren’t for noticing Feng Jiu’er’s bad mood, the Ninth Prince would have said this much earlier.

Feng Jiu’er looked at him, her beautiful eyes growing even more dim.

Zhan Qingcheng furrowed his brows and stretched out his long arm, gently resting it on Feng Jiu’er’s small shoulder.

“Let go!” Feng Jiu’er reached out and pushed Zhan Qingcheng’s arm away.

Zhan Qingcheng lowered his eyes to look at her, but didn’t let her succeed.

Meeting his gaze, Feng Jiu’er pouted her lips, looking somewhat disappointed.

“So you’re saying you also think Father Emperor did the right thing, is that it?”

A nearly invisible scar, versus a living life — which weighed heavier?

Far from leaving, Zhan Qingcheng instead pulled her into his arms, ignoring Feng Jiu’er’s struggling.

“Being born into the imperial family, many things are beyond one’s control. If you feel this system is wrong, the only way is to use your own strength to change it.”

Zhan Qingcheng’s words made Feng Jiu’er give up her struggling.

She composed herself, looked up to meet his gaze, and blinked.

“Change it? How do I change it?”

Zhan Qingcheng curved his lips slightly and said nothing further.

Feng Jiu’er pondered for quite a while before finally withdrawing her gaze from his face.

Nestled in his embrace, she felt more and more at ease, as though with him there, everything truly could become different.

Even though he couldn’t give her any concrete answers, hearing him say that much, the gloom in her heart slowly began to clear away considerably.

The two of them sat beneath the tree’s shade, facing the sea of flowers, staying quiet for quite a while before Feng Jiu’er finally left Zhan Qingcheng’s embrace and stood up.

It had been quite a while since she’d woken up, and yet this was the first time Feng Jiu’er had come to appreciate the garden in the back courtyard.

Not far away, a large patch of golden, glittering little flowers caught her attention.