“Mother.” Feng Jiu’er, battered and aching, lunged forward.

She came to a stop only when she reached Long Feiyan’s side.

Today Long Feiyan had her hair pinned up and was dressed in the plain garb of a village woman — more approachable at first glance than any of their previous encounters.

And she had carried in a bowl of porridge herself. There was something remarkably grounded about it.

At this moment, Long Feiyan’s habitual coldness had softened, and a trace of human warmth had taken its place.

Feng Jiu’er nearly forgot how fierce her mother used to be, and nearly failed to stop herself from rushing into her arms.

Though Feng Jiu’er did not know what her mother had endured beyond the family vendetta, she had always felt a quiet ache for her.

If it could have been helped — what kind of woman would arm herself so thoroughly against the world?

“Mother.” Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and called out to her again.

“Sit down.” Long Feiyan drew over a chair and settled into one herself.

Feng Jiu’er sat in the chair across from her and kept her eyes on Long Feiyan, at a loss for words.

Long Feiyan picked up the spoon, stirred the porridge in the bowl, and held it out to her.

“As I said — eat first, questions after.”

Feng Jiu’er took the bowl, drew her gaze away from Long Feiyan, bowed her head, and took a mouthful.

“I can’t even remember the last time I made porridge. If it doesn’t taste good, make do,” Long Feiyan said, watching her with a mild expression.

Feng Jiu’er tilted her head and stole a glance at Long Feiyan, then shook her head.

“Not at all — I think it’s wonderful!” She looked away and scooped up another spoonful, the corner of her mouth curving upward.

“It’s porridge my mother made for me. How could I possibly not like it?”

Feng Jiu’er was not sure exactly when it had happened, but she had come to think of herself as the true Feng Jiu’er, completely and without reservation.

She yearned for a father’s love, yearned for a mother’s love — those were real feelings, deeply real, deeply longed for.

Long Feiyan watched her and said nothing.

Feng Jiu’er raised another spoonful of white porridge to her lips and found herself unable to describe the warmth spreading through her heart.

She had thought she would die. She had not expected that this fall would bring her to her mother.

Feng Jiu’er stole glances at Long Feiyan from time to time, and a single bowl of porridge took her a full quarter of an hour to finish.

With a soft clatter, Feng Jiu’er licked her lips, set the bowl down, and turned to look at Long Feiyan.

“Mother — was it you who saved me?”

“Who else?” Thinking back on what had happened a few days ago, Long Feiyan’s expression was not pleasant.

“Thank you!” Feng Jiu’er looked at her and pressed her lips together again.

It was not that she did not miss her — she missed her every moment — but now that they had met again, and could actually sit down and talk properly, Feng Jiu’er felt strangely at a loss.

She cleared her throat softly, stood up, and looked out through the opening.

“Where is this place? How long have I been asleep?”

“Deep in the mountains and wilderness — I don’t know exactly where. Today is the third day. How do you feel?” Long Feiyan responded in a quiet voice.

Feng Jiu’er looked down at herself, stretching her arms and flexing her legs.

“Fine, quite all right.”

She glanced back once, and then her gaze drifted outside again.

Three days. What was her man doing right now, she wondered?

She had not died — but was she to go back and walk into another death?

“Still thinking about him?” Long Feiyan rose, her voice considerably more detached.

Feng Jiu’er gave a faint nod, making no attempt to deny it.

“If not for… this accident, the two of us would have been married two days ago.”

The words were on the verge of leaving her mouth when Feng Jiu’er changed course.

If her mother learned that those around the Ninth Imperial Uncle had twice tried to have her killed, she would never agree to let her go back.

Whether or not she intended to return, Feng Jiu’er did not want Long Feiyan to know that particular truth just yet.

“An accident?” Long Feiyan drew a deep breath, and the air she exhaled was ice-cold.

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and turned to face her.

“Mother.” She took two steps back toward her and lightly caught hold of Long Feiyan’s sleeve. “You already know, don’t you?”

Long Feiyan swept a glance over her, turned, and moved to the window.

She looked out, her back to Feng Jiu’er, and said in a flat voice: “So, knowing it is a path to death, you are still thinking of going back?”

“No!” Feng Jiu’er waved her hand. “Of course not. Mother, I have no intention of going back.”

“It’s just…” she blinked, lowering her head, “…this was not his idea.”

She raised her eyes to Long Feiyan. “Mother, he loves me deeply — I am certain of that. But unfortunately…”

“Unfortunately, your paths do not lead to the same place!” Long Feiyan’s snort was cold, and the chill in the air deepened.

Feng Jiu’er had not expected such anger from her, and whatever she had meant to say, in the end she could not get the words out.

The hopes her mother had placed in her were no fewer than those the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s mother and Emperor Ji had placed in him. She had indeed let her mother down.

Feng Jiu’er stood in a brief daze, then took two steps forward to stand at the window and look out.

Outside, lush green trees cast their shade, and on the grass, fresh sprouts had just pushed up through the soil — everything vibrant and full of life.

“How beautiful.” After a brief silence within the thatched cottage, Feng Jiu’er said softly, in quiet admiration.

Spring — all things reviving, the world brimming with vitality.

Spring symbolized life, the promise that everything could begin again — it was Feng Jiu’er’s favorite season.

In this place that felt removed from the world entirely, with no clamor, not even a mote of dust anywhere near, beautiful as a line of verse or a brushstroke painting.

Feng Jiu’er took in the view for a while, then turned and met Long Feiyan’s gaze.

“Mother, you sacrificed Father so that I could cultivate a supreme and matchless skill. How could I then fail to cherish my own life — that was my fault.”

“The truth is, I never gave up. I only hoped to advance and retreat together with the Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

“I am not someone who must rely on another person. But I do not believe that being with him has hindered my own affairs.”

“Mother, please trust me — I am not someone who loses herself in romance and forgets what truly matters.”

Feng Jiu’er blinked and went over to gently take Long Feiyan’s hand.

Finding no resistance, the corner of Feng Jiu’er’s mouth lifted the smallest fraction.

“Mother, I know that our Long family’s enemies are not only Nanmeng Rong — there is someone else as well.”

“All the effort you have put into making me strong — you have been thinking of the day when I can stand at your side and cut down our Long family’s enemies together with you.”

“I know all of this, and I have not forgotten our Long family’s grudge. But that does not conflict with my being with the Ninth Imperial Uncle — does it?”

“Granted, those around him cannot tolerate my presence — that is a fact. Having survived such a great disaster, I would not be so foolish as to go back and deliver myself into death a second time.”

“I only feel that after our great vendetta has been settled, he and I…”

“No!” Long Feiyan pushed Feng Jiu’er’s hand away. “You and he are forever impossible! For all eternity — impossible!”

Long Feiyan faced the window and gripped her fist tightly.

“It is impossible! Anyone else in the world — but not him!” Her agitation was such that even her body trembled slightly.

Though in Feng Jiu’er’s heart her mother had always been fierce, this state Long Feiyan was in now — Feng Jiu’er was seeing it for the very first time.

Watching the thick, dark hatred in Long Feiyan’s eyes, Feng Jiu’er’s heart clenched with a sharp pain.

She stood in stunned silence for a moment, then asked in a low voice: “Who on earth is our Long family’s enemy?”