Bao Lei’s flicker of displeasure vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and a faint smile rose to his lips once more.

“Here in Li City, I am, one might say, second to none beneath the sky. Your words are rather laughable.”

“Go,” Bao Lei said, waving a hand and settling back into his seat. “This is no place for a woman.”

Feng Jiu’er didn’t leave. Instead, she stepped further in and sat down across the table from Bao Lei.

“You’re no match for me,” she said, looking at him, a cold, mirthless smile curling her lips.

“Tell me who you really are—or perhaps I’ll think twice about contesting your position as foremost Thunder King with you.”

“Heh.” Bao Lei gave a disdainful laugh, set down a teacup, and picked up the teapot.

Just as he was about to pour the tea into the cup, the cup he had set on the table—by some unseen force—was pulled toward Feng Jiu’er.

Bao Lei didn’t pause his pouring motion at all. With his other hand, he simply plucked another cup from the tray with astonishing speed and placed it under the falling stream of tea.

His movements were so fast that the tea landed perfectly in the new cup, without a single drop spilled.

Feng Jiu’er studied his face, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Who exactly are you?”

Unhurried, Bao Lei lifted the cup, took a measured sip, and only then let his gaze rise to meet Feng Jiu’er’s.

“If your goal in coming to Lei Teng isn’t me, please leave.”

“Lei Shenbao is a ruthless man. He doesn’t care for those who think too highly of themselves.”

“Worried about me?” Feng Jiu’er leaned in, picked up the teapot he’d just set down, and poured herself a cup.

Just as she lifted the cup to drink, Jian Yi stepped over and caught hold of her arm.

Feng Jiu’er shook her head, pushed his hand away, raised the cup, and drained the tea in one go.

“Master Bao,” she said, setting the cup down and looking at Bao Lei. “I don’t suppose we could become friends?”

“There’s no need for that,” Bao Lei said, reaching out his long arm to reclaim the teapot Feng Jiu’er had taken, and poured himself a cup.

“How do you know there isn’t?” Feng Jiu’er asked, dropping her guard and letting her own voice return.

Bao Lei lifted his eyes and met her gaze.

No matter how composed he was, that brief upward glance still couldn’t quite hide his shock.

Feng Jiu’er was a princess of the Feng Clan who had barely held the title for a few days before being hunted down and forced to flee—not many people would be able to recognize her voice.

She only needed to keep her face hidden; her voice hardly mattered. Of course, having disguised herself as a man, she still had to put on a man’s voice for the most part.

Feng Jiu’er watched as the man withdrew his gaze, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “What’s with that expression? Don’t tell me you know me?”

“Never met you before,” Bao Lei said flatly, denying it outright.

He hadn’t even touched the tea in his cup. He stood up at once and waved a hand.

“You two should go. Any later and it’ll be too late.”

Feng Jiu’er rose and stepped closer. “You’ve looked out for me more than once now. How should I repay you?”

Ignoring the woman approaching him, Bao Lei turned and walked further into the room.

“Brother Bao.” Feng Jiu’er hurried after him and caught hold of the sleeve wrapped around his arm.

“Long’er!” Jian Yi, not understanding what Feng Jiu’er was up to, came to her side and grabbed her arm again.

Feng Jiu’er turned her head and gave a small shake.

Jian Yi took a deep breath and let go.

“Brother Bao.” Feng Jiu’er shifted to an intimate tone.

Just as she tried to slip her arm through his, Bao Lei jerked his arm away forcefully, and Feng Jiu’er, thrown off balance by the force, stumbled half a step back.

“Brother Bao, don’t be angry! I came here for you.”

“You’re a man of standing now, right under Lei Shenbao’s wing, wealth beyond counting—couldn’t you take me in?”

Feng Jiu’er pressed forward and finally managed to hook her arm through Lei Shenbao’s.

“Brother Bao, I…”

With a sharp clang, before Feng Jiu’er could even manage a coquettish glance at Bao Lei, Jian Yi drew his sword.

Sword now drawn, Jian Yi stood at a complete loss—it wasn’t that someone was bullying his Jiu’er; it was that his Jiu’er looked like she was about to bully someone else. Was he supposed to cut the man down?

Feng Jiu’er glanced back at him, not quite sure whether to laugh, though she really wanted to.

She couldn’t help it—she could only blame the hero for looking far too adorable right now.

Feng Jiu’er gave a light cough and turned back to face Bao Lei.

She badly wanted to know whether it was really him—wanted to know right now.

Feng Jiu’er’s intentions seemed to have been seen through by Bao Lei. As her hand lifted again, he shook her off once more.

“So unsightly—aren’t you afraid of offending people’s eyes?”

His Jiu’er—how could she ever be unsightly? But now wasn’t the time to reveal themselves to each other.

“If you two don’t leave now, I’ll call for people! This building alone has at least a hundred guards.”

“Your skills are formidable—perhaps you wouldn’t think twice about a hundred guards. But if your identities are exposed, everything will fall apart in an instant.”

Feng Jiu’er stared at the man’s back, sorely tempted to march over and tear the human-skin mask right off his face.

Before Feng Jiu’er could move any closer, Bao Lei’s low voice rang out: “Don’t doubt what I’m telling you!”

“If this gets out, it’ll be bad for everyone involved!”

Bao Lei’s final words extinguished the urge driving Feng Jiu’er forward.

She took a deep breath, turned back to Jian Yi, and shook her head.

Jian Yi sheathed his sword and took hold of Feng Jiu’er’s small arm.

The two of them moved like the wind toward the window and vanished from the chamber in the blink of an eye.

Bao Lei walked over to the bed and sat down, gazing at the swaying window leaves, lost in thought.

Back at the inn’s rear courtyard, Qiao Mu had drunk so much tea she nearly felt sick, when faint footsteps finally sounded outside the chamber.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, stood, and turned to greet them as they came in.

“How did it go?” Qiao Mu asked, looking at the short figure walking ahead.

Standing next to Jian Yi, Feng Jiu’er could no longer quite be described as a “kid”—small and short as she was.

No one answered Qiao Mu’s question. She turned, closed the window, and came back to sit facing the other two.

“Find anything?”

Feng Jiu’er drew the scroll from her sleeve and unrolled it, laying it down between Qiao Mu and Jian Yi.

“Take a look at this—who does this person look like to you?”

“Who is it?” Qiao Mu leaned in, studying the portrait closely. “He looks gentle and refined. Who’s this?”

“He’s the foremost of the Thunder Kings,” Feng Jiu’er said quietly.

The first time she’d seen this painting, she’d had much the same reaction as Qiao Mu—the figure looked gentle and refined, more like a scholar or a young noble than a warrior.

It wasn’t that a young noble couldn’t possess extraordinary martial skill, but such people rarely lacked for money, and they almost never entered ring competitions like this one.

And yet this man had fought his way from the back hills all the way to the very pinnacle of the Lei Teng Inn, becoming the foremost Thunder King.

“No way,” Qiao Mu said, looking at Feng Jiu’er with some surprise. “The foremost Thunder King is actually decent-looking.”

“More than decent-looking—his skin is incredible too, smooth and fine.” Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and let out a soft sigh.

If she had insisted on tearing off his mask earlier, there would be no need for doubt now.

But his last words hadn’t just been to protect himself—they’d also been for her and Jian Yi’s safety. She didn’t want to gamble on it.

Compared to their actual mission, whether or not she knew the man’s true identity wasn’t nearly as important.