Feng Jiang led everyone into a tavern, where the food was already being prepared.

This was an arrangement he’d made in advance, the moment he’d heard the news earlier.

Inside the private room, a large round table nearly overflowed with dishes, with staff still bustling about setting things up.

Seeing everyone enter, the staff turned and bowed respectfully in greeting.

Xiao Yingtao and Yue Qinchun had spent nearly the whole journey riding in the carriage; after so many exhausting days, the past two days had been spent almost entirely eating and sleeping in the carriage.

Feng Yinan had accompanied Feng Jiang to receive them, and the moment Yue Qinchun stepped out of the carriage, he stayed right by her side.

Everyone sat down, and the innkeeper led the staff out.

“Let’s begin — everyone must be starving.” Feng Jiang waved a hand.

“I want the braised meat.” Yue Qinchun, as usual, didn’t hold back.

Xiao Yingtao felt the same — after two days with nothing decent to eat, why bother being polite now?

The difference was that Yue Qinchun would openly act coquettish toward Feng Yinan and have him wait on her, while Xiao Yingtao wouldn’t.

Still, Xing Zizhou’s attentiveness surely wasn’t any less than Feng Yinan’s.

“Has A’Jiu really left the city?” Feng Jiu’er took a sip of tea, looking at Feng Jiang beside her.

“Mm.” Feng Jiang nodded. “Mao Zhongcai wants to negotiate peace — he went out there himself.”

“Mao Zhongcai is camped just five li outside the city gates. If we head over after dinner, we’ll still make it in time.”

“Did you tell A’Jiu when we’d arrive?” Feng Jiu’er asked.

“Late at night.” Feng Jiang set a piece of chicken drumstick in her bowl. “It’ll be soon enough to go over once it’s light tomorrow — rest well tonight.”

Feng Jiu’er raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Feng Jiang turned and began serving food to Qiao Mu.

“No need.” Qiao Mu picked up her own bowl and turned slightly aside, declining the drumstick he offered.

“Qiao Qiao, didn’t you used to like chicken drumsticks?” Feng Jiang asked gently.

“I don’t like them anymore.” Qiao Mu answered just as casually.

She paid him no more mind and served herself a duck leg instead.

Feng Jiang looked at the duck leg in her bowl, then at the drumstick still held in his own chopsticks, and pressed his lips together.

Qiao Mu brought the duck leg to her mouth; he brought his own drumstick to his.

A man who was unstoppable on the battlefield, whose expression never changed even before a sea of soldiers, now wore a look of utter besotted tenderness, gentle as flowing water.

Feng Jiu’er glanced at the two of them from time to time but said nothing, continuing to gnaw on her own chicken drumstick.

Since Ninth Imperial Uncle didn’t know she had arrived, she would give him a surprise.

Perhaps because they were hungry, the usually chattering Xiao Yingtao and Yue Qinchun both fell silent. The private room grew quiet.

Aside from the sounds of eating, only the occasional soft murmur of a man’s gentle voice could be heard.

After dinner, everyone settled into the inn.

The moment Feng Jiu’er entered her room, she went looking for clothes to bathe.

When she emerged from behind the screen, she was dressed in a night-travel outfit.

Feng Jiu’er found brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, left behind a short note, tucked a dagger at her waist, and turned toward the window.

Some time later, a petite woman in night-travel clothes appeared in the inn’s back courtyard.

She entered the courtyard, chose a black steed, mounted it, and rode off.

For one thing, she wanted to let Zhuiyue rest for the night; for another, since Zhuiyue was white, riding him out would make her far too easy to spot.

Feng Jiu’er was so intent on finding Di Wuya that she didn’t notice — after she had left, from behind a thatched hut not far away, a figure mounted a horse and rode out as well.

Jian Yi, on his horse, watched quietly for a moment.

Only when the petite figure was nearly out of sight did he pull the reins and follow.

Feng Jiu’er left through the city gates, riding swiftly through the night.

The events of that night still felt vivid in her mind — she hadn’t expected to be apart from her Ninth Imperial Uncle for so long again.

She missed him so much — truly, deeply.

I wonder what Ninth Imperial Uncle is doing right now? Has the negotiation ended? Has he eaten dinner? Is he resting?

Feng Jiu’er hadn’t felt this way in a long time — free to disregard everything else and simply do what she wanted to do.

She suddenly realized she still had a girl’s heart in her after all. How wonderful.

Not quite two li outside Pingyuan City, an entire army had made camp.

Pingyuan City, true to its name, was mostly flat land with little in the way of mountains.

The stretch between Pingyuan City and Yongshan City was all flatland; only near Songjiang were there any mountains at all.

This battle with Mao Zhongcai had dragged on for quite some time and had finally reached a lull — not an ideal outcome, perhaps, but at least a chance to catch their breath.

At the edge of the camp, in the tent closest to Yongshan City, Yu Jingfeng emerged carrying a tray.

A man who had long been waiting nearby lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.

The man kept his head lowered the entire time, not even daring to look at Di Wuya seated behind the desk.

He set a bit of sandalwood incense in a corner, came to the middle of the tent, and knelt, still keeping his head bowed.

“General, this is the sandalwood incense the city lord sent over.”

“There are too many flying insects come nightfall — this incense will drive them off. General, sleep well!”

The man rose, cupped his hands in a bow, stepped back a few paces, turned, and left through the tent flap.

Di Wuya, holding a book, glanced briefly at the incense, then lowered his head again and continued reading.

In another tent, Long Yi and Long Shiyi sat with their eyes closed, resting their minds. Not far off, another stick of sandalwood incense, just delivered by a servant, burned as well.

Yu Jingfeng lifted the flap and stepped in.

“Have you two eaten?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

Long Yi ignored him. Long Shiyi opened his eyes and stood up.

“We’ve eaten. Did the Prince say anything?”

“No.” Yu Jingfeng shook his head. “The Prince gave Mao Zhongcai two hours to consider. One hour’s passed already — we’ll wait a bit longer.”

“I thought Mao Zhongcai had already come over.” Long Shiyi stretched.

“Since nothing’s happening, why are you wandering around? Shouldn’t you be guarding the Prince?”

Yu Jingfeng found a spot and sat down, his smile more comically pleased than ever before.

Long Shiyi stared at him and frowned. “Why the doting-auntie smile?”

He didn’t actually know what a “doting-auntie smile” meant — he’d just heard Feng Jiu’er and Xiao Yingtao use the phrase once and decided to borrow it. Whether he was using it correctly, Long Shiyi wasn’t going to bother figuring out.

Yu Jingfeng smiled again, gave a light cough, and said, “The Prince got sick of me and threw me out.”

“Lord Yu, did I hear that right?” Long Shiyi sat back down in his original seat.

“It’s not exactly news that the Prince gets sick of you — you’ve followed him for so long, and you’re only now getting thrown out?”

Everyone knew the Prince’s temperament well enough. Long Shiyi genuinely couldn’t understand why Yu Jingfeng would dare provoke him.

“Can you blame me for getting bored waiting?” Yu Jingfeng scratched his nose and coughed again.

“I just asked the Prince a few questions, and he told me to get lost.”

Long Shiyi frowned, practically bubbling with curiosity. “Those questions must have been interesting, then?”

Right now, the most interesting thing here was clearly Yu Jingfeng himself.

How long was he going to keep up that doting-auntie smile? What exactly was wrong with Yu Jingfeng? Had he gone mad?