In the city, inside an inn.

A man dressed as a servant pushed the door open and walked in.

He came to the low table in the middle of the side room, knelt down, and with both hands presented a thin, square wooden plaque.

“Your Highness, Miss Jiu’er, please!”

Di Wu Ya heard the familiar voice, raised his eyes to look, his thick brows lifting slightly.

“Explain yourself.”

He said flatly.

The kneeling Long Shi’er raised his head, meeting Di Wu Ya’s gaze, lips pressed thin.

Among the Feilong Shi’er Qi, Long Shi’er was the youngest.

His features were handsome and refined, his skin fair and delicate, quite good-looking.

“Reporting to Your Highness.”

Long Shi’er cupped his hands in salute.

Before he could say anything further, Feng Jiu’er looped her arm through Di Wu Ya’s long arm.

“I asked him to come.”

She raised her eyes, looking at the man beside her. “Long Shi’er’s cooking skills are amazing—didn’t Ninth Imperial Uncle know?”

“His talent in this area has been buried by you all this time.”

“Long Shi’er.”

Feng Jiu’er looked toward Long Shi’er. “Go prepare the dishes His Highness usually likes.”

“Yes.”

Long Shi’er cupped his hands again, his gaze returning to Di Wu Ya.

“Your Highness, please don’t blame Miss Jiu’er. It was this subordinate’s own wish to do this, and I’ll only cook during my free time—it won’t affect the work Your Highness has assigned me.”

“Your cooking is good?”

Di Wu Ya’s brows furrowed.

“Yes.”

Feng Jiu’er hugged Di Wu Ya’s arm tightly again. “I’ve tasted it—it’s authentic Bei Mu cuisine.”

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, think about it—we can’t fight wars for the rest of our lives. Once things settle down, everyone will need something to do.”

“Brother saw this inn sitting empty, with plenty of usable things still around, so I invited Long Shi’er over.”

“On one hand, he gets to do something he loves; on the other, the dishes he makes can also ease everyone’s homesickness.”

Di Wu Ya waved a hand, his long arm sweeping the woman into his embrace.

Long Shi’er cupped his hands and stood.

“Your Highness, Miss Jiu’er, this subordinate will go prepare now.”

“Go ahead.”

Feng Jiu’er waved him off.

“Yes.”

Long Shi’er nodded, and as he turned, the corner of his mouth lifted, revealing a pair of shallow dimples.

The door closed. Feng Jiu’er leaned back, her head resting against the man’s chest.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

She called softly, tilting her head back to look at him. “Do you… regret it?”

The man’s thick brows furrowed. His arms wrapped around her arms, soft as water, and he leaned down.

“Wife, what do you mean by that?”

Feng Jiu’er slipped free of his arms, turned, and wrapped her arms around the man’s lean waist, burying her head against his chest.

“If it weren’t for me, how carefree would your days be right now?”

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together in a smile, raising her eyes, her slender fingers sliding lightly across the man’s chest.

“Maybe you’d have three thousand consorts in your harem, and if you were lucky, more than a pair of children by now.”

“But now, you really only have me. Not to mention children—and next…” What came next, Feng Jiu’er couldn’t bring herself to say.

That they’d managed to reach Fenglai City safely was indeed due to their own capabilities, but Feng Qiongcang’s power was far greater than what they’d seen so far.

Perhaps letting all of them reach Fenglai City had also been part of Feng Qiongcang’s plan.

Sacrificing part of his forces in exchange for a chance to wipe them all out in one stroke—that was exactly the kind of thing Feng Qiongcang was capable of doing.

The gathering of the three armies marked the end of this phase of the war, and the beginning of the final battle.

They knew it was risky, but events could only unfold according to this plan.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

Feng Jiu’er lowered her head again, holding tightly onto Di Wu Ya’s waist.

“My heart aches so much! It aches for you, truly!”