“I was a little worried, so I came to look.” It was still the same Shan Yidao, yet the way he looked at Feng Jiu’er tonight seemed somehow rather different.

That gaze — far too complicated.

“Worried about what?” Jiu’er appeared not to notice anything unusual about him, and lifted her brow with a smile. “Thank you, Yidao. If not for you, I would most likely be unable to live on right now.”

“Be more careful from now on.” Shan Yidao’s expression still carried that certain strangeness. His usual simple honesty seemed to have vanished for now, leaving only quietness behind.

“Yidao, how many blossoms have you found? I have already found five — what about you?” Feng Jiu’er fixed her eyes on him.

Shan Yidao reached to touch the small bottle at his waist, his gaze settling into a faint stillness. “I… have not found any yet.”

“All right then — since you are here anyway, I will go with you to find them. You must find five, no question about it.”

Feng Jiu’er turned and headed forward: “We have to be quick — there is not much time left before we agreed to meet back. We will have to return soon. Come on.”

Shan Yidao said nothing and followed behind her, glancing upward at the sky. Sure enough, it was getting late.

They had agreed that after two full hours everyone had to return, and if Feng Jiu’er did not come back, the others would all come looking for her.

Watching that slender figure ahead of him, Shan Yidao’s gaze grew complicated — there was hesitation in it, and tenderness, and a tangled knot of conflicting feelings.

“Yidao, what is the matter? You are walking so slowly — we will not make it in time.” Feng Jiu’er turned back, grabbed him by the sleeve, and said: “Hurry up.”

“Jiu’er…” Shan Yidao looked at her strikingly beautiful face and did not immediately follow along. “Jiu’er, what are your plans for the future?”

“What plans?” Feng Jiu’er thought it over, then smiled: “Of course I want to carve out a career for myself, join campaigns, and earn great merit.”

“And after you have earned great merit? Throughout history, there have been women who held official posts, but they were very few. Even if you distinguished yourself with merit, a man with the same achievement would receive rewards many times greater than yours.”

There was nothing wrong with what Shan Yidao said — that was simply how this era worked. Only, hearing such words from the usually earnest, reticent Shan Yidao could not help but make one feel a touch surprised.

“I know — you make a fair point. But if I do not pursue a career and build merit, what else can I do?”

In truth, this question had not been on Jiu’er’s mind tonight, but with Shan Yidao raising it so directly, it stirred her into reflection.

For so many years, the conviction of defending her homeland had been deeply, stubbornly rooted within her. She had no idea herself why she held such a persistent attachment to it, why the draw of the battlefield ran so deep.

Yet this notion — this will to give everything for her country — had taken root deep in her heart from the time she was very young.

It was as though this nation were her own responsibility, as if she had been born to bear it.

But in truth, she was nothing more than an ordinary person, and even she herself did not understand why her aspirations were so grand.

“A woman is bound in the end to marry and bear children.” There was a certain bleakness in Shan Yidao’s gaze — a bleakness she could not see through.

He said: “If… there were someone willing to look after you for a lifetime, who would find every means to give you a good life — would you still feel you absolutely had to go to war?”

Feng Jiu’er glanced at him, still unable to read the flickering hope that arose and dimmed in the depths of his eyes. But by now Jiu’er’s thoughts had already been drawn back to the question at hand.

She turned and kept walking forward: “Better to rely on oneself than on the sky or the earth. Who can say whether the husband one marries in the end will truly be dependable?”

“Why would he not be dependable? You can find a dependable one.” Shan Yidao kept following behind her, his gaze never once shifting from her. “Jiu’er, if I…”

“What is it? What is it that you actually want to say?” Feng Jiu’er suddenly stopped and looked back at him.

Shan Yidao was still somewhat hesitant, and no one knew how long he struggled inwardly before he clenched his fist hard, mustered his courage, and said: “Jiu’er, I… I really do like you very much, Jiu’er!”

He took two steps forward, reaching to take Feng Jiu’er’s hand.

But the moment his large palm made contact with her, Jiu’er reacted as though she had been burned, hurriedly pulling her own hand back.

She stepped back several paces, distancing herself from him, her expression one of complete disbelief: “Yidao, you… what are you saying?”

This outcome was entirely beyond what anyone would have expected!

“Jiu’er, I truly like you. If you are willing, I will take you away from here. I can give you a very good life in the future!”

“But I do not want to leave the academy — I am perfectly fine here.”

“You are not fine here at all. Too many people want to harm you — you… you could lose your life at any moment!”

Shan Yidao grew anxious, and his voice went slightly hoarse: “Trust me and come with me. Let us both leave this place. The academy, and even all the affairs of the Bei Mu nation — we will not get involved with any of it from this day forth.”

Shan Yidao tried to come closer again, and Feng Jiu’er pushed him away again, her gaze toward him now carrying a thread of wariness.

“Yidao, I do not know what has come over you, but when it comes to romantic matters, I am not yet ready to think about them.”

“Jiu’er, if you stay here, there is only a dead end for you. Every sort of power wants your life. Are you truly not afraid?”

Feng Jiu’er thought for a moment, and seemed to find some ease in her understanding. She said: “Is it because of the thunderbolt grenade incident — it has made you anxious for me?”

She smiled — though it was plain to see the smile was a little forced. “I am fine. I am not afraid either. Yidao, do not let your imagination run wild. Go and find the orchid blossoms.”

“You truly will not come away with me?” Shan Yidao’s expression turned a little strange, his gaze still riveted on Feng Jiu’er. “If I said that by staying here, you may not live to see tomorrow — would you still not care?”

“Yidao, I do not know why you are this worried, but I truly do not want to leave the academy. I still have many things I must do.”

“You refuse to leave — is it because you cannot bear to part from the Ninth Prince, or is it because of Mu Mu?” Shan Yidao’s fingertips drew taut, his sharp eyes locking onto hers.

Feng Jiu’er had no wish to answer that question. She turned and continued forward: “Whatever the reason, I am not going with you. Yidao, do not dwell on this — go and do what you are supposed to do.”

“The academy has been a bit unsettled these past few days, but I believe the Ninth Imperial Uncle has already identified that person. The reason he is not moving yet is to draw the snake out from the grass — perhaps what he wants to catch is the power behind that person.”

Shan Yidao’s palm clenched tighter and tighter, while Feng Jiu’er had already set off at a light, brisk pace, putting more than a dozen steps between them.

“Once all this is resolved, the academy will return to how it was before. Do not worry — hurry along now; we are running short on time.”

But just as she spotted a stalk of an orchid and moved to pick it, a shadow flickered before her, and Shan Yidao had appeared right in front of her in an instant.

“Yidao, your lightness technique…” Feng Jiu’er looked entirely as though she had never expected this, her bright eyes wide open. “You… what is happening with you?”