Unexpectedly, Yu Jingfeng simply waved his hand and said in a low, firm voice, “Someone come — escort Miss Jiu’er out.”

“Yes!” A crowd of the prince’s manor guards surged forward at once, with Long Eleven and Long Twelve leading the charge, positioning themselves behind Feng Jiu’er to protect her.

“You! All of you! You… is this treason?” Empress Rong was so furious that even her fingertips were trembling. This wretched Yu Jingfeng had defied her again and again. Did he truly think she had no way of dealing with him?

“Someone come!”

“Empress, this is A’Jiu’s domain.” Empress Dowager Ning had already composed herself. She glanced at Yu Jingfeng.

Yu Jingfeng looked at Long Eleven. “Escort Miss Jiu’er out.”

“Yes.” Long Eleven and Long Twelve gave a slight nod and personally escorted Feng Jiu’er to the door.

Feng Jiu’er did not wish to remain here even a moment longer. Since even the Empress Dowager was telling her to leave, there was all the more reason she had to go.

Though she still did not understand why Empress Dowager Ning had become so agitated upon learning that her mother was Long Feiyan.

But these matters were, most likely, not of great concern to her. She had no ambitions in the court, and even less in the imperial harem. The fewer dealings she had with those palace people, the better.

The more contact she had with them, the greater the chance that disaster would come out of nowhere.

Walking out of the Ninth Prince’s Manor, Long Eleven bowed and said, “Miss Jiu’er, our apologies. His Highness entered the palace early this morning to have an audience with the Emperor. Had His Highness been present, he would never have allowed the Empress to make such a scene.”

“It’s fine. She is, after all, the reigning Empress. Unless absolutely necessary, you should all refrain from offending her.”

Even though the Ninth Imperial Uncle did not fear the Empress — did not consider her worth his notice at all — regardless of that, she was the one who held power over the Nanmen clan.

As she had said: unless absolutely necessary, there was no need to create conflict and sour the relationship. In truth, souring things helped no one.

Long Eleven understood this reasoning well. His Highness might not care, but those of them who served under him naturally needed to be more vigilant.

So long as the Empress did not go too far, they had no real intention of doing anything against her.

Of course, that excluded anything that crossed the line entirely.

“Miss Jiu’er, please wait a moment. The coachman is bringing the carriage around.”

Because Feng Jiu’er’s decision to leave had been somewhat abrupt, the carriage had not yet arrived — though it ought to be close.

Feng Jiu’er shook her head and declined. “The Imperial Academy is not very far from here. I’ll walk back on my own.”

Riding back in the Ninth Prince’s Manor carriage would be far too conspicuous, and she had never liked doing things that drew unnecessary attention.

Long Eleven more or less understood what she was thinking. He asked once more, and only when he received the same refusal did he let her be.

Jiu’er looked up at the sky, bid Long Eleven farewell, and set off down the road. When she reached the corner, she could not help but glance back one last time at the gates of the Ninth Prince’s Manor.

Imposing. Solemn. Magnificent — exactly like its master.

The fleeting moments she had shared with the Ninth Imperial Uncle the previous night drifted back into her heart, and a sudden melancholy washed over her.

He was the Ninth Prince — the reigning Prince Shezheng, towering in rank and power. Being this close to him, she was not sure whether it was a good thing or not.

At last, she tore her gaze away, turned the corner, and found herself looking up — and there, a slender figure stepped into view.

He stood beneath a tree, no telling how long he had been there. Heavy dew clung to him, and the fabric at his shoulders was still damp.

His long silver hair was gathered loosely behind him, as remote and cold as ever — yet in the gentle breeze, it seemed to carry a few more shades of brooding weight.

“Mu Mu?” Jiu’er started, his presence entirely unexpected.

“You…” She walked over and looked at the dew on his clothes, at his slightly damp hair, her emotions tangled. “Why are you here? How long have you been standing here?”

“From the moment you walked in last night, I have been standing here.” Mu Mu’s words carried not even a trace of reproach.

Only calm — a calm so still it was impossible to read what he was thinking in that moment.

“It is nothing. Only that things have been too turbulent of late, and I feared it was not safe for you to be out alone. So I thought to wait and walk back with you.”

After all, that thunderbolt bomb had quite clearly been aimed at her. No one could know when the second one might come — or the next attempt on her life.

“Only I did not expect,” he glanced in the direction of the Ninth Prince’s Manor, his gaze even more distant than usual, “that this wait would stretch through the entire night.”

“Mu Mu, I… I and the Ninth Imperial Uncle…” Jiu’er did not know how to explain, yet some instinct told her that no explanation was necessary.

“Mu Mu, thank you for your concern, but I am fine. Please don’t do something this foolish again. Whatever happens, I can handle it myself.”

In the end, she had not explained — was it because she felt that an explanation would be too unnecessary for her?

Mu Mu’s eyes darkened slightly; the shadow that flickered through them was gone in an instant. Then he walked alongside her toward the Imperial Academy.

Feng Jiu’er walked beside him. True to form, he did not ask another thing. Strangely, that only left her feeling unaccountably unsettled.

Mu Mu treated her too well. But how was she to make him understand that she truly thought of him only as a friend?

No — more than a friend. There was something akin to the attachment one felt for family. But that had nothing whatsoever to do with his talk of a future wife.

His frame was still just as tall and broad as ever. Walking beside him gave her a deep sense of security.

Only — one such feeling of security was enough. A second would be one too many.

“Mu Mu…”

“Are you with the Ninth Prince now?” he asked suddenly. That calm question stopped every word she had been about to say.

“No.” Feng Jiu’er denied it at once — but then felt a twinge of worry: by denying it so quickly, had she given him some wrong impression?

She said, “Mu Mu, I don’t know what I feel toward the Ninth Imperial Uncle. I seem to have many thoughts I haven’t sorted out myself yet. But,” she drew a slow, steady breath, “whatever my relationship with the Ninth Imperial Uncle may be, it does not affect how I am with you. Mu Mu, I do not feel that way toward you.”

“Mm.”

Jiu’er had braced herself to spend a great deal of effort convincing him — but, a simple ‘mm’? What did that mean?

Mu Mu glanced down at her, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Have you not said similar things to me many times already? Have I been putting too much pressure on you?”

When he smiled, his white hair was like frost — and yet he was extraordinarily handsome. Beautiful to look at, and yet entirely unreadable.

Jiu’er was not sure what he meant by that, but leaving things murky and dragging matters out was never a good thing.

“I don’t want to think about feelings right now — not with you, and not with the Ninth Imperial Uncle. You know what I am after.”

“Very well. Then let us both stop thinking about it.”

Mu Mu pointed ahead. “Do you see this road? The path back to the Academy looks smooth enough — but do you know how many hidden dangers it conceals?”

Jiu’er opened her mouth — and then, all at once, her expression changed. Half vexed, half at a loss for words.

“You knew and still walked right in — are you seeking death? Get back, now!”