“Why must you go?” Though Zhan Qingcheng did not continue his refusal outright, it was equally plain that he had not agreed.

“If you wish to see this Prince, you need only wait for this Prince to return in triumph, and we shall meet again. There is no need to be impatient.”

Though he himself felt a vague, inexplicable hollowness at the thought of months apart, the battlefield was unforgiving — and that kind of life was not something suited to her.

Seeing that she still wore a look of frustration and indignation, Zhan Qingcheng instinctively softened his voice in a gesture of consolation: “When this Prince returns, you shall live in Ninth Prince’s Manor, and then we may see each other every morning and night.”

Feng Jiu’er very much wanted to pick up the teapot and slam it into his head. What was this man implying? Was she really the sort of brazen creature he was making her out to be?

Though having a man as stunning as Ninth Imperial Uncle to look at every single day was, admittedly, a genuine pleasure — still, seeing Ninth Imperial Uncle daily would take a toll on her heart.

On reflection, her life was more important.

Besides — the way Ninth Imperial Uncle talked about her made it sound as though she would simply cease to function without him. She was not some lovesick fool.

“I don’t want to see Ninth Imperial Uncle every day just for—”

“Hmm?” The man’s eyes narrowed, and a cold gleam flashed within them.

Yu Jingfeng hurriedly cleared his throat and offered: “Miss Jiu’er simply wants to be near the Prince — that’s why she’s been insisting on following him on campaign, isn’t that so?”

This girl had absolutely no sense of occasion. Saying something like I don’t want to see Ninth Prince — how could she speak such a dangerous thing aloud?

Feng Jiu’er immediately caught her misstep — but that wasn’t what she had meant at all.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Ninth Imperial Uncle. It was just that wanting to follow him on campaign wasn’t solely about seeing him every day.

Alas — the more she tried to explain, the more tangled it became. She had even confused herself.

Zhan Qingcheng seemed disinclined to continue the topic. He said coolly: “This time, it is the Muhe tribe that has been harassing the border cities. Their warriors are fierce and formidable — a rare and ferocious people.”

“So Ninth Imperial Uncle won’t let me follow because this tribe is difficult to contend with — because you’re worried I’d be in danger on the battlefield?”

Jiu’er bit her lip, a vague unease stirring in her chest. “If even Ninth Imperial Uncle finds them dangerous, does that mean the Muhe fighters are truly that fearsome?”

“They are.” It was Yu Jingfeng who answered. “The Muhe tribe is said to be descended from an ancient clan known as the Dream Tribe. Several hundred years ago they sailed across the sea and settled at the border cities of Bei Mu. For centuries they coexisted peacefully with the surrounding nations — but this time, they have already brought down two smaller kingdoms, and done so in just half a year.”

“Though those two kingdoms were small, their combined territory and population were several times that of the Muhe. They overcame the greater with the lesser, and grew powerful in a remarkably short time. I’ve never encountered a people or warriors as formidable as them.”

“Then doesn’t that mean it’s dangerous for you too, Ninth Imperial Uncle?” Jiu’er reached out and grasped Zhan Qingcheng’s hand. Where she had been indignant moments ago, her heart was now entirely occupied by worry.

Even Yu Jingfeng had said he’d never seen a people so formidable — that spoke to how fearsome the Muhe warriors truly were.

The Ninth Prince’s gaze finally softened entirely. He was not one whose emotions were easily stirred — yet in front of Feng Jiu’er, he was particularly susceptible to her influence.

He said evenly: “You need only wait in the imperial city for this Prince to return.”

“But…”

Before Feng Jiu’er could finish, the sound of footsteps came from below — several waitstaff ascending in a line, presenting their dishes with solemn, precise courtesy.

No one reached for their chopsticks. Yu Jingfeng swept a glance over the staff, and the group hastily retreated back downstairs.

Yu Jingfeng immediately produced silver needles and tested each dish in turn. Finding nothing amiss, he placed the chopsticks before Zhan Qingcheng.

“Your Highness, please eat.”

“We’re out in public — so many formalities.” Feng Jiu’er was long accustomed to her easy, unguarded manner around Ninth Imperial Uncle. She reached for her own chopsticks and was about to eat.

But Yanu suddenly closed his hand around her wrist. Beneath Zhan Qingcheng’s darkening gaze, Yanu gently shook his head.

Yu Jingfeng’s expression shifted slightly. “Something’s wrong?”

There had been no ambush in the vicinity. As for the dishes before them — nothing looked out of the ordinary, and hadn’t he already tested everything with silver needles?

If there truly was a problem and he had failed entirely to detect it, that would be an unforgivable failing on his part.

Everyone’s eyes fell on Yanu. Yanu turned to Feng Jiu’er, gave a small blink, and then — beneath that gaze of near-glacial cold — took her hand and wrote several characters in her palm.

One of the waitstaff had black fingernails.

Feng Jiu’er was trained in medicine. Though she was no expert in poisons, she had heard that those who worked with poison regularly often ended up with faint traces of black beneath their nails — a discoloration from years of contact with toxic substances.

Those who used poison without such telltale signs did exist, but they could be counted on one hand throughout the entire realm.

And one of those waitstaff just now had black fingernails. She hadn’t caught it at all — but the ever-watchful Yanu had.

Jiu’er glanced at Zhan Qingcheng, then at Yu Jingfeng, and mouthed silently: There’s a problem.

Yu Jingfeng had already guessed her meaning. The question was, which of the waitstaff?

Yanu’s eyes moved to the soup bowl on the table, and everyone understood — it was the one who had served the soup.

Yu Jingfeng pressed his lips together, a look of astonishment crossing his face. He had tested that soup with particular care, and the silver needle had shown no reaction whatsoever.

Just then, another waiter came up from below, all smiles: “Honored guests, here is our establishment’s most celebrated delicacy — Xiangzhang Zhongbao. Please, enjoy at your leisure!”

Everyone’s gaze swept discreetly over his hands. They were clean, nails entirely clear — nothing unusual about them.

And this waiter stood before them looking perfectly at ease, relaxed, without even a trace of tension.

Everything about the Xiangzhang Zhongbao suggested it should be fine. But after the waiter left, Jiu’er furrowed her brow slightly, then promptly picked up a piece with her chopsticks, intending to put it in her mouth.

Zhan Qingcheng’s eyes darkened, and he pressed her hand down firmly.

“This smells wonderful — I only wanted to taste it, to see what spices are in it.”

Zhan Qingcheng still would not allow it. But Yanu, seizing on the moment of their dispute, picked up a piece of the Xiangzhang Zhongbao and put it in his own mouth.

Yanu, you fool! Feng Jiu’er shot him a sharp look, disapproval written plainly across her face.

Her own body was a little unusual — ordinary poisons generally had little effect on her. She had also formed a reasonable guess that the soup, in all likelihood, posed no danger by itself.

The issue was whether some other dish, when combined with something in the soup, might produce a deadly compound toxin.

Yanu had already eaten the dish. Shortly after, he wrote something in Feng Jiu’er’s palm.

Jiu’er nodded, picked up her chopsticks, and said lightly: “Let’s eat. Enough talking.”

Zhan Qingcheng said nothing, calmly picking up his own chopsticks and eating.

That bowl of soup was eventually finished near the end of the meal.

As the four of them descended the stairs, Yu Jingfeng said: “Miss Jiu’er, my Lord and I must return to the Manor first — we won’t be seeing you off. Farewell!”