Feng Lezhen stared at the wet tablecloth for a long while, then took another cup and poured some tea: “Why would I have such a dream?”
“I don’t know.” Fu Zhixian’s voice was a little hoarse.
Feng Lezhen smiled silently, then brought the cup back to the bedside. “Can you drink on your own?”
“Seems like I can’t,” Fu Zhixian said helplessly.
Feng Lezhen set the cup aside and leaned over, placing his arm over her shoulder.
Their breaths suddenly mingled—powdered fragrance mixed with the scent of medicine. The late summer heat drifted in through the open window, but the room seemed to carry a slight chill. Even pressed close, neither felt warm.
Fu Zhixian gazed steadily at her, as if a deep ocean was hidden in his eyes.
“Put in a little effort,” Feng Lezhen reminded.
Fu Zhixian came back to himself—one hand bracing the bed, the other wrapping around her waist. Feng Lezhen paused briefly, then helped him sit up, placing a few soft cushions behind him.
Though his bruises had mostly healed during his time unconscious, the wound at his chest hadn’t improved much. Even the simple act of sitting up left him breathing heavily, sweat beading at the tip of his nose.
Feng Lezhen said nothing, just watched his face pale. Only after his breath steadied did she bring the cooled water to his lips. Fu Zhixian thanked her and drank a sip from her hand.
Such a small act—drinking water—took them nearly a quarter of an hour. When it was over, neither spoke.
Eventually, it was Fu Zhixian who broke the silence. “Aren’t you curious what else I dreamed about?”
“What else did you dream?” Feng Lezhen followed his lead.
Fu Zhixian’s lips curved faintly. “I dreamed that the reason you were thrown into the Imperial Prison… was because I forged evidence using your private seal, and then accused you of treason in front of all the ministers during the Mid-Autumn Palace Banquet.”
“Why would you do that?” Feng Lezhen asked calmly, as if merely chatting about a dream.
Fu Zhixian looked at her quietly. “Because it was the emperor’s order.”
“You’re my man—why follow his order?” Feng Lezhen stared directly at him, trying to see through him.
Fu Zhixian was silent for a long time before answering. “Because I once served the late emperor. So the current one thinks… I belong to him.”
Feng Lezhen gave a small smile. “Men of the world always seem to think that everything their fathers left behind belongs to them. You too?”
“Of course not.”
“But you still did as he asked.” Her gaze grew cold.
“The emperor had already resolved to kill. If I refused, he’d just find another way. So I figured it was better to keep control in my own hands.”
“And did you control it?” she asked.
“I had, at first.” His gaze dimmed. “The Eldest Princess’s estate was sealed, you were confined to the palace for six months. I used that time to make the emperor believe you were completely powerless. If all went according to plan, on my wedding day, the emperor would have announced a full pardon for you in front of the court and the people. Then a minister would bring up the late emperor’s promise of land, suggesting you no longer belonged in the capital. With the emperor’s personality, he would’ve agreed.”
He looked at Feng Lezhen, his eyes softening. “For five years since his ascension, you’ve been restricted at every turn. Had this continued, you’d only drift further from the path you want. A faraway place, where even the emperor’s hand can’t reach—maybe there, you’d find rebirth.”
“Sounds like everything was done for my sake,” Feng Lezhen said quietly. “If that’s so, why not discuss it with me directly?”
Fu Zhixian smiled. “To gain the emperor’s trust and let you leave safely, sacrifices were needed. But you’ve always been too soft-hearted with your own people. If I’d told you, could you really bear to give up those loyal to you?”
Feng Lezhen thought of the people who had died for her in her past life. Her expression darkened. “Then it seems I am not as clear-minded as Lord Fu. But if you were so clear-headed, why did I still die in your dream?”
The smile at Fu Zhixian’s lips slowly faded. His always-beautiful eyes clouded with gloom.
He had planned for everything—even accounting for Feng Ji’s moments of soft-heartedness—but never had he expected that Li Tong would be so bold as to dare harm the Eldest Princess herself.
“Clearly,” Feng Lezhen said with a gentle smile, “there is no such thing as perfect control in this world.”
Silence fell over the bedchamber. Feng Lezhen wrung out a handkerchief and lowered her gaze to wipe his hands. The warm cloth briefly brought comfort, but just as quickly turned to a bone-deep chill. Fu Zhixian stared at her long eyelashes, then suddenly asked, “Aren’t you curious why I was so sure the emperor would pardon you?”
“Why?” she asked casually.
“The late emperor left me two secret edicts.” His voice was quiet.
Feng Lezhen looked up, meeting his gaze.
Fu Zhixian’s pale face curved in another small smile. “Seems you already knew.”
“What was in them?” she asked.
“One of them was a document of absolution. No matter what crimes the Eldest Princess committed, with that decree, no one could punish her.”
She had guessed as much when he brought up the secret edicts. Hearing him confirm it, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“So the late emperor either believed I was sure to make grave mistakes—or was certain that Feng Ji, once on the throne, would never tolerate me—and thus created such a decree?” Her smile was mocking, but the chill in her eyes betrayed her emotions.
Fu Zhixian looked at her with deep sympathy. “He only wished to leave you a protective charm.”
“How benevolent,” she said with a laugh. “Should I now weep with gratitude?”
He held her hand and met her eyes.
In the past, whenever she was distressed over the late emperor’s favoritism, he would always look at her like this—until she calmed down.
Looking into his eyes, Feng Lezhen suddenly felt a little tired. “And you?”
“What do you mean?” Fu Zhixian asked gently.
“Back then, you approached me deliberately, didn’t you?” Feng Lezhen finally voiced the question.
A cool breeze swept through the room, extinguishing several candles and plunging it into semi-darkness.
Half of Fu Zhixian’s face was hidden in the shadow of the bed canopy, making his expression difficult to discern. After a long moment, he slowly replied, “Yes. But it had nothing to do with the late emperor. In all the years I was with Your Highness, I never did anything to harm you. Only once…”
He left her in a doomed situation.
“You followed Feng Ji’s orders—was that really just to protect me? Or were you also hoping to gain his full trust through this?” In the silence, Feng Lezhen asked again. “If not for Li Tong, I would’ve been sent away to the fief. Would you have followed me, or stayed in the capital and risen to power?”
“I would’ve stayed and waited quietly for Your Highness’s return,” Fu Zhixian answered.
Feng Lezhen let out a light laugh. “You’re quite honest now.”
“I’ve always been honest with Your Highness,” Fu Zhixian replied with a smile. His clear eyes reflected her figure vividly.
Feng Lezhen fell silent for a moment, just about to speak when a sharp whistling sound came from outside, followed by the explosion of fireworks. Fu Zhixian turned his head in a daze, only to be met with dazzling lights blooming right before his eyes.
He watched in silence, his eyes suddenly dry. Feng Lezhen took his arm and rested her chin on his shoulder as she gazed at the fireworks. “You and I are the same kind of person. The only difference is that my ambition shows on my face, while yours stays buried in your heart. Two people so alike… are bound to one day walk separate paths.”
“So long as Your Highness is willing,” Fu Zhixian slowly interlaced his fingers with hers, “I can stay by your side, for a long, long time.”
Feng Lezhen smiled without a sound, but said nothing in response.
Fu Zhixian stared out the window, watching the fireworks blossom in his pupils. But for a moment, his mind drifted.
Lord Fu’s birthday fell on the Mid-Autumn Festival. Every year, after the palace banquet, Her Highness the Eldest Princess would set off grand fireworks just for him—a well-known fact among the people of the capital. They couldn’t see the palace feasts, but the fireworks lit up half the city. Over time, watching fireworks after moon-viewing became a tradition for the common folk of the capital.
In the Eldest Princess’s mansion kitchen, the cooks bustled about. At last, the longevity noodles were ready. Qin Wan entered, and upon seeing the plain noodles on the table, frowned immediately. “Why so simple?”
“Greetings to Steward Qin,” one of the cooks, still busy at the stove, replied without turning her head. “Apologies, Steward Qin. Lord Fu had been unconscious, so we didn’t expect to prepare longevity noodles this year. Who knew… Please, Steward Qin, have mercy. Help me plead with His Lordship and Her Highness. I truly—”
She turned around mid-sentence and saw the bowl of plain noodles in Qin Wan’s hands. Startled, she hurriedly stepped forward. “S-Steward Qin, those aren’t Lord Fu’s noodles. His are over here.”
Qin Wan followed her gesture and saw another bowl on the stove. Compared to the plain noodles in her hands, this bowl had golden needle mushrooms, shellfish, two perfectly shaped poached eggs, and was garnished with scallions and rich oil. It wasn’t as exquisite as in past years, but it was acceptable.
Qin Wan promptly made the switch and was about to leave when curiosity got the better of her. “Who were the plain noodles for?”
“For Chen Dog—er, Young Master Chen,” the cook said, almost slipping into calling him by his old name. “Every year on Mid-Autumn, he asks me for a bowl of plain noodles. This is the third year now. He’s always been by himself, so I keep making it for him.”
Worried Qin Wan might accuse her of misusing household supplies, she hurried to explain, “He buys the noodles himself—I just boil them. Aside from a little salt from the kitchen, I don’t use anything else!”
Truthfully, now that Chen Jinan’s status had changed, she had considered making two identical bowls. But he refused, saying it was just a symbolic gesture and didn’t need to be lavish. So she stuck to the usual.
Qin Wan glanced at the noodles. Sure enough, they were terribly bland—no meat, no garnish, not even a hint of animal fat. One could easily imagine how tasteless they were.
“I may be a strict housekeeper, but I’m not heartless. I can allow a bowl of noodles,” she said lightly, and carried the garnished longevity noodles out the door.
The cook stood there awkwardly, still wondering what the steward’s words really meant, when Chen Jinan arrived. He thanked her, picked up the plain noodles, and was about to leave.
“Um—” the cook quickly called him back.
Chen Jinan paused, looking at her curiously.
“There’s braised scallion abalone on the stove—let me give you some.” Qin Wan’s comment had clearly implied the cook wasn’t doing enough for him.
Chen Jinan said, “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
“Please take a little,” the cook insisted. She didn’t dare say Qin Wan had come by and gently criticized her, so she just looked at him pleadingly. “You’ve grown so thin while Lord Fu was unconscious.”
Chen Jinan had already intended to walk off, but stopped at her words. “‘Thin’? I’ve gotten thinner?”
The cook saw his frown and couldn’t help but laugh—it was the first time she thought he didn’t seem like a block of wood. “Yes, much thinner.”
“In that case, please do give me some,” Chen Jinan said slowly after a moment of hesitation. “Being too thin doesn’t look good.”
“Oh! So you do care about appearances!” the cook laughed aloud and quickly loaded up his tray. Chen Jinan had no choice but to fetch a tray and carry both the noodles and the dishes away.
Outside, the fireworks still bloomed. One dazzling burst followed another, lighting up the night sky and casting ever-changing shadows across the faces of those looking up in wonder.
Chen Jinan brought his food to the side courtyard, just one wall away from the main bedchamber. Sitting on the steps beneath the eaves, he quietly ate his noodles while letting the fireworks bloom in his pupils.
This year’s fireworks seemed more magnificent than ever before—like a dying musician’s final piece, played with all their might, hoarse and desperate. It might not have been beautiful, but it shook the soul.
Only when the sky returned to silence and the light was swallowed by darkness did Fu Zhixian begin to come back to himself, the thick smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air.
“Fu Zhixian.”
Her light voice reached his ears. He had a vague feeling that something was about to fall. After a long silence, he finally turned to look at her.
Feng Lezhen’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Your twenty-fourth birthday. Wishing you health and peace.”
Fu Zhixian’s throat bobbed. He gave a slight smile. “Your Highness’s nails have grown.”
Feng Lezhen looked down at their clasped hands and smiled as well. “You were unconscious for so long—I didn’t have the chance to take care of it.”
Eventually, she handed him a pair of scissors. Fu Zhixian ignored the waves of pain from his chest and carefully trimmed her nails. Watching how deftly the scissors moved in his hands, carving elegant curves with each clip, Feng Lezhen couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Once I go to the fief, I probably won’t have this luxury anymore.”
Fu Zhixian, awake for less than an hour and still unaware of the day’s events, didn’t seem surprised. “If Your Highness is willing, it’s possible.”
Feng Lezhen looked at him in surprise.
“You think I’m just saying empty words?” Fu Zhixian smiled, his eyes holding a hope even he hadn’t noticed. “In the dream, even the throne nearly became mine. I’ve tasted what it’s like to stand above all others. Now that I’m awake—if Your Highness is willing… if you’re willing…”
Blades and fire, dragon pools and tiger dens—he was ready for a different life.
But Feng Lezhen only looked at him quietly, without saying a word.
The light in Fu Zhixian’s eyes faded like stars blinking out. After a long moment, he laughed at himself. “See? Clearly it’s Your Highness who doesn’t want this. So don’t say something like ‘you won’t have the fortune.’”
“You being in the capital gives me peace of mind,” Feng Lezhen said softly, looking at him.
Fu Zhixian raised an eyebrow. “What if His Majesty still suspects there’s something unresolved between us and refuses to reuse me?”
“You’ll find a way.” She had already tried her best to remove him from suspicion after his brush with death. The imperial physicians sent by Feng Ji knew how critical his condition had been—and so did Feng Ji. With Fu Zhixian’s mind, using this incident to win Feng Ji’s full trust wouldn’t be difficult.
Fu Zhixian’s smile faded. “So Your Highness has already decided.”
Feng Lezhen didn’t speak and continued watching as he trimmed her nails.
When he finished the last finger, she didn’t pull her hand back. Instead, she said slowly, “Once I leave, ask Feng Ji to annul our engagement.”
Fu Zhixian looked at her, his hand gripping the scissors until his knuckles turned white. But when Feng Lezhen’s hand covered his, he immediately lost strength. She took the scissors from him and set them casually on the table, then looked back at him.
“If I hadn’t taken the arrow for Your Highness that day, where would I be now?” he asked.
The fireworks were long over. The silence inside and outside the room was eerie. They stared at each other in wordless stillness.
After a while, Feng Lezhen said softly, “You would have.”
Whether willing or unwilling, he would have taken that arrow for her. Willingly, he’d have survived. Unwillingly, he’d have become dust, sealed in her sachet, carried with her to the ends of the world.
Fu Zhixian understood—and suddenly burst into laughter. His body shook, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and the gauze on his chest began to soak through with blood. He laughed like that, his hair falling messily, still strikingly beautiful. Feng Lezhen looked at him tenderly, until he no longer had the strength to pretend. Grief spilled from his eyes like water. Only then did she reach out to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“From now on, the Eldest Princess’s manor can no longer shelter you, nor will it stop you. The road ahead—you’ll have to walk it alone. As for us…” Feng Lezhen rose under his gaze and walked slowly out. “Let’s leave it at that.”
Fu Zhixian watched her receding figure. At last, he couldn’t resist trying to follow—but his long-unconscious body was weak. Just standing took all his strength. In the next second, he collapsed to the floor.
A heavy thud echoed behind her. Feng Lezhen’s fingers trembled, but she didn’t turn around.
“Your Highness…”
Fu Zhixian’s voice was hoarse. Blood from his chest soaked through the bandage, spreading across his clothes. He didn’t care. Gasping, he said with effort, “Your Highness… I still have a secret edict. Don’t you want to know what’s written on it?”
Feng Lezhen didn’t stop and kept walking.
“It’s not over between us. I’ll be here, in the capital, waiting for Your Highness. Waiting until the day you point your sword at the throne, until you rule all under heaven—I’ll be here, waiting…”
Feng Lezhen stepped out of the main bedchamber with a calm expression, her gaze meeting Shen Suifeng’s, who was leaning against a pillar munching on sunflower seeds.
“Oh? So now Your Highness notices me?” he said with a mocking smile, still remembering being ignored earlier.
Feng Lezhen said, “His wound seems to have reopened.”
Shen Suifeng’s smile froze.
“Please handle it, Mr. Shen.”
Before her words were even finished, Shen Suifeng had already gone inside. A moment later, his angry voice rang out: “Lord Fu! Why are you out of bed?! Want to die that badly?! Say the word and I’ll feed you rat poison, make sure you’re dead for real so you stop wasting my time—”
Feng Lezhen smiled silently and walked away, leaving behind the bedchamber she had lived in for six years, and the man she had met at seven, come to know at twelve, trusted without reservation, and loved for so, so many years.
Hadn’t it been autumn for a while now? Why was the weather still so hot—hot enough to seem like it wanted to melt everything into this autumn night. Feng Lezhen exhaled slowly, pulling a handkerchief from her chest to wipe the fine sweat off her forehead.
This Eldest Princess Residence, bestowed by the late emperor back in the day, was truly far too large. She wandered aimlessly for quite some time, and only when she came back to herself did she realize the scenery before her looked unfamiliar.
Her own residence—her own home—actually had places she didn’t recognize.
Feng Lezhen stood still for a long while and was just about to turn and leave when, in the next moment, her eyes met Chen Jinan’s.
“Your Highness.” He hadn’t expected her to turn back suddenly and looked momentarily flustered.
Feng Lezhen paused. “Why are you here?”
“I followed Your Highness,” he said honestly.
Feng Lezhen’s eyes curved with a hint of amusement. “Why follow me?”
Chen Jinan hesitated for a moment but ultimately told the truth: “I was worried.”
Feng Lezhen looked puzzled, not understanding what he was worried about.
“Your Highness… looks very sad.” He raised his eyes to her, his gaze clear and steady.
Feng Lezhen held his gaze for a long time, then gave a soft laugh. “I am a little sad.”
Hearing her admit it out loud only made Chen Jinan more at a loss. After a long inner struggle, he ventured to suggest, “Then… shall I make you a bowl of noodles?”
“You know how to cook noodles?” Feng Lezhen looked surprised.
“I do.” He had lived alone ever since his parents passed away when he was ten. Cooking noodles was a basic skill. But—
“They’re not very good,” he admitted honestly.
Feng Lezhen hadn’t had much of an appetite, but when he said they weren’t very good, it sparked a d*mned curiosity in her. So after thinking for a moment, she followed him into the kitchen.
It wasn’t her first time there, and Chen Jinan came here even more frequently. He was familiar enough with where everything was stored. Feng Lezhen simply watched him skillfully light the fire, boil water, and cook the noodles. She watched the rising steam blur his features, and the tension that had been gripping her for days suddenly loosened a little.
“All done.” Chen Jinan placed a bowl of plain noodles in front of her.
Even during the days she was locked up in the imperial dungeon in her past life, she’d never eaten something this coarse. Feng Lezhen stared at it for a long time before finally taking the bowl.
At first, Chen Jinan didn’t think anything was off. But when he saw her delicate, pale hands wrapped around that oversized, crude bowl, he realized something: “I—I’ll get Your Highness a different bowl.”
“No need. For something you made, this bowl is just right.” Feng Lezhen refused.
Chen Jinan could tell she was mocking him and debated whether to call the kitchen staff to make something else. But before he could decide, Feng Lezhen picked up her chopsticks and took a large bite.
“Mm, it really is bad,” she remarked.
Chen Jinan’s face stayed calm, but his ears turned red enough to bleed. “Y-Your servant…”
Feng Lezhen held the bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other, head down, chewing dutifully. Chen Jinan wanted to stop her at first, but seeing how earnestly she was eating, he didn’t say another word.
A bowl of plain, tasteless noodles—yet Feng Lezhen finished every last bit, even drinking the soup. Her long-empty stomach was finally filled, and the warmth of the noodles spread from her stomach to her limbs, making her break out in sweat. But this heat was different from the stifling night—it made her whole body feel like it could finally relax.
She let out a satisfied burp and sat on a small stool, slowly rubbing her stomach. When she looked up, she saw Chen Jinan watching her intently.
“What are you looking at? Never seen a barbaric Eldest Princess before?” she narrowed her eyes at him.
Chen Jinan thought for a moment. “Your servant has only ever seen one Eldest Princess.”
So whether she was barbaric or not, he had no comparison.
Feng Lezhen couldn’t help but laugh, and then she heard him add, “No matter how Your Highness is, it’s good.”
That’s more like it. She gave him a sideways glance, then stood and started walking outside. Chen Jinan sat there confused but followed her with his eyes the whole way.
When she reached the door, she turned back and saw him still sitting there dumbly. She burst into laughter. “Are you waiting for me to invite you to get up?”
Chen Jinan snapped out of it and hurried to follow.
“Where are you staying now?” Feng Lezhen asked.
She’d asked this many times before, each time casually, and each time forgetting shortly after—just like how she treated him. Chen Jinan lowered his eyes and answered, as earnestly as the first time, “In the courtyard next to Your Highness’s chambers.”
“Oh right, I had Ah Ye arrange that,” Feng Lezhen said, smacking her forehead.
The rare childish gesture made the corners of Chen Jinan’s mouth twitch slightly, but when she looked his way, he quickly went back to being silent and expressionless.
They returned via another path—this one lit with more lanterns and better scenery. The stone path was littered with scraps of paper left behind by fireworks.
Before Feng Lezhen could take a closer look, Chen Jinan stepped in front of her. “Your Highness, let’s take a different way…”
She stopped. “Why?”
Chen Jinan fell silent.
Feng Lezhen was used to his occasional silence, but still stubbornly waited for a proper answer.
“…Your servant was afraid Your Highness would be unhappy seeing those scraps,” he finally said after pursing his lips.
Feng Lezhen gave a soft laugh. “You’re clever.”
He knew nothing, understood nothing, and yet still managed to guess that her foul mood today had to do with Fu Zhixian. Well, of course—a man like him, uneducated, untrained, a blank slate, yet still managed to break into the imperial dungeon all on his own. How could he not be clever?
“But I’m not so sentimental that I’d fall apart just from a few paper scraps,” she added.
Chen Jinan’s eyes moved slightly, but in the end, he still stepped aside.
The two walked forward at a leisurely pace. Feng Lezhen glanced at the shadows cast on the ground and noticed he seemed to have grown taller than a few months ago. So she took another step forward to make her shadow taller than his. Sensing her intent, Chen Jinan silently slowed his pace, letting his shadow always remain shorter.
Once she had enough fun, Feng Lezhen turned back with a smile. “When is your birthday?”
Chen Jinan paused, about to answer, when Ah Ye’s urgent voice came from afar. Both of them looked in the direction of the voice, and before long, they saw Ah Ye rushing toward them from the end of the path.
“Your Highness! Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me anything?” She was so angry she nearly stomped her feet.
Feng Lezhen chuckled. “I just went out for a walk.”
“What walk! Who takes a walk for nearly an hour!” Ah Ye was even more upset but still stepped forward to help support her.
Feng Lezhen let her lead the way. “Why the hurry? Did something happen?”
“Nothing at all, but when I didn’t see you, I panicked…”
The two walked farther and farther, arm in arm. Chen Jinan was left alone where he stood, quietly watching them leave.
The main chambers were still occupied by Fu Zhixian, so Feng Lezhen was staying in a side room that night. After Ah Ye helped her remove her outer robes and loosened her dress, a refreshing coolness settled over her, and with it, the last traces of discomfort melted away.
“So cool!” she sighed contentedly.
Ah Ye was momentarily stunned before she realized. “The clothes I picked for Your Highness today are thicker than before. You must’ve been too warm.”
“No wonder it felt so hot today.” Feng Lezhen frowned.
Ah Ye gave a guilty smile. “That was my oversight. Shall I prepare a lighter outfit for tomorrow? It may be autumn, but the weather’s still warm. The thin clothes I set aside before are still in the wardrobe.”
“Let’s try one now?” Feng Lezhen said on a whim.
Of course, Ah Ye wouldn’t refuse. She quickly went to the wardrobe, ran her fingers over several new outfits, and chose the thinnest one.
Feng Lezhen changed into it and twirled once in front of her. “Much cooler.”
Seeing the smile in her eyes, Ah Ye smiled too—but as she smiled, tears began to fall.
Feng Lezhen sighed. “What are you crying for?”
“Your Highness…” Ah Ye threw her arms around her. Feng Lezhen’s hands stiffened before she slowly patted Ah Ye on the back.
“Is Your Highness truly better now?” Ah Ye murmured. She had lied earlier—today was actually cooler than yesterday, and the outfit was thinner too, yet Her Highness still felt hot. Could that mean… she had finally recovered?
Feng Lezhen’s gaze softened. “Yes, I’m fine now.”
Living a second life, she had finally let go of the burdens from the past. From now on, the seasons would be clear and distinct—spring, summer, autumn, and winter as they should be.
Ah Ye couldn’t say why, but she felt both happy and sad. A wave of unspoken words rose in her heart, but when she looked at Feng Lezhen’s weary eyes, she swallowed them down and hastily helped her to bed.
Once the room went dark, Feng Lezhen quickly fell into a deep sleep.
She slept exceptionally well. When she woke, it was already afternoon. Qin Wan and Ah Ye were by her side, and the moment she stirred, they rushed over.
“Your Highness.”
“You’re awake!”
Feng Lezhen blinked at their solemn expressions, and after a moment of silence, asked, “Where’s Fu Zhixian?”
“He left early this morning. Your Highness was still asleep, so Lord Fu didn’t let us wake you,” Qin Wan answered.
As expected. He no longer belonged in the Eldest Princess’s estate. Now that she was awake, of course he would leave as soon as possible. Feng Lezhen nodded, then caught Ah Ye’s worried look and teased, “I only took a nap, not passed into the afterlife, right?”
“Now’s not the time to joke around!” Ah Ye burst out.
Feng Lezhen smiled. “So, the imperial decree has arrived?”
“The Emperor granted you Yingguan as your fief?” Although she had personally received the decree, Qin Wan couldn’t help confirming again.
Feng Lezhen put on an innocent look. “That’s right.”
“You accepted it?” Qin Wan’s brow furrowed even deeper.
“I did.”
“How could you agree to that!” Ah Ye panicked. “The whole Zhenbian Marquis’s family hates you to the bone. If you go to their territory, won’t they tear you apart?”
“What can I do? The Emperor is petty and doesn’t want me to live too comfortably.” Feng Lezhen spread her hands, looking aggrieved.
Ah Ye took a deep breath. “It’s not just about comfort—he’s trying to kill you!”
Feng Lezhen laughed. “It’s not that dramatic.”
“How is it not!” Ah Ye glared. “Did you forget what you did? That little shizi was born frail, but with proper care, he could’ve recovered by age ten. Then at eight, he followed the Marquis into the capital and accidentally got knocked into a pond by you. His health worsened ever since, and no one knows how much longer he has. The Marquis has loathed you ever since! Just think—how many times has Yingguan sent memorials accusing you over the years? If you go there, how can you survive?”
“That wasn’t entirely my fault…” Feng Lezhen sighed halfway and changed the topic. “Feng Ji has long despised the Marquis for his private control of the army. If he tries anything now, won’t that just hand Feng Ji a pretext? Don’t worry, I won’t be in danger—life may be hard, but I’ll just keep a low profile. And besides… stop calling him the little shizi. He’s twenty now.”
Ah Ye opened her mouth to argue, but Qin Wan spoke first: “So Your Highness had guessed all along that Feng Ji would send you to Yingguan?”
Feng Lezhen lifted the corners of her lips—her answer was self-evident.
She had outmaneuvered Feng Ji; how could he just let it go? Naturally, he would try to make her suffer when it came to assigning her a fiefdom. And there was no place more miserable than Yingguan—
Located in the far northeast, bordering Tayuan and the desert, it was vast and sparsely populated, with a harsh climate. Worse still, the locals didn’t recognize the authority of the imperial government; they only answered to the Qijia Army under Zhenbian Marquis. And now, the one being sent was none other than the Eldest Princess. To make things even worse, the marquis bore deep hatred toward her. If she went, she would either endure humiliating hardship or face mutual destruction.
Qin Wan understood the implications as well. Seeing that Feng Lezhen was in good spirits, she asked the most critical question: “And you, Your Highness? Do you want to go?”
“I do,” Feng Lezhen replied.
“Even if there are better places to choose from, you still want Yingguan?” Qin Wan pressed.
Feng Lezhen lifted her gaze to meet hers. “To me, Yingguan is the best place.”
“Why?” Ah Ye couldn’t help but ask.
Feng Lezhen fell silent for a long time, then spoke in a wistful tone: “Qi Jingqing and Fu Zhixian are known as the Twin Talents of Great Qian—equal in both literary skill and appearance.”
Qin Wan and Ah Ye were both startled, unsure why she had suddenly brought that up.
“I,” Feng Lezhen said with a faint smile, “am drawn to him.”
Ah Ye: “…”
Qi Jingqing was the sickly son of Zhenbian Marquis… And this is your reason?!
