Feng Qishan waited until Feng Suige had fully disappeared before turning his calm gaze toward Fu Yixiao.
“Earlier,” he said lightly, “it seemed Commander Fu found something amusing. Why not share it and let me laugh as well?”
Yixiao, without the slightest trace of panic, replied steadily, “Your Majesty misunderstands. I was only contemplating the deeper meaning in your words. I lost myself in thought—please forgive my rudeness.”
A faint smile appeared on Feng Qishan’s lips, though his tone carried a chill.
“It’s rare to meet someone as perceptive as you. Since you grasp meanings so well, I’ll speak plainly. Before Xiyang’s mother passed, I promised her I would ensure my daughter’s happiness. So, after Xiyang marries into Jinxiu, I hope you can remain in Shusha.”
Yixiao’s brow trembled ever so slightly, but her composure did not waver.
“If Your Majesty worries for the Princess’s peace,” she said evenly, “I can swear never to step foot in Lucheng again. But to stay in Shusha—this, I cannot agree to.”
Feng Qishan’s expression did not change; it was as though he had already anticipated her defiance.
“You may control yourself,” he said, “but not the hearts of others. Xia Jingshi is not a man I favor, yet Xiyang insists on marrying him. My tolerance does not mean I will let things run unchecked. So long as you behave, I will not mistreat you.”
Yixiao listened in silence, then smiled faintly and uttered a single, crystal-clear word.
“No.”
Feng Qishan’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you afraid,” he asked softly, “that I might order your execution in a fit of anger?”
Yixiao met his gaze without fear. “Your Majesty would not do that.”
“Oh?” A flicker of admiration crossed his face. “And why are you so certain?”
Yixiao’s eyes gleamed. “Because a wise and virtuous ruler—one who expects princes and officials to share both hardship and ease—would never forget that all beings possess spirit, and that humans are not mere insects. Such a man would not take a life over a refusal.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Then Feng Qishan suddenly laughed.
“Well said, Fu Yixiao. I’ll spare your life today. But next time… you may not be so lucky.”
Yixiao said nothing. She bowed properly and turned to leave. The wind rushed past as she stepped outside, cutting cold against her skin. Only then did she realize she was drenched in sweat.
“Commander Fu,” Feng Qishan’s voice called after her. Yixiao paused but did not turn around.
“Would you like to know what my next move will be?” he asked.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then continued walking, silent as falling snow.
Feng Suige had not returned to the council hall. After leaving the garden, he slipped into a nearby chamber, keeping to the shadows. From behind the lattice window, he could glimpse the garden beyond. Though he could not hear their words, just seeing Yixiao standing there set his heart at ease.
Then came his father’s laughter. He watched as Yixiao bowed and turned to leave. Feng Suige exhaled in relief—she was safe.
But then, his father’s voice rang out again.
“Fu Yixiao.”
Suige’s heart stopped.
“Would you like to know what my next move will be?”
The prince froze, straining to hear. But his father’s voice fell silent. Feng Qishan merely smiled, his gaze following Yixiao’s retreating figure. She didn’t even pause. Her eyes were clear, as though she disdained to guess his schemes.
Suige let out a quiet laugh. “What stubborn courage…” Yet as the words left his lips, his smile faded. “But what is Father planning?”
The corridors outside filled with noise—the sound of servants announcing the king’s departure, followed by the heavy rumble of the royal carriage. Wind shook the doors and windows, an eerie chorus echoing through the empty palace halls.
When Feng Suige looked out again, Yixiao was gone. Never had Bi’an Palace felt so empty, so cold.
Meanwhile, Xueying wandered gloomily through the inner courtyard of their temporary lodgings. Ever since the incident on the main street, she had been kept under strict supervision.
Calling it supervision was her own way of softening the truth. In reality—it was confinement.
With an irritated sigh, she plucked a leaf from a nearby shrub and crushed it viciously between her fingers.
After hearing of her mistake, Xia Jingshi had only said mildly, “Don’t go out unless necessary.” And that was it. From that moment, she had become the only person in the entire residence forbidden to roam freely. Even Ning Fei—her supposed guardian—had turned into a wild horse, vanishing for hours.
It was enough to drive her mad.
If not for Xiao Weiran telling her that Xia Jingshi had petitioned the Shusha King to let Yixiao return soon, she might have put nails in Jingshi’s shoes, needles in his pillow, vinegar in his tea, and poison in his bowl.
Turning a corner, she found herself before an arched gate with “Ling Xi” carved upon it. The begonia garden. Blossoms of white and soft pink swayed gently in the spring breeze.
As she stepped in, she froze. In the middle of the garden, a tall man practiced with a cyan long sword. His movements were sharp and fluid, every strike accompanied by a burst of wind that sent petals swirling. His robes rippled with grace, each motion precise yet powerful.
She stood transfixed.
Ning Fei sensed her presence and stopped. “Why are you here?” he asked, startled.
Xueying blinked and smiled sweetly. “Ning Fei…”
He immediately stepped back, wary. He had learned that tone meant trouble.
Her gaze sparkled like a mischievous fox. “That move just now—can you teach me?”
“No way!” Ning Fei protested, already sweating.
Moments later, the two were dashing through the corridors—Ning Fei ahead, Xueying chasing after him like a determined child.
“Xiao Weiran is smarter than you! Give him all your work and teach me instead!” she shouted, unbothered by decorum.
“If I do that, I’ll be dead before sunset!” he groaned. He had foolishly agreed earlier to teach her a few moves, and the begonia garden now lay in ruins from her wild swings. He had narrowly avoided being impaled by her flying sword.
“It’s impossible! His Highness gave me tasks that only I can handle!” he barked, walking even faster. Just a few more steps—if he reached the door, he’d be free—
“Handle what?”
The voice was calm yet commanding. Ning Fei froze mid-step.
Xia Jingshi stood at the doorway, with Xiao Weiran behind him, his mouth twitching in amusement.
Xueying’s eyes lit up. “Your Highness! Can’t Adjutant Xiao take over Ning Fei’s tasks? I have something very important to learn from him!”
“Not possible!” Ning Fei cut in before Xia Jingshi could reply. “Your Highness, she wants to learn swordplay! If you saw the begonia garden—your Highness’s safety depends on my limbs being intact!”
Xia Jingshi’s gaze softened with a faint smile. “Swordplay? I recall Uncle Ling once mentioning—”
Xueying’s expression fell. “If I’m not learning, then I’m not learning. Just don’t tell Father, alright?”
The last time, she’d been punished with endless book-copying for merely touching his sword. If he found out she’d actually wielded one… she might be confined for a year.
Ning Fei grinned in relief, but Jingshi’s next words froze him.
“But I think it’s good for a young lady to learn self-defense,” he said smoothly. “Since Ning Fei has already started teaching you, he should continue. If Uncle Ling asks, tell him I knew nothing of this.”
Xueying’s face lit up. “Xueying will remember! Thank you, Your Highness!”
Before she could run off, a Jinxiu soldier entered hastily. “Your Highness, the Regent Prince has arrived and is waiting in the front hall.”
Xueying’s smile vanished. Her brows arched sharply as she reached for the Kunwu sword at Ning Fei’s waist. “How dare he come here!”
Ning Fei instinctively tightened his grip on the weapon while glancing nervously at Xia Jingshi. Xiao Weiran stepped forward. “Your Highness—”
Jingshi raised his hand. “Since he’s here, we must greet him. Xueying, do you wish to continue your sword practice—or join me in the hall?”
Xueying glared at him, then reluctantly released her hold.
The begonia petals drifted down in silence, fragrant and bright, yet beneath their beauty… a storm was brewing.
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