Feng Suige laughed bitterly. “Can I take that as a compliment?”
“Of course you can.” Yi Xiao’s lips curved with a playful spark. “However—I hold grudges and easily forget kindness. Be careful, Feng Suige.”
Her words were light, but the teasing glint in her eyes lingered like starlight. Turning gracefully, she moved toward the side door. Xue Ying cast Feng Suige a knowing look before hurrying after her in quick, light steps.
“Fu Yixiao,” Feng Suige called, striding forward. “You’re right—I am arrogant, and my attitude is terrible. So—”
A faint, dangerous smile tugged at his lips as he stepped closer, suddenly pulling her into his arms. His breath was hot against her ear as he whispered, “You won’t mind adding one more grievance to your list, will you?”
Xue Ying gasped, covering her mouth in shock and amusement.
Before Yixiao could even react, Feng Suige released her, his smug smile unhidden. “Go inside,” he said lightly. “The guards will return soon.”
Yixiao’s body was stiff at first, then slowly relaxed. The corner of her lips lifted into a faint, defiant smile. “I won’t forget.”
After the door closed, Feng Suige’s expression shifted. He stood motionless, watching the place where she had disappeared.
Her eyes were different now. They used to be sharp—piercing like cold light through the heart, daring anyone to meet her gaze. There had been vitality, charm, and danger in them—like that moment in the carriage. But now… the fire had dimmed. A quiet exhaustion had replaced the brilliance, a kind of indifference born from seeing too much.
In just a few days, she had changed beyond recognition.
Xiao Weiran, who had been searching for them, finally exhaled in relief when they returned. He didn’t scold them, only said gently, “I’m glad you’re safe.”
Meanwhile, inside the grand hall, Feng Xiyang had changed into a new phoenix headdress and was drinking from the wedding cup with Xia Jingshi. The pair of jade cups gleamed under the light, resting on a silver tray held by a palace maid.
Feng Qishan’s gaze flickered briefly toward Fu Yixiao and Xue Ying, who had just re-entered, before landing on Feng Suige—who had silently resumed his seat.
Xia Jingshi, having rushed into the ceremony, hadn’t noticed Yixiao among the entourage. But Feng Xiyang’s sudden, willful act had clearly displeased him.
While Xia Jingshi struggled to maintain his composure, Feng Qishan’s sharp eyes darted toward Feng Suige, silently urging him to intervene.
Feng Suige shifted slightly, his gaze turning toward the rear left.
Following his line of sight, Feng Qishan’s eyes met Fu Yixiao’s calm, faintly smiling face. Even pale and exhausted, she radiated a quiet pride that made one’s heart soften. She stood straight as a blade, unflinching even before an emperor’s might.
Feng Qishan exhaled slowly. He had always admired her spirit. Perhaps that was why, when Feng Suige left his position, he pretended not to notice.
As the jade cups were returned to the tray, Feng Suige resumed his seat. Feeling his father’s gaze upon him, he smiled faintly, then turned toward Feng Xiyang, whose cheeks were flushed with wine.
“The couple shall now bow in return,” the officiant announced, his voice cheerful yet trembling with the weight of the moment.
Feng Qishan descended from the dragon throne, smiling broadly. By the time he reached them, Xia Jingshi and Feng Xiyang had already completed the three ceremonial bows.
He took their hands warmly—one in each of his own. “Now that we are family,” he said, “there’s no need for such formalities.”
The words had barely left his lips when the music faltered.
The air turned still—eerily still.
Then, cutting through the silence like a blade, came a low, disdainful whisper.
“Hypocrite…”
The single word froze the entire hall.
Every face turned in shock. The musicians paled, instruments trembling in their hands.
Feng Qishan’s face burned with fury. “Who dares—!”
Ning Fei’s expression changed. Xia Jingshi’s half-smile vanished, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp glint.
At the center of attention stood two figures—Fu Yixiao and Ling Xueying.
Feng Qishan’s eyes blazed with outrage. “Who said that!?”
“I did,” Yixiao and Xueying spoke at once.
They turned toward each other, equally defiant, eyes locking like drawn swords.
“Father, please calm down,” Feng Suige interjected quickly. “Perhaps Your Majesty misheard…”
“Then what did Suige hear?” Feng Qishan’s voice dripped with venom.
Feng Suige faltered, unable to answer.
Ning Fei looked toward Xia Jingshi, silently begging him to defuse the tension. But the prince merely stared at Yixiao—his gaze cold, cutting, unreadable.
A light cough broke the silence.
Xiao Weiran stepped forward, bowing respectfully. “Your Majesty, please do not be angry. I was standing beside Officer Fu and Miss Ling. I heard them clearly. The Crown Prince is correct—it was merely a misunderstanding.”
Feng Qishan narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”
Though he was certain he had heard “hypocrite,” Xiao Weiran’s composure made him hesitate. Perhaps there was more to the matter.
“What, then, did Weiran hear?” he asked darkly.
Xiao Weiran bowed again, his smile calm and assured. “Your Majesty must have misheard. They were discussing His Highness and the new Princess. Because the hall suddenly quieted, the words overlapped. The phrase Your Majesty heard should be ‘leaving a vacancy.’”
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Feng Qishan stared at him for a long moment before his expression eased into a forced smile. “Ah… ‘leaving a vacancy.’ It seems We truly did mishear—and nearly wronged our honored guests.”
Xue Ying seized the chance, stepping forward with a nervous curtsy. “It was my fault, Your Majesty. I was too excited by such a grand ceremony. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Feng Qishan chuckled stiffly. “Today is a joyous day for Xiyang. A little liveliness is natural. There’s nothing to forgive. Let’s continue.”
The officiant, still pale from shock, stammered, “Your Majesty… the banquet may begin.”
The music resumed. Laughter and polite chatter returned, though the air still carried a faint chill.
Feng Qishan, in rare affection, had ordered a seat placed beside his throne for Xia Jingshi and Feng Xiyang. The three sat together at the head table, the symbol of unity between two kingdoms.
Below, nobles and officials exchanged subtle glances.
Some admired Xia Jingshi’s unmatched prestige.
Some despised his coldness.
Others simply wondered how this foreign general had won their princess’s heart.
Xia Jingshi ignored them all.
Their false smiles and polite toasts meant nothing.
Only Feng Xiyang appeared truly radiant—smiling beside him like a flame that refused to fade.
He turned slightly, eyes sweeping the hall—and paused.
There, among the guests, sat Fu Yixiao in a pale lavender robe. Her hair fell loosely behind her shoulders, the faintest smile lingering on her lips as she whispered something to Xue Ying.
Perhaps she was laughing about the “vacancy” incident.
For a moment, Xia Jingshi’s chest tightened.
Feng Qishan’s earlier killing intent had been unmistakable.
He looked down at his cup, and the faint reflection of her face shimmered in the wine.
Feng Xiyang’s soft voice drew him back. “Your Highness, would you do the honor?” She held out the phoenix crown, her eyes expectant.
He should have smiled. Should have reached out as any loving husband would.
But something within him hesitated. His gaze met hers, searching—was there smugness there? Triumph?
He didn’t know.
He only knew his hand felt heavy as stone when he reached for the crown.
The warmth behind him burned like fire.
Was this what losing felt like?
Or had he already lost long ago?
He smiled faintly, emptily. So be it.
At last, his heart could be still.
Just then, faint and sharp, a voice drifted to his ear.
“...Hypocrite…”
A faint whisper grazed his ear, leaving behind a thin, piercing ring. It carried that familiar chill—the cold, mocking tone Xueying always used when speaking to him. For a heartbeat, he stood still, unable to grasp why Feng Qishan’s expression had shifted so abruptly.
Previous/Next
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
