Feng Qishan's gaze fell upon Yixiao with the weight of a executioner's blade—as if he intended to flay the flesh from her bones piece by piece. "I truly underestimated your tactics. But now, I'm even more curious about you."
Yixiao's lips curved into something that barely qualified as a smile. "The confidence that comes with holding absolute power. The arrogance of those who prosper in favorable times while crushing others beneath them. Casually trampling and manipulating those who cannot resist..." Her voice remained steady, almost conversational. "Tell me, Your Majesty—on your climb to this lofty position, do you remember how many people's blood, tears, and corpses you stepped upon?"
For a heartbeat, Feng Qishan stood frozen. Then he snorted with cold disdain. "This is the way of kings. How could you understand?"
"Of course I don't understand. That's why you're the king." Yixiao's expression hardened into something cold and dazzling as sunlight reflecting off a glacier—beautiful and merciless. "But I despise those tactics that manipulate hearts and play power games. Always performing nobility, playing arbitrator—in my estimation, that's nothing but nauseating hypocrisy!"
"How dare you!" "Yixiao!" "Fu Yixiao!"
Voices erupted from all sides—male and female, shocked and furious—but the words had already been spoken, the damage done.
Unexpectedly, Feng Qishan's features arranged themselves into something resembling genuine interest. His smile turned wicked, almost admiring. "I appreciate your courage. May I ask—have you already made your decision?"
Yixiao ignored his question. Instead, she turned to the bewildered Feng Xiyang beside her, drawing her into a gentle embrace. Her whisper carried only to the princess's ears. "No matter who you did this for, I thank you. But I have my pride. I don't want to owe too much, nor can I afford to."
Sensing withdrawal in those words, Xiyang's hand shot out to grasp Yixiao's arm desperately. "Everything I said was sincere. It's not pity, nor an attempt to please him. You must believe me."
A smile bloomed across Yixiao's features—devastating in its beauty, charming to the bone. She raised her hand to caress Xiyang's cheek with unexpected tenderness. "Of course I believe you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have thanked you." Her gaze drifted to Xueying. "But you should know—even without all this, I had already decided not to go back." She smiled at her friend. "Others may not understand, but Xueying does. You can ask her after you return."
The words struck Xia Jingshi like a blade to the heart. Though he hadn't heard the whispered exchange, their body language communicated everything—refusal, determination, farewell. She intended to stay.
"Fu Yixiao." His voice emerged low and deliberate, each word precisely measured. "This prince does not agree to you staying here. You are a military officer of Jinxiu. Leaving the country's borders without consent constitutes treason. This prince gives you one final chance. If you persist in this delusion, you will be dealt with according to military law."
Xiao Weiran and Ning Fei flinched as if struck. "Your Highness!" they cried in unison.
Silence stretched between Yixiao and the prince—taut as a drawn bowstring, heavy with accumulated history and unspoken grief. Finally, she turned her head to regard him. Her eyes held no emotion, no warmth—just an indifferent, assessing gaze.
"First," she said with deliberate precision, "the military officer you speak of was shot dead by you years ago. Second, I don't mind asking King Feng to help me request an imperial edict from the Emperor, so I can stay here legally."
Xueying's clear eyes had misted over, her nose reddening with suppressed emotion. Now her voice cut through the tension like a whip crack. "Xia Jingshi, I finally understand why Yixiao would rather stay in Susha than marry you." She looked at Ning Fei, blinking back tears. "I finally know what that thing is, though it's a bit late."
Feng Qishan, who had been observing this drama with the detached interest of a theater patron, chuckled darkly. "It sounds like there are many stories here. Fortunately, there will be plenty of time to hear them slowly in the future. Otherwise, I would feel quite regretful."
Something flickered through Yixiao's eyes—pain, perhaps, or the ghost of old wounds reopening. She shook off Feng Xiyang's restraining hand and stepped forward, folding her arms with studied casualness. Her smile turned lazy, dangerous. "I doubt I'll live to see the day Your Majesty is interested in listening. Perhaps tonight I'll turn around and be poisoned."
Feng Qishan's expression darkened like storm clouds obscuring the sun. "Just for what you've said to me today, sentencing you to death on the spot would not be excessive. But for Xiyang's sake, I won't hold it against you." His tone shifted to dismissive fatigue. "Enough. I'm tired. If there's nothing else, let's disperse." He gestured to a stunned palace servant. "Take Captain Fu to Fanghua Palace to rest for now."
"Father." Feng Suige moved with sudden swiftness, his voice emerging colder than frost settling over a winter lake. "That's in the back palace. It might not be appropriate to place a guest there."
Feng Qishan waved dismissively. "It's just for one night. After seeing Xiyang off tomorrow, I'll have an empty palace prepared—"
"There's a room for her in my Water Painting Garden." Each word dropped from Feng Suige's lips with crystalline precision.
"She's not going anywhere." Fire danced in Xia Jingshi's eyes—controlled fury barely restrained. He descended the steps with predatory focus. "She's coming back to the guesthouse with me."
A ripple of shocked whispers passed through the assembly like wind through bamboo. Before Feng Qishan's sharp gaze could identify the speakers, silence reasserted itself.
Yixiao stood quietly at the center of this storm, head tilted back, eyes half-closed, expression ambiguous—neither smiling nor frowning. She appeared to be waiting for their territorial dispute to resolve, yet also seemed to be contemplating something far deeper. Golden light from the crystal palace lamps fell across her features, rendering them simultaneously transparent and luminous.
This nobility is what they insist on giving me, she thought with sardonic clarity. I understand well the principle of making the most of available resources.
If escape proved impossible, confrontation became mandatory. This was war without gunpowder—yet perhaps the fiercest of all. What each person could see was only their own path. Everyone had their battlefield.
Use the simplest, most direct, and quickest method to achieve the best effect. Xia Jingshi had taught her that.
To achieve one's goal, means are necessary, sacrifices are necessary, and power is most necessary. Feng Qishan had just provided that lesson.
This was the battlefield of Asura—win or die.
"I want to go to Water Painting Garden." Yixiao's eyes opened slowly, a glint of playful cunning flashing through their depths. Since I've already waded into troubled waters, why should they remain safely on shore?
Xia Jingshi closed the distance between them with rapid strides. She neither dodged nor evaded, allowing him to seize her wrist. The pressure made her wince internally. It hurts.
Brushing past the rushing Xueying, Xia Jingshi pulled Yixiao before him, anger radiating from every word. "Why are you always so willful, never considering others' feelings!"
Watching Xueying stumble into Ning Fei's steadying arms, Yixiao turned her head back with lazy deliberation. "What? You intend to marry me?"
As expected, Xia Jingshi released her wrist as if burned. His mouth opened—words forming—but before sound could emerge, Feng Suige moved through the crowd with lethal purpose. His hand clamped onto Xia Jingshi's shoulder. His fist drove into the prince's abdomen with the full force of accumulated frustration.
Caught unprepared, Xia Jingshi absorbed the blow, bending backward in pain. He barely evaded Feng Suige's second strike aimed at his face.
Chaos erupted instantly. Feng Xiyang rushed to support Xia Jingshi. Xiao Weiran positioned himself between the combatants. Ning Fei restrained the emotionally charged Xueying. Feng Suige, having missed his second attack, had already stopped—now standing protectively before Yixiao, shielding her with his body.
Guards stationed outside burst through the doors, then froze at the spectacle before them—unsure how to proceed when princes fought princes.
Feng Qishan trembled with barely contained rage. "Brawling in court—what kind of behavior is this!" His fury redirected toward the bewildered guards. "What are you doing here? Get out!"
The guards collided in their haste to retreat, stumbling over each other. Someone even closed the hall doors behind them.
Yixiao stood slightly dazed behind Feng Suige's protective stance. His left hand had come to rest at her waist—the warmth of his palm almost searing through fabric.
I always thought only delicate women like Xueying or Xiyang could arouse men's protective instincts. The realization settled over her with strange weight. A soft smile touched her lips as something like mist spread through her eyes—distant, hazy, carrying notes of unpredictability and the faintest trace of vulnerability.
She heard someone's whisper drift through the charged atmosphere: "...femme fatale..."
Femme fatale? She found the speaker in the crowd, meeting their gaze directly. Her smile turned cold as her voice floated across the space—trembling, ethereal. The person shuddered violently, quickly averting their eyes.
Feng Qishan glared at the confronting groups, suddenly feeling the weight of years pressing down upon him. He forced his chaotic breathing to steady, struggling for composure. Then Fu Yixiao's laughter rang out—clear, unrestrained—and his control snapped.
"Fu Yixiao, is this your purpose?"
Her playful laughter filled the hall without restraint. "Yixiao stayed in the Water Painting Garden for so long. I like it and am used to it. What's wrong with that?" She paused, tilting her head with mock innocence. "If Your Majesty already regrets keeping Yixiao, you should have said so earlier."
Feng Qishan's laughter boomed forth—dark, vicious, carrying the promise of consequences. "What I have decided, I never regret!"
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