Nangong Li swung his left sleeve, aiming to seize Feng Qianqian.
Feng Qianqian was slightly startled and ducked forward, darting away.
Nangong Li’s grasp met empty air.
“Cunning!” he spat out the two words, yet his eyes held a playful glint.
Just as Feng Qianqian was feeling smug, Nangong Li’s right sleeve swept toward her again, carrying a biting chill.
“Damn it, he’s not done yet!”
In her panic, Feng Qianqian blurted out a curse.
She sidestepped, pushed off the ground with one foot, and soared dozens of meters into the air.
“Impressive!”
Nangong Li couldn’t help but praise her. An expert’s skill was evident from the first move. In terms of pure strength, he was slightly inferior. But when it came to cunning tricks and underhanded tactics, that was another matter.
It had been a long time since he’d encountered such a skilled opponent. The stronger the challenge, the stronger he became. He, too, leaped into the air, chasing after Feng Qianqian.
Just as he was about to catch up, Feng Qianqian grew furious and kicked toward his chest. Nangong Li dodged, and her strike missed.
Nangong Li reached out with his left hand and clamped onto Feng Qianqian’s wrist.
Seeing the situation turn dire, Feng Qianqian struggled to break free.
Nangong Li released his grip, and Feng Qianqian found herself at the edge of a roof, just one step away from falling.
Momentum carried her forward, and she couldn’t stop herself—she was about to plummet.
Just then, Nangong Li pulled her forcefully into his embrace, intending to restrain her.
A faint, pleasant medicinal fragrance filled his nostrils, refreshing his mind and spirit.
An inexplicable sense of familiarity washed over him once more.
Seizing the moment, Feng Qianqian slipped into her dimensional space.
Nangong Li was left utterly bewildered. “Where did she go?”
He searched everywhere but found no trace of Feng Qianqian.
Disappointed, he leaped back to the Wang Fu in a few bounds.
An Yi approached and asked, “Master!”
“Did you see where that woman in white went?”
“I saw the two of you fighting fiercely and didn’t dare approach, fearing I might disrupt your enjoyment.”
Nangong Li returned to his study, stored away his mask, changed into a robe, and sat in his chair.
He took out brush and ink and began to paint stroke by stroke. By the time he finished, half an hour had passed.
The painting depicted a woman in white, wearing a butterfly mask.
He examined the painting carefully—it was lifelike, though the real person was even more vivid.
“An Yi!”
An Yi entered. “What are your orders, Master?”
“Investigate the woman in this painting secretly.”
“Yes, I will send people to search for her immediately.”
Just then, a woman’s voice came from outside. “Prince, Zhiyi has brought you a bowl of tonic. Please drink it while it’s hot.”
Nangong Li chuckled coldly, his voice low. “She knows it’s wrong but does it anyway.
I never thought she’d be so greedy, harboring thoughts she shouldn’t have. Does she even deserve that position?
This time, she’s probably laced it with an aphrodisiac again. An Yi, summon the coachman Zhang Wuge and grant him a marriage. Let her in.” An Yi left.
Song Zhiyi walked in with a bright smile. “Prince, this soup will help with your leg ailment. Please try it.”
Nangong Li took the bowl, sniffed it, and recognized the same scent as the last time she’d brought medicine.
Last time, he’d only discovered the aphrodisiac in the soup thanks to his senior brother’s presence.
He glanced sidelong at Song Zhiyi, who was staring intently at the medicine bowl.
“This medicine is still quite hot. Let it cool before I drink it,” Prince Li said.
Song Zhiyi’s heart tightened, but her face remained smiling. “Prince, medicine is different from other things. It must be drunk while hot.”
Prince Li poured a cup of tea. When it had cooled enough, he exchanged a glance with An Yi and An Er.
An Yi immediately left the room.
While Song Zhiyi was completely unprepared, An Er forced a bowl of medicine down her throat.
The moment she swallowed it, Song Zhiyi knew something was terribly wrong.
This aphrodisiac had no antidote; the only way to neutralize it was through union with a man, otherwise death was certain.
As the medicine went down, Song Zhiyi was filled with regret—she had acted too hastily.
Nangong Li smiled, “Miss Song, this medicine is truly bitter, so I thought I’d let you drink it for this prince.
After all, it’s a potent tonic—who benefits from it doesn’t really matter.”
The medicine was indeed a fierce and potent brew. The moment it was swallowed, her entire body began to burn with heat.
“So hot, so hot!” Song Zhiyi began to murmur to herself.
Nangong Li watched her, thinking to himself: The Wang Fu must have a shield after all.
“An Er, escort Miss Song back to her room.”
Song Zhiyi had already lost herself. Seeing Prince Li, she tried to throw herself at him.
Nangong Li waved his hand, and a gust of palm wind knocked her down. Song Zhiyi fell to the ground.
Seeing his master’s anger, An Er grabbed Song Zhiyi and threw her back into the courtyard.
There were few people in the courtyard to begin with, as they had all been sent to the front yard.
Once inside her own room, Song Zhiyi had lost all consciousness and began tearing off her own clothes.
At the same time, An Yi carried in Zhang Wuge, who had been struck on his pressure points.
An Yi cursed, “You can only blame yourself for being restless.”
The coachman, who had also been given the aphrodisiac, was thrown directly onto Song Zhiyi’s bed.
Song Zhiyi kept moaning, “Prince, Zhiyi likes you…”
Immediately afterward, indecent sounds began to emanate from the room…
When the time was about right, An Yi dressed Zhang Wuge and took him away.
Zhang Wuge felt as if he had been dreaming—the whole night was a blur…
…………
The next morning, when she woke up, Song Zhiyi felt as if her entire body had been run over by a cartwheel. The tearing pain made her walk like a crab.
Her maid, Bi He, congratulated her, “Miss, you’ve finally weathered the storm and seen the moon.
With a child bringing honor to the mother, if you bear a little Heir or a little princess, the Prince will surely give you a proper status.”
Song Zhiyi felt smug inside. Although she had taken a risky move, it was a decisive victory. The goal had been achieved; the process didn’t matter.
…………
Nangong Li returned to his own bedchamber but couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.
Feng Qianqian’s figure kept appearing in his mind, lingering and refusing to fade.
In the end, even in his dreams, he was entangled with her, losing all sense of time and place…
…………
Seeing that the fiend had left, Feng Qianqian emerged from her dimensional space and headed straight for the Prime Minister’s Mansion.
She went to the courtyard where the original owner had once lived—Tingyu Pavilion.
The maid Mingyue was kneeling on the ground, being slapped by Feng Xue’er’s maid, Meixiang. Her face was already swollen and bruised.
Meixiang’s eyes gleamed with malice, “You’re still thinking about your good-for-nothing young miss? She’s already dead.”
“No, our young miss isn’t dead. She won’t die. You’re lying,” Mingyue sobbed, tears streaming down her face.