Feng Buji, the Prince Regent, returned from the borderlands bringing a young woman with him. Rumor had it that she was as beautiful as a flower and possessed a slender, graceful figure, and that the Prince Regent cherished her like a rare treasure.
When the news reached the capital, Xiao Mingyue was still joyfully embroidering her wedding veil, fantasizing about the day she would marry the man she loved.
Her maid, Xiaochun, was far from calm and urged her to prepare for the worst. Yet, Xiao Mingyue placed absolute trust in Feng Buji and simply laughed it off.
That was until Feng Buji finally arrived, and a delicate woman dressed in a green gauze dress stepped down from his carriage.
Fearing she might stumble, Feng Buji scooped her up into a princess carry before her feet could even touch the ground.
Xiao Mingyue’s heart sank, engulfed in a feeling so complex she couldn’t put it into words.
Feng Buji was a germaphobe who never shared a carriage with anyone, not even her. Yet today, not only had a woman stepped out of his personal carriage, but he had also held her in his arms with such tender care…
“Miss, I told you long ago that this woman wouldn’t be simple! Look at this now—carrying a strange woman in broad daylight! Where does that leave your dignity as his betrothed?” Xiaochun voiced indignantly.
As if she had lost her soul, Xiao Mingyue stared blankly as Feng Buji walked toward her while holding the woman—or more accurately, toward the gates of the Regent’s Residence behind her.
When his eyes fell upon Xiao Mingyue, Feng Buji visibly froze for a moment.
He had grown considerably thinner, yet his handsome face bore a refined, resolute strength, likely forged from the hardships of war.
As he drew nearer, Xiao Mingyue caught sight of the woman’s face. Her complexion truly resembled blooming peach blossoms, her eyes sparkling like a bright spring day.
She is indeed a rare beauty, Xiao Mingyue thought to herself silently.
“You’re back,” Xiao Mingyue said. Her tone was far less excited than she had envisioned, sounding remarkably flat instead. She admitted to herself that a trace of jealousy lingered in her heart.
Feng Buji gave a faint response. Feeling his own tone was perhaps too cold, he forced a smile and said, “It must have been hard on you, waiting for me for so long. I won’t make you wait anymore.”
This time, it was Xiao Mingyue who responded coldly, her gaze settling on the woman in his arms.
As if only then realizing the impropriety of the situation, the woman began to struggle, attempting to get down.
A large crowd of onlookers had already gathered on the street in front of the residence, whispering and pointing at them.
“Let’s go inside first,” Feng Buji said, breaking the awkward silence among the three of them, a look of difficulty on his face.
The woman beside him had acted timidly upon seeing Xiao Mingyue. Now, as if afraid that his betrothed would make things difficult for her, she tightly clutched Feng Buji’s arm like an insecure little kitten.
Xiao Mingyue let out a soft sigh and nodded.
She had looked forward to this day for a very long time. Every night she had dreamed of the moment Feng Buji would return and marry her.
Yet now that he had returned, he had brought another woman with him.
Xiao Mingyue stepped aside to make way for them. Feng Buji walked in first; the woman reached out to grab his sleeve, but he took her hand into his large palm instead.
Following behind them, Xiao Mingyue suddenly felt like an outsider.
Her heart felt as though it were being mercilessly crushed by a giant hand. The agonizing pain made her tremble involuntarily, and her footsteps slowed down against her will.
Xiaochun’s heart pained for her. “Miss, it’s alright. Perhaps that woman saved His Highness’s life, and that’s why he treats her well.”
Xiao Mingyue said nothing, merely shaking her head.
Feeling a cold sensation on her cheeks, she touched them, only to find her face covered in tears she hadn’t even realized she had shed.
In truth, she had long harbored a bad premonition, but she had refused to believe it, clinging desperately to her own illusions.
They were childhood sweethearts. Three years ago, Feng Buji had answered the imperial decree and gone to the borderlands to fight in the war. That year, she had just reached the age of fifteen, and he was barely twenty.
Before leaving, he had sent betrothal gifts to the Xiao family, promising to marry her upon his return. What followed were countless letters filled with anticipation and love.
Things were fine during the first two years. But later, he mentioned in a letter that he had encountered an injured woman who insisted on offering herself to him in marriage.
At first, Feng Buji complained in his letters about how annoying and thick-skinned she was, saying he couldn’t chase her away. Coupled with the chaos of war at the border, he had no choice but to let her stay by his side temporarily, intending to send her away with her belongings once the conflict subsided.
In the correspondence that followed, he ceased asking after her well-being and spent more time complaining about that woman. Yet between the lines, Xiao Mingyue could always spot a subtle trace of sweetness and tenderness. For instance, he wrote about how the woman had prepared ginseng soup that tasted terrible, yet forced him to drink it anyway—and if he refused, she would cry like a tearful nuisance. At the end, he would always add: You are still the best, so gentle and understanding.
The letters that used to arrive every few days gradually stretched to once every fortnight, until they stopped coming altogether.
He had promised that she would leave once the war ended, yet now he had brought her back with him. He even carried her in front of everyone, holding her like a precious treasure—a gentle affection he had never once shown her.
A woman’s intuition was remarkably accurate, leaving her able to predict almost everything that was about to happen.
Sure enough, the woman insisted on serving her tea, only to accidentally trip and spill the scalding tea all over Xiao Mingyue.
The searing heat caused Xiao Mingyue to spring to her feet, her expression entirely darkened.
Seeing that something was amiss, Feng Buji quickly stepped in to smooth things over.
“Look at you, foolish girl! She isn’t the mistress of this house—why do you insist on serving her tea?”
Though his words sounded like a scolding, his tone was thoroughly doting, like a soft indulgence reserved for a child who had caused trouble.
Yet Xiao Mingyue heard only a single sentence: She isn’t the mistress of this house…
Ah, right. Having won the war, the Emperor himself would host a banquet in his honor. Where did she fit in to play the nuisance here?
She wasn’t the mistress of this house…
Feng Buji, have you forgotten your promise? Have you given the love meant for me to someone else as well?