The excruciating pain radiating from his arm served as a sharp reminder that all of this was real. With a gloomy expression, Feng Buji suddenly dropped his sword in utter defeat.
Taking advantage of his momentum, Pei Yanli pressed forward, speaking unhurriedly: “Rumor has it that ever since the Regent Prince’s fiancée was dragged into your manor, no word of her has been heard. Today, Your Highness went to such great lengths to search my Prime Minister’s manor—could it be that your fiancée escaped?”
Xiao Mingyue suddenly sneered: “Or perhaps she is dead. After all, isn’t it true for you men since ancient times that one only hears the new bride smile, but never sees the former love cry?”
“Silence!” Feng Buji’s face turned deathly pale, his eyes burning with monstrous rage. Looking at Xiao Mingyue, he felt everything about her was vaguely familiar, save for that face.
Xiao Mingyue wanted to say more, but recalling that time was running short for her current visage, she quietly held her tongue.
Feng Buji returned empty-handed, his complexion thoroughly dark.
As dusk settled, the last rays of golden light passed through the elm window frames, shattering into lazy particles of dust that floated in the warm, heavy air.
Feng Buji sat inside his study, where the slanted twilight through the window happened to illuminate the portrait of a beauty. He ordered no lamps to be lit, sitting alone in the large rosewood armchair; the lotus and intertwining vine patterns carved into the chair back had been polished smooth and lustrous by years of touch.
Time seemed to freeze. Whenever he gazed upon the woman in the painting, a throbbing headache would inevitably wash over him. Why had he kicked Xiao Mingyue so ruthlessly back then? Had he not cherished her above all else in the past?
During those years far away at the frontier, he had sustained himself day after day by looking at Xiao Mingyue’s portrait, longing for the girl waiting in the capital for his return. Yet, after meeting Hua Heng, it seemed he truly had a change of heart.
Hua Heng… Hua Heng…
“Hss!” Feng Buji could not help but hold his forehead. Pain and regret lingered between his brows, and his handsome face turned deathly pale.
This was the exact scene Hua Heng walked in on. Feng Buji was wearing a slightly worn, slate-blue casual robe; the soft Suzhou embroidery and Hangzhou silk had lost all their sheen, quietly blending into the deepening twilight. Beside his hand sat a cup of Longjing tea that had long grown cold, a few leaves lying lifelessly at the bottom of the clear liquid.
“My Lord, what is wrong?” Hua Heng walked over. She wore a pink cinch-waist gauze dress, her alluring figure subtly revealed at the bosom, walking with graceful, lotus-like steps.
Seeing that it was Hua Heng, Feng Buji hurriedly tried to pack away the portrait, only for a fair, slender hand to press down on it.
Hua Heng picked up the painting, a warm smile curving on her lips. Her red lips parted as she spoke with a touch of emotion:
“Sister Mingyue is truly a beauty of peerless nation-toppling grace. Her subtle smile, her bright eyes and white teeth—she is alluring without being vulgar, just like a heavenly goddess descended from the nine heavens. No wonder Your Highness cannot forget her. Even as a woman myself, I cannot help but fall for Sister Mingyue upon seeing her.”
As she spoke, she gently touched her flat abdomen, grief tinting her brow. “If only Sister Mingyue had a slightly better temper, perhaps things wouldn’t have turned out this way. By the way, how is Sister Mingyue?”
Feng Buji flew into a rage at the mention of this. “She was nowhere to be found. I heard she was picked up by Pei Yanli, but when I went to check, it wasn’t her.”
Hearing this, a flash of malicious satisfaction glinted in Hua Heng’s eyes, yet her voice remained soft: “My Lord, Sister Mingyue is gone, but you still have me. Hua Heng will accompany Your Highness forever, never to part for a lifetime.”
Feng Buji looked at her. The woman possessed gentle features and eyes filled with affectionate warmth. Though not as breathtakingly beautiful as Xiao Mingyue, she was nonetheless a rare beauty. Above all, the soft, gentle aura she exuded added a touch of maternal radiance to her presence, drawing Feng Buji—who had lost his mother at a young age—unconsciously closer.
He reached out and gave a gentle pull, causing Hua Heng to sit softly on his lap. “My Lord…”
Holding her, Feng Buji found himself unable to muster much interest at the thought of Xiao Mingyue, settling instead for holding her tightly.
“There is still one month left until our grand wedding day—which is also the wedding day between this Prince and Xiao Mingyue.”
“Hmm? What do you mean?” Hua Heng did not understand why he brought this up, until Feng Buji uttered that sentence:
“Our wedding date will be held together with Xiao Mingyue’s.”
“What?” Hua Heng, who had been resting her head against Feng Buji’s shoulder, snapped her head up upon hearing this. “Isn’t Sister Mingyue already…”
“So what? She, Xiao Mingyue, belongs to this Prince in life, and remains this Prince’s ghost in death.” Feng Buji’s tone was domineering and beyond dispute.
“Then Your Highness intends to…”
“A netherworld marriage…”
Hua Heng’s face turned pale and green by turns, her delicate brows knitting tightly together. She lowered her eyelids slightly, just in time to conceal the ruthless malice bursting from her eyes.
No wonder his favorability rating hadn’t gone up recently, nor was Feng Buji willing to touch her anymore. It turned out he still harbored Xiao Mingyue in his heart, even going so far as to defy taboo to hold a netherworld marriage with her.
Hua Heng could not fathom what was so good about Xiao Mingyue—was she really that unforgettable?
At the same time, anxiety crept over her. She had boasted before her system that if she failed to complete the goal within three months, her mission would be deemed a failure and she would be wiped out.
Damn it!