Yangyang squatted on the grass, plucking the petals from a dandelion. The little tuft tied atop her head bobbed back and forth with her movements as she muttered to herself: “Dandelion, also called grandma’s clock. It clears heat and removes toxins, reduces swelling and dissolves lumps, promotes urination, cools the liver and brightens the eyes…”
She lifted her head and caught sight of Feng Yi, freezing where she was. Then her mouth puckered, her eyes turning red, tears welling up but not yet falling from her long lashes. It was as though she were silently accusing her father—why had he abandoned her?
Feng Yi’s heart gave a sharp twist. In just a few short days, Yangyang’s round little face had already grown thinner. Though still so young, the pity and sighs of the townsfolk had already made her vaguely understand what it meant to lose someone. From this day onward, there would be no one left in the world to stand up for her and shield her as a father should. The bright, lively little girl now carried a new, timid kind of understanding beyond her years.
“Yangyang.” Feng Yi called softly, using her natural voice instead of the deliberately lowered tone she had used as Feng Qingyang.
The light in the child’s eyes dimmed instantly. She lowered her head, and large tears began to roll silently down her cheeks. Even when she cried now, she did so without a sound.
Feng Yi hurried forward and lifted her into her arms. “Yangyang, I am your aunt—your father’s sister.”
This was the story she and He Yun had agreed upon. The child was still too young; in time, the gaps in the explanation would blur and fade from her memory.
Raised from birth to be wary of strangers, Yangyang found herself unable to truly reject a face that so closely resembled her father’s. She did not throw her arms around her, but neither did she struggle to get free.
“Auntie?” Yangyang sniffled, catching a familiar scent she knew well. Glancing toward He Yun and seeing her nod in confirmation, she reached up and touched Feng Yi’s cheek, slowly accepting what she had been told.
As if she had finally found someone to whom she could pour out all her grief, she wrapped her small arms around Feng Yi’s neck, pressed her face against her shoulder, and began to sob aloud. “Auntie… Father is gone.”
“I know, my dear, I know…” Feng Yi stroked her back gently and rocked her softly in her arms. “From now on, Auntie will protect you. Don’t cry, little treasure—no more tears.”
Children’s emotions rise quickly and fade just as fast. Before long, Feng Yi had soothed her into calmness.
Yangyang turned to look at Jiang Xingzhou, who had been standing quietly behind Feng Yi the whole time, and asked in her soft, childish voice: “Auntie, is he Uncle?”
Feng Yi turned around with the girl still in her arms, looked up at him with a smile, and repeated the question: “Are you Uncle?”
Seeing the flicker of hesitation cross his face, she understood immediately. Looking back at Yangyang, she smiled gently and said, “No, he is not.”
“Then who is he? Why does he ride in the same carriage as you, and hold your hand?”
“Him? He is… Auntie’s…” Feng Yi glanced up toward the horizon, where soft white clouds piled high, pure and unmarked by a single flaw.
After a long pause, she finally found the word that fit. To herself, she whispered: A lover.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Feng Yi quickly changed the subject. “Look over there—so many pretty flowers.”
He had never once spoken of marrying her; she knew that well enough. She had been foolish in the past, but never again.
“Mian…” Jiang Xingzhou had read the movement of her lips and instinctively began to call her old name. He wanted to explain, yet found himself unable to find the right words.
Indeed—what was he to her? He asked himself the same question.
After a brief rest, they resumed their journey.
Feng Yi plucked wildflowers along the roadside and wove three simple garlands to serve as sun hats. She placed one over Yangyang’s soft, fluffy hair, and gave the other two to He Yun and herself.
The spring sunshine was warm and bright. Instead of returning to the carriage, she fastened a light veil over her face to shield her skin, then swung herself smoothly onto a horse’s back. Jiang Xingzhou had intended to ride beside her on the same mount, but she smiled and refused, saying they must not set a bad example for the child.
She had not forgotten how to ride; he himself had taught her, step by step, years ago. Feng Yi thought about it, and realized Jiang Xingzhou had taught her many things—painting, playing the zither, the art of tea…
Perhaps she should be grateful to him, she told herself.
Yangyang was also lifted onto a horse by one of the guards. Unable to bear seeing the little girl remain trapped in sadness day after day, Feng Yi had asked them to let her experience the joy of riding. Yet none of those tough, battle‑hardened soldiers dared reach out to hold such a soft, tender little bundle. In the end, it was Qing Shan—the captain of the guard, a man who already had a wife and children of his own—who took on the duty.
“Giddy‑up!” Feng Yi flicked the reins lightly, and her horse broke into a steady trot.
At first they moved slowly, but gradually she urged the horse to greater speed. Fresh air, carrying the scent of wild herbs and blossoms from the hills, rushed to meet her, lifting her hair and the hem of her robe. The trees and flowers lining the road blurred into streaks of color streaming past on either side. The heavy, pent‑up emotions weighing inside her chest seemed to drift away, scattered by the wind.
“Uncle Qing Shan, go faster!” Yangyang cried out excitedly, her chubby little finger pointing straight ahead. “Catch up to Auntie! Catch up!”
Hearing her voice, Feng Yi looked back and saw the bright, innocent joy return to the child’s face—just as it should be. She laughed aloud, then turned and shot Jiang Xingzhou a brilliant, teasing smile as he kept pace at her side. “Lingyuan, shall we race?”
“Agreed,” Jiang Xingzhou answered. Watching her lively, radiant expression—one he had not seen in so long—his eyes softened with deep affection. “To the stone marker where the two counties meet ahead.”
Before he could finish speaking, Feng Yi whipped the reins again and galloped forward. Her voice drifted back over her shoulder, playful and unrepentant: “I get a head start!”
In the end, she won by only half a length. Pulling her horse to a halt, she cupped her hands around her mouth like a trumpet and shouted into the valley, letting all her feelings pour freely into the open air.
Birds nesting in the trees rose in alarm, flapping wildly and scattering across the sky.
Feng Yi turned her horse around, removed her veil, and smiled at Jiang Xingzhou—a dazzling, unguarded smile. “Lord Jiang, from now on, I shall look to you for guidance.”
The colorful garland lent her a wild, untamed grace and a spark of free‑spirited energy. Sunlight fell over her, wrapping her in a soft, glowing halo. She looked like a fairy, or a spirit of the woods—beautiful, yet almost unreal.
Jiang Xingzhou stared, spellbound, his heart beating hard and fast. He longed to hold that impossible beauty tight against him, to make it his own and leave his mark upon it. Unconsciously, his tongue brushed against his sharp canine teeth, his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, and his gaze deepened to a darker, more intense shade.
“Lecher,” Feng Yi muttered under her breath, catching the look in his eyes.
He raised an eyebrow. Was it wrong to desire the woman who belonged to him?
No matter. She was his, and he would spoil her as only he could.
He guided his horse closer, smiling as he spoke. “As long as Lady Feng does not think of leaving me, everything can be settled easily.”
Only then did Feng Yi notice something odd about these past few days—other than just now calling her “Lady Feng,” he had not used any name or title for her at all. Whenever he spoke to her, he simply began without addressing her directly.
How interesting.
Back inside the carriage, they had barely settled when Jiang Xingzhou pulled her into his arms and began kissing and caressing her—urgent, forceful, and demanding. It was as though he wanted to stain that otherworldly beauty with the passions of the mortal world. Fairy, demon, or spirit—now that she had fallen into this dusty, human realm, she must belong to him, and him alone.
Though it was not yet summer, the air inside the carriage grew warmer by the moment. Heat rose between them, turning into a soft dampness on their skin, making their limbs feel heavy and weak, and building up until it felt as though it might burst.
Jiang Xingzhou drew back slightly, his voice rough and breathless, as though singed by embers. “Do you want it?”
Feng Yi shook her head and pushed gently against his chest, creating a little space between them. “No.”
He leaned forward again, brushing his nose along her cheek, while his hand began to wander lower. There was a playful smirk in his voice. “Liar… your body says otherwise—it burns so hot.”
“Stop this,” Feng Yi interrupted. “We are in broad daylight, and inside a carriage no less.”
“But I want you,” Jiang Xingzhou whispered, pressing her harder against him so she could feel his overwhelming need. His tone became low and coaxing. “I want you very much… help me, won’t you?”
Feng Yi’s face flushed red from chin to forehead. She remembered the first time they had shared anything intimate—not a kiss, but exactly this: helping him.
That was the first time she had truly understood the difference between a man and a woman. Even with her eyes covered, she could feel the intense heat beneath her palms, the hard, heavy length that would barely fit between her long fingers, and his ragged breathing as he guided her:
“Mianmian… your hands are so soft…”
“Mianmian… use the other hand too…”
“Ah… Mianmian, a little faster…”
“That’s it… so good…”
And finally, the warm stickiness that followed. That night, she had dreamed a burning, restless dream.
Looking back now, she realized he had probably tricked her. He was far too clever to have been so easily drugged or incapacitated.
“I have no strength,” she refused softly. “I only just recovered from my illness.”
If she had enough energy to ride a horse at full gallop, she certainly had strength enough for this. Clearly, she was still angry with him.
Jiang Xingzhou did not press her further, but only held her tighter, his breathing heavy as he struggled to restrain himself. “Later tonight then? I will be very gentle.”
For days now, out of concern for her health, he had not touched her, and the longing had grown almost painful.
Suddenly recalling what day it was, a mischievous glint flashed quickly across Feng Yi’s eyes, and she replied in a soft, sweet voice: “All right.”
“What trouble are you plotting?” he asked, catching the look instantly and giving her earlobe a light squeeze.
“Nothing at all.” She changed the subject quickly. “Lingyuan, what official position do you hold now?”
She only knew that through military merit, he had replaced his father Jiang Shaoguang and been granted the title of Marquis—but nothing more about his standing at court.
“Vice‑Director of the Privy Council,” Jiang Xingzhou replied calmly.
Feng Yi drew a sharp breath, her eyes widening with respect. “Third rank, proper third rank! That is extraordinary.”
“Merely good fortune,” he said, though the pride and satisfaction in his expression were impossible to miss.
“Oh? So you have learned modesty at last?” Feng Yi teased, then asked further: “You have led armies and fought in battles, so you are a military officer. How did those old foxes in the court ever allow you into the Privy Council?”
The government structure of Great Zhou was similar to that of the Northern Song Dynasty: power was divided and balanced, with civil officials placed above the military. The Privy Council controlled all military affairs, and its seats were strictly off‑limits to military men.
Jiang Xingzhou chuckled softly, his hand moving up and down her waist in a steady, gentle rhythm. A faint smirk touched his lips as he answered with double meaning: “Do not forget—your man is far more than just a soldier…”
Of course—he had also been a top scholar in the imperial examinations in the twenty‑eighth year of the Yongkang reign. Because he was so young and handsome, the court had demoted him from first place to third, making him the Tanhua Lang—a man truly accomplished in both letters and arms.
“Tell me what the court is like these days?” She leaned comfortably against his chest. Since she was returning to the capital and its swirling currents of power, she needed to understand her surroundings. If she could not guarantee victory, she could at least ensure she came out of it unharmed.
“I could tell you, but…” He was about to add that she would not understand anyway, but then he suddenly remembered all the sound advice and strategies she had written down for Wenche.
This woman—she probably understood more than most.
And so he began to explain the shifting balance of power in the capital.
Emperor Yongkang, Xiao Hongsheng, was now fifty‑six years old. From his middle age onward, he had grown obsessed with alchemy and the search for immortality, neglecting the daily business of the state.
At present, the most powerful man in the realm was Nie Liang—Chancellor of the Secretariat, Head of the Privy Council, Grand Tutor, and father‑in‑law to the Emperor. His eldest daughter was the Empress, who had given birth to the Crown Prince, Xiao Chengyao, and the Eighth Prince, Xiao Chengye. A younger daughter from a concubine was the Imperial Noble Consort, mother of the Ninth Prince, Xiao Chengxuan, and the Tenth Princess, Xiao Yanzhen. Of the five surviving sons and six daughters of the Emperor, four carried Nie blood in their veins.
The extent of the Nie family’s influence could be seen in a single example: Nie Wenxuan, only a lesser grandson from a concubine branch of the clan, had been allowed to torture and kill multiple wives without consequence. Many of his brides had been the legitimate daughters of noble houses, yet their families had swallowed their anger and reported each death as natural causes.
Feng Yi was the sixth child of her generation in the Feng family; two of her five older cousins had ended up married to Nie Wenxuan and dead at his hands. That was exactly why the original Mianmian had been so terrified—her greatest fear had been being sent back home to be married to him if she failed her task, and that terror had eventually frightened her soul right out of her body.
The only figure strong enough to act as a counter‑balance to the Nie faction was the great scholar Qiu Sheng—Jiang Xingzhou’s teacher. He held the posts of Grand Tutor to the Heir, Vice‑Chancellor, and Deputy Head of the Privy Council. Though no member of his family held high rank in the palace, the mother of the Third Prince, Xiao Chengsuo, was the Noble Consort and daughter of the Minister of Revenue, Li Maoming—himself a student of Qiu Sheng.
Where the Nie family had allies spread throughout every corner of the court, the Qiu faction had loyal disciples serving in official posts across the entire realm.
Feng Yi felt a throbbing ache begin at her temples. She raised her hands to rub them gently. “So… which side do you belong to?”
A sharp gleam flickered across Jiang Xingzhou’s eyes. How perceptive she was. Most people, seeing that he was a direct student of Qiu Sheng, automatically assumed he belonged to the Qiu camp—but she still asked.
“Guess,” he replied, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger.
“I do not wish to guess. Just tell me.” She was too weary to play games.
“Me?” He smiled, his tone low and intimate. “I belong to you.”
“Be serious,” Feng Yi scolded, giving him a sharp look.
All the princes were now adults, and the Crown Prince and Third Prince had both passed thirty. The rivalry between the Nie and Qiu factions must be growing fiercer by the day.
But there was more than just those two camps. Suddenly a name flashed into her mind—the original male lead of the story, the husband of Yueming: the Twelfth Prince, Xiao Chengyu, known as Prince Rui. Shunned since birth for the bad omens surrounding him, he had been granted a title and sent away from the capital, seemingly cut off from any chance of succeeding to the throne.
And yet three years ago, it was the Yu family army that Jiang Xingzhou had led into battle.
“Are you working for Prince Rui?”
Jiang Xingzhou lifted his eyebrows, his interest growing even deeper.
Just as so many assumed he was a Qiu man, everyone had written off Prince Rui as irrelevant to the struggle for power. He had a terrible reputation, after all—said to be a curse upon all around him. He had supposedly caused his mother’s death the moment he was born, and been sent to a Buddhist temple to be raised in the monastic life, in the hope of neutralizing his ill luck. In the end, it had worked in his favor: far removed from the deadly intrigues of the palace, he had survived long enough to reach adulthood.
“Wrong,” Jiang Xingzhou said, tapping the tip of her nose lightly with one finger. “Try again.”
Feng Yi frowned in thought. In a flash of insight, another possibility struck her. She asked cautiously, “Is it… the one above all?”
A bright smile of delight and admiration spread across Jiang Xingzhou’s face. He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. “Very clever.”
No emperor would ever willingly let himself be reduced to a mere puppet by powerful ministers. He could have used the Qiu faction to overthrow the Nie clan—but then what? Who could guarantee that Qiu Sheng, honest and just as he was now, would not eventually become another Nie Liang? So instead, he had done everything in his power to protect the Twelfth Prince, who had no maternal clan and no powerful in‑laws to back him.
Jiang Xingzhou’s rise to such a high position was partly due to the support he had received from both the Qiu faction and the Emperor himself, caught as he was between the two rival camps. But more importantly, it was proof of his own ability to maneuver between all sides and read the hearts and intentions of men.
The depth of such schemes and the murky waters of the capital were terrifying. Feng Yi’s face paled slightly, and she spoke half‑seriously, half‑in jest: “This is too dangerous. I think I would rather go back to Xishan County. If you miss me, you can come visit me there.”
“Thinking of running away from me again, are you?” Jiang Xingzhou’s arms tightened around her instantly. “Now that you know my secrets, where do you imagine you could possibly hide?”
Seeing that she truly seemed shaken, her lashes fluttering with unease, his heart softened. She might be sharp and quick‑witted, but she had never faced dangers this great. His voice turned gentle and reassuring.
“Do not be afraid.”
“I am here. I will never let a single hair on your head be harmed.”