Cen Hejue studied the young woman, only to see her suddenly go limp, clutching her leg as she collapsed into his arms.
“Ah—!” Before Qin Fei could even reach for his chest, she crashed straight into the palace doors. The pain made her suck in a sharp breath.
“Eight Princess!”
The ladies who had been gathered nearby realized they had mistaken their target and rushed forward to help.
Qin Fei pressed a hand to her forehead, weak yet imperious as she maintained her persona. “Something flew at me just now and made me twist my leg. Which little wretch dares plot against me?”
Inside Mingxin Hall, aside from the princess, all were noble daughters of powerful families. With Cen Hejue present as their instructor, none dared speak, fearful of saying the wrong thing and tarnishing their family’s reputation.
“And another thing—” Qin Fei cast a reproachful glance at Cen Hejue. “Preceptor, did you not see me fall?”
“I saw,” Cen Hejue replied evenly.
“Then why didn’t you help me?” Her watery eyes brimmed with red, her pitiful look stunning everyone present. Word had already spread that the Emperor intended to marry Qin Fei to Cen Hejue. Everyone knew Qin Fei adored Song Jinglan, and they assumed she despised this match. Yet now, something seemed off.
Qin Fei never showed weakness before others, least of all before her sworn enemy Cen Hejue. And this was just a bump—why did it look as though she were coquettishly pleading with a lover?
“Isn’t the princess standing perfectly well on her own?” Cen Hejue raised a brow, his gaze mocking, as though observing some wild creature.
Qin Fei ground her teeth. Fine. At least she now understood—he truly disliked such affectations.
“Your Highness.” A clear male voice sounded from behind, drawing all eyes once more.
Song Jinglan stepped forward, steadying her arm. “Are you alright? Shall I take you to the imperial physician?”
Everyone’s gaze swung back to Cen Hejue. New love and old flame—meeting face to face.
Qin Fei instantly pulled her hand away, striding to Cen Hejue’s side. She politely intercepted Song Jinglan’s approach. “Keep your distance, Master Song. I am already a married woman. Please conduct yourself with propriety.”
Cen Hejue glanced at her. “Since when do you have a household?”
She winked at him. “Far away in the heavens, yet right before my eyes.”
In the past, if she had spoken so boldly to him, Cen Hejue might have plotted to spill royal blood, starting with her. But now, though her words crossed boundaries, he felt no murderous intent.
“Your Highness…” Song Jinglan clenched his fists, staring at her intently. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. How could Qin Fei change her heart so suddenly? Could it be, as she had hinted yesterday in the Purple Hall, that she had only used him to draw Cen Hejue’s attention? If so, her acting was far too convincing. No matter what, for the sake of being with Nian’er—and to fulfill his father’s expectations—he must ensure Qin Fei entered the Song household.
So what if she’s betrothed to Cen Hejue? What woman in the realm could possibly escape his methods?
The crowd watched the spectacle unfold with rising excitement. Qin Fei discarded Song Jinglan as though he were nothing, and instead began showing favor to Cen Hejue.
How curious.
Soon, the hour for lessons arrived. Everyone had to put away their little tables, stop gossiping, and sit properly in the hall to hear Perceptor Cen’s lecture.
In the past, Qin Fei disliked Cen Hejue so much that she always chose the very last seat. But today, she sat right at the front, closest to the dais.
Qin Xiu arrived last. Seeing the empty spot beside Song Jinglan, she looked in surprise at the back of Qin Fei’s head in the front row. “Eighth Sister actually sat there today.”
Without turning, Qin Fei arranged her books and brush rack neatly. “At this age, not studying properly is a waste of time. And with such an excellent teacher, everyone ought to cherish the opportunity.”
Cen Hejue lifted his eyelids at her words, watching as Qin Fei solemnly opened her book—while shamelessly flattering him. “From this angle, Master, you look even better.”
Cen Hejue replied, “If Your Highness looks at me instead of the text, isn’t that the real waste of time?”
Qin Fei cleared her throat and dutifully lowered her head. Soon, the man’s deep, resonant voice filled the hall, steady and captivating. She propped her chin on her hand, sneaking glances at him.
He stood tall at the front, book in hand, his back straight as a blade. Even from below, his jawline was clean and sharp. His lashes were long and thick, fluttering like butterfly wings when he blinked. The crimson-gold belt at his waist outlined a narrow, solid frame. It made one wonder what lay beneath those robes.
Suddenly, a wall of text blocked her view. Huh? Did the book grow legs?
Looking up, she realized Cen Hejue had raised his book to block her gaze, his eyes faintly displeased.
So petty. Fine, she’d look at the book then.
But before long, her eyelids began yearning for each other. Oh no. She’d forgotten—her college entrance exam scores had relied on her special talents, not academics.
“….”
Qin Xiu noticed her sister’s head drooping forward. “Didn’t Eighth Sister say she wanted to study hard?”
Qin Fei had already drifted into dreams, where Consort Shen appeared, weeping like pear blossoms in the rain, worried about her future after marrying Cen Hejue.
“Don’t… don’t be afraid…”
“Afraid of what?” someone asked.
She reassured Consort Shen in her dream: “I will… I will seduce him… ruthlessly…”
The man paused. “Seduce who?”
Half-asleep, Qin Fei mumbled, “Cen… Cen Hejue.”
The muffled laughter beside her shattered the dream. Rubbing her eyes, she saw a young man doubled over, laughing. “Eighth Sister, you’re too wild! In broad daylight, you want to seduce the Preceptor?”
The Emperor had lost many children; the two sons who survived were of lesser birth. The Sixth Prince, Qin Min, was frail and rarely appeared in public. Qin Fei guessed the one calling her “Eighth Sister” must be the Second Prince, Qin Jin—Song Jinglan’s close friend in the original story.
“What’s it to you, Second Brother? Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” Qin Fei yawned, propping her chin on her hand. She glanced back at Cen Hejue, whose face was dark, his chest tight with suppressed anger, ears flushed crimson.
“Jealous of what?” Qin Jin snapped. “Just because Father spoils you doesn’t mean I have to endure you.”
Qin Fei shrugged. “Jealous that I can be with Perceptor Cen without lifting a finger. No wonder you’ve never married—turns out you’ve been pining for him all along.”
Qin Jin’s eyes widened. “You dare call me a cut-sleeve?”
Qin Fei replied lightly, “You can always change later.”
“I—!” Qin Jin shot to his feet.
“Enough. One more outburst and you’ll both leave.” Cen Hejue’s cold voice cut through the tension.
Qin Jin remembered that Cen Hejue and Qin Fei were sworn enemies. He had thought the Emperor’s marriage decree would ignite a feud. Yet now, Cen Hejue was unexpectedly siding with her.
“Almost forgot—Eighth Sister is now Perceptor Cen’s fiancée. Since you’re already part of the Cen household, stop clinging to Jinglan. Otherwise, people will say our royal family is fickle and faithless.” Qin Jin smirked.
“Fickle and faithless?” Qin Fei arched a brow. “Second Brother, you said ‘our family.’ Who else are you including?”
Behind her, Qin Xiu felt a chill run down her spine.
Qin Fei leaned back, covering her lips in mock surprise, and glanced behind. “Don’t tell me you mean Third Sister?”
Qin Xiu stared at Qin Jin in disbelief. “I didn’t—”
“Third Sister has always been gentle and considerate. How could she have offended you, that you’d insult her in front of everyone?” Qin Fei drawled.
Humiliated, Qin Xiu rose, tears brimming. “Second Brother, you’ve gone too far!” It might have been nothing if said before others—but in front of Song Jinglan, her dignity was shattered. She clutched her chest, sobbing as she fled the hall.
Qin Fei watched her retreating figure, then turned indignantly to Qin Jin. “Second Brother, you’ve gone too far. Third Sister has a heart condition. If anything happens to her, it will be your fault.”
“How is it my—” Qin Jin began, furious.
“If you don’t want to study, then leave.” Cen Hejue’s authority was such that even the Emperor tread carefully. Qin Jin, merely a prince, shrank back, bowed his head, and sat down obediently.
When the lecture ended, the students dispersed. Qin Fei slung her little satchel over her shoulder, ready to leave—only to be stopped.
“Follow me to the side hall.” Cen Hejue’s words were curt as he walked out.
A perfect chance to get closer.
Qin Fei hurried after him, satchel in hand.
The side hall was where Cen Hejue worked and rested. Its furnishings were plain. As soon as she entered, Qin Fei tried to please him. “This hall looks so bare. Why don’t I gift you a few glass lamps or a double-sided embroidered screen? I have one with a tiger—it’s magnificent…”
Before she could finish, his cold gaze fell on her. “Your Highness, our relationship hardly warrants gifts.”
Qin Fei’s eyes flickered. She stepped closer, speaking softly. “In the past, I was foolish and offended you. Please don’t hold it against me. I’ll make it up to you—double.”
“Double?” His lips curved faintly as he repeated the word, tone hovering between mockery and amusement. “And how will you compensate me?”
His eyes were dark, fathomless, like an ancient frozen abyss. They carried the terror of dragging her down into ruin. His gaze brushed her delicate neck, sharp as a taut string ready to sever her head. It was as if he were asking: *With your life?*
The chill seeped into her bones. Qin Fei shivered. “Wh-what do you want?”
Given his power in the story, killing her would be effortless. She thought desperately: *Please, Cen Hejue, don’t plot against my life. I only want to be a salted fish…*