Chapter Fifty-Two: Giving Birth to a Little Monster

Chapter Fifty-Two

Weishao Qianyu found her way blocked by Feng Jinye. She only glanced at him before lowering her gaze, not daring to meet his eyes. Feng Jinye had just managed to contain his dark mood, yet it seemed to crash down on him all at once. She had just promised to treat him kindly, but now she turned to leave—truly, she was merely coaxing him with sweet words.

Seeing Feng Jinye’s anger flare anew, Weishao Qianyu suddenly felt she ought to hide. With that thought, she acted, taking a daring step forward. Feng Jinye’s brows tightened. He was standing in her way, and still she tried to leave! But in the next instant, Weishao Qianyu wrapped her arms around his waist, her petite body nestling into his embrace, her tone soft and coaxing: “Don’t be angry anymore, all right?”

Feng Jinye’s ruffled feathers were instantly soothed. He could not help himself; one arm encircled her securely, while the other pressed her head gently against his chest. Feeling him hold her, Weishao Qianyu relaxed a little, continuing to mumble, “You really must work on that temper of yours…”

She paused, noting his complete lack of reaction, and sighed, “What a spendthrift you are!”

Feng Jinye glanced about at the chaos in the study, recalling the incident on the second day of the year when Weishao Qianyu, in a fit of pique, had swept everything from his desk onto the floor. That inkstone alone was worth more than all he had broken today. Was she really in any position to criticize him?

Reading his thoughts, Weishao Qianyu hurried to explain, “It’s different for me. I’m a little fairy—when I lose my temper, I’m just a mischievous sprite…”

“Whereas when you lose your temper, you’re a beast!” When Feng Jinye gave her an inch, she took a mile.

Feng Jinye disliked being called a “beast.” He snorted coldly, but still did not let her go. How could the mighty Prince of War be likened to a beast?

“The little fairy says you must change, so you must!” she declared, snuggling into his arms and pouting in defiance.

She considered it carefully: with Feng Jinye’s temper, he was sure to be a bad influence for generations to come. She had to lay down the law. “If you don’t change, one day we’ll have little beasts in the house, and if they learn from you, we’ll never know a moment’s peace!”

Perhaps influenced by the idle gossip of the household staff, she blurted this out, her ears flushing red and the color spreading to her cheeks.

Every word, every phrase, struck a chord in Feng Jinye’s heart. He forgot to react, merely holding her in a daze.

When he remained silent, Weishao Qianyu, her cheeks burning, tried to push him away. She could not budge him; he held her fast.

“No going back on your word,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse.

She was bewildered—she hadn’t agreed to anything, so what was there to go back on?

Once more, Feng Jinye declared, resolute, “I’ll change.”

Perhaps the words “in the future” and “in our home” held too much allure. In his mind, an enchanting voice whispered, “If you’re going to deceive me, do it for a lifetime. I’ll pretend not to know.”

Even if she were a poison that would end him, he’d drink it willingly.

Weishao Qianyu felt her face burn, but thankfully she still wore her veil. She exhaled and whispered softly, “Can you let go of me first?”

Feng Jinye stepped back and released her from his embrace, though his hands still gripped her shoulders tightly, as if afraid she might run.

Weishao Qianyu dared not look at him. Her eyes darted about as she stammered, “I… I have matters to attend to at Zhiyu Tower. I’ll go back first!”

He did not let go. Suddenly, the world spun, and Feng Jinye scooped her up in his arms once more. “I’ll carry you back myself.”

Weishao Qianyu was dizzy. Could it be… could it be that Feng Jinye wanted her to bear him a little beast right this moment?

Once again, the Prince of War carried his consort back to Zhiyu Tower. The servants who had speculated that morning finally let out a sigh of relief—their master and mistress were clearly as affectionate as could be; their guesses had been right all along.

Inside Zhiyu Tower, Xuechun and Qingxia were well prepared. Their mistress had gone to Tingfeng Pavilion for a quarrel with the prince and was supposed to return only to run away from home. Hearing her return, Qingxia grabbed the packed bundle, ready to leave, but when she turned, she saw the prince carrying her mistress back in.

Xuechun and Qingxia exchanged bewildered glances, as if the world had turned upside down.

Paying no heed to anyone else, Feng Jinye carried Weishao Qianyu inside and, by force of habit, set her on the bed—as he so often did, since whenever he carried her, she usually ended up asleep.

Weishao Qianyu shrank back toward the corner of the bed, chiding, “You… You… Haven’t you heard the ladies of the great houses always say, ‘Such displays of affection in broad daylight are most improper’? Go away!”

How had Feng Jinye changed so? Last night, he’d carried her home before a crowd; today, he did it again before the entire household.

Feng Jinye regarded her, noticing how different she was from her usual self, and suddenly burst into laughter—a clear, hearty sound that left Weishao Qianyu momentarily stunned.

“Isn’t my princess fearless of heaven and earth?” he teased, brimming with joy.

She thought to herself that she wasn’t afraid, just a little flustered and out of sorts.

He tapped her nose playfully, then grew serious. “Tell me about last night’s incident at Wanlai Xue.”

Weishao Qianyu was speechless. Did he really need to carry her to bed just to discuss this?

She shot him a glare, then got up and led him outside to the stone pavilion.

“Look how clear the sky is, clouds drifting, snow dazzling on this side, rippling blue waves on that. Isn’t it a fine place to talk?” She did not realize that the snow on the rockery she mentioned had already melted away.

Feng Jinye coughed, feigning seriousness—he, too, was simply a creature of habit.

Weishao Qianyu, having found news of Feng Qingxuan, understood that only Huangfu Chen or Feng Jinye had the power to save her. She spoke earnestly, “Last night, I interrogated Mei Ji. She revealed her captors and said that within three days, Wanlai Xue would be strewn with corpses. Then the fire broke out—it must have something to do with her.”

Feng Jinye nodded, tapping the table. Night Eleven appeared at once. “The fire last night killed three workers and left seven or eight injured. The outer perimeter was doused in oil; if it hadn’t been discovered early, no one inside would have survived.”

Recalling the towering flames, Feng Jinye felt wave after wave of fear.

Seeing the grim look on his face, Weishao Qianyu realized he must have been even more frightened than she was last night. She changed the subject. “Has Mianmian Yin appeared?”

Night Eleven shook his head. He and Night Nine and Night Ten were completely baffled by the “Twin Spirits of Mei Ji” and had no idea what was going on.

Feng Jinye, too, was greatly puzzled.

Weishao Qianyu wondered if, in this era, someone like Mei Ji would be branded as possessed or a demon and burned.

Explaining it would be truly troublesome—how could she make them understand?

She tried her best, “What I’m about to say may be beyond your imagination. If you can accept it, good; if not, don’t think I’m mad.”

Her knowledge of dissociative identity disorder was limited, but she made an effort to explain:

“Take Mei Ji and Mianyin, for example. Suppose Xuechun hates dogs but loves cats. There’s a dog outside Mingke Residence that she sees every day, so she tells herself, ‘Pretend it’s a cat.’ Over time, when she sees that dog, sometimes she thinks it’s a dog, sometimes a cat…”

“Xuechun does this to protect herself from what she dislikes. Now, if this were magnified a hundredfold or a thousandfold, and the human mind’s self-preservation mechanism kicked in for some unknown reason, Mei Ji could become Mianyin, or Mianyin could become Mei Ji—they’d both exist at the same time.”

“Do you understand what I mean?”

To Weishao Qianyu, consciousness could override the brain. Sometimes, when the mind deceived the brain, a grown person could split into a child, never doubting themselves.

Dissociative identity disorder is a form of post-traumatic stress, like how the original owner of this body stopped speaking after a shock as a child. Amnesia can be similar.

She glanced at Feng Jinye again.

He showed little reaction, though Night Eleven struggled to process her words but managed to accept them.

“Mei Ji fooled herself. When she’s Mei Ji, she has no memory of Mianyin. So we have to wait for her to become Mianyin.”

“Just like Xuechun with the dog—it depends on whether she sees it as a cat or a dog…”

“We need Mianyin to come out and gather news of Qingxuan, but we don’t know how to bring her out. Perhaps we need to find the cause of her transformation…” She sighed. It was a troublesome matter, and she was no expert.

She asked, “How is she today?”

She couldn’t help but feel for Mei Ji, thinking her a pitiable soul.

“When she was first brought back last night, she was highly agitated, but after being confined, she calmed down and refuses to answer any questions,” Night Eleven replied, thinking that if she turned into Mianyin and didn’t speak, they’d have no way of knowing.

“Where is she held? I’d like to see her.” Rising, Weishao Qianyu swept her sleeve and stood, and Feng Jinye followed.

As she was about to go, he caught her hand, signaling for Night Eleven to withdraw.

She paused, realizing Feng Jinye must be worried for Feng Qingxuan—his only family in the world. How could he not be concerned? She felt she truly had neglected him far too much these days.

She took his hand and comforted him, “Don’t worry, Qingxuan will be safe. We’ll find her together. Trust me!”

“I’ve found a lead—a base belonging to Twilight Pavilion,” he said calmly.

She paused, realizing she’d been overthinking. But in the next moment, Feng Jinye embraced her, whispering in her ear, “On behalf of Qingxuan, I thank you.”

She smiled gently. “When Qingxuan returns, she’ll thank me herself.”

Then she added, “We have no evidence that Qingxuan is in their hands. Given Mei Ji, Twilight Pavilion’s power can’t be underestimated. Don’t act rashly!”

It was concern, and Feng Jinye was delighted. “Of the top ten assassins, Twilight Pavilion has five. As you’ve said, the twin spirits of Mei Ji are here in the Prince’s residence, leaving three. Dark Guard Tower has found clues to two; only one remains at large.”

Weishao Qianyu stared at him in a daze. Was he talking so much because the rascal hidden within him was breaking free?

She suddenly felt that the Feng Jinye she met five years ago at Mingke Residence—the one who clung to her from their first meeting—was slowly awakening.

She nodded, gazing at him in wonder, and before she knew it, blurted out, “Feng Jinye, when you recover all your memories, if you still wish to be with me, I’ll give you a little beast of your own…”