Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Fall of Xiyan

Feng Jinye had never imagined that years of longing would begin to unfold with the reappearance of Weishao Qianyu.

In the main hall of the Prince of War’s residence, Feng Jinye returned under the cover of night. The scent of blood clung to him—a night more murderous than any he had known in battle in over a decade. It brought back memories of years past, of that desperate flight behind the hill at Qingfeng Court, of the fierce fight, and of the hatred for the assassins who claimed his parents’ lives.

Xi Yan must be destroyed.

As dawn crept across the sky, Feng Jinye gazed at the light slowly filtering through the window, his thoughts drifting to Weishao Qianyu. Over the years, she had been his sole warmth, now growing into a relentless concern.

He closed his eyes. According to the customs of Li Yue, a betrothal must be honored with marriage in the year a girl comes of age. Weishao Qianyu had long heard of the tragedy—Feng Jinye’s parents murdered by Xi Yan assassins.

She had noticed his odd demeanor when he left last night. Rising early, she completed her morning routine and set out for the Prince of War’s residence.

Lost in thought, Feng Jinye hardly noticed the faint sounds outside.

“Miss Weishao, His Highness instructed that you may go anywhere in the residence without needing to announce yourself,” Chu Jiu said as he pushed open the door for Weishao Qianyu.

Feng Jinye assumed Chu Jiu was simply bringing attendants to assist with his morning routine and paid them no mind.

The room carried the unpleasant smell of blood. Weishao Qianyu looked up and immediately saw the lonely figure by the window, her heart tightening.

Hesitating for a moment, she stepped toward him. As she drew near, Feng Jinye froze at the sound of her familiar footsteps.

She sensed the stiffness in his posture and tugged gently at the hem of his robe from behind, but he did not turn. He didn’t want her to see him so disheveled, yet feared that speaking would frighten her.

When he didn’t respond, she tugged again, still met with silence. Unsure how to break the quiet, she simply stood behind him.

After a long pause, she summoned her courage and encircled his slender waist from behind, pressing close.

Feng Jinye stiffened, and a soft voice sounded behind him: “I feel a little cold—let me hold you for warmth.”

His rigid body relaxed slightly, struggling to calm the turmoil within. After a while, he placed his hands on hers. It was clearly she who warmed him.

Chu Jiu quietly withdrew with the attendants, waiting outside. After some time, he finally heard his master speak: “What brings you here so early?”

Chu Jiu breathed a sigh of relief and retreated.

Feng Jinye’s voice was rough. Weishao Qianyu, feeling tender, replied playfully, “I missed you!”

He turned and gently tousled her hair, laughing softly.

“Were you hurt last night?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She walked to the washbasin, wrung a silk handkerchief, and handed it to him. “Here, wipe your face.”

He washed his hands first, then took the handkerchief to wipe his face.

When he finished, she reached for it, but he said, “It’s dirty.”

She paused, noticing his gaze flicker between the handkerchief and the basin, then understood. She took the cloth, rinsed it, and said, “It’s nothing. Yesterday I nearly killed Lu Yanran, then ran over to check her wounds—I got covered in blood too!”

“Your hair is dirty too. Turn around and let me wipe it for you,” she pouted. “My face was pressed against your hair, so now I’m dirty as well.”

He reached out and wiped a smudge from her cheek. “Let Dongnuan take you to the side courtyard to wash up.”

“Then you must wash up as well—and remember to eat breakfast!” she said.

He nodded.

In the side courtyard, Weishao Qianyu soaked in the bath, her thoughts wandering.

She’d often heard of the Prince of War’s blood feud with Xi Yan. Feng Jinye had vowed to flatten Xi Yan, and now seemed the perfect time.

Qingxia poured water over her shoulder and, seeing her lost in thought, asked, “Miss, what are you thinking?”

Weishao Qianyu replied candidly, “Thinking about winter… and marriage!”

Qingxia burst out laughing. “I never imagined you’d be so eager to marry…”

Feng Jinye, having finished his morning routine and breakfast, came to the side courtyard just in time to overhear their exchange. He paused—did she really wish to marry in winter?

“I’m not in a hurry. I’d like to stay at home with father a few more years…” Weishao Qianyu replied carelessly. “Besides, I’d like to remain a young girl for a while longer.”

Qingxia clicked her tongue. “Don’t be silly, Miss. You’re already a grown woman.”

“If I could, I’d have my coming-of-age ceremony at eighteen, and marry between twenty and thirty,” Weishao Qianyu replied helplessly.

Hearing this, Feng Jinye paused again outside the door. Her words were startling.

“Miss, why would you want to be an old maid? According to Li Yue custom, His Highness will surely bring you home this year,” Qingxia protested.

“There’s such a rule?” Weishao Qianyu paused, then slapped the water with a loud “splash,” and stood up in the bath. “No, I’m going to find Feng Jinye…”

Qingxia was dumbfounded—she claimed to want to be an old maid, but clearly, she was eager to marry.

Weishao Qianyu swiftly left the bath, dressed, and, with her hair still wet, headed for the door. Qingxia hurried after her with a towel. “Miss, this is the Prince of War’s residence…”

Before Qingxia could finish, Weishao Qianyu had already opened the door.

Feng Jinye stood tall outside.

Weishao Qianyu stared wide-eyed at him, speechless. “Were you… were you eavesdropping?”

Feng Jinye glanced at her, turned his head slightly, and exhaled quietly.

He realized something was wrong and quickly stepped inside, closing the door with a bang.

Weishao Qianyu retreated a few steps at his sudden movement.

He turned his gaze back to her, frowning slightly. When Qingxia caught up, he took the towel and silently began drying her hair.

She realized opening the door had been chilly—was that why he frowned?

The towel was long, covering most of her face, leaving only her pink, petal-like lips visible.

Feng Jinye’s gaze fell upon her lips, his heartbeat skipping several times. He unconsciously leaned closer.

She noticed his hand pause and, pulling the towel, blocked his lips just as he leaned in.

Her clear, black eyes gazed at him, a touch of playful ambiguity.

He pulled the towel away and kissed her brow—lightly.

“From now on, only I may see you like this. Do you understand?”

Hearing his hoarse voice, she nodded dumbly, “Yes, I understand.”

“What did you want to see me for?” he asked.

“Oh?” She nearly forgot her purpose. Remembering, she said, “To discuss something…”

She meant to talk about the marriage, but felt uneasy.

So she said plainly, “I heard from Qingxia that our engagement means we’re to marry this year, but I’d like to delay it for a few years. Is that possible?”

Feng Jinye was amused—she spoke of marriage so frankly, with neither blush nor shyness.

His lips curled; good, in her heart marrying him was natural. But—

“Why delay?” he asked.

“I’m still young!” she said confidently after a moment’s thought.

He chuckled, “Yes, Qianqian is still young.”

Qingxia fretted in the room, unable to interject.

Since their engagement, Weishao Qianyu often spent entire days in the Prince of War’s residence, hoping to have Feng Jinye escort her home at dusk.

Just as now—the sunset painted the ancient streets of Yue with gold. The shadows of their joined hands stretched long beneath the setting sun.

“Do you like the twilight?” Feng Jinye asked.

She smiled, “Yes. I always wake late—probably won’t often see the sunrise with you. So I’d like to watch sunsets and twilight with you more often…”

He stopped walking. She turned to look at him. “Feng Jinye, you must look so heroic in your battle armor—I haven’t seen it yet.”

He was silent; so she knew.

Earlier, in the side courtyard, he heard her wish to marry in winter—was her request to delay marriage so he could go to war without worry?

He felt a pang of tenderness.

“In three days, come see me off,” he said, stroking her hair.

She smiled softly, “Alright.”

On a sweltering August night, Feng Jinye and Huangfu Chen drank atop the roof of the Prince of War’s residence; Yun Ming had braved the heights to join them.

“Are you afraid Qianyu won’t wait for your return, or afraid you won’t return?” Huangfu Chen asked, oblivious.

Feng Jinye ignored him, drinking in silence.

“I’ll take the provisions ahead tomorrow. I’ll stay behind and say farewell to my brother and Yun Ming—is that alright?” Huangfu Chen said deliberately.

Feng Jinye finally reacted, casting a sidelong glance at him, still silent, and then descended from the roof without looking back.

Huangfu Chen and Yun Ming both sighed.

Returning to his study, Feng Jinye closed his eyes.

He had worked with the Duke of Lu for years, investigating his residence, but never managed to expose Xi Yan’s spies.

Only when Weishao Qianyu uncovered Lu Yanran’s identity did Lu Huiyan come to light, and now the time had come to march against Xi Yan.