Chapter 68: Dancing on a Thread
The carriage slowly arrived at Xuanhe Hall.
The vermilion lacquer door was tightly shut, a sort of barring door, a silent accusation of last night's ordeal. Feng Yanyuan laughed in silence and told Feng Jiu to go to the guesthouse instead.
The guest house was brightly lit.
When Feng Jiu came back with the two house cards, two red clouds suddenly appeared on Yun Yuan's cheeks.
Feng Yanyuan calmly snatched the two room cards, tapped the wooden cards lightly with his fingertips, looked at Feng Jiu and asked calmly, "Are you going to sleep in the carriage tonight?"
Feng Jiu was stunned for a moment, his eyes flickering between Yun Yuan, who was twirling the corner of her clothes, and the young master with an indifferent expression. He hurriedly retrieved the room card that belonged to him and said with an embarrassed smile, "Yuan'er can't sleep in this room. Find her a quiet one right away."
After escorting Yun Yuan to the door of the wing room, Feng Yanyuan leaned against the carved door frame, moonlight streaming through his sleeves. He suddenly reached out and gently brushed his thumb across the corner of her lips—where traces of rouge still lingered.
"Rest well." He smiled faintly. "Who knows what will happen tomorrow."
Yun Yuan felt a warm feeling in her heart as she watched him slowly disappear into the depths of the corridor before turning around and entering the room. When the wooden door was about to close, she peeked at the tall figure through the crack of the door, only to see that person suddenly stop and look back, with the corners of his eyes slightly raised and a faint smile on his lips.
She hurriedly closed the door, her back resting against it, the sound of her heartbeat remarkably clear in the still night. The corners of her lips, having just been wiped, felt faintly hot, as if the warmth of his fingertips still lingered.
The shadows of the trees outside the window dance gracefully on the blue brick ground, just like the ripples rippling in my heart at this moment.
I couldn't help but savor the whispers in the carriage just now.
At that time, she tapped his chest with her fingertips and said in feigned anger: "Young Master Feng is so familiar with me, I'm afraid the name of 'Cold-faced Young Master' is just a bluff?" He grabbed her rebellious hand and chuckled complacently: "Are you jealous?" Seeing the annoyance in her eyes getting real, she quickly begged for mercy: "This is unfair. It's my second brother who keeps nagging these in my ears all day long. Two out of three sentences are about love." At last, he pinched her chin and warned, "You are not allowed to get close to him." Yun Yuan smiled immediately: "It turns out that there is someone else who is jealous." He did not refute, but leaned close to her ear, his breath warm: "Did Tao Yao also teach you something? Why not... try it too?" Yun Yuan's whole face burned hot in an instant, and she hurriedly pulled up the cloak to wrap herself tightly. No matter how he coaxed her, she refused to show her face again.
My cheeks were burning.
She stroked her cheek with her cool fingertips and couldn't help but purse her lips and smile. Tao Niang had indeed taught her a lot. But now she felt that Tao Niang wasn't entirely right.
Not all men are as frivolous and lustful as Tao Niang describes them to be - her Zi Shang... is different.
Thinking of his jealous look earlier, the girl's heart melted like a spoonful of honey. She couldn't hide her smile anymore, and finally she laughed out loud.
This half day was the first time in eight years that she tasted happiness.
The memories of the past had long since faded, the joy that should have been vivid had vanished silently like quicksand through her fingers. It wasn't until today that she suddenly remembered—the warmth surging in her chest and the unconscious curve of her lips were the appearance of happiness.
The night wind suddenly rose and opened the window.
Yun Yuan walked to the window and looked up at the cold moonlight in the dark night.
The heart that was just warm and beating slowly sank.
For the past half day, they tacitly avoided that name - Feng Xiaoming.
He did not ask why she insisted on leaving last night, who she went to meet, or what kind of revenge she was planning;
She also did not investigate in detail who was determined to kill her last night, and what the Feng family planned to do with the traitor.
The blood feud is hers, the blood relationship is his.
The Feng family has an ancestral motto that has been passed down for hundreds of years - family members should not quarrel with each other.
It is a belief in worshipping God, like the Wind God's Halberd, and an insurmountable chasm.
He might use his body as a shield to protect her, and might not even stop her from seeking revenge, but...
Moonlight streamed through the window lattice, casting fragmented shadows on the ground. She raised her face, letting the cold moonlight flow across her brows and eyes, a long sigh escaping from her throat.
Even though the grudges were clear, and they were enemies and creditors, how could she have any entanglement with the Feng family other than hatred?
The moon was bright and the stars were sparse, and the sky was clear, but it seemed as if an invisible downpour was pouring down, cooling down the newly ignited sparks.
In the early morning light, Feng Yanyuan was already standing quietly outside Yun Yuan's room.
The young man was still a little nervous - he raised his hand to knock on the door, but withdrew his hand the moment it touched the carved door panel. Instead, he leaned against the vermilion railing and waited silently, letting out a sigh of relief.
The door creaked open.
She pushed the door open and he turned abruptly. When their eyes met, the evasive look of surprise in her eyes pierced his heart like a sharp knife. The light that had just lit up in his eyes gradually dimmed as she lowered her eyelashes and took an unconscious half step back.
The hand hanging in the air finally slowly dropped down, leaving only a lump in the throat.
"Sir, breakfast is ready." Feng Jiu shouted downstairs, "Is it placed in the flower hall or..." He noticed something strange before he finished speaking.
Feng Yanyuan closed his eyes and said, "Let's go to the flower hall."
Feng Jiu looked at the subtle distance between the two of them—Yun Yuan's cautious and restrained aloofness, and the fragmented light and shadow in the young master's eyes—and couldn't help feeling confused: What happened after he fell asleep last night?
He had originally planned to have breakfast in the young master's room and then eat a quick meal in the hall. After hesitating for a moment, he silently cleared away his bowl and chopsticks. Unexpectedly, as he turned around, he heard the young master call out, "Where are you going? There's no need for formalities in this world of martial arts."
Normally, he followed the young master's advice. Unless there were guests present, they would eat at the same table, without much ceremony. But this morning, the situation was different—he had seen the two of them getting close earlier and not wanted to interrupt. Now, sensing the tense atmosphere, he feared adding to the awkwardness. However, since the young master had spoken, he turned back and sat down, ordering the servants to serve the food.
He was at a loss as to what to do, but in the blink of an eye, the gloom on the young master's brow had disappeared.
"Try this," Feng Yanyuan cut off a piece of roasted venison breast with a dagger and placed it in the lacquer bowl in front of Yun Yuan: "Shouchun flavor." The surface of the venison breast had a honey-colored luster, obviously it was roasted with honey.
Yun Yuan smiled faintly, took some food with a dagger, and tasted it carefully, with surprise in her eyes: "It's accompanied by honey?" There was a faint smile on her lips, just like when she was in Lei Ting Manor.
Feng Jiu paused, gripping the wooden dagger. The two of them had treated each other with respect, chatting and laughing as usual, as if last night's tenderness and this morning's bitterness were all illusions he alone had witnessed.
He suddenly recalled the tightrope walker he had seen in Luoyang last year. The man danced gracefully on the rope, seemingly at ease, but in reality, his life hung on the line with every step.
Weren't these two people just like tightrope walkers? One was afraid of alarming the wild geese by taking a step forward, the other afraid of breaking the rope by taking a step back. Yet, they pretended to be calm and composed, which only made him, the bystander, feel uneasy.
He was just thinking when a cold light suddenly flashed across his brow. When he raised his head, Yun Yuan's chopsticks paused slightly, and Master Yuan's hand, which was holding the cup, also paused.
Feng Yanyuan's eyes slanted across the painting "Deer Singing in Spring Mountains" on the wall. Two butterfly patterns were saturated with a dim glow, their scales and wings seeming to flutter out of the silk. This strange light, three times brighter than the morning light, lingered for only two breaths before quietly fading away.
The three of them exchanged glances, and raised their bamboo chopsticks lightly, as calmly as usual.
Shouchun City was in the midst of a turbulent time, with spies coming and going in droves. The cold flash of light from the bronze mirror just now was the signal for the enemy spies to contact each other, as ordered by the King of Huainan yesterday.
The clamor in the room was all clues: the old soldier in the north wing had a slightly stiff wrist as he poured wine, clearly a left-handed person; the merchant in the south window stroked his jade pendant in a rhythm that matched the rhythm of military communications; the grain merchant in the east corridor, speaking with a Yingchuan accent, was leisurely slicing roasted meat; the scholar in the west wing unrolled a scroll, revealing half an inch of his indigo lining, and he took a sip of tea before frowning and putting the cup down.
During the dinner, everyone sat alone at a table, looking calm and composed, and they didn't look like street spies at all.
There was a sudden burst of cheers from the second floor, probably because some young man won the bet.
"There's a small pavilion on the second floor of this restaurant," Feng Jiuzhuang chuckled casually, "and the sons of officials and wealthy families often come here to gamble. But..." He paused, "It's a bit early at this time."
"It's indeed a little early." Feng Yanyuan sipped his tea, but his eyes followed the Yingchuan grain merchant as he wiped his mouth and left the table, his footsteps briskly ascending the stairs.
Feng Jiu's grip on the sword had barely tightened when he heard the soft tinkling of a celadon teacup. When he looked up, Feng Yanyuan had already left the table, his dark sleeves glittering around the corner of the stairs. He remembered the young master's words last night, "Guard her well." The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he pressed against the hilt of his sword, but he ultimately didn't chase after him.
Yun Yuan watched Feng Yanyuan ascend the stairs, her fingertips caressing the rim of her teacup. The Yingchuan grain merchant exhaled long, seemingly casual steps that actually align with the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams—with that level of cultivation, even three Feng Jius wouldn't be able to stop him. Feng Yanyuan must have seen the signs long ago, which is why he personally gave chase.
The moment the door creaked, the sound of horse hooves echoed down the long street. Twenty provincial cavalrymen burst through the door, their black armor gleaming coldly as they charged towards the second floor.
The wooden ladder groaned under the heavy boots, but suddenly a gray shadow flashed behind the green curtain - a man actually rushed towards the sharp spear points!
As the blood mist splattered, the man's five fingers like iron hooks grabbed his face, blurring his features.
Yun Yuan's heart trembled violently. Just as she was about to go upstairs, she was stopped by crossed spears. Her embroidered shoes suddenly felt sticky. Looking down, she saw a bloody piece of leather stuck to the sole. Half of the tattooed face was exposed between the rolled-up flesh. The incomplete branding of the Chinese character "Feng" was clearly the mark of a convicted slave of the Feng family.
Why is the spy here?!
She looked up in panic. Through the shuffle of figures, she saw the man from Yingchuan and Feng Yanyuan standing across from each other at a desk in the pavilion. The commander she had met at the Huainan Palace yesterday stood with his back to her, blocking the doorway to the compartment, his large, fan-like hand pressing tightly against the scabbard of his sword.
The noise from the adjacent attic had long since died down. The carved wooden door creaked open, and a head popped out. "Commander Xiao, you've arrived just in time."
Yun Yuan glanced sideways, only to see a man in his twenties or thirties, with a delicate face and a touch of frivolity. Although he felt familiar, he couldn't recall where he had seen him. As he hesitated, he heard a sweet voice call out, "Oh, isn't this the Third Young Master Feng?"
Yun Yuan's breath hitched. She saw the woman leaning out from behind the man, her hair half disheveled, her almond-shaped eyes full of spring, a strand of black hair hanging from her lips—wasn't she Luqi, one of the "two beauties playing the zither and the harp" that she had met at the Wangyou Inn?
I had heard rumors in the martial arts world that the four evil spirits not only failed to take the lives of the two beauties, but died before the Shouchun Banquet.
It's said that four men imprisoned Luqi in a room, intending to humiliate her before taking her life. Unexpectedly, the enchanting woman showed no fear. Instead, she smiled a captivating smile, her eyes flickering as she casually asked, "Four heroes... who among you is the most powerful?" Some say she added, "I admire the truly powerful most," while others say she simply blinked her tearful almond-shaped eyes.
In short, when the clock struck three, four corpses were lying in the room.
Finally, Luqi stepped on the blood-stained ground, slowly tied the silk belt around her waist, carried a bag full of valuables, and calmly walked out of the room where the candlelight flickered.
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