Meng Ze lifted the carriage curtain—Ning Fu was standing formally, and compared to their last meeting, she seemed to have grown taller. Just her presence was dazzling enough.

Ning Fu was also quietly observing Meng Ze. He was Zong Si’s cousin and bore some resemblance, though his features were more refined and graceful, while Zong Si’s beauty was bold and striking. If the two stood side by side, Zong Si’s tall frame would naturally draw more attention.
No wonder Meng Ze would eventually have friction with Zong Si. A dignified prince wouldn’t want to be overshadowed.

“How did you know it was me?” Meng Ze raised an eyebrow.

“There are several princes in the palace, but I’m only familiar with Sixth Cousin, so I dared to ask—secretly hoping it was you,” Ning Fu said with a practiced smile.

Meng Ze couldn’t help the upward tilt of his lips. “You ought to find a better coachman. If you’d run into the Prince of Xuan’s carriage today, you might not have gotten away so easily.”

He was clearly referring to Zong Si—mentioning him now, it seemed Meng Ze bore some grievance.

“Thank you for the warning, Cousin,” Ning Fu replied demurely.

Though his tone softened for her, Meng Ze wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter. He simply instructed his guards, “Let Cousin Ning pass first.”

Ning Fu could see he was suppressing anger and had a good guess about the cause. Since she and Zong Si were temporarily on the same side, she asked cautiously, “Are you troubled by something, Cousin?”

Meng Ze held back his irritation. “It’s nothing major, just had a disagreement with the Heir.”

“The Heir and Sixth Cousin are family. Disagreements happen—but don’t let it hurt the relationship. My mother always says that family stands by each other without holding back. If you become estranged, it’s a real loss,” Ning Fu said, offering a kind word on Zong Si’s behalf.

Meng Ze paused. Yes—he was Zong Si’s own kin. Even if Zong Si hadn’t gone all-out over the matter with Minister Song, could Meng Ze really side with someone else?

Bearing a grudge and distancing himself would only benefit the Fourth Prince. With that in mind, Meng Ze’s anger genuinely eased. He found Ning Fu’s words thoughtful and sincere, truly spoken in his interest.

Living deep within the palace, Meng Ze was used to seeing nothing but scheming and deception. Even his biological sisters didn’t necessarily treat him with genuine care. Ning Fu’s warmth touched him, and he softened visibly. “You’re right, Cousin. Family shouldn’t fuss over small things.”

“You’re busy with state matters—I’d better not take up your time. Please go ahead,” Ning Fu said, stepping aside to clear the path.

“How’s that white parrot doing?” Meng Ze asked, surprisingly relaxed.

“My uncle found a bird handler for me. It’s lively enough, but no matter what we try, it just won’t fatten up,” Ning Fu replied honestly. “Not to lie, Cousin—I worry about it day and night, sometimes I can’t even sleep. It was gifted by Emperor Jingwen, and if it dies under my care, it would be a grave disrespect.”

Meng Ze laughed heartily. “It’s a stubborn bird—wild by nature. Ordinary handlers struggle to understand its habits. Next time you enter the palace, bring the parrot along. I’ll help care for it myself.”

Ning Fu assumed he was being polite. After all, she wasn’t royalty, and opportunities to enter the palace were rare. So she didn’t ask further and instead responded with a grateful smile.

That expression of gratitude, in truth, was calculated—the more sincere the surprise, the more accomplished the benefactor feels.

Once Meng Ze departed, Ning Fu began pondering his relationship with Zong Si. Clearly, their bond wasn’t unbreakable. Unfortunately, palace affairs in her previous life remained unsettled—she still didn’t know who would ultimately seize the throne.

—

Before the shop officially opened, Ning Fu quietly visited Qingtian Pavilion.

She was genuinely impressed by Fu Jiahui’s efficiency. The skincare formulas had already been made into Snow-Skin Pills and Skin-Breath Balm, all packaged in finely crafted redwood boxes, striking and luxurious.

Just one look, and anyone could tell they were high-end goods.

Ning Fu suddenly understood why people in ancient times might buy a container just for its beauty—even she was drawn to the elegant packaging.

“Is this what you originally imagined?” Fu Jiahui asked.

“Fu Sister’s designs are far more brilliant than anything I envisioned. If you saw what I’d first imagined, you’d laugh until your jaw fell off,” Ning Fu replied with slight embarrassment.

Fu Jiahui chuckled. “With how sweetly you speak, it’s no wonder the Heir treats you differently.”

Ning Fu groaned inwardly—Zong Si didn’t treat her differently out of affection, only because she was useful. If not for needing help locating Divine Physician Mu, he would never have invited her to the snow-viewing trip. “I just haven’t figured out how to persuade Sister Xie to present these beauty products to Princess Consort Xuan.”

“No need to worry about that—Heir already delivered them to Princess Consort Xuan himself,” Fu Jiahui responded.

Naturally, if Zong Si delivered them personally, it’d be more effective than anyone else doing so. He might be ruthless in taking a larger share of the profits, but he was reliably efficient.

As for choosing a manager, Ning Fu picked Zhang Zhong, a former accountant who was expelled from the Ning household by Madam Wei due to theft. But it turned out his crime was committed out of desperation: his mother had been seriously ill.

Seeing that Zhang Zhong was a filial son, Ning Fu knew his mother could be used as leverage. She arranged for the best doctor for his mother and expressed admiration for his devotion. But if Zhang Zhong failed to remain loyal, she made it clear her kindness wouldn’t continue—cutting off his mother’s medicine would be a regrettable but necessary move.

This blend of kindness and pressure left Zhang Zhong tearfully grateful. “Ever since the theft at the Duke’s house, I’ve been troubled day and night. For Fourth Miss to trust me—I’m deeply moved. Please rest assured, I would never betray your trust.”

With her own person now in place, Ning Fu could finally rest easier about the shop. She didn’t forget to curry favor with Zong Si either. She said to Fu Jiahui, “It’s rare that I see the Heir—if Sister Fu meets him, please pass along my thanks.”

Fu Jiahui replied, “He has been recuperating at Hanxiang Mountain. If you want to find him, you can easily make an excuse to visit. He’s alone up there, probably a bit bored. Building a good relationship with him would definitely benefit the Ning household.”

Had it not been for the matter of Ning Zheng, Fu Jiahui wouldn’t have spoken so directly.

Ning Fu understood, and the reminder prompted her to visit Hanxiang Mountain again. Afraid that too many outings would arouse suspicion from her mother, she disguised herself and quietly slipped out of the residence, borrowing a carriage from Qingtian Pavilion.

This was her first solo excursion—a gentle, unarmed young woman. Naturally, she felt anxious, but the folk in Great Yan were kind, and thankfully, she met no trouble.

Zong Si, with his sharp eyesight, spotted her from a distance—a woman dressed in a man’s brocade robe, walking gracefully. She paused near the plum trees to pick a branch before cautiously continuing up the winding path. He recognized her immediately. That soft and elegant way of walking—who else could it be but the fourth daughter of the Ning household?

Ning Fu arrived at the cabin just as Zong Si was practicing swordplay. His movements were fierce and swift, like a falcon diving from the sky. The slicing air sent snowflakes flying. In a flash, his sword pointed directly at her throat.

“It’s me, Heir,” Ning Fu exclaimed, quickly pulling down her hood.

Zong Si gave her a curious glance. The blade tilted upward, lightly grazing her chin before lifting to raise it slightly.

It felt oddly like being teased by a rogue.

Ning Fu recalled she was dressed in male attire. Surely he recognized her—she bit her lip and said, “I’m Ning Fu.”

He gave her a fleeting glance and sheathed his sword.

“Your injury hasn’t healed, and with the shop business underway, I thought it better to come thank you in person.” In truth, asking Sister Fu to pass a message felt too impersonal.

Zong Si glanced at her hands—was this how one expressed gratitude, empty-handed?

Her face flushed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to bring a gift, but bringing something valuable out of the residence would raise suspicion—she might not have gotten past the gates.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that the plum blossom is called Luofu Dream—a poisonous flower?” Ning Fu showed him the branch, feeling she had reason to question his silence.

Zong Si didn’t answer. He simply put away his sword and turned back toward the cabin.

Ning Fu followed. “If Fifth Sister hadn’t told me this flower is toxic, I might have kept it in my room for days. By then, the poison might’ve reached my organs.”

Just thinking about it made her shudder. Had he wanted to eliminate her subtly for knowing too much?

Zong Si paused, his expression unreadable. “Luofu Dream isn’t very toxic. It’s commonly used in brothels. Proper noble ladies shouldn’t handle it.”

Used in brothels?

Ning Fu suddenly remembered her vivid dream with Lu Xingzhi in this very cabin—heated passion against a backdrop of frozen snow. Her cheeks burned. Catching Zong Si’s thoughtful gaze only deepened the sense of forbidden guilt.

“You kept Luofu Dream in your bedroom overnight?” Zong Si said, voice laced with dry mockery.

To Ning Fu, it sounded like he was insinuating she’d spent the night entertaining indecent thoughts. She wanted to retort—I wasn’t thinking about you, what’s it to you?—but wouldn’t allow herself to be rude. So she remained silent.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then, straightening herself, Ning Fu earnestly asked, “Would promoting the shop under Divine Physician Mu’s reputation be effective?”

Zong Si’s profit split was far too steep—her aunt’s debt required ten thousand taels to cover. She needed more sales, and invoking the physician’s name could help. If he hadn’t yet given her the formulas, he might accuse her of fraud and seek her out—which would save her from waiting another six months.

After a pause, Zong Si said, “Tell people the formulas are ones Mu left behind a decade ago.”

Clearly, he didn’t want the public to know the physician’s current whereabouts. Ning Fu replied, “Understood.”

Since she was here, some polite concern was expected—even if it couldn’t touch Zong Si, the act had to be consistent. A lifetime of false kindness becomes real kindness. Pretending to care long enough could, in some ways, make it true.

Zong Si studied her for a moment, then said slowly, “If you’re truly grateful, Fourth Miss, why not give me Zhuoyao?”