Ning Fu fell silent. If Zong Si were to ask Lu Xingzhi for Zhuoyao, the latter would surely be in a difficult position—he couldn’t afford to offend the Heir. After thinking it through, she didn’t reveal that Zhuoyao was currently in Lu Xingzhi’s possession. She simply said, “Zhuoyao is part of my dowry, so I’m afraid I can’t honor your request, Heir.”

He had already rejected the marriage proposal, so naturally he wouldn’t press further.

As expected, Zong Si said no more.

“I’ll come by again if you’re ever feeling bored,” Ning Fu offered sincerely.

He was using his injury as a pretext to avoid Meng Ze’s probing questions—naturally, he wouldn’t be leaving this mountain retreat anytime soon.

Zong Si was probing for a deeper understanding of Fourth Miss Ning, so he didn’t turn her away.

Having snuck out successfully once, Ning Fu did it again. Then a third time.

Sometimes they said little, each sitting quietly. Still, it was pleasant—especially enjoying the tea Zong Si brewed himself. His collection was vast and refined, with varieties she had never even seen before. Just for that, slipping out to visit him felt worthwhile.

But with repeated visits came the risk of being seen. This day, Ning Fu arrived dressed again as a man. Just as she was removing her bamboo hat, she saw Zong Ning storming in angrily. Though upset, she still politely placed her neatly copied Book of Songs on the desk.

With her back turned, Ning Fu hurriedly put her hat back on and glanced at Zong Si for help. If Zong Ning saw her disguised like this to visit him, she’d never be able to explain herself.

Zong Si, however, acted completely unfazed—cool and calm, as if even having a mistress would go unnoticed by a proper wife.

“I’ve completed what you asked, Third Brother,” Zong Ning pouted.

Though he spoiled her, if Zong Si got truly angry, she wouldn’t dare test his patience.

Zong Si opened the notebook and saw the neat, delicate calligraphy—no signs of sloppiness. “Upset?”

“Me, upset with Third Brother? How could I?” Zong Ning said with wounded pride. “Still, I didn’t do well. I couldn’t help if they ignored Sister Ning, but I admit that not inviting her to the snow outing was selfish. I did it on purpose.”

The confession caught Ning Fu off guard. She hadn’t expected this and felt a touch of surprise. But deep down, she knew—this was just Zong Si’s way of keeping people close. If he no longer needed her help, the kindness wouldn’t last.

Zong Si glanced at Ning Fu, disguised and standing quietly. Then he turned to Zong Ning. “Mother taught you early on—don’t use status to intimidate. I won’t punish you this time, but if it continues, people will say Prince Xuan’s household breeds arrogant daughters.”

Those words weighed heavily. Zong Ning’s eyes turned red, but she dared not talk back—just watched his mood closely. Then she noticed a frail little figure standing to the side.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

The person wore a bamboo hat and a black round robe, short and slight.

Zong Ning’s first thought was: fragile as falling leaves.

Ning Fu stepped forward and gave a polite bow, then pointed to her throat—fearing her identity would be discovered.

“She’s mute?” Zong Ning asked, with a hint of sympathy.

Ning Fu nodded. Then she noticed Zong Si, previously calm and unreadable, raise a brow slightly. Yet he didn’t say a word on her behalf—it seemed he was merely watching the spectacle unfold.

Resentment flickered in Ning Fu’s heart. He had nothing to lose—if her identity were discovered, she’d shoulder all the blame.

“Are you Third Brother’s advisor?” Zong Ning didn’t look down on others. Anyone who could stay by her brother’s side certainly wasn’t ordinary.

Ning Fu shook her head, knelt before the desk, delicately picked up an ink stick, and gently ground it until the ink was rich and smooth. Then she took up the brush, adjusted her sleeves, and wrote: ‘I am Shuyu, young master of Yixiang House.’

Zong Si glanced at the writing and smirked faintly.

“Someone from Yixiang House… that means you’re—” Zong Ning couldn’t bring herself to say the word courtesan. She looked toward Zong Si and stomped her foot in frustration. How could her brother be corrupted by someone like this?

“You shameless woman! How dare you target Prince Xuan’s household!” she cried, reaching out to slap Ning Fu.

Ning Fu swiftly stepped back and hid behind Zong Si’s tall figure, her entire body shielded by him. Clinging to his arm, she looked fearful, seeking protection.

Zong Si didn’t stop her. Such a fragile, helpless temptress—the kind who could disrupt order just like Daji from legend. If Zong Si showed affection toward someone like this, wasn’t that the behavior of a blinded ruler?

He seemed to enjoy watching the drama unfold. Ning Fu had no intention of letting him play spectator—if she were going down, she’d drag him with her. Besides, she still needed his help to find Divine Physician Mu; he couldn’t afford to discard her.

“Sir, I’m scared,” Ning Fu said, altering her voice into something soft and ambiguous—somewhere between male and female. It was sultry, even more provocative than a royal concubine’s, dripping in sweetness, as though meant to lure someone into forgetting everything else.

Zong Si wasn’t a man who indulged in beauty, nor did he care for seduction—but in the dream they’d shared, she’d been bold and seductive, letting herself be claimed without restraint. Her coy moans and pleas for his protection were intoxicating, and they echoed now in her tone, triggering a warmth low in his abdomen. Before he even realized it, he was shielding her firmly behind him.

When he finally processed what had happened, Zong Si’s expression shifted—cooling noticeably.

“Second Brother, how could you protect a courtesan like that?” Zong Ning exclaimed angrily. “I’m going to tell Mother!”

She turned away sharply, refusing to spare another glance, and slammed the door behind her.

Ning Fu released Zong Si’s arm and straightened her robes. “It was Your Highness who declined to speak up for me. Given the current circumstances, shouldn’t we be helping each other out?” After all, she had put in a good word for him in front of Meng Ze.

Zong Si rubbed his forehead, his tone now noticeably colder. “Go home.”

Ning Fu paused, then nodded. She wasn’t worried—he would handle the situation with Zong Ning. If he couldn’t, she wouldn’t have dared play things so boldly.

Then Zong Si added, “I won’t be at Hanxiang Mountain for the next few days—don’t come.”

But sometimes a woman’s intuition speaks before reason. Ning Fu couldn’t shake the feeling that his so-called business trip was just an excuse—that what he really wanted was to avoid her. Was it because of today’s stunt teasing Zong Ning?

She found it petty. It wasn’t as though Zong Ning couldn’t be reasoned with. And she and Zong Si had always been indifferent toward each other; there weren’t any feelings that needed guarding. Why retreat so quickly just over a minor transgression?

“If you wish me not to come, I won’t,” she said politely, then added with soft grace, “Whether you wish to see me is entirely up to you. If ever you do, you can ask Sister Fu to pass word along.”

As business partners, Ning Fu didn’t mind being generous. If there were profits to be gained, what harm was there in lowering her stance? Appeasing others was just another form of negotiation.

Zong Si glanced at her—this Fourth Miss of the Ning family wasn’t like other young noblewomen. She didn’t flinch when rebuked. Say something harsh, and she’d still smile as if nothing had happened, turning around with good cheer to hand you a sweet plum. And yet—who’s to say that wasn’t her tactic, too?

Zong Si, rarely stirred by women, found himself unsettled. That flicker of protectiveness he felt toward Ning Fu was something he now knew he had to guard against.

After returning from the mountain, Ning Fu had no idea where Zong Si had gone—she hadn’t heard from him in over a month.

To her, meeting with Zong Si felt like fulfilling an obligation, and no one truly enjoys tedious tasks. Not visiting him gave her a rare sense of ease and freedom.

As the year-end approached, she finally realized what Sixth Prince Meng Ze meant when he said, “Next time you enter the palace.” Emperor Jingwen hated loneliness, and each year on New Year’s Eve, he would invite those close to the royal family—ladies and gentlemen of noble birth—to the palace for a gathering.

Ning Fu had never received such an invitation before, but this year she had made an impression in front of the emperor. His Majesty must have remembered her, and Meng Ze had clearly heard the news early.

In both of her lifetimes combined, Ning Fu had entered the palace less than five times, so naturally, she was a bit anxious.

Being favored by the emperor was a tremendous honor for the Duke Ning’s household. Both Madam Ning and Ning Zhenyuan took it seriously and promptly sent people to have new garments tailored for her.

“The palace is heavily guarded and filled with important people. If you meet someone you don’t recognize—even if they’re a prince or princess—be sure not to offend,” Madam Ning warned her carefully.

Ning Fu was familiar with the royals, which calmed her nerves a bit. She asked her father, “Father, what do you think caused the Heir to be injured in Langya?”

She couldn’t mention Minister Song directly—otherwise her father would question how she knew. But he was a clever man; with the right clues, he’d put things together.

Ning Zhenyuan had heard his daughter mention this days ago and still felt shaken. Zong Si had been injured in Langya while investigating the matter involving Minister Song. Thankfully, Ning Fu had smelled blood on him at Prince Xuan’s estate, and Lu Xingzhi had also brought up Langya—only then did Zhenyuan connect the dots. He had even drafted a memorial to plead on behalf of Minister Song—he was one step away from delivering it to the emperor!

If he hadn’t received the warning in time, he could’ve been implicated too.

Ning Zhenyuan was immensely relieved. He wasn’t afraid of trouble himself, but feared dragging down the Duke’s household and endangering his children.

“Just pretend you know nothing about this—don’t say a word,” he instructed.

Ning Fu nodded obediently. “If Father says not to speak, I won’t.”

Though his eyes were lined with age, Ning Zhenyuan remained elegant as ever. To have a daughter like her, he considered himself fortunate. Glancing at his wife, he felt truly content.

The day before entering the palace, Ning Fu visited Nuǎnxiāng Pavilion—her own shop. The Snow-Skin Pills had begun gaining recognition over the past month, although they hadn’t yet reached the palace. This visit was a chance to gift some to the imperial consorts. As she stepped out of the shop, she saw Lu Xingzhi arriving with the imperial guards. After two months apart, he seemed slightly thinner, perhaps preparing for duties outside the capital.

At the sight of him, Ning Fu’s heart quickened—she had grown fond of him. It was as if Lu Xingzhi sensed her feelings. Catching sight of her, he greeted her warmly, “Fourth Miss.”

Ning Fu’s heart softened completely. When someone likes another, even hearing their name can bring a blush.

“Heading out of the capital again?” she asked quietly, worried he might get hurt.

“Handling the bandits with Young Master Wei in Liángzhōu,” he replied.

“You’re talented in strategy and planning—it’s right that you pursue your ambitions,” Ning Fu said. She understood he was trying to earn promotion the hard way. With no background and no need to curry favor, his path relied on skill and merit.

Lu Xingzhi looked at her and said, “If I want what I want, this is the only way.”

But Ning Fu still didn’t know what it was that he truly wanted.

“Once I’m promoted, talking about marriage should be easier,” Lu Xingzhi added.