“It was my oversight. Cousin has never been interested in these dancing girls—not even the exotic beauties from our manor caught his eye,” said the Sixth Prince.

In his view, Zong Duo was dull-witted and oblivious to romantic matters, while Zong Si understood everything but simply lacked interest—his ambitions lay squarely in power. Still, since Prince Xuan’s manor was his mother’s maiden family, the Sixth Prince was more than happy to see their influence expanding.

“I didn’t bring you those dancers for your amusement,” Zong Si replied coolly.

“Cousin, sometimes there’s little distinction between official duty and personal pleasure,” the Sixth Prince chuckled softly, then summoned a servant. “Go, find out who the beauties are among these dancers.”

Zong Si glanced again toward Ning Yu—only to see Lu Xingzhi watching the same area, his lips curling briefly with cold amusement before returning to their usual indifference.

—

Ning Fu hurried backstage, swiftly changed out of the costume, and returned to Wei Ziyi’s tent.

“Ah Fu, I truly don’t know how to thank you,” Wei Ziyi said as she rushed to take her hand. Even now, her nerves hadn’t settled, and as the tension released, she couldn’t hold back tears.

Ning Fu embraced her tightly and wiped her tears. “Sister Wei, you’ve always been like family to me. I would never let anything happen to you.”

“From now on, my life belongs to you. If you’re ever in need, I’ll do all I can to help you,” Wei Ziyi vowed.

Ning Fu could feel the bond between them deepening—bringing her both comfort and quiet joy.

“If anyone asks about the dancer,” Ning Fu added, “just say someone with a similar figure took the stage. It wasn’t broad daylight—people wouldn’t have seen clearly.”

Wei Ziyi, understanding the risk, nodded. “You’ve stood out too much. Some will try to pursue you—but don’t worry, they won’t guess it was you.”

Ning Fu offered a bitter smile. Someone had already recognized her. She didn’t return to the banquet. Though the risk was small, her mind kept circling the possibility that everyone might find out. And if they did—how could she preserve the Duke’s household’s reputation?

But there was no better solution. The Duke’s family and the Wei family were tied together now—one’s honor was the other’s. If the Wei family were accused of disrespecting the nation, Sister Wei would face execution, and the Duke’s household would suffer too. Her father, uncle, and two elder brothers’ careers would be jeopardized. That cost far outweighed her personal reputation. The worry kept her awake all night.

By morning, she’d fallen ill. The imperial physician said her frailty and anxious mind had led to a cold.

Wei Ziyi stayed behind to care for her, skipping the day’s hunting activities.

“It’s true—many came asking about the dancers,” Wei Ziyi said, “but I turned them all away.”

Listless, Ning Fu didn’t respond.

Then Wei Ziyi added, “Oh, right, I ran into the Heir earlier—he asked about you.”

At the mention of Zong Si, Ning Fu tensed. “Did he only ask about me?”

“He just asked if you were feeling better. Nothing more.”

Ning Fu couldn’t tell what Zong Si was thinking, and for now, could only wait and watch.

Later that day, Ning Yu came to visit her—with Lu Xingzhi in tow. Technically, she shouldn’t be receiving an unrelated male guest, but with her brother present, it was acceptable.

“Brother, Young Master Lu,” she greeted.

“When I left, Aunt reminded me to take good care of you. Now you’ve fallen ill—I don’t even know how to explain this to her when we return,” Ning Yu sighed.

Ning Fu smiled. “I’ll be fine in two days, Brother—don’t worry. I’ll need to practice riding and archery again soon, and I’ll be relying on Young Master Lu then.”

As she spoke, she glanced toward Lu Xingzhi. His expression was noticeably distant—she had never seen him so cold.

“No trouble,” he replied flatly, catching her gaze.

Ning Fu said no more. In her past life, she had grown used to Zong Si’s indifference and couldn’t summon the energy to chase warmth anymore.

Two days later, feeling better, she went to the riding grounds. From afar, she saw Lu Xingzhi sitting by a boulder. She wondered if he had been waiting. Because of his aloofness, she hadn’t told him when she planned to ride. She didn’t know if he had been coming every day.

“Young Master Lu,” Ning Fu approached.

Lu Xingzhi stood, brushing off imaginary dust from his clothes. “Fourth Miss.”

“Have you been here every day?” she asked.

He looked at her and gave a slight nod.

Her heart softened. A touch of guilt stirred in her chest. “I should’ve told you when I was coming. I’m sorry if I made you wait in vain.”

He didn’t seem to mind. He began teaching her horseback riding. He was attentive and clearly skilled—able to spot her shortcomings at a glance. But his tone remained neutral, his words few. He only responded when prompted.

Ning Fu began to feel uneasy again. Her words slipped out: “Young Master Lu… you remind me of someone.”

Lu Xingzhi turned to look at her, calm. “Who?”

Ning Fu lowered her eyes and didn’t answer. He reminded her of Zong Si—not the Zong Si of now, but the one who had been her husband.

“Young Master Lu,” she said thoughtfully, “if I’ve done something wrong these past few days, please say so. I’ve interacted with you before, and I know you’re not usually this cold. I don’t take well to being met with silence—it stings a little.”

Lu Xingzhi paused before speaking. “Fourth Miss Ning… you were among the dancers that night, weren’t you?”

At the mention of it, Ning Fu’s posture instinctively shrank, as though caught red-handed.

“The performance was under Miss Wei’s supervision. I assume something unexpected happened. But Fourth Miss Ning shouldn’t have taken such a risk,” Lu Xingzhi said.

“I was scared afterward, too. I’ll definitely be more careful in the future. Please, Young Master Lu—keep this a secret for me,” Ning Fu pleaded.

Lu Xingzhi frowned. “Naturally, I won’t speak of your involvement.”

Her riding was decent, and after two days of practice, she’d found her rhythm. Since Lu Xingzhi was still an outsider, she mostly trained on her own.

Sometimes she would come across Xie Ruyi and Zong Si practicing together. Though many sought the heir’s guidance in horseback skills, Zong Si only ever agreed to instruct Xie Ruyi. Still, the two maintained a respectful distance.

Xie Ruyi was reserved. Zong Si was cautious. Both were meticulous about propriety, never giving anyone cause to gossip.

Ning Fu had made an effort to avoid them entirely. Yet sometimes, even careful steps went too far.

That morning, as always, Ning Fu rose early. The mountain mist swirled in silence, like a celestial realm. She led her horse, preparing to train. Inwardly, she reflected that while many praised her rapid progress in riding and archery, few knew how much effort she poured in—flying early like a clumsy bird, striving twice as hard as others. About a hundred meters from the lake, she loosened the reins, letting the horse graze. When she looked up, her breath caught.

Zong Si stood at the lake’s edge, bare-chested, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted—clearly just bathed. A true vision, beauty unmatched. Rarely did the world shape such a man.

The hunting camp was remote, not as well-equipped as the capital. With limited manpower, hot water was reserved for the noble ladies. Most men bathed in the lake at quiet hours.

Zong Si had just pulled on his fitted riding clothes, obscuring the scene and tying his belt.

Ning Fu held her breath. The situation was precarious—she had witnessed him undressed, and they were alone. Her reputation was at stake. Then, at the worst possible moment, her horse stepped forward, hooves loud against the ground.

Zong Si turned toward the sound. That single glance—sharp, cold, and striking enough to make her heart skip—was devastatingly handsome. In his regal elegance, there shimmered a trace of allure, danger wrapped in refinement.