Xuan Mingzhu had no idea what Mei Heting was doing at that moment.

She had just ridden a round with Feng Zhen and others at the training field, feeling quite invigorated.

Li Mengjing, being straightforward, had earlier argued with the princess, but now she was worried about her arm, feeling guilty. “Boss, you should’ve just scolded me earlier. You haven’t used a bow in so long, I fear your arm muscles and bones might ache tomorrow after you wake up.”

“The granddaughter of the former Prime Minister certainly takes after her family, sharp-tongued as ever. Even my father had to humbly accept advice from you back in the day, let alone a little woman like me,” Xuan Mingzhu teased in a mock cawing voice, spurring her horse forward with a laugh.

“Why sleep tonight? Let’s all go to Lady Yang’s place at Yichun Fang for a drink—no one leaves until we’re drunk!”

Li Mengjing’s eyes lit up. “Have you already seen Lady Yang?”

Fu Fangfang, one of the twin daughters, laughed and said, “None of us can match the friendship between the First Princess and Lady Yang. We can only hope she’ll bring out some of her best hidden wines for us.”

They were chatting and laughing when the ground of the horse field suddenly trembled slightly.

Just as they wondered what was happening, a black-armored steed burst through the obstacle fence, galloping straight toward Xuan Mingzhu’s group.

As soon as the horse appeared, the well-bred horses in the imperial stables became restless.

Someone shouted, “Who dares to act so recklessly? Wait—no, this is a warhorse!”

Feng Zhen’s face tensed with vigilance.

Before he could ride forward to shield the princess, the black-armored horse stopped abruptly, just three paces from Xuan Mingzhu.

“Xiao Huai’er?!”

Xuan Mingzhu recognized the rider and was overjoyed.

It was Yan Huai, the Southern Pacification General, personally appointed by the late emperor, and the youngest son of the Duke of England.

Once, he had been Xuan Mingzhu’s most loyal follower, but seven years ago, he had volunteered to go to the southern border to join the military.

Now he had just come of age, his face flawless like jade, standing between boyhood and manhood.

As he rode into the capital, many young women from the brothels and tea houses along the streets had waved and thrown fruit in admiration of his dazzling appearance.

They called him brilliant in both looks and bearing, and it was no exaggeration.

At this moment, however, the eyes that had captivated so many young women in Luoyang were focused solely on one person.

He gazed intently at Xuan Mingzhu’s eyebrows, her hair, and every inch of her face.

His voice, much deeper and more mature than it had been seven years ago, said steadily:

“Sister, I’m back.”

The others looked at him with varying expressions—this was the infamous First Scoundrel of the Capital returning.

Should they celebrate with fireworks, or perhaps warn the gambling dens and brothels to be on guard?

“Hey, what are you doing, Yan Huai?” Feng Zhen suddenly shouted, his face red with indignation. “Get down from there, now!”

The young general, having seen Xuan Mingzhu about to dismount, quickly said, “Sister, stay put.”

He twisted his waist, leapt down from his saddle, and immediately vaulted onto Xuan Mingzhu’s horse.

His arms wrapped around the reins, and in one smooth motion, he took control of the horse.

He now sat closely behind Xuan Mingzhu, his strong arms wrapping around her slim waist.

With a squeeze of his legs, the horse sped off.

“Bah, what a scoundrel! The so-called young god of war of Great Jin comes back only to take advantage of others. No matter how many battle merits he’s earned, he still hasn’t changed his shameless ways!” Feng Zhen, acting like a protective mother hen, could only stomp his feet helplessly, watching their boss get carried away.

“Zhen Zhen, you know, you’re the only one who dares to call yourself ‘old man’ in front of Yan Huai,” Li Mengjing said, squinting as she watched the two figures ride off into the distance, a slight smile curling at her lips.

What perfect timing for him to return.

The warm breeze brushed against them, but the heat from the arm around her waist was even more intense.

Xuan Mingzhu shifted uneasily in her saddle, but when she felt his arms hold her more tightly, she let him enjoy himself like a child.

She leaned back into a more comfortable position and asked:

“The southern border is full of miasma and chaos. How have you been these past few years? Are you returning to report or staying in the capital?”

As their hair brushed together, a red cuckoo flower fell from her hair, landing on Yan Huai’s lapel.

The young general felt a tickle in his heart. Slowing the horse, he gradually tightened his embrace around her waist, resting his chiseled chin gently on her delicate shoulder.

“I know everything.”

The once talkative boy now spoke less, but his heart burned fiercely.

His breath fell on the back of Xuan Mingzhu’s neck, sending a shiver through her.

He hadn’t shed a tear through seven years of bloodshed and wounds on the frontier, but now, with this dreamlike scent of sweetness in his arms, he couldn’t hold back a choked sob.

With heartfelt solemnity, he said: “Sister, don’t be afraid. I will find a way to cure you.”

Xuan Mingzhu was a bit surprised. “How did you find out?”

“His Majesty previously sent me a secret letter asking me to search for medicine in the southern border.”

Hearing this, Xuan Mingzhu immediately understood.

The Duke of England’s family had been loyal for generations, and Yan Huai was a distant relative of the Emperor.

Naturally, the Emperor trusted him.

“This matter need not be pursued. Let fate take its course. Feng Zhen and the others don’t know about it, so Little Huai, don’t let it slip.”

Overjoyed to reunite with him, Xuan Mingzhu didn’t want to dwell on sad topics and patted his hand affectionately. “You’ve grown so much taller, yet still act like a child.”

But Yan Huai refused to let go, greedily inhaling the scent of her hair, making up for seven years of unspoken longing.

His lips slowly inched toward her soft, pink earlobe, ready to confess his bitter yearning.

But just as his arm tightened, he froze.

Xuan Mingzhu paused as well.

Though she couldn’t see Yan Huai’s face, she instinctively felt a shift in the aura behind her, a sudden tension.

She raised her head, sensing something.

Mei Heting stood not far away.

The man held a few delicate white plum blossoms, perfectly complementing his refined demeanor.

However, for some reason, his belt was missing, and his open robes flapped in the wind, revealing his inner garments.

It was a stark contrast to his usually impeccable appearance.

She didn’t know how long he had been there.

As her eyes met his cold, pitch-black ones, Xuan Mingzhu’s heart pricked slightly, but she quickly brushed it aside.

They had dissolved their marriage contract—there was no reason to feel guilty.

Sensing Xuan Mingzhu’s relaxed posture, Yan Huai smiled and led his elder sister on horseback, deliberately passing slowly in front of Mei Heting.

The rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves seemed to echo in Mei Heting’s heart.

His fists clenched as he watched the two figures riding close together.

His clear, serene eyes darkened, and a surge of blood rushed to his head, suffocating him.

Seven years ago, when Yan Huai heard about his sister’s engagement, he had confronted Mei Heting.

Afraid his sister would be angry if she found out, the young Yan Huai didn’t resort to physical violence.

He simply left two parting remarks.

“You’re not worthy of her.”

“And don’t be too smug. Those who cherish Princess Zhaole like treasure still include Yan Zibai.”

On that day, the newly appointed scholar faced the provocation of a noble scion with nothing but indifference in his eyes, as though he were observing a small animal, all bark and no bite.

Merely the reckless words of a young boy, or so he thought.

Seven years of frontier battles had transformed the once playful youth into one of the most formidable warriors of the Jin dynasty.

The long-suppressed thoughts in his heart were now free to rise again.

Yan Huai whistled happily as he dismounted, retrieving a sandalwood box from his horse.

His slender fingers deftly opened the latch, and several branches of vibrant peach blossoms appeared.

“I know my sister loves peach blossoms, and though the southern border has little to offer, I’ve brought the beauty of spring from 800 miles away, all for her!”

The radiant young general, still fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers, raised the blossoms high and offered them to Xuan Mingzhu.

Only then did he turn, pretending to notice Mei Heting for the first time.

“Well, well, it seems Lord Mei is here to offer flowers too? Plum blossoms this season are indeed rare.”

With a cocky smile, Yan Huai added, “But this is the first time I’ve seen someone give a gift to others based on their own preferences. That’s quite a unique sentiment.”

Mei Heting tightened his grip on the white plum blossoms, his lips drained of color.

His piercing gaze was fixed on the figure atop the horse.

The lush peach blossoms suited her perfectly.

He hadn’t known—her true favorite had always been peach blossoms.