Ning Yan had countless matters to attend to each day; sometimes, even when Bai Qingqing stood nearby, she dared not disturb him.
But today, he took the initiative to summon her. “I’ve got two pieces of news here—I think you’ll find them interesting.”
He handed her a sealed letter. Bai Qingqing took it and glanced over it, her expression tensing at once. “This... is a secret letter from Prince Ping to the southwest?”
Leaning back against a soft cushion, Ning Yan’s eyes and brows carried an air of lazy indifference. “That old man used to hide things very well. There wasn’t a trace linking him to the southwest. But now he’s in a rush to establish contact—care to guess why?”
Bai Qingqing thought seriously for a moment. “I’m guessing... he’s heard you’re heading southwest to investigate, and knowing how formidable you are, he panicked.”
Ning Yan: “...”
Well, that was the truth—but hearing her say it with such straight-laced seriousness… was strangely satisfying.
“Ahem. The real reason is in this.”
Suppressing the smile at the corner of his lips, Ning Yan handed over another sealed letter. Bai Qingqing barely glanced at it before freezing. “This is... Fu Yi’s handwriting?”
A flicker of light passed through Ning Yan’s gaze. “You’re that familiar with his handwriting?”
“...Just acquainted with it.”
Without lifting her head, Bai Qingqing finished reading the letter. A look of realization crossed her face. “So Prince Ping dares act so boldly now because he’s heard you were injured? He’s trying to strike while the iron is hot?”
She grew visibly anxious. “Will he send even more troublesome thugs? And as for the southwest…”
“How did you recognize Fu Yi’s handwriting at a glance?”
“Ah?”
Ning Yan frowned, flipping the letter back and forth in his hand. “Looks pretty ordinary to me—not particularly elegant. How do you remember it so well? Have the two of you exchanged letters before?”
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Bai Qingqing felt this wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand, but still answered honestly, “I saw his handwriting once before. It just stuck with me.”
“Then do you recognize mine?”
“I… don’t think I’ve seen much of your handwriting?”
“Hold on, I have something right here.”
Ning Yan started to rise as he spoke, but Bai Qingqing yanked his sleeve and pulled him back down. “You’re not fully healed—don’t move around. It’s not that important anyway.”
Ning Yan pressed his lips into a tight line. “How is it not important? Are you saying my handwriting can’t compare to his?”
“What is there to compare?”
“So you do think his handwriting is better looking?”
Bai Qingqing was rendered speechless, then let out a long sigh. “Fine, where is this precious handwriting of yours? I’ll go get it.”
A moment later, Bai Qingqing was holding a handwritten miscellany notebook. Ning Yan sat quietly beside her, saying nothing, though his eyes kept flicking in her direction, waiting as she turned the pages slowly.
She truly hadn’t paid much attention to his handwriting before. Now that she looked closely, it mirrored the man himself—unconventional, sharp-edged, every stroke brimming with boldness and spirit.
“So, how does mine compare to Fu Yi’s?”
Bai Qingqing looked up and answered sincerely, “It’s quite beautiful. Fu Yi’s writing is elegant and refined, yours is forceful and vigorous—completely different styles. It’s hard to make a fair comparison.”
Ning Yan skimmed through Fu Yi’s letter again, clearly displeased. “You’re awfully diplomatic—don’t offend either side. But now that you’ve seen my handwriting, will you recognize it in the future?”
Bai Qingqing: “…”
She tactfully avoided the question and changed the subject. “But why would Fu Yi send you this message, telling you about Prince Ping’s movements? What’s his relationship with you…”
“Turn it over and take a closer look,” Ning Yan said. “That letter—it’s addressed to you.”