Xie Xun's mind flashed to the image of himself performing a seductive dance. Suddenly, he stood up and said, "I am not skilled at dance. I am only good at sword dancing."
"Then dance!" Han Ziqi exclaimed with excitement, clapping his hands. "Play the music, let the beauty shine!"
The dancers typically used soft swords for their performances, which were light and suitable for women. Xie Xun untied his cloak, revealing a pomegranate-red long robe with a cross-collar design. The hem of the skirt was adorned with lifelike pomegranate flowers. He twirled his sword in a stunning flourish, prompting Han Ziqi to clap and shout in approval. Even women trained for years seldom achieved such an exquisite sword flourish, filled with a palpable sense of power.
The musicians adjusted the melody to match the dance. Xie Xun's sword dance was both powerful and beautiful, devoid of the softness often seen in women's sword dances. Every move carried sharp, murderous intent. The music shifted accordingly, sweeping and grand, reminiscent of the vast battlefield of Ningzhou. War drums thundered, soldiers approached city walls, and Xie Xun's eyes beneath the veil gleamed like light in an icy wind. His solitary figure and sword conjured images of a desolate, brutal battlefield.
But Fengyu's delicate frame, lithe and fine, infused the cold, rigid sword dance with a perfect balance of softness and hardness, as if embodying a peerless beauty on the battlefield.
Beneath the surface of Fengyu's amazement, her heart burned with the fierce emotion evoked by Xie Xun's sword dance. For the first time, she realized that sacrificing oneself, spilling blood, was not simply the duty of young men—she too was resolute.
Since childhood, Fengyu had been plagued by frailty, fearful of cold, wind, and even heat. Any change in weather would leave her bedridden and reliant on medicine. Physicians predicted she wouldn't live to adulthood. Her abrupt soul exchange with Xie Xun was unexpected. Without warning, she found herself on the Ningzhou Battlefield, an enemy spear lunging straight toward her throat. She was so terrified that she fell from her horse, her mind blank. The sharp hooves of Beiman's iron cavalry rose high and then trampled downwards, snapping Xie Xun's leg. At the moment of her fall, she could hear the deafening roars of the enemy soldiers—their morale soared at the sight of her collapse, forcing the Northern Iron Cavalry into retreat. That day, she narrowly escaped death on the battlefield, confronting mortality for the first time.
Blood splattered, bodies lay in mangled heaps, warhorses roared—she lay atop the mutilated corpses of soldiers, fainting in terror.
That was a nightmare that lingered, haunting her in the quiet hours of the night.
Xie Xun's dance reignited those memories of Ningzhou. In the midst of the music, Fengyu seemed to hear the deafening battle cries once more. She snapped out of her reverie only to see Xie Xun's longsword aiming directly at Han Ziqi's throat. Startled, Han Ziqi stumbled backward, dropping his wine cup to the floor. The sword's tip shadowed him closely, and the musicians ceased their playing in shock.
The veil had fallen to the side, revealing Fengyu's dazzlingly beautiful face. Amidst his fear, Han Ziqi couldn't help but marvel at her stunning looks. No wonder the young marquis kept her hidden.
Xie Xun smiled, sly and wanton, then asked, "Princely Heir, does she please you?"
"...Very much!" Han Ziqi stammered as he stared at the sword just inches from his throat. He was almost impaled by it, yet driven by lust as he murmured, "Truly, a beauty."
Fengyu, whose physical condition was poor, found the rigorous sword dance exhausting. Xie Xun suppressed his discomfort, completing the dance at great cost to his waning strength. He managed to conceal his weakness, returning to his seat like a decorative figure. Fengyu poured him a cup of hot tea.
Grasping the tea, Xie Xun shot Fengyu a scornful glance—this frail body wouldn't last through adulthood. Ravaged and failing, yet Han Ziqi was still thoroughly entranced, leering at the beauty's every gesture. That lecherous gaze made Xie Xun unbearably uncomfortable; never before had the young marquis been ogled by another man so openly. A fleeting flash of killing intent passed through his eyes.
"The Capital produces beauties—flawless yet fierce; their reputation precedes them," Han Ziqi remarked carelessly, showing no concern for the sword that had just threatened him. He was confident that Xie Xun wouldn't dare kill him in the Capital.
Fengyu's gaze turned slightly cold, her voice calm as she said, "Princely Heir, the wine has been tasted, the beauty admired. It's time to talk serious business."
"No rush, no rush..." Han Ziqi lifted a finger and gently waved it, his eyes still lingering on her captivating face. "I've changed my mind."
Fengyu and Xie Xun exchanged a glance, both sensing the shadow of an ominous premonition.
"For the past decade, Sannan and Yanyang have enjoyed peace, fostering trade between North and South and thriving commerce. However, the Fang Family's navy stationed in Jiangnan has repeatedly crossed the river under the pretense of expelling pirates. In reality, they're assessing our military weaknesses, agitating our defenses. Sannan is troubled. Therefore, I ask for the young marquis's help in recalling Marshal Fang to the Capital," Han Ziqi explained, his demeanor lofty as he acknowledged Ningzhou's precarious situation, "Of course, this request may burden the young marquis."
Fengyu nodded, saying, "The Princely Heir is astute."
Han Ziqi lazily munched on fruit, his tone languid. "The Yanyang Dynasty and Beiman have alternated between peace and warfare for years. Beiman, though defeated repeatedly, hasn't breached Ningzhou. Likewise, the marquis finds it challenging to penetrate deep into Beiman. The battlefront remains deadlocked. Should we, Sannan, seize the opportunity to strike, the Yanyang Dynasty would face wars both North and South. Would Marquis Zhenbei prioritize defending the North or the South? But we Sannan people prefer peace. If unprovoked, we seek no quarrel. However, if Marshal Fang continues his provocations, he'll only escalate tensions. Recalling him is a step toward preserving peace between our nations."
Xie Xun, more acquainted with the Northern Battlefield, had focused his efforts there during his two years of recuperation in the Capital. He knew Marshal Fang's character—cautious, thorough, not the reckless type.
Fifty years ago, Sannan had been part of Yanyang's territory. When the Yanyang Dynasty descended into chaos and fragmentation, Sannan gradually split away and claimed independence along the river. For decades, the peace persisted. Jiangnan was full of merchants who craved wealth, prioritizing trade over military affairs. Sannan's naval forces were weak, and its land forces mediocre, rendering it a dependent state of Yanyang.
Twenty years ago, Sannan attempted to sever ties completely but was subdued by Marquis Zhenbei's forces. Since then, it became a subordinate state that paid annual tribute. Border towns between Sannan and Yanyang flourished peacefully, with trade thriving.
No matter how fierce the battles between Yanyang and Beiman became, Sannan remained neutral, refusing to exploit the situation.
Fengyu's sidelong glance grazed Xie Xun as she remarked, "This is indeed a difficult matter."
Xie Xun thought to himself, *Difficult? More like impossible.*
"That's my father's idea, not mine," Han Ziqi said nonchalantly, sipping his wine. His loafing demeanor grew more pronounced. "He's been sitting comfortably in Jiangnan for years—his thoughts are rather naive. Let me be blunt: my father is willing to loan out the Southwest Grain Road, provided the young marquis can restrain Marshal Fang. No more crossing boundaries."
Ever since entering Furong Inn, Xie Xun finally heard some promising news. His expression relaxed slightly. Fengyu also brightened, yet Han Ziqi toyed with his wine cup, his gaze landing on her breathtakingly beautiful face. He teased again, "However, I've changed my mind."
"What did you say?" Xie Xun blurted angrily. He and Fengyu immediately picked up on Han Ziqi's malice.
"When a beauty is enraged, she becomes even more alluring," Han Ziqi chuckled, licking the wine residue from his lips before setting down his cup. "Young marquis, should you entrust the beauty to me, the matter concerning the Southwest Grain Road will be resolved."
Fengyu was utterly livid. Who would have expected Han Ziqi to be so shameless, boldly demanding a concubine outright? His gaze at Xie Xun was nothing short of greedy and lewd. As Fengyu's expression grew cold, her demeanor mirrored Xie Xun's exactly. The musicians and dancers remained silent nearby, and the only sound within Furong Inn was the rustling of autumn winds through the osmanthus trees.