“Yes, I like her. If it means saving her, not just my inner strength but even my life, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.”
Feng Moli’s words drew peculiar glances from Qingfeng, Baiyu, and even Honglian, but Leng Mingye paid them no mind. His gaze remained fixed on the pale, lifeless figure beside him.
“A cursed fate! But don’t you realize you’re cousins?”
At this, Feng Moli’s deep eyes dimmed slightly. After a pause, he looked up and asked,
“I know. I know very well. But from the moment I saw her months ago, I knew she was different to me. If saving her means losing my inner strength, so be it. I just want her to be well again—to be as bold and willful as before. Don’t you want her to wake up and return to her cold, headstrong self?”
Leng Mingye’s eyes were locked on the lifeless figure beside him. Despite their differing statuses now, her life was more precious to him than anything else.
“She’s my niece. Of course, I want her to wake up. But what you feel for her is immoral. Aren’t you afraid of being condemned by everyone?”
Leng Mingye’s emotions toward Wanqing were laid bare, and Feng Moli’s expression flickered. After a moment, he replied,
“I don’t care. Besides, she’s my sister—what’s wrong with saving her? She’s all that matters to me.”
Though puzzled by Feng Moli’s question, Leng Mingye met his gaze squarely. Slowly, he knelt, his bloodied hand trembling as he reached to touch the girl’s face, his feelings undisguised.
“Fine. I’ll help you save her. But on one condition: once she wakes, you must never harbor such feelings for her again. If you can’t promise that, I won’t help.”
Feng Moli’s phoenix eyes gleamed. Still holding the girl, he looked at Leng Mingye and asked,
“Why? Is it wrong for me to love her? Yes, I’m her cousin, but I… I…”
He had expected Leng Mingye to agree without hesitation, but the man stared at him in shock. Despite the impossibility of their relationship, Leng Mingye couldn’t sever his own emotions for her.
“If you know you’re her cousin, you may not care, but she might. You must abandon this unrealistic, reckless fantasy.”
Feng Moli ignored his stunned expression and spoke calmly, reiterating his demand.
“Ugh…”
Just as Leng Mingye hesitated, the girl in Feng Moli’s arms suddenly trembled, her face twisting in agony and despair.
“I promise. If it means waking her, I’ll give up my feelings for her—even if it means never seeing her again.”
Seeing her teetering on the brink of death, Leng Mingye’s eyes filled with anguish, but he nodded.
“Good. Then let’s save her together. Use your pure yang energy to channel into her, and I’ll assist with other methods.”
Though conflicted, Leng Mingye steeled himself to save his niece. Feng Moli gave him a deep look, then positioned himself behind her as they both placed their palms on Wanqing’s body, pouring their energy into her.
Half an hour later, Feng Moli commanded, “Withdraw.” Both men retracted their hands. The moment Leng Mingye pulled back, his already injured body collapsed, his face paler than ever.
“My lord—!” Qingfeng and Baiyu rushed forward in panic, catching him. Meanwhile, Feng Moli delivered one final strike to the girl before exhaling deeply and withdrawing. Her body slumped forward into his arms.
“Her pulse is back.” Feng Moli cradled her, relief flooding his voice as he felt her faint but steady heartbeat.
“Thank heavens…” Leng Mingye staggered forward, tears welling as he saw her chest rise and fall weakly. But then he, too, collapsed.
“My lord! Feng Yewang, please—save our master!”
Qingfeng caught Leng Mingye, his face ashen and unconscious. Feng Moli rose, while Honglian and her companion draped a cloak over the girl. Desperate, Qingfeng and Baiyu pleaded with him.
“He was already injured and then expended a decade of his cultivation to purge the poison from Wanqing. His body is too weak—he’ll recover. Give him one of these pills daily for a month, and the lingering miasma poison will fade.”
Feng Moli checked Leng Mingye’s pulse, noting the streak of white hair at his temple—a mark of the ten years of vitality he’d sacrificed. He handed a vial to the two men.
As they fed one to Leng Mingye, Feng Moli explained, “My earlier words were merely a test of his feelings for Wanqing. Though they’re cousins, he bears no resemblance to Prince Ji—instead, he looks like someone I once knew. Ask your prince whether Leng Mingye is truly his son. Now go. Though the Night Phantom survived, this ordeal is finally over.”
With that, he lifted Wanqing into his arms and vanished into the sky, a sedan chair materializing to carry them away. Honglian and her companion followed swiftly.
Qingfeng and Baiyu carried Leng Mingye back, but halfway, Qingfeng halted abruptly.
“Wait—Baiyu, what did Feng Yewang mean? Is our master not the prince’s son? How…?”
Baiyu frowned. “I don’t know. But since childhood, the prince doted on him more than his second son. If he’s not his blood, how could that be?”
“Strange indeed. We’ll have to wait for the master to wake and investigate. But Feng Yewang’s words… Did he already suspect our master’s feelings for Princess Wanqing and test him deliberately?”
Qingfeng’s suspicion lingered. Baiyu sighed.
“Perhaps. Let’s return. Only the master can uncover the truth.”
With that, they hurried back to Prince Ji’s manor, their hearts heavy with unanswered questions.
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