“I don’t understand emotions, but I know how to love someone—unlike you.”
Leng Mingye’s words, coupled with his possessive attitude toward his niece, drew a cold scoff from Feng Moli, who then turned away.
Thus, the group arrived at the border of the Bo Kingdom.
Unexpectedly, as they traveled straight ahead, they encountered bandits the day before reaching the capital.
Though the attendants accompanying the three carriages were skilled, the bandits’ well-trained ambush with hidden weapons caught them off guard. Wanqing and Feng Moli, along with his sister, had to step in, using medicinal powder to finally subdue the attackers. The others suffered minor injuries.
Leng Mingye was even hit by a hidden arrow while shielding Feng Liusu and Wanqing.
His concern for his beloved wife led him to act rashly. When the others joined the fight, the bandits naturally targeted them for using poison. While fending off the mountain bandits, he was distracted by worry for his wife and ended up injured.
“At least it’s just a flesh wound, and the arrow wasn’t poisoned. But were these really just bandits?”
Wanqing pondered as she bandaged Leng Mingye’s wound. Their group, including Qingfeng, Baiyu, and Honglian, were all skilled, yet they had been caught off guard by the bandits’ coordinated attack. After dealing with the assailants and checking the wounded, she turned to Nangong Haotian, who had come to check on Leng Mingye.
“I’m puzzled too, but I found a mark on one of them. I think I know who’s behind this. Mingye, are you alright?”
Nangong Haotian’s expression was unusually serious as he spoke, then turned to his son with concern.
“Just a scratch—nothing serious. Let’s check on the others. If everyone’s fine, we should leave this place as soon as possible.”
Leng Mingye reassured his father with rare solemnity before standing up and addressing the group.
“Agreed. The sooner we leave this trouble behind, the better.” Feng Moli nodded in rare agreement.
Qingfeng and Baiyu, who had suffered minor injuries, took the reins of the carriages since their horses had bolted during the fight. Despite searching, they only recovered three horses, so everyone crowded into the three carriages and continued their journey.
“Really? I’m injured, and you’re laughing. What’s so funny?”
Leng Mingye, still sharing a carriage with Feng Moli, glared at him as he entered, noticing the smirk on his face.
“Where do you see me laughing? I’m just curious. A seasoned battlefield warrior like you, the famed Young Master Leng, has faced far worse than this scratch. Yet now you’re acting like you’re on death’s door. Don’t tell me you’re planning to cling to my niece like this?”
Feng Moli couldn’t help but chuckle at Leng Mingye’s earlier complaints before boarding the carriage—whining like a child denied candy, his face a picture of resentment after receiving only a few words of comfort from Wanqing.
Seeing Leng Mingye’s haughty, dismissive expression, Feng Moli smirked and teased, “We’re husband and wife—what’s wrong with me clinging to her? It’s called affection. Ever heard of it? Don’t be so narrow-minded.”
Leng Mingye’s irritation flared. He was already upset that Wanqing had merely bandaged his wound and offered a few words of comfort, denying him even a kiss before retreating to sit with her mother for peace. Feng Moli’s words only stoked his resentment further.
That night, they found an inn to rest.
But as they disembarked, Leng Mingye suddenly stumbled, crying out, “Ah! My hand—!”
He tumbled to the ground, clutching his injured arm in exaggerated pain.
“Honestly, a grown man can’t even get off a carriage properly. Wanqing, you’d better give him a few acupuncture needles—looks like he’s seriously hurt.”
Feng Moli, who had just stepped down, rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Though blood seeped from the bandage, Leng Mingye’s pained cries and pleading glances at Wanqing were too obvious.
When Feng Moli offered a hand, Leng Mingye ignored him, continuing his dramatic performance. With a sigh, Feng Moli turned to Wanqing, who frowned and approached to check on him.
“Mingye, he—” Feng Liusu, though confident in her daughter’s medical skills, still worried as her brother pulled her toward the inn.
“With Wanqing here, what could possibly happen to him? The rest of you, stop standing around—go book the rooms!”
Feng Moli, exasperated by Leng Mingye’s desperate bid for attention, waved off the others. Qingfeng and Baiyu hesitated, but under Feng Moli’s urging, they reluctantly followed.
“Hey, why drag me? The master’s injury—” Qingfeng, ever the simpleton, fretted as Baiyu pulled him along.
“He’s fine. Honglian, come on—with the princess here, our master will be just fine. Ugh.”
Baiyu, having overheard Leng Mingye’s grumbling during the journey, understood his ploy. Seeing his master resort to such theatrics for sympathy was embarrassing.
As the others left, only Wanqing remained, carefully examining Leng Mingye’s arm. Though the wound had reopened from his deliberate fall, her worried expression pleased him.
“Finally, the nuisances are gone. Wanqing, my hand—it won’t really be useless, will it? If I can’t even get off a carriage, how will I ever hold you again?”
Leng Mingye feigned distress, his eyes full of shameless longing as Wanqing tended to him.
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