FM - 4

Chapter 04: Fanlu, Fanlu

On the winding mountain road of Fanlu, tall oak trees swayed in the breeze as vehicles zipped past. Fresh snow blanketed the mountainside, and squirrels peeked out from the branches. Nestled by a shimmering lake halfway up the mountain stood a quiet brick-red villa. The man behind the wheel honked lightly as he approached.

The towering ornate gates slowly opened, and the guards stationed at the entrance immediately saluted: “Commander!” Matthew turned the steering wheel and drove into the courtyard. Spotting a familiar green jeep parked in the driveway, he chuckled—someone had arrived even earlier than him. He stepped out of his car and headed toward the house.

Yisha, standing by the entrance, greeted him: “Good morning, Lord Matthew.”

Matthew, currently serving as the Prime Minister's National Security Advisor, had received orders early that morning from No. 1 Municipal Avenue. Prime Minister Major needed to hear the Ministry of Defense’s opinion on the dispute over the Gulf of Maine. Familiar with the estate, he casually remarked: “Hey, buddy, get me a cup of coffee—it’s freezing out here!”

Sisan turned to fetch a servant.

---

Fanlu Manor was a private villa built three decades ago by the Du family, designed by the renowned German architect Cleveland Wamer. Situated beside the mountains and water, its minimalist yet elegant style caused quite a stir in Condor when it was completed in the mid-1970s. All three siblings of the Du family were born here. During the time of Du Boqin’s father, the estate was a popular gathering place for military and political figures due to the numerous subordinates and students he mentored. Du Boqin’s mother often hosted art salons here, making Fanlu Manor one of the liveliest private gardens in the country by the end of the century.

After Du Boqin became the Chief of the General Staff, his subordinates began frequenting the estate more often. Leaders of parliamentary factions and ministers occasionally visited as well. On important occasions, even Defense Minister Pan Leige would appear. Close comrades from the military and scions of influential families were regular visitors. Under large umbrellas in the garden, men dressed in polo attire would gather around tables to hold meetings and sign documents. Classified documents flowed in continuously, accompanied by copious amounts of fine wine. Everyone present was a notable figure, and their conversations brimmed with wisdom and wit. Even an ordinary officer accompanying their superior couldn’t help but feel a sense of reverence upon entering Fanlu Manor, humbled by the dignified demeanor of the great men gathered there.

At some point, a humorous anecdote spread among the political circles of Moxia: Fanlu Manor was considered the second heart of the nation’s military operations. It was rumored that many national security decisions weren’t made in the halls of Danguang Building but rather within the walls of Fanlu Manor.

This summer, Song Shikui, one of the seven five-star generals awarded during Moxia’s War of Independence and a founding hero of the nation, returned home after completing his third round of chemotherapy in the United States. Du Boqin accompanied him in the garden for a pot of tea. As they prepared to leave, Song’s grandson arrived to pick him up—a handsome young man in uniform who first saluted Du Boqin. The young man was now a rising star in the Air Force. Du Boqin personally escorted the elderly general to the car, where the younger man helped the aging warrior aboard. Despite his frailty, the general stood tall and straight-backed. Just before stepping into the vehicle, he turned to glance back at the lush, tree-lined estate.

Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes as he murmured softly: “It feels like I’ve returned to 1986.”

The young man’s heart skipped a beat, his face lighting up with emotion. 1986 in Condor—that was another era entirely. A time when great leaders met talented warriors, when wine flowed freely, and when every seat was filled with brilliance. In those days, warriors donned their armor and marched forth to conquer. It was an era worth striving for.

Song Shikui’s words later became a lasting legend in Moxia.

How fortunate to have lived through the return to 1986—a time when the younger generation of military and political elites led Condor into another golden age for Fanlu Manor.

Yet, compared to the unrestrained style of the old Duke of Condor, things were different now. It was said that Du Boqin’s father used to drink and converse with his subordinates all night in the front hall. Du Boqin himself rarely appeared in the front hall. Occasionally, he would listen to reports or hold meetings with his staff in the conference room, always stern and taciturn, decisive and efficient. Sometimes, even his trusted aide Xie Zi would relay instructions on his behalf without him being present, as on this cold morning.

A fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight, and the sun was slowly rising, casting a crisp, refreshing light over the landscape. Matthew entered the house and, unsurprisingly, found Xie Zi, Du Boqin’s chief of staff, leisurely smoking in the front hall. Matthew patted him on the shoulder and sat down.

Xie Zi glanced at him and smirked: “Major calling you in so early?”

Matthew sighed: “Haliad has to issue a statement on the dispute this morning.” Haliad was the current Minister of Information and Government Spokesperson of Moxia.

Matthew asked: “Where’s Boqin?”

Xie Zi replied: “I came late last night and went downstairs for coffee after finishing my work—he must have just gone to bed.”

Before he could finish, He Meinan, the chief medical advisor of Du Boqin’s medical team, descended the stairs, visibly irritated: “He’s up—in the office.”

Xie Zi frowned slightly. Matthew inquired: “What’s wrong with His Highness?”

He Meinan yawned and headed toward the dining room: “I’m going to grab breakfast—it’s nothing serious.”

Matthew looked questioningly at Xie Zi.

Xie Zi shrugged, his expression one of resignation.

Du Boqin’s severe injuries sustained during the southern campaign were no secret in Moxia’s military and political circles. Since his discharge from the hospital, he had resumed his usual activities, and the hospital claimed his recovery was progressing well. However, the specifics of his condition remained tightly guarded by his medical team.

The men didn’t dwell on it. To them, Du Boqin was decisive, resolute, and courageous. Under his leadership of the Moxian Air Force Command, enthusiasm among the youth to enlist surged to unprecedented levels, particularly in the realm of aerial military power. Although he ended his flying career after ascending to the position of Chief of the General Staff, his example continued to inspire countless young people to join the military and serve their country.

There was no doubt that as one of the most outstanding military talents and leaders of Moxia in recent years, it was only a matter of time and experience before he took the reins of Danguang Building.

---

The right hall of the inner court connected to the master’s living quarters, while the other two rooms were converted into a spacious study and a small meeting room. These two rooms were the heart of the entire estate. Without explicit permission from the head steward, Yisha, not even the servants were allowed near.

Inside the warm, expansive study, Du Boqin wore a light gray shirt and was deeply engrossed in reviewing documents. Occasionally, he coughed softly, his fist pressed against his lips. Across from him, Xie Zi organized the key points discussed at the recent ministerial meeting regarding the Gulf of Maine.

Matthew asked: “Are you alright?”

Du Boqin dismissed the concern: “It’s nothing—just a cold.”

Looking up, Du Boqin instructed: “Tell Major we won’t yield a single drop of seawater in the Gulf of Maine. Haliad’s wording can be firm.”

Matthew jotted it down.

Du Boqin added: “Consult with the Minister of Foreign Trade. Their oil imports heavily rely on us—applying some pressure wouldn’t hurt.”

Matthew nodded: “Mm.”

Du Boqin coughed again, his brow furrowing slightly: “I suspect there might be untapped energy resources in the Gulf of Maine.”

Matthew’s eyes lit up: “I’ll relay this to the Prime Minister immediately.” Du Boqin nodded, and Matthew excused himself.

Xie Zi closed the file and glanced at Du Boqin: “The urgent matters are mostly done. I’ve postponed all your appointments for today.”

Du Boqin, still reading official documents, looked up briefly. His gaze was calm and unreadable, and he said nothing.

Xie Zi started to speak.

Du Boqin knew what he was about to say and gave a slight nod. Xie Zi picked up the files and quietly left, closing the door behind him.

Du Boqin finished the task at hand, set down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes, massaging his aching temples. The suppressed pain in his lungs began to spread slowly.

Sisan knocked and entered.

Du Boqin pressed his fingers to his temples, forcing his eyes open. Seeing it was Sisan, he rested his hand on the armrest of the chair. After a moment, he slowly stood up.

Sisan bowed respectfully: “Your Highness, Mr. Xie has instructed that you won’t be leaving the estate today.” Du Boqin nodded: “Mm.”

Sisan reminded him softly: “Breakfast…”

Du Boqin coughed, the pain flaring up. He walked toward the living room: “Cancel it!”

Du Boqin had only returned to Condor late last night. Xie Zi had been waiting in the front hall per his instructions to handle several urgent matters accumulated from the previous round of meetings, allowing Du Boqin a brief rest.

This morning, however, signs of his old injury were flaring up alongside his cold and fatigue. The excessive physical strain was taking a toll on his already fragile body, and recovery would take a long time.

Du Boqin went upstairs to rest. A servant approached respectfully: “Miss Mo Ya called.”

Du Boqin’s voice was hoarse from coughing, but he still managed to reply softly: “Tell her I’ll call her tonight.”

The golden morning sunlight filtered slowly through the clouds. Soldiers on duty stifled yawns as several black cars pulled up to the steps of Danguang Building.

A soldier in uniform glanced at the license plates, instantly snapping to attention. Heels together, right hand raised, he delivered a crisp military salute.

At the other end, the bodyguard had already opened the car door. A tall young man stepped out gracefully, and the guards escorted Du Boqin into Danguang Building. He wore a black suit with a white shirt, his dark blue silk tie shimmering faintly. His lean figure stood as straight as a mountain, his sharp gaze like that of an eagle. He strode confidently through the entrance.

Defense Minister Pan Leige had just returned from the Pan-Atlantic Round Island Joint Ministerial Military Conference and would convene a joint Chiefs of Staff meeting in the conference room at Danguang this morning.

This hub of national military affairs was about to begin another busy day.

---

By evening, when Du Boqin finished work and descended the stairs, he saw the driver waiting by his car. The driver looked uneasy: “Your Highness.”

Du Boqin’s eyes flickered slightly, but he still walked slowly toward the vehicle.

Before he reached it, the car door swung open, and a soft, fragrant figure rushed out: “Boqin!”

Du Boqin extended his arm to steady her.

Jiang Mo Ya gazed at his face, her voice filled with concern: “Are you tired?” Du Boqin smiled faintly: “A bit busy, but it’s nothing.”

They had been engaged for half a year now. Jiang Mo Ya watched him tirelessly dedicate himself to military affairs, their time together meticulously scheduled in advance. Even though their meetings were brief, Mo Ya remained proud of him, just as her mother was proud of her father.

After dinner, Mo Ya wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice tender: “Boqin, you’re leaving for Jordan tomorrow. Can I stay with you tonight?”

Du Boqin gently pulled her hands away and said softly: “I’m traveling tomorrow—there’s much to prepare.” Mo Ya pouted playfully: “You always ignore me!”

Du Boqin kissed her hand lightly: “I’ve been busy these past few days. When is your mother’s birthday banquet? I’ll try to make time for it.”

Mo Ya brightened and kissed his cheek: “Okay!” After dinner, Du Boqin drove her home.

The car turned onto the wide road leading to the Jiang family estate. In the distance, the rumble of thunder echoed through the clouds.

Night-flying fighter jets were returning.

The sedan stopped in front of the Jiang residence. Du Boqin sat in the driver’s seat, gazing at the horizon. “What are you looking at?” Mo Ya leaned over. “Fukong planes?”

Du Boqin nodded and got out to open the car door for her.

“How annoying!” Mo Ya stamped her foot on the ground. “I’ve been telling Daddy to move, but he won’t. These planes are so loud every day!”

“Boqin, can you have them change the flight route for training?”

Du Boqin’s expression hardened, devoid of emotion: “This is the return route to Fukong. They must pass here to visually locate the runway.”

“Flying is both dangerous and restrictive. I’m glad you don’t fly anymore,” Mo Ya said with a smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

At that moment, something seemed to flash across Du Boqin’s mind. He turned his face slightly, avoiding her kiss. His stern profile glimmered faintly in the night. He said quietly: “Goodnight.”

Without looking back at her, he returned to the car, opened the door, and got in.

---

The ancient courtyard of the Feng family basked in the soft sunlight, which cast a pale glow on the dark green brackets of the eaves.

Zhen Ning carried a cup of water through the living room. The study door was ajar, and she could hear her mother and older brother conversing inside.

Her mother said: “The hotel is swamped during the New Year. Let her rest for a while. Find someone else.”

Her brother sounded troubled: “Mother, where am I supposed to find a woman fluent in Chinese and Arabic, skilled in combat, and trusted by the royal family?”

Her mother suggested: “Go to the translation department at the group.”

Her brother replied: “Didn’t Princess Haya’s secretary call you? They explicitly welcomed my sister—”

Zhen Ning knocked lightly on the door: “Are you talking about me?” Her mother said gently: “No.” Her brother called out: “Sister…”

Her mother added: “The girl, Cheng Sao just asked for you. She made soup with freshly harvested mushrooms for you to taste.” Her brother hesitated, glanced at their mother’s expression, and couldn’t help but emphasize: “Mom, she also needs to be good at horseback riding!”

Zhen Ning laughed: “Sounds like you’re describing me?” Her brother pleaded: “Zhen Zhen, please help me out.”

Zhen Ning glanced at her mother’s expression.

Finally, Feng Mother sighed in resignation: “Inform your master. If he agrees, come listen to what your brother has to say.”

Feng Rong exclaimed happily: “Thank you, Mom!”

Zhen Ning went to the dining room to drink the soup, with Feng Rong following behind her: “The youngest princess of the Jordanian crown prince is hosting the Chinese equestrian delegation as part of the Royal Youth Sports Exchange Association. Zhen Ning, please! Apparently, there’s a princess who doesn’t speak English!”

Zhen Ning thought for a moment. The crown prince’s youngest daughter, 13-year-old Fatima Hashem, wasn’t difficult to accompany for equestrian events and performances. As a personal translator, she was indeed the most suitable candidate.

The Feng family had ties to the Jordanian royal family. At sixteen, Zhen Ning had visited Jordan with her parents and even caught a distant glimpse of the crown prince and his wife.

She nodded to her brother: “I’ll visit Master this afternoon.”

---

On the last day of February, Zhen Ning arrived at Queen Alia International Airport in Amman.

Stepping off the plane from the cold winter of southwestern China into the mild climate of Amman, Zhen Ning felt refreshed. A secretary from the royal family awaited her at the airport—an elegant, well-dressed middle-aged woman.

The next day, Zhen Ning immediately embarked on a whirlwind three-day exchange program. On the final day, she accompanied Princess Fatima and young guests from China to a training session hosted by the International Equestrian Federation in the morning, followed by a royal luncheon at Mushatta Palace. The lively chatter of children filled the opulent banquet hall with rare vibrancy.

Zhen Ning stayed close to Princess Fatima, who, surrounded by officials and bodyguards, behaved like a little adult. She greeted different guests with poise, extending her small hand to receive kisses and pleasantries. With peers around, the days hadn’t been too dull for her.

During the luncheon, Zhen Ning noticed a lady in a white skirt and diamond necklace approaching, accompanied by a secretary.

Zhen Ning curtsied slightly: “Princess Niya.”

Princess Niya, the half-sister of King Abdullah II and aunt to Fatima, possessed unparalleled beauty and was passionate about sports, particularly equestrianism and football. She had served as president of the International Equestrian Federation and was the most important royal representative at this event.

She affectionately lifted the little princess and kissed her: “Fatima, darling, you’re adorable.” Turning to Zhen Ning, she kissed her cheek: “Dear.”

Such warmth left Zhen Ning feeling flattered.

Princess Niya said: “I heard from Mr. Feng that you’re fluent in Moxian?” Zhen Ning, unsure of the context, simply nodded.

Princess Niya continued: “Please accompany Princess Fatima to tonight’s Dan Palace banquet.”

Zhen Ning nodded. Her workday ended today, but the evening was still within her responsibilities.

Princess Niya smiled: “It’s just a casual social banquet. I promise—no politics, no business.”

---

In the evening, Zhen Ning was driven to Dan Palace, located in the heart of the city. Its architecture exuded strong Islamic influences.

As the car door opened, the grand crystal chandeliers in the hall sparkled brilliantly.

Zhen Ning adjusted her dress and took Princess Fatima’s hand from the bodyguard. Together, they walked inside.

At the Jordan Foundation office, Zhen Ning accompanied the princess to meet Queen Rania. With her brown hair and dark eyes, Queen Rania was warm and approachable. She had been named one of the “Most Elegant Women in the World” and was a media sensation within the royal family.

Queen Rania kissed her daughter’s cheek: “Darling, we’re going to see your father.” The luxurious carpet muffled the sound of high heels, and servants bowed silently as they passed.

Zhen Ning quietly followed behind the entourage.

In her mind, she calculated her itinerary: her flight was at 10 a.m. the next morning. She’d first fly to Dubai, then transfer back to China, spending fifteen hours between flights and airports. But this posed no issue for her—she loved flying and being at airports. After days of Arab cuisine, however, she longed for a steaming bowl of rice noodles at home.

When the stylist came to do her hair and makeup in the evening, she accidentally cut a small strand of hair. The handsome brunette stylist apologized profusely, but Zhen Ning dismissed it with a laugh, though an ominous feeling lingered in her heart.

Royal etiquette was intricate and demanding. Constant greetings, kisses, and smiles in multiple languages swirled in her mind, leaving her somewhat fatigued.

Holding the princess’s hand, they reached the end of the long corridor. The banquet hall doors slowly opened before them.

Inside the spacious hall, a long table gleamed with sparkling glassware under warm lighting. The rustle of silk fabrics mingled with the scent of fine wine and tobacco, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.

The men seated around the table paused their conversations momentarily upon hearing the sound, then rose to their feet, instinctively buttoning their suit jackets.

Du Boqin held a glass of wine, seated beside Prince Hashem, the second son of the Jordanian king, who enthusiastically discussed his newly acquired EC145 helicopter. Du Boqin sat on a large sofa, slightly turning his body in politeness. His expression remained cool, occasionally responding with detached courtesy, his faint smile tinged with restrained aloofness.

As the royal women entered, the two men exchanged a glance, paused their conversation, and stood up.

Out of courtesy, Du Boqin glanced toward the entrance. Amidst the fragrance and elegance, several noble and beautiful ladies entered. As his gaze swept past them briefly, it suddenly froze. His pupils contracted, and he found himself unable to look away.

In that same instant, Zhen Ning also saw him. Their gazes collided abruptly in mid-air. 

Du Boqin only noticed the slight tremor of the woman’s bare shoulder before she quickly averted her eyes. 

A chilling wave swept over Zhen Ning’s body. With sheer willpower, she forced herself to remain standing, fearing that at any moment she might bolt and flee from the hall. 

The crystal teacups and golden wall sconces seemed to transform into monstrous fangs. Beads of cold sweat trickled down her back. 

Du Boqin stood motionless, watching her. The initial shock dissipated from his heart as he regained control of his emotions. A faint, icy amusement crept into his gaze. 

The male servants bowed respectfully, pulling out chairs with synchronized precision. The sound of mahogany chairs scraping against the floor echoed like a performance. The gentlemen approached one by one to exchange smiles and kisses with Queen Rania. 

Queen Rania walked up to the king, affectionately brushing her cheek against her husband’s. Zhen Ning glanced over—it was indeed an intimate family banquet, devoid of high-ranking officials. Only members of the royal family were present. Du Boqin was here as a visiting relative of the royal house, accompanied by a Moxian prince and a few royal officials. 

Du Boqin inclined his body slightly, maintaining a proper reserve, and exchanged polite pleasantries with the queen in a subdued tone. 

Fatima was brought over by her mother. Du Boqin bent down, took her small hand, and placed a light kiss on it—a gesture of utmost elegance and gentlemanly grace: “Good evening, Princess.” 

At this moment, Queen Rania introduced: “This is Fatima’s interpreter, Miss Shu. Miss Shu is from China and has accompanied Fatima in hosting the children from China. Miss Shu is an excellent perfumer who speaks fluent Arabic and Moxian.” 

Du Boqin’s gaze shifted to her face. 

Zhen Ning glanced up at him briefly before lowering her eyes. She folded her hands in front of her, curtsied lightly, and murmured softly: “Your Highness.” 

It was a flawless display of royal etiquette, tinged with a hint of unfamiliar distance. 

Zhen Ning heard her own voice—two strained, dry words squeezed out from her throat. 

Du Boqin observed the woman before him. Her head was bowed, her demeanor meek and obedient. Her long lashes cast a deep shadow, concealing all expression from her face. 

He raised his hand slightly to steady her, his deep, magnetic voice devoid of emotion: “Good evening, Miss Shu.” 

Zhen Ning then retreated from him, turning to gently guide Fatima to her seat. 

The king and queen took their places at the head and foot of the long table, respectively. Du Boqin sat to the king’s right, opposite the king’s eldest son. Zhen Ning accompanied Fatima to a seat at the far end of the left side. 

Separated by a table full of guests, the crystal glasses shimmered under the light. Laughter and conversation filled the air as host and guests frequently raised their glasses. During pauses in his conversation with those beside him, Du Boqin’s peripheral vision occasionally flickered toward her direction. 

The light refracted off her quiet, soft profile. Her slender, pale fingers rested delicately on the deep purple velvet tablecloth, appearing almost boneless. 

She had grown far too thin. 

The white silk evening gown clung to her slim, pale shoulders, adorned with a simple lace trim that accentuated her sharp collarbones. 

She kept her head slightly bowed, maintaining a proper posture. Occasionally, she whispered something to Fatima, then smiled faintly. 

They were too far apart. Whether intentionally or not, her face never turned toward him throughout the evening. 

By nine o’clock, the young princess grew drowsy, and Zhen Ning felt as though she’d been granted a reprieve. She excused herself and left. Du Boqin watched her retreating figure—her slender frame, pale face, and sensitive expression. 

Once luminous with starlight, her eyes now resembled a still, ancient well. Only upon closer inspection could one glimpse faint glimmers of stars sinking beneath the surface. 

She had looked at him only once during the entire evening. That single glance—filled with anguish and terror—was unbearably cold. 

---

Back at the ceremonial hotel, Zhen Ning packed her luggage, glanced at the already issued ticket, and then at the landline phone in the room. 

She sat on the sofa, silently waiting. 

Her intuition was sharp—if something was bound to happen, she had already steeled herself. 

As she sat there, the light in the room gradually dimmed. Her heart burned with anxiety, yet the air conditioning chilled the room thoroughly. A thin layer of sweat began to form on her temples. 

Zhen Ning bit her lip, stood up, grabbed the ticket from the desk, and reached for the phone to call for a car. Just as her fingers brushed the receiver, the phone rang loudly. 

Ten minutes later, she changed clothes and descended the stairs. A black sedan, like a ghost, was already waiting below. 

Once again, she surrendered without resistance, boarding the car he had sent for her, going to meet him. Time looped back and forth—their history repeated itself endlessly. But this time, the dagger was revealed. 

The car took her to a luxurious hotel in the city. Thick carpets lined the corridors, which were deep and silent. On the forty-ninth floor, there was only one suite. A single lamp illuminated the hallway, and a soldier stood rigidly by the door, posture impeccable. Captain Yisha, the head of security, glanced at her, his expression unreadable. 

The hotel suite manager bowed and escorted her inside, nodding slightly to the captain before gently pushing open the door: “Miss Shu, His Highness is waiting for you.” 

Zhen Ning slowly stepped inside. 

It was an enormous top-tier suite. The entrance hall was vast, filled with the subtle fragrance of lilies. Exquisite ornaments adorned the wooden lattice decorations. The living room door was slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light to spill through. 

Zhen Ning paused at the doorway. 

Everything was shrouded in darkness, like a cavern ready to devour all. She inhaled deeply. 

Zhen Ning knocked lightly on the door. “Come in,” came the man’s low, magnetic voice, devoid of emotion. She entered and closed the door behind her. 

A floor lamp illuminated the room. Zhen Ning finally saw him—he sat on the sofa, a desk before him. His laptop was still open, its screen emitting a faint blue glow that made his face appear paler. 

Du Boqin looked up at her but said nothing. 

He had always been a handsome man, with the rare, austere features of an Eastern man. His straight nose and years of experience in politics and the military had stripped away the youthful warmth she remembered from their days in the ivory tower, leaving behind only an increasingly restrained and sharp aura. 

Zhen Ning’s breathing slowed, replaced by a growing sense of suffocation. His gaze felt like a hand tightening around her throat. 

Du Boqin watched her. 

She was very different from last night—plain-faced, wearing a black top, her entire presence subdued. 

It had been two years since she disappeared without a word. 

Du Boqin nodded toward the sofa and uttered a single word: “Sit.” Zhen Ning sat across from him. 

His voice was calm, as if they were old friends catching up: “It’s been a long time. How have you been?” 

Zhen Ning replied evenly: “Fine.” 

Du Boqin gave a faint smile, closed his laptop, and tossed it onto the sofa: “How’s your family?” 

Zhen Ning remained composed: “All is well.” 

Du Boqin’s tone remained smooth: “And the residence by Erhai Lake—how secure is it?” 

Zhen Ning felt as though a cold snake’s tongue had flicked across her spine. “What do you want?” 

“I need a statement.” 

“The complete record your father left behind about the plane crash.” 

Zhen Ning clenched her teeth and replied coldly: “There’s nothing. He’s dead. Nothing remains.” 

Du Boqin’s voice remained low and captivating: “Zhen Ning, the most unwise thing you’ve ever done is try to hide the truth from me.” 

Zhen Ning straightened her back: “Your Highness, protecting my family, even if unwise, is something I’ll do with all my strength.” 

Du Boqin, half-serious, half-mocking, praised: “Such spirit, Zhen Ning.” 

Zhen Ning stiffened her spine further, feeling cold sweat seep from her back. 

“What would it take to move your heart?” Du Boqin asked softly, his tone gradually turning frigid. “I hear the Feng family has been searching the forest explosion zone for unidentified remains?” 

Zhen Ning’s head shot up, her eyes wide, staring directly at him. 

Du Boqin watched her intently, observing the emotions flit across her face—confusion, disbelief, and then overwhelming sorrow mingled with joy. 

For some reason, her eyes always carried a despairing grayness, as if resigned to fate. The man gazed at her, his dark eyes finally reaching their emotional peak. 

Zhen Ning’s shoulders began to tremble faintly. Her voice was soft and shaky, yet resolute, as if prepared for death: “Give it back.” 

Du Boqin asked: “What will you offer in exchange?” 

Zhen Ning answered quickly: “Anything.” 

Du Boqin said: “Good. Do you remember my terms?” 

Zhen Ning thought for a moment: “Your Highness, let me discuss this with my older brother.” 

Du Boqin stared at her steadily, saying nothing.

After a long silence, he asked softly: “Zhen Ning, when you left me wearing that engagement ring, did you ever think about coming back?” 

Through her tears, Zhen Ning gazed at him quietly. After a long while, she finally answered slowly, enunciating each word: “Never.” 

Suddenly, Du Boqin swept his hand, and a vase on the table beside him fell to the wooden floor with a loud crash, shattering into pieces. 

Du Boqin stood up abruptly: “Leave. I don’t need any statement anymore. I’ll grind your father’s remains to dust and scatter them over the Fanlu Mountains using an aircraft, to comfort my father’s spirit.” 

Zhen Ning suddenly knelt straight in front of him: “Give them back to me.” 

“Shu Zhen Ning!” On Du Boqin’s usually calm face was now full of anger, veins subtly throbbing on his forehead. His tone was on the verge of losing control: “Get up!” 

Zhen Ning, in a self-abandoning manner, said: “No matter what you ask of me, I beg you, let me send my father home.” 

A pervasive pain spread through Du Boqin’s chest. 

He looked at the woman before him. After she left Condor, events had been tumultuous, and time had flown by like a white horse passing through a crevice. It felt as if just moments ago she was crying and coquettishly snuggling in his arms after his proposal, and now she was kneeling straight in front of him, like a thin, fragile shadow. 

Du Boqin stood up, stepped over the scattered shards, and pulled her up by the arm. 

Zhen Ning was roughly thrown onto the sofa. 

Du Boqin stood in front of her, his tall, slim figure like a dark winter night: “I’ll send someone to fetch your luggage. The plane leaves in fifteen minutes. You want your father’s remains? Come back to Condor with me to get them.” 

Fanlu, Fanlu.

Light slowly seeped into the room. The shadows of spring green vines and rose buds swayed faintly on the curtains, blown by the gentle breeze. For a moment, Zhen Ning thought she was dreaming, that she had returned to Fanlu Manor—the moonlight slanting down from beneath the white columns, pink daffodils blooming ethereally in the mist, dense rose vines forming a canopy along one side of the corridor, shielding it from the midday sun. The flower-lined corridor remained cool and shaded. 

Zhen Ning slowly opened her eyes; her eyelids twitched slightly. This wasn’t a dream. 

She got up, stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, and drew the curtains. Below, the lawn was silent, devoid of servants, resembling a fairyland in the morning light. 

She had been living here alone for nearly a week. That day at Amman Airport, Du Boqin had been called away on urgent business, and she boarded his plane—he even arranged for two accompanying guards to escort her, personally overseen by his head steward, Yisha. 

Zhen Ning went downstairs, had breakfast, and by the time she finished, it was nearly noon, with the sunlight warm and pleasant. 

In the afternoon, Zhen Ning went out for a walk. Lulu immediately bounded up joyfully. This was Du Boqin’s retired tracking dog. On the first day she returned, as soon as she stepped out of the car at the entrance of Fanlu Manor, Lulu came running across the fence, barking happily, wagging its tail, and circling her legs affectionately. After two years, it still remembered her. 

Zhen Ning took Lulu hiking. As she stepped out, Sisan was directing the servants under the corridor. Seeing her, he politely said: “Miss Shu, the weather forecast says it might rain. Would you like to take an umbrella?” 

Zhen Ning noticed the servants setting up a ladder, standing beneath the balcony of Du Boqin’s second-floor suite, cutting down large bunches of white lilac branches. 

A slight puzzlement crossed Zhen Ning’s face. 

Sisan explained: “His Highness can’t tolerate such strong fragrances; pollen would irritate his respiratory system and lungs.” 

Zhen Ning didn’t react outwardly but stood there for a moment. Upon returning to Fanlu Manor this time, she noticed subtle differences compared to her previous visits. The villa remained as magnificent as ever, especially the living room and bedrooms on the second floor, which were meticulously cleaned, spotless. 

But there was no fragrance anymore. 

The entire house no longer carried the once-elegant scent of jasmine. 

It was understandable—being a pillar of Moxia and a man of noble birth, it was inevitable that His Highness would have a delicate constitution. 

Zhen Ning excused herself softly and turned to walk through the garden. Lulu was already frolicking by the roadside. 

One person and one dog strolled along the long mountain path of Fanlu Manor. 

On this spring afternoon, tall eucalyptus and oak trees swayed gently in the breeze and sunlight. The mountain path was cool and quiet, the fresh scents of trees and grass mingling with the mist from the nearby lake. Along the road, clusters of flowers bloomed vibrantly. 

This private garden of Fanlu Manor was undisturbed, belonging solely to her. Slowly, she walked until dusk. 

As evening fell, the mountain path was enveloped in mist, a hazy expanse. 

That night, during dinner in the second-floor side hall, torrential rain suddenly poured down, the droplets hitting the windows like beans. 

Zhen Ning stood by the window and saw the omnipotent steward standing firmly under the porch. The driver was busy moving the cars parked on the garden driveway into the garage. The maids were tending to Lulu’s food on the lawn, while the male servants lowered the floor-to-ceiling windows along the corridor one by one. Sisan instructed the servants to check on the stables. Everything proceeded orderly, showcasing the true elegance of a noble household. 

Zhen Ning watched for a while with the window open. A maid approached quietly and reminded her gently: “Miss Shu, be careful not to catch a cold in the rain.” 

Zhen Ning reached out and closed the window. 

Late at night, Zhen Ning lay on the couch in her room reading. As the night deepened, the sound of rain grew persistent, and the entire mansion gradually fell silent. She read until the early hours of the morning when she suddenly heard the low hum of a car engine approaching from afar. 

Zhen Ning got up from the sofa and walked to the window, only to realize that the rain had intensified again without her noticing. 

Though the window was slightly blurred, she could still see the torrential rain under the deep night sky. The two large lamps in front of the yard illuminated the driveway, revealing the lush greenery of the trees that had previously loomed ominously in the shadows. 

There was a slight noise from the gatehouse as the ornate gates slowly opened, and several luxury vehicles successively entered the courtyard. 

Servants hurried out with umbrellas, Sisan leading the way. A large black umbrella shielded the rear door of the middle car, protecting it from the pouring rain. Another servant quickly approached to open the door. After a brief wait, a tall, slim figure emerged—wearing dark pants and a light shirt, standing upright with impeccable posture. Sisan supported his hand as a group of people escorted him into the mansion. 

It was Du Boqin, the Moxian defense heavyweight who had just concluded secret talks with the British military and arrived late at night in the capital. 

Zhen Ning wrapped herself in a light robe and went downstairs. At the corner of the dining room, she heard his soft cough. 

Sisan stood respectfully by his side, reporting matters one by one: “Madam called a few days ago.” 

Du Boqin sat at the dining table as the servants brought out exquisite dishes, likely having not eaten due to the long journey. He unfolded his napkin and asked: “What did she say?” 

Sisan replied: “She didn’t elaborate, only asked you to call back when you have time.” Du Boqin nodded. 

Sisan continued: “Mr. Fang wishes to see you. There are a few important documents requiring your signature.” 

Du Boqin turned his head, coughed lightly, drank some water, and then responded: “Have Xie Zi check my schedule for the next few days and reply to him accordingly.” 

Sisan acknowledged, then added: “Miss Jiang visited twice last week, asking when you’d return.” 

Du Boqin listened silently, sipping his soup without expression. 

He said: “Inform Rebecca to send someone to call her. I have a meeting tomorrow.” Just then, a maid signaled from outside. 

Sisan said: “Miss Shu has come down.” 

Du Boqin turned to look at her: “Come in and sit.” 

Zhen Ning entered the dining room and saw that he had changed into a loose-fitting dark green sweater, appearing clean and refreshed. 

The servant pulled out a chair, and Zhen Ning sat opposite him. Only then did she notice his weary face—it seemed even the strongest of men could grow tired. 

Du Boqin’s expression was calm: “The servants said you were still awake, so I invited you down to sit for a while.” Zhen Ning remained silent. 

Du Boqin said indifferently: “Have some late-night snacks. You’re too thin.” The maid immediately responded: “The kitchen has bird’s nest soup ready.” Zhen Ning shook her head: “No need.” 

Du Boqin didn’t insist, only saying: “Then keep me company for a bit.” He gestured for Sisan to continue. 

Sisan flipped through the steward’s records page by page: “Prince Geoffrey’s secretary inquired about when the custom-made gift boxes of jasmine for the Duchess’s upcoming visit will be ready.” 

Du Boqin set down his cutlery: “What’s the issue?” 

Sisan hesitated for a second: “The Duchess is dissatisfied with the design of the custom boxes.” 

Du Boqin said: “Tell Geoffrey we’re withdrawing. Let Karla Palace send their designers.” Du Boqin reached for his water glass, coughing intermittently, his complexion turning slightly pale. 

Zhen Ning watched as his steak, tender and juicy, was cut into disarray, with only a few bites taken. It was nearly two in the morning. Such a vast estate, such a hereditary title—after finishing national affairs, there were still family businesses and unavoidable social obligations among the prominent families. Countless matters awaited his approval. It seemed he was so busy that Sisan had to seize every opportunity to report, even interrupting his meal. Watching the scene before her, Zhen Ning felt dizzy and wished to drive away the incessantly chattering steward standing by the table. 

Lost in thought, Du Boqin suddenly said: “Stop daydreaming. Get up.” She raised her head to find that they were now the only two left in the dining room. 

Zhen Ning followed him as he walked out. Du Boqin asked: “Are you comfortable staying here?” Zhen Ning replied: “I have nothing to do.” 

Du Boqin suddenly smiled: “You don’t need to do anything.” 

Zhen Ning’s face flushed red. She pursed her lips, choosing to remain silent to avoid further humiliation.

The two of them walked to the second-floor living room. The entire expanse of the second floor was lined with rooms. Du Boqin’s bedroom was at the far end on the right, while Zhen Ning stayed on the opposite side. There was also a suite that served as Du Boqin’s study, and the main living room was vast and open, its curtains drawn low, the crystal chandelier casting flickering shadows.

Du Boqin sat down on the sofa and took two glasses from the cabinet: “Sisan said you like to have a drink before bed?”

Zhen Ning didn’t want to sit. Standing in front of him, she asked: “Did my brother contact you today?”

Du Boqin looked up, his lips curling into a somewhat mocking smile: “Your brother said he searched everywhere but couldn’t find a single word your father left behind.”

Zhen Ning stared at him, her eyes flickering with an uncertain light.

Du Boqin poured the wine: “Come here, have a drink.”

He held out the glass to her. Zhen Ning reached for it, but suddenly, her hand lightly grasped his.

She slowly traced her fingers over his hand. She had always loved his hands—short, clean nails, slender finger bones, and a slight roughness at the base of his thumb, the result of years of firearms training. Du Boqin’s movements abruptly paused. He raised his eyes, looking at her with an ambiguous smile.

Zhen Ning climbed onto his shoulders, kneeling on the sofa as she pressed her lips to his.

At the moment their lips met, Du Boqin’s hand trembled slightly, spilling some of the wine onto the coffee table. The rich aroma of alcohol filled the air.

Zhen Ning felt the familiar warmth of his body—the broad shoulders, the familiar touch of his skin—but there was also an unfamiliar chill. She fell into a deep dizziness. Why, after all this time, could she still taste the warmth? Why, when her heart had already burned to ashes in the forest, did her brain still hold onto the memory of his scent?

A sudden shiver ran through her.

Du Boqin abruptly raised his hand, pressing it firmly against her shoulder.

Zhen Ning lifted her head and met his gaze. His dark eyes were cold and clear, devoid of any trace of desire. He looked at her, meeting her eyes, and gave a thin, faint smile.

Zhen Ning knew—this was a sign that he was about to lose his temper.

Du Boqin chuckled, but his voice carried a hint of anger: “Zhen Ning, using your body to extract information won’t work on me.”

Darkness clouded Zhen Ning’s vision: “You!”

Du Boqin swiftly grabbed her wrist as she tried to strike him: “Enough, don’t get angry.”

Zhen Ning screamed in fury: “I’ve already told you, my father left nothing behind!”

“Then stay here in Fanlu forever,” Du Boqin said flatly, his expression unreadable. “If you weren’t so desperate to resort to any means to get away from me, I might have been more inclined to make you happy.”

Zhen Ning yanked her hand free, stood up, and kicked the chair in front of her before running toward her room.

Du Boqin retrieved another glass, watching as she slammed the door shut, then slowly poured himself a drink.

---

In the morning, Sisan led Zhen Ning to a small house in the annex courtyard on the first floor. Sisan said: “Miss Shu, take a look inside.”

Zhen Ning pushed the door open to reveal a sterile changing room. As she stepped further in, her eyes widened in astonishment. Before her lay a brand-new indoor laboratory—a pristine white marble countertop, neatly stacked reagents, instruments, and glassware refracting colorful light under the sunlight.

It was beautiful, like a dream.

Sisan explained: “This lab was designed while Miss Shu was abroad. If the equipment doesn’t suit you, please let the staff know anytime.”

Zhen Ning had been confined in Fanlu Manor for too long. Seeing such a magnificent laboratory now felt like a bird with broken wings discovering a vast forest. She was still in a daze. Softly, she asked: “Is this for me?”

Sisan remained impeccably respectful: “The design plans were finalized by Miss Shu during her time in Condor. After Ms. Jenny retired, His Highness did not hire another perfumer.”

A ripple of emotion stirred in Zhen Ning’s heart. She remembered that before she left Moxia, Du Boqin had promised to convert the side hall on the first floor into her studio. She hadn’t expected him to actually follow through.

Taking a deep breath, Zhen Ning stepped back outside and closed the door. The lab required a sterile environment, and her shoes were still damp with dew from the back mountain.

Sisan bowed slightly: “His Highness has instructed that Miss Shu is free to come and go in the flower fields behind the mountain.”

Indeed, this was one of the most prestigious families in Condor. Du Boqin’s magnanimity was evident—he knew she coveted his family’s jasmine plants, and he generously handed them over. Truly, the demeanor of a first-class noble household.

At noon, Zhen Ning emerged from the lab, gazing at the silent, empty courtyard.

Du Boqin wasn’t home, and the entire mansion seemed devoid of servants, each quietly attending to their duties with perfect order.

Zhen Ning wasn’t unfamiliar with the grandeur that accompanied his presence. But it seemed he rarely resided at Fanlu Manor. Since that night, he had already left early in the morning, and she hadn’t seen him for days.

For the past few days, she had wandered around the back mountain, collecting unique Moxian plants for analysis, experimenting with extraction methods she hadn’t tried before, and occasionally distilling hydrosols in the lab for her research.

Her brother contacted her at night. She wasn’t entirely cut off from the outside world, but the phone line in her room… Presumably, Fanlu Manor’s surveillance system recorded every word of their conversations, even the rhythm of their breathing. If His Highness wished to review it, the transcript would be delivered to Du Boqin’s desk within minutes.

Zhen Ning reassured her brother that everything was fine. Feng Rong understood—no progress yet.

When Zhen Ning urgently transferred flights from Jordan to Moxia, she used Du Boqin’s private satellite phone to contact Feng Rong aboard the plane. Without reservation, she revealed everything. She made it clear to her brother: her father’s remains must be brought back to their homeland for burial. She wanted to visit his grave and find solace, not face an empty tomb.

Feng Rong knew that the whereabouts of their father’s remains had always been a lingering pain for the family, especially for their mother, who, though silent, deeply cared. He had been tirelessly seeking information, never expecting that the Moxian military had control over the matter. This time, Zhen Ning insisted on going to Moxia, leaving no room for negotiation. Feng Rong hesitated between stopping her or letting her go, ultimately choosing the latter.

However, Feng Rong forbade Feng Ze from contacting her. He knew Feng Ze’s impulsive nature—if he learned his younger sister was alone in Fanlu, he’d surely cause a scene to bring her back. Whether he could succeed aside, the Feng family was in no position to provoke further trouble.

Zhen Ning had been at Fanlu for nearly a month. Aside from that first night, Du Boqin hadn’t returned to stay.

She realized she no longer understood this man. The issues between them went beyond the two-year separation—they were shaped by waves of tumultuous events that had transformed their identities and tested their lives repeatedly. When they looked at each other now, suspicion and caution lingered.

Zhen Ning was clear-headed: the Feng family would never hand over even a scrap of paper left by her father to Du Boqin.

If she couldn’t convince Du Boqin to voluntarily return her father’s remains, she would eventually have to retreat.

But this man was preoccupied with state affairs. When they lived in Condor, he often stayed overnight at the Xinja Garden apartment in the city. Lately, his fiancée hadn’t appeared at Fanlu Manor, suggesting that was where he kept her hidden…

Zhen Ning stopped herself from thinking further.

Spring in Condor was often rainy, and the sound of raindrops falling on the terrace was particularly enchanting. Zhen Ning drew the curtains tightly and slept from afternoon until nightfall, her dreams vivid and surreal. She dreamed of returning to the dense jungle of Tumu Island, where her father lay twitching not far ahead—a charred lump of flesh, his features destroyed, but his eyes still defiantly open. Zhen Ning stared at her father’s face, wanting to rush forward and embrace him, to call out to him, but her body felt impossibly heavy, her limbs like lead, unable to move.

Drenched in cold sweat, she struggled in her nightmare until she felt someone press her hand and softly call her name: “Zhen Ning.”

Zhen Ning awoke from the nightmare.

The room was pitch black. She saw a figure standing by her bed—Du Boqin holding a lamp, his brows slightly furrowed as he looked down at her.

Still shaken, Zhen Ning gasped for breath as she sat up. This man moved like a ghost; she didn’t know when he had returned.

Lowering her head, she thought of the scene in her dream and wiped away the tears on her face. Du Boqin turned on the bedside lamp and gently said: “I heard you screaming.”

Zhen Ning suddenly looked up at him, her tear-soaked eyes burning brightly: “Du Boqin, how did my father die in the end?”

Du Boqin replied indifferently: “Weren’t you there?”

Zhen Ning asked: “When he died, was his entire body charred, torn apart by the explosion?” Her body began to tremble.

Du Boqin watched her silently, his voice devoid of emotion: “You need a drink to calm down.”

He turned toward the liquor cabinet in the living room.

Zhen Ning grabbed him, screaming in despair: “Du Boqin, your army killed him! Are you afraid to let me see him?”

Du Boqin pulled her hand away, and Zhen Ning tumbled off the bed.

Du Boqin scooped her up by the waist, carrying her out of her bedroom, through the corridor, and into his spacious master bedroom at the end.

Zhen Ning was thrown onto the large bed. She looked up at the man beside her. Du Boqin had regained his usual composure, his face bearing the aristocratic coldness she knew so well. He leaned down, opened the bedside drawer, and retrieved a thick file, handing it to her without expression.

Zhen Ning took it.

She looked down at the document in her hands—Du Boqin’s exclusive files, printed on the special stationery of Moxia’s Ministry of Defense, stamped with the confidential emblem of the General Staff Headquarters.

Zhen Ning opened the file, flipping through each page. The familiar English words seemed to spin before her eyes, making it difficult to read. She forced herself to concentrate, focusing intently on the papers in front of her.

Du Boqin turned and sat in the large armchair by the bed, slowly reaching for a cigarette from the box on the table. He watched the woman on the bed—her hair disheveled, her pale cheeks trembling despite her clenched lips. Sooner or later, she would have to face this. It was James’ final report on the case, written after he woke up in the hospital. Du Boqin had read it countless times; the edges were worn from handling. The last time, he had taken it from his study and locked it in the bedside drawer.

Time seemed to drag on endlessly, freezing them both in this suffocating silence. Yet, at the same time, it felt as though it passed in the blink of an eye—the cigarette in his hand hadn’t even burned down yet.

When Zhen Ning finished reading the report, she looked up, her face calm but fragile: “So, he died in the explosion?”

Du Boqin stated matter-of-factly: “He stayed behind alone to cover the retreat of three others who escaped the jungle. By all accounts, it was a success.”

Zhen Ning’s face began to turn deathly pale.

Du Boqin glanced at her complexion and said indifferently: “Zhen Ning, the affairs of the previous generation are settled.”

Zhen Ning raised an eyebrow and gave a faint, bitter smile: “Don’t make it sound so simple. Aren’t you still waiting for my father’s testimony to appeal for a retrial?”

Du Boqin extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray, his expression serene but tinged with an unhidden sorrow: “Zhen Ning, I’m merely cleaning up the mess. Everyone must pay the price for their actions. Your father was deeply entrenched in this world—he surely understood the rules.”

Zhen Ning snapped angrily: “Too bad he’s dead. Even with all your power, Your Highness may not have much of a chance.” Du Boqin gave a cryptic smile: “Fortunately, he has a good daughter.”

Zhen Ning shuddered violently, as if struck by lightning. In the next moment, she hurled the file in her hands straight at his face.

Du Boqin didn’t dodge in time and was hit squarely. As he reached to catch the falling pages, Zhen Ning abruptly stood up from the bed, staggering toward him. Du Boqin quickly grabbed her to steady her, but Zhen Ning, like a madwoman, snatched the papers from his hands and began tearing them into pieces.

Du Boqin tried to stop her: “Zhen Ning, stop!” But she ignored him, her red-rimmed eyes blazing as if these pages were her lifelong enemy.

She threw the shredded papers at his face, staring at his handsome yet cold features. Old wounds and new hatred surged within her, and she felt her anger spilling out like blood. Du Boqin grabbed her wrists, but in doing so, failed to fully support her body, which was now suspended mid-air. Zhen Ning kicked him hard in the abdomen.

Du Boqin gritted his teeth against the pain, gripping her hands tightly as she thrashed wildly, punching and kicking with all her might.

Anger flared in Du Boqin’s chest as he looked at her flushed face, like a cat baring its claws. Suddenly, he lost control, tilting her chin up and crushing his lips against hers in a fierce kiss.

A thunderous roar filled Zhen Ning’s mind, her blood rushing downward. All movement stopped instantly. The sweet taste on her lips was achingly familiar. She closed her eyes, falling silent in that moment.

But at the same time, Du Boqin gripped her shoulders and pushed her away forcefully. His expression betrayed a flicker of disarray.

Zhen Ning looked up. Du Boqin had already regained his composure: “Finished throwing your tantrum?” Zhen Ning panted, her limbs weak, glaring at him venomously.

Du Boqin’s face was once again calm: “I’ve just returned. I’ll take a shower, and we’ll have dinner shortly.”

Sisan instructed the staff to bring dinner to the terrace dining area outside the second-floor living room. After Du Boqin emerged from the shower, he saw Zhen Ning sitting at the table, staring blankly at her plate.

Du Boqin glanced at her expression, a hint of displeasure crossing his face: “Still unhappy?” Zhen Ning, feeling irritable, retorted sharply: “Your Highness meddles far too much.”

Du Boqin frowned, suppressing his emotions, and walked over to set her utensils for her.

Zhen Ning glanced up at him, her gaze suddenly faltering. His shirt buttons were unevenly fastened, revealing several scars across his chest beneath the gray fabric.

Noticing her stare, Du Boqin sat back down and discreetly buttoned up his shirt.

Zhen Ning hesitated, then couldn’t help but ask: “Are those surgical scars?” Du Boqin’s sharp instincts caught her underlying curiosity: “You know I was injured?”

Zhen Ning quickly masked her feelings with a faint sneer: “Your Highness is renowned for his heroic deeds—single-handedly infiltrating a den of drug traffickers and eliminating their leader, a threat to Moxia for years. The Battle of Tumu was gloriously recounted in your country’s media. I’ve read the reports.”

Du Boqin showed no interest in continuing the topic: “Enough.”

But Zhen Ning wasn’t ready to let it go: “The newspapers said it was the princess who saved you?” Du Boqin replied coolly: “We’re not married yet.”

Zhen Ning smirked, rephrasing: “Your fiancée saved you?”

Du Boqin answered truthfully: “I had already lost consciousness from my injuries. She followed the medical helicopter to the battlefield.”

Zhen Ning suddenly lowered her head, laughing softly. Her lashes veiled her eyes, hiding her emotions. Du Boqin heard only a faint chuckle: “Such selfless devotion. Your Highness truly is a man of passion.”

Du Boqin’s heart skipped a beat at her laughter, sensing something off about her demeanor. But Zhen Ning had already raised her glass, smiling brightly like sunlight: “To great love!”

Du Boqin refused to continue the conversation, simply telling her: “Eat something.”

Zhen Ning focused on her meal, but after a while, she couldn’t help stealing glances at his chest and abdomen. She knew better than anyone—the wounds she had bandaged herself, the endless flow of blood, the bullet holes riddling his torso. She wondered how much damage the gunshot wounds had done to his internal organs. Yet here he was, seemingly unscathed.

She remembered vividly the heat and stickiness of his blood under her fingers, the overwhelming fear in her heart. Her only thought then was to keep him alive until the military arrived to rescue him. Whether it was Jiang Mo Ya who ultimately saved him mattered little to her.

She regretted it, yet she didn’t know if, given another chance, she would still choose to stop and save him. No one could blame her, but she would never forgive herself for the rest of her life.

After drinking soup silently for a while, Zhen Ning suddenly looked up and asked: “If I promise to stay at Fanlu, can you return my father’s remains to my mother first?”

At this, Du Boqin’s brows furrowed slightly. Zhen Ning, however, met his gaze without fear, her eyes unwavering.

After a long pause, Du Boqin pressed his temples, as if weary. He set down his spoon, wiped his mouth with a silk napkin, lit a cigarette, and then spoke gently: “Zhen Ning, losers don’t get to negotiate terms.”

Zhen Ning looked at him, her face shadowed with despair. Finally, she bowed her head in silence, saying nothing more.

The two sat quietly, facing a table laden with exquisite dishes, yet it felt as though they were confronting an invisible, unsolvable knot. The air was thick with the lingering smoke of his cigar—a habit he hadn’t indulged in before. In the heavy silence, even the faint aroma of the cigar brought some semblance of comfort.

Outside the living room, Sisan reported softly: “Your Highness, there’s an urgent call from the Foreign Minister in the study downstairs.”

Du Boqin extinguished his cigarette in the crystal ashtray, closed the door, and left.

Zhen Ning silently finished her meal and rose to call for the staff to clear the dishes, only to realize that he had casually locked the second-floor living room door behind him. After examining the security system on this floor, she marveled at how Fanlu Manor truly lived up to its reputation as the second hub of Moxia’s Ministry of Defense—its security was nearly impenetrable. After pondering for a while, she decided to retreat to her room. Sitting on the sofa, she eventually drifted off to sleep.

When Du Boqin returned, he found her asleep on the living room sofa, still wearing the same clothes. He turned off the chandelier, leaving only a dim floor lamp on. Standing over her sleeping form, his face bore an inscrutable shadow. After hesitating for a long while, he finally bent down and lifted her into his arms.

It felt like an eternity since he’d held someone close. The emptiness in his embrace was finally filled. Gently, he carried her to her bedroom at the end of the corridor.

---

On the last weekend of March, Zhen Ning boarded the plane to return home. A driver from Fanlu Manor took her to the airport, accompanied by two officers who escorted her onto the plane. Throughout the journey, Zhen Ning clutched a small travel bag tightly to her chest.

Meanwhile, Du Boqin was on a business trip in the northern region.

Zhen Ning remained unusually silent during the flight. Du Boqin’s secretary accompanied her out of the airport until she boarded the car sent by the Feng family.

In the car, Feng Rong received a report from his subordinates: the two officers accompanying Zhen Ning had made no moves, and the plane from Moxia had returned directly from the airport. Relieved, he patted his sister’s hand: “We’re home.”

Zhen Ning nodded, holding back tears that threatened to spill.

She thought she had moved past it all, that she could handle it well. But when she handed the urn containing her father’s ashes to her mother, she broke down uncontrollably. Feng Mother stared at the sandalwood box for a long while, her eyes reddening as she trembled, gently touching the lid. Softly, she murmured: “Master, our daughter has brought you home.”

Zhen Ning and Feng Rong knelt before their mother.

Their mother remained composed, calling for the nanny to tend to Zhen Ning and instructing Feng Rong to handle matters. The Feng family conducted DNA tests on two direct relatives, confirming that the ashes Zhen Ning brought back indeed belonged to Feng Lun.

The Feng family laid Feng Lun’s remains to rest. The funeral was private, but many of his old friends and former subordinates traveled great distances secretly to pay their respects.

When the family prepared to send the urn to the mountainside cemetery—a local custom requiring the children and grandchildren to accompany it—Zhen Ning deeply bowed in the main hall. She watched as her eldest brother carried the urn, her second brother held their father’s portrait, her third brother bore the mourning scroll, and her sister-in-law cradled their young nephew. Slowly, the procession moved out. Zhen Ning bowed once more toward the gate, bidding her father a final farewell. Over two decades of nurturing, care, love, and affection—all left unrepaid. And now, she could only let him go.

That night, after the funeral ended, Zhen Ning went alone to her mother’s bedroom. To her surprise, the person standing inside was Feng Ze.

Her eyes, swollen from crying, widened: “Mother didn’t call for me?”

Feng Ze stood by the window, turning to fix his gaze on her face: “Sister, was the person you saved in the forest on the Tumu border… Du Boqin?”

Zhen Ning froze in place.

“I’ve read all the case files. I couldn’t understand why you’d make such a foolish mistake—stopping to save a Moxian. Not until you boarded Du Boqin’s private jet in Jordan and flew to Condor.”

Feng Ze stood motionless, his piercing gaze fixed on her face. Suddenly, he strode forward, gripping her shoulders tightly, his voice low and trembling with frustration: “Deny my suspicion!”

Feng Ze stared at her, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury: “Shu Zhen Ning, speak! Say ‘it’s not true’!”

Zhen Ning remained silent, her lips pressed shut, tears slowly welling up in her eyes.

With a forceful shove, Feng Ze pushed her away, his face contorted with rage: “You let Father die so you could save him?”

A faint breath escaped Zhen Ning’s throat: “Does everyone know?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Feng Ze replied coldly, his gaze unwavering. “You shouldn’t have gone back to Condor. Both you and Big Brother are out of your minds.”

Zhen Ning bowed her head, saying nothing.

Feng Ze ground his teeth: “The Du family will never stop pursuing the truth about that plane crash. Since you had the chance to enter Fanlu, you should have killed him.”

---

That night, after leaving her mother’s quarters, she stumbled out into the courtyard and collapsed onto the stone steps.

Cheng Sao rushed over: “Miss!”

The day after the funeral, Cheng Sao held Zhen Ning close, sitting by the window on a soft divan. Just like when she was a child, whenever she felt unwell, she would cling to Cheng Sao for comfort. Now, Cheng Sao gently patted her back as Zhen Ning lay there, dizzy and weak, her eyes closed.

A servant approached from outside the gate: “Someone is here to see Miss.”

At this, Zhen Ning slowly sat up, her expression calm: “Uncle Cheng, please bring down my luggage.”

Feng Rong walked in: “Sister, come to the study for a moment.”

Zhen Ning followed her older brother into the study. Facing the desk was a large armchair—the very seat their father had loved most, and the source of some of her warmest childhood memories.

Now, Feng Rong sat in that chair.

Zhen Ning stepped forward, lightly touching the armrest of the chair.

Her brother gestured for her to sit nearby, then turned to her and said: “There are two matters I need to discuss with you.”

Zhen Ning immediately straightened her posture, listening intently.

Feng Rong looked at her, speaking bluntly: “Feng Man needs zhànjīn flowers—seeds or plants.”

Zhen Ning hesitated: “Big Brother, we can’t just steal someone else’s technology.”

The most renowned spa treatments at Feng Man Hotel used essential oils derived exclusively from imports from Moxia, cultivated in the fields of the Fanlu Mountains at 29 degrees north latitude. The cultivation and harvesting of zhànjīn flowers were patented technologies belonging to the Du family.

Feng Rong responded calmly: “You’re well-versed in Moxian history. The zhànjīn flower wasn’t always monopolized by the Du family.”

After a moment of silence, Zhen Ning finally nodded.

Feng Rong paused, then continued: “There’s one more thing.”

He spoke clearly, issuing an order: “Princess Jiang Mo Ya is beginning to seek an opportunity and means to return to Moxia. We must closely monitor this development.”

Zhen Ning responded steadily: “Understood.”

Feng Rong stepped closer: “One of our people will assist you when necessary. Your contact point will be the storage room of the janitor on the fourth floor of Jiarong Building. The password can only be used once.”