Chapter Eighteen

Feng Xiaoli was invited back by Jin Ning, and sure enough, compared to what the old man said, Jin Ning obeyed the old man's words much more. It was certain the old man had privately instructed Jin Ning to keep a strict watch over her. Whatever Feng Xiaoli did, Jin Ning would not even dare blink, fearing that she might vanish right under her nose.

Jin Ning’s worries were not unfounded. Feng Xiaoli felt an urge to rush out and eavesdrop on the conversation between the old man and Zi Lin, but the moment she stepped out of her room, Jin Ning would bring her right back. By the faint sounds of breathing, Feng Xiaoli could tell there were at least five hidden guards monitoring her in the courtyard.

Her head felt heavy. Hidden guards, hidden guards—by all accounts, they were meant to protect their master, yet these guards seemed blind. When she was in danger, where were they? Only lurking and watching. Now, they were diligently keeping her under surveillance—what a marvel!

She decided to stop thinking altogether—the more she thought, the more irritated she became. She returned to her soft bed, stretched out her legs, pulled the quilt over herself, and buried her head to sleep. Jin Ning attended her by the bedside but couldn’t help speaking up, “Miss, it’s broad daylight. Are you really going to sleep?”

Feng Xiaoli tossed her a glare, disgruntled, “Jin Ning, you meddle in everything. Now you even want to control when I sleep? Do you really not regard me as your lady anymore?”

At this point, her confidence wavered. After all, she wasn’t truly the young mistress. Enjoying a happiness that wasn’t hers made her feel a twinge of guilt. She didn’t believe in the crescent mark on her shoulder, so she checked again—indeed, it was gone. She tried to recall the events of the past few days; she hadn’t met many people and couldn’t tell when it appeared.

Ah, well, since she was here, she might as well make herself at home.

Regardless of Jin Ning’s reply, she just needed a nap to make everything right again.

She slept straight through till evening. According to Jin Ning, Prince Chun and Zi Lin had a delightful conversation, as if they were old friends who had known each other for years. Feng Xiaoli pursed her lips, wondering what they could possibly have to discuss—dining together, and Zi Lin didn’t leave until midnight. Otherwise, getting Jin Ning to speak about it was harder than meeting the old man; Jin Ning evaded every question or changed the topic. Seeing Jin Ning’s reticence, Feng Xiaoli gave up.

Several more days went by. Yu Wenche hadn’t sought her out, and she didn’t know what had happened. He’d left in a hurry, his expression strange and his face clouded with melancholy. She didn’t dwell on it—those meant to come would come, and those unwilling wouldn’t, even if invited. Yue Wanqing, too, had disappeared; after sending Jin Ning out to inquire, she learned Yue Wanqing had left Huaijing again. Upon learning this, her mouth gaped wide enough to fit an egg.

Wanqing, how could you go off to play without inviting me? Sneaking away from Xuewu Mountain to have fun is one thing, but not calling me along? I’m really bored out of my mind here.

Most perplexing of all was the old man, who assiduously avoided her these days. It was harder than climbing to heaven just to see him. Several times Feng Xiaoli tried to barge into his study, only for shadows to block her path. Knowing to bow to circumstances, she simply laughed awkwardly and retreated.

She couldn’t fathom it—she couldn’t even leave Prince Chun’s manor, and all she could do was cry out in frustration.

At last, she managed to see Prince Chun briefly. He was flustered in her presence, his face tinged red as he said, “Ali, there’s a banquet in the palace. Go prepare yourself.” Feng Xiaoli seemed to hear a faint sigh from him. She looked at his face: his expression was normal, as if she’d misheard the sigh, but his voice carried a trace of guilt.

Why guilt?

In truth, Feng Xiaoli suspected Prince Chun vaguely knew she wasn’t the real “Feng Xiaoli,” which explained his odd behavior. According to Jin Ning, before her amnesia, the prince truly doted on her, granting every request. Now even Jin Ning felt puzzled by his attitude, though the servants in the manor treated her with utmost respect.

Standing before Prince Chun, Feng Xiaoli tried several times to speak but couldn’t find the words. What should she say? Why won’t you let me leave the manor? Why won’t you see me? Looking at his aged face, her words stuck in her throat.

“I feel like I’m about to explode with frustration!” More than once, Feng Xiaoli felt the urge to bash her head against the wall.

Jin Ning thought long and hard, then could only offer, “The prince is naturally good to you, miss!”

“No, not good at all. He’s acting like a tyrant, completely ignoring my feelings. I’m suffocating here!”

“Tyrant? What does that mean?”

She didn’t bother answering.

Jin Ning wanted to take off her red silk dress and replace it with a pink or lavender lotus gown, but Feng Xiaoli stubbornly refused. She loved the color red, loved the silk dress, and felt her outfit far superior to anything Jin Ning held.

They didn’t know how fine the dress was, but one thing was clear: Jin Ning couldn’t win against Feng Xiaoli. Against the prince’s orders, she smoothed out the creases in the silk dress, changed her hair ornaments, and finally, Feng Xiaoli couldn’t stand it—she removed the elaborate ornaments from her hair.

“Too heavy, too heavy—take them all off!”

Jin Ning compromised again, replacing them with the white jade hairpin Feng Xiaoli usually wore. She found it odd—everyone else adorned themselves with the finest, but Feng Xiaoli preferred the most inconspicuous white jade pin.

Shaking her head, Jin Ning reminded herself she was just a maid and shouldn’t disobey her mistress’s wishes. Prince Chun, forgive me!

Feng Xiaoli appeared before Prince Chun just as she had at their first meeting. The prince was speechless for a long moment, then rebuked Jin Ning, “Jin Ning, didn’t I tell you to dress her up? Why does she look exactly as she always does?”

“I told Jin Ning to dress me this way. I think it looks perfect. Don’t blame her—she was following my orders. Otherwise, if I’m unhappy, Jin Ning will suffer for it too!”

The prince sighed, “Ali, you never liked red before, even your hair ornaments were always the finest. Your temperament has changed so much. Even if one loses their memory, they wouldn’t change so drastically. Could it be, as you said, you aren’t really Ali?” Yet that birthmark was undeniably there.

“I’m really not!” she nodded. “I keep telling you all I’m not the real person, but you just won’t believe me. Must I cut open my heart for you to accept it?” Yet facing Prince Chun, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything truly harsh.

Two carriages waited at the gates. The prince had decided not to share one with her. She’d been resolved to force her way onto his carriage, but now it seemed unnecessary.

Prince Chun’s manor was not far from the palace—a half-hour’s journey. Feng Xiaoli sighed; if she used her lightness skill, she’d arrive in fifteen minutes.

Jin Ning assumed Feng Xiaoli was still troubled by the earlier conversation and comforted her, “Miss, I believe you really are the young mistress. You’ve just changed because of amnesia. Don’t take the prince’s words to heart!”

Feng Xiaoli shook her head, “Jin Ning, you’re wrong. I’m not sighing about that—I’m dreading having to see Mu Xinqi, that eccentric, in a moment!”