Chapter Forty: The Grand Ceremony of the Five Nations Alliance (Part Twenty)

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A dense mist hung over the night, long past the hour when lanterns were first lit.

After dinner, Changsun Chenmin and Fu Hua lingered in Liuyun Pavilion, sipping tea and engaging in idle conversation.

"I suppose it's getting late. I should return and rest—there's the test tomorrow, after all." Changsun Chenmin rubbed his temples, feigning fatigue.

"The door is right there—no one's stopping you," Fu Hua replied with a sidelong glance, his tone indifferent.

Hearing this, Changsun Chenmin's thick brows arched in amusement. He thought to himself, “His temperament truly matches his reputation.”

With that, his gaze sharpened as he looked at Fu Hua. "Then I won't intrude on your leisure any longer. I'll take my leave."

Fu Hua made no reply. His face was cold as carved ice, devoid of warmth.

Changsun Chenmin smiled, turned, and walked away, Su Qingfeng hurrying after him.

Once outside Liuyun Pavilion, Su Qingfeng glanced back before drawing close to Chenmin and speaking in a low voice, "The Fifth Prince bears the aura of a sovereign."

"When did you become a face-reader?" Chenmin halted, fixing Su Qingfeng with a steady gaze, the smile fading from his lips.

"Never mind his courage for now—just his bearing and words mark him as a king. Unlike you, the crown prince of five kingdoms, always so timid." Su Qingfeng turned his head aside, his tone careless.

"Hey, hey! Whose side are you on?" Chenmin's brows drew together, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

Su Qingfeng grinned mischievously. "Since you ask, shall I be honest?"

"Fine, better you keep quiet!"

"Not a chance. I have to say it." Su Qingfeng spoke with deliberate mischief.

Chenmin played along. "Go ahead, then."

He knew Su Qingfeng would claim to support Fu Hua just to irk him—true or false, Chenmin could always tell.

"Of course I stand with Fu... with you," Su Qingfeng corrected himself in time.

Childish, Chenmin thought to himself.

"I’m the bigger man—I won’t stoop to your level." He shrugged, glanced up at the waning moon, and headed toward the inn.

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"Tch. Oh, by the way—you didn’t pay the bill. All those dishes were your orders..." Su Qingfeng suddenly recalled, buzzing in his ear.

"I ordered them, didn’t I? Didn’t I eat what I ordered? Nothing was wasted." Chenmin feigned innocence.

As for who would pay, that wasn’t his concern—certainly not him.

Su Qingfeng grumbled on the side, "Well, you got your fill while I just stood there starving."

"Tomorrow, you cook for yourself. Consider it compensation for me..."

Su Qingfeng knew well that, despite Chenmin’s occasional roguishness and apparent lack of seriousness, this wasn’t his true nature.

Within him lived someone much like Fu Hua—longing to show his true face to the world, yet unable to do so.

Meanwhile, after Chenmin’s departure, Fu Hua tossed a pouch of silver carelessly onto the table and left without lingering.

The streets seemed livelier than usual—lanterns shone as bright as day, crowds weaving through the night—but none of it concerned him.

The wind carried a subtle chill, ruffling the dark hair that fell across his brow, briefly obscuring his vision.

The night drifted by like smoke.

Upon returning to the inn, his gaze clear and cold, he stood with his back to the door, gently running his fingers over the carved purple sandalwood table.

Soon, the door opened quietly. The newcomer was clad in black, sword at his side, tall and broad-shouldered, his skin weathered and dark, eyes narrow—difficult to look at for long.

He bowed low behind Fu Hua and reported, "Your Highness, the matter is done."

Fu Hua showed neither surprise nor delight, as though all had unfolded according to his design. He waved his hand, and the man closed the door and withdrew.

His attendant, Su Lin, could not help but ask, "Young Master, why not let me handle it?"

"You’re with me every day. If you suddenly disappeared, it would arouse suspicion," Fu Hua replied, withdrawing his hand from the table.

"Changsun Chenmin, he..." Su Lin began, but Fu Hua silenced him with a cold look.

Realizing his mistake, Su Lin grew uneasy, stumbling over his words, "…Today, when you dined with the prince, he was suppressed at every turn. I believe he’s no real threat."

Fu Hua’s face remained severe as he gazed at Su Lin’s youthful features. He sighed inwardly—so inexperienced, so unaware of danger.

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In that instant, Fu Hua's once indifferent eyes blazed hotter than fire. He leaned in, and Su Lin bowed his head even lower.

"Underestimating an opponent is a fatal error. Do you think Changsun Chenmin secured his place as the crown prince of five kingdoms through luck alone? He’s far from incompetent—he simply disdains hollow words. He is a wild wolf who’ll tear apart every prey. Remember that."

Fu Hua's icy tone carried such weight that Su Lin found it hard to breathe. After a long pause, he finally replied.

"If I ever hear you address him by name again, you’ll take twenty strokes yourself. Dismissed," Fu Hua commanded.

"Yes, sir."

Su Lin was still too naive, ignorant of the ways of the world. Though Fu Hua's words were sharp, he only hoped Su Lin would learn restraint and caution.

Blowing out the ornate lamp on the table, Fu Hua lay down fully clothed.

Exhaling a heavy breath, he slowly closed his eyes, and memories flashed through his mind.

He had met Su Lin in the fifty-sixth year of Zhaoyue. At fourteen, he had witnessed the great drought that ravaged the five kingdoms—water scarce as gold, the earth cracked, streams run dry, crops withered, lips parched, white bones exposed in the wild…

Death was everywhere, and even the palace suffered from the water shortage.

Accompanying his royal father outside the palace to comfort the people, he sat in the carriage, looking coldly upon the bent, ragged refugees, watching them hobble with sticks and battered bowls, listening to their feeble cries…

As he stepped from the carriage, a yellow-haired child appeared from nowhere, clutching his leg with filthy hands. The guards and attendants rushed to pull him away, but no beating or tugging could make the boy let go.

Back then, his own gaze was harsh, but seeing those rough little hands and the child’s unwavering eyes, something in him softened—a pang of compassion, perhaps. He waved off the others and secretly brought the boy into the palace.

"Your name?"

"Su… Su Lin."

Though the Emperor Nan Sheng discovered it and punished them both, Su Lin was allowed to stay.

From then on, Su Lin became his personal attendant. In the blink of an eye, nine years had passed—the yellow-haired child had grown into a young man…