The War God of the Great Yin, Prince Guangling—Murong Feng.
So he was Murong Feng. Suddenly, everything made sense to Luo Huanghun: why she had encountered him so gravely wounded that day.
He was supposed to have died then, but he survived—and had even saved her.
The horse gradually slowed to a stop. As Luo Huanghun dismounted, her legs gave out and she nearly fell, only to be caught by Murong Feng’s long arm.
Listening to Murong Feng’s heartbeat, Luo Huanghun blurted out, “My legs really are weak, I wasn’t trying to get close to you!”
“You’re quite self-aware!” Murong Feng burst out laughing, the vibration of his chest reaching Luo Huanghun’s ears, making her flush with embarrassment. In retaliation, she stomped on his foot.
Murong Feng let her go, shaking his leg. “How can such a delicate girl kick like she’s just tickling?”
Luo Huanghun rolled her eyes. “You think everyone’s as tough as you, like a wooden post?”
She took a step back, but cried out in pain and crouched down. Murong Feng immediately knelt to check on her.
Why was he always so hands-on? Luo Huanghun resisted the urge to pull her foot away as Murong Feng gently examined her ankle, causing her to yelp again.
Murong Feng frowned. “Your last sprain never healed, and now you’re hurt again. What’s going on at your house—doesn’t anyone care for you?”
After returning, Luo Huanghun had been so preoccupied with the seal that she’d ignored her injury. She could walk, so she hadn’t thought much of it. But hearing Murong Feng’s concern, she felt a pang.
Compared to her days of imprisonment, this pain was nothing; hardly worth fussing over.
Still, she felt a warmth in her heart. “It’s fine. It’ll heal in a few days.”
Murong Feng flicked her forehead. Luo Huanghun covered her head and glared at him. “What was that for?”
He answered seriously, “Take care of yourself. Girls shouldn’t have to suffer like this.”
A wave of sadness washed over Luo Huanghun. She blinked, and tears began to fall.
Since her rebirth, she had never allowed herself to be a “girl” again. The heavy burdens on her shoulders forced her to keep moving forward, never daring to retreat—retreat meant the abyss.
But now, someone told her she was still a girl, that she shouldn’t have to suffer. Suddenly, she couldn’t hold back her tears.
Murong Feng panicked at the sight of her crying. “Alright, alright, my fault. I shouldn’t have touched you. Tomorrow I’ll hunt a big white tiger and make you a cloak, how’s that?”
Luo Huanghun burst out laughing. “What would I do with that?”
Seeing her laugh, Murong Feng relaxed and said earnestly, “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
But Luo Huanghun didn’t hear him—hoofbeats sounded, and Ren Jingsi arrived.
Ren Jingsi dismounted, scrutinized Luo Huanghun, then took her hand and thanked Murong Feng with a distant expression. “Thank you, Prince Guangling, for saving my wife.”
Murong Feng’s smile vanished; he was always cold in public. He nodded slightly. “Lord Ren, be careful—favoring a concubine over your wife is never wise.”
Ren Jingsi’s face darkened, but Murong Feng simply mounted his horse and rode away.
Watching him leave, Luo Huanghun felt an inexplicable emptiness.
Ren Jingsi tightened his grip on her hand, helped her onto his horse, and suddenly asked, “Did you know Prince Guangling before?”
Luo Huanghun shook her head.
It was the first time she’d ridden a horse with Ren Jingsi. It should have been an intimate moment, but she felt nothing. Her mind was on Murong Feng’s smiling eyes, wondering if anyone else knew what he was really like in private.
Ren Jingsi broke the silence, explaining, “Linger’s situation was more urgent just now, so I went to save her first…”
Luo Huanghun suddenly felt bored. She smiled. “Ren Jingsi, did you know my childhood name is Ling’er?”
Ren Jingsi stiffened, his grip tightening. “What do you mean?”
She spoke softly, “If you hadn’t drunkenly called out ‘Linger’ that time, I wouldn’t have been so determined to marry you. Our marriage was a mistake from the start.”