"Ting Feng?" Fang Chuning looked at him in shock, unable to fully process the mont. He simply knelt there, gazing up at that strikingly srizing face—one that astonished with a glance and entranced with another.
The biting chill of early spring hung in the air, yet Xie Jue, who had rushed over with reckless speed, felt none of the cold wind slicing through; his body was drenched in sweat. His face, pale with unspeakable dread, was devoid of the elegance and poise that often defined the noble young master of an aristocratic family. Anxious and uneasy, he resembled nothing more than an ordinary youth desperate in the face of dood love.
Marshal Fang’s gaze was sharp and piercing, fixed firmly on him as though waiting for his explanation. No matter how urgent the matter, Xie Jue barging into his estate—and specifically into his study—without care for decorum was a grave breach of etiquette, completely lacking in respect.
Xie Jue knew that his worry had caused him to lose composure, leading to a mistake that was unforgivable. For a mont, he was at a loss, unsure of what to do. He had no way of knowing what Fang Chuning might have already told the Marshal. If it had been revealed, he ought to kneel alongside Fang Chuning at this very mont to share the brunt of the Marshal’s wrath. But if it hadn’t been said yet, perhaps he could still turn the tide, preventing this tragedy from unfolding. He couldn’t let Fang Chuning make an irreversible mistake in a mont of recklessness.
Marshal Fang was undoubtedly an experienced general who had commanded troops for years. His presence was imposing, and his deanor unshaken. Without uttering a single word, his silence alone spoke volus. Fang Chuning looked at Xie Jue, the two having shared a tacit understanding cultivated over years. They both knew why this was happening. Fang Chuning, however, hadn’t expected Xie Jue to throw caution to the wind and storm into the study like this—it was his family’s study!
Xie Jue himself was unsure what Fang Chuning had said, so he quickly concocted an excuse, saying, "Marshal, the envoy team encountered an urgent matter. I ca to seek Tunan’s assistance on a pressing issue. My intrusion must be forgiven!"
Marshal Fang was not one to be easily placated. "Urgent matter? At such an ungodly hour? What kind of pressing issue befell the envoy team that Prince Yan would dare to ignore propriety and barge into my study?"
Xie Jue found himself at a loss, unable to craft a convincing rationale at such short notice. Even worse, the Marshal’s tone was sharp and unyielding, leaving Xie Jue unsure of how much he might already know, making him even more anxious.
Fang Chuning spoke, "Father..."
"Silence! I am speaking to Prince Yan, not to you!" the Marshal rebuked angrily.
Fang Chuning clenched his fists tightly and fell silent. Xie Jue considered his options for a mont before answering in a steady tone, "Sannan has just sent word—King of Sannan intends to exploit my identity as a descendant of the Sannan Royal Family during my diplomatic mission to stir unrest. I was overwheld by despair and confusion, and so I ca to seek counsel with Tunan."
This excuse, Xie Jue knew all too well, was clumsy at best. Even if Sannan Royal Family had sent a ssage, what justification was there for him to rush over at such a late hour to consult Fang Chuning?
This abrupt intrusion—with no prior announcent—gave the impression that sothing far graver had occurred.
The Marshal stared at him intently, as if searching for proof of deceit in his words, clearly viewing his explanation with suspicion. Yet, as Xie Jue openly spoke of his connection to the Sannan Royal Family, complex emotions stirred in the Marshal’s heart. Seizing upon this, Xie Jue recalled sothing and spoke again, unable to suppress himself: "A Sannan spy’s letter disclosed that years ago, when Marshal sent Tunan to accompany to Ningzhou, it was because you were aware of my lineage and feared the Sannan people might secretly reach out to . Thus, you sent Tunan to covertly monitor my actions. I have trusted Tunan deeply as a brother for years, but learning of this left hurt and enraged. Overwheld, I lost control of my senses and sought clarity from you. Please forgive for my lack of propriety!"
This reasoning—crafted hastily—did manage to strike at the heart of the current tensions between himself and Fang Chuning. He had no choice but to take a gamble—a gamble that Fang Chuning had yet to co clean to the Marshal. If Fang Chuning had already confessed, everything Xie Jue said would be seen as lies, and the Marshal would imdiately expose his fabrications. But if Fang Chuning had withheld the truth, there was still hope for turning the situation around.
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