Qi Rong’s arrival caught Yun Xi off guard. He towered over her like a shadow come alive; his presence wrapped her in a chill. When those dark, fathomless eyes found hers she felt a squeeze at her chest and dropped her gaze.
Her head was full of the conversation with her father—words she hadn’t expected to hear, accusations she hadn’t known how to answer. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Prince Xian’s suggestion was right. That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Qi Yu’s voice cut through the tension; the refugee crisis couldn’t wait. Yun Xi managed a reply to him but kept her eyes fixed to the floor, refusing to meet Qi Rong’s stare.
“Are you unwell?” Qi Yu frowned. Seeing Yun Xi fall suddenly silent worried him; he stepped forward as if to check on her, but Qi Rong moved to intercept.
Qi Rong was broad and even taller than Qi Yu by half a head. From above he looked down at him with nothing but cold disdain. “She’s under my care. You do what you have to—leave her to me.”
His tone brooked no argument and left Qi Yu no space to approach Yun Xi. The older man paused, bowed sincerely, and said, “Then Seventh Uncle, please escort Miss Yun back.”
Outside the city the situation had already started to spiral. Every second wasted could cost lives; Qi Yu had no time to hesitate. He turned and strode down the stairs.
“Why won’t you look at me? Guilty conscience?” Qi Rong’s fingers found Yun Xi’s chin and lifted it. His gaze burned; small sparks of anger danced in his pupils.
Earlier in the street he’d seen her from a distance—leaning on the drum-tower railing beside Qi Yu, standing like a pair. It had set his blood on fire. He had stormed up the tower only to find them behaving intimately. The way Qi Yu looked at her—any man worth the name would recognize the look. The idea of someone coveting what he considered his filled him with a jealous fury he could barely contain.
Yun Xi did not answer. Even with her chin raised, she kept her eyes averted. She was guilty—ashamed, even. Her father had been responsible for the downfall of Duke Luo; somehow that made her feel indebted to Qi Rong, as if she owed him for the wrongs he’d suffered.
“What’s with your mouth?” Qi Rong’s gaze narrowed. There was blood on her lips; he rubbed his thumb against it.
“It hurts…” Yun Xi winced, tears springing to her eyes. Her gaze slipped to him.
Seeing her water-bright eyes thawed something in Qi Rong. He loosened his grip, rested his forehead against hers, and clamped his teeth together. “You will not—without my permission—have private dealings with any man. Especially not Qi Yu.”
His voice was sharp and possessive, full of the kind of jealousy that brooked no explanation. He had no right to issue such commands, no authority to claim ownership over who she could meet, but he spoke as if he were her sovereign.
Gentling his anger only slightly, he wiped the blood from her mouth with a tenderness that didn’t touch the cold in his expression. He kept his lips a hard line.
Yun Xi felt conflicted beneath the care: she looked at him with clear, puzzled eyes. “Why are you acting like this? You hate my father—didn’t you? I thought you hated him.”
Once, she had resented Qi Rong for his cruelty and shamelessness when he’d treated her harshly. But now…it all made terrible sense. If he hated her father, then by extension she should be his enemy too. If he hated her, she couldn’t blame him.
“If you truly dislike me, I’ll keep away,” she said. “I can’t absolve my father’s sins, but I can keep myself out of your way.”
Qi Rong blinked, something unreadable passing through his eyes. He pinched her cheek until she flinched, voice brutal and fierce: “Who said I dislike you? I’ll tear his head off.”
He held her jaw so she had to meet his eyes. “My grudge with your father has nothing to do with you. Don’t think you can make amends for him by hiding from me. You can’t run from this. From the moment you were born, you belong to me—there’s a mark on you. Anyone who tries to take you away, I’ll never let it stand. That includes you, if you try.”
There was such hardness in his face—ruthless, almost murderous—that Yun Xi drew in on herself, knitting her brows. If she truly loathed someone, she would never spare them a glance for the rest of her life. Why, then, did he cage her like this? What did he truly want?
Before she could untangle the confusion, her stomach protested loudly—a rude, echoing growl that made Qi Rong look surprised and gave her a heat of embarrassment. She pushed his hand away and flushed. “I didn’t have breakfast. I’m…starving.”
Qi Rong’s expression shifted into something teasing. He tightened his grip on her hand. “I’ll take you to Fu Man Lou.”
She tried to refuse. “I can’t eat.”
The thought of the refugees outside—hungry, scantily clothed, exposed to the elements—made her feel guilty even at the thought of a warm meal. Going to Fu Man Lou felt like an indulgence she didn’t deserve.
Qi Rong arched a brow and wore a mock-sly look. “Really? You can’t eat? Think of Fu Man Lou’s signature dishes.”
The restaurant’s menu unspooled in her mind the way a scent can—steaming dumplings, fragrant broths, flesh-and-vegetable stir-fries—her resolve wavered but she pressed her lips together and nodded faintly. “Mm.” Her voice was a whisper.
Qi Rong’s mouth twitched into a rare smile. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Fine. Since you’re so worried about the refugees, we’ll eat on the city gate tower. It’s only fair—they’ll see us up there. Also, I’m starving.”
Yun Xi stared at him, incredulous. He was suggesting he would eat in front of starving people? The cruelty of the gesture prickled, and for a moment she thought he’d gone mad.
“Come on. I’ll take you up first. Food will be brought up in a little while.”
“No—” she began, but Qi Rong cut her off. In one swift movement he scooped her into his arms. He gave a low instruction to Zhan Feng as they passed, and with a slight point of his toes he launched himself off the drum tower and shot toward the city gate.
“Miss!” Yu Zhu, who had been waiting at the side, went pale. Seeing her lady lifted and carried off by Qi Rong had startled her so much she nearly fainted. When she saw how effortlessly he strode through the air—already far away—she calmed and hurried toward the stunned Zhan Feng.
“Guard,” she asked breathlessly, “did the prince say where he was taking my lady?”
Zhan Feng’s face was sullen. “To eat.”
“To eat?” Yu Zhu repeated, baffled. If it was only eating, why the grim look?
She pressed on. “Did Prince Xian give any other orders before he left?”
Zhan Feng’s shoulders drooped. He looked miserable. “He told me to prepare several carts of steamed buns and get them sent up as quickly as possible.”
In a city, ordering several carts of steamed buns at once was no small thing. Where would he even find that many in time? But the memory of his master’s cold glare when displeased sent a chill down Zhan Feng’s spine. He swallowed and forced his legs to move—there was no choice but to obey.