Chapter Five: Could It Really Be So?

Feng Xiaoli was escorted inside by an old nurse brought by Empress Yuanmin, who was to check if Feng Xiaoli bore a crescent-shaped birthmark.

But how could this be possible—

From her vantage point, she could see it clearly: a crescent-shaped mark deeper in tone than the surrounding skin was imprinted on Feng Xiaoli’s chest, its outline unmistakable.

The old nurse caught the shock on Feng Xiaoli’s face and, even without touching her, knew for certain there was indeed a crescent-shaped birthmark on her body.

Feng Xiaoli felt disoriented, murmuring, “How could this be—” How could it be? She’d lived in this body for over a decade, surely she knew everything about herself. Was it possible she’d missed something so crucial?

She couldn’t remember how she managed to walk out of the room. The others, seeing the blank look on her face and hearing the nurse’s affirmation, had their suspicions confirmed: the woman before them was indeed the legitimate daughter of Prince Chun’s household.

Soon after, Empress Yuanmin summoned Imperial Physician Chen to examine Feng Xiaoli. His diagnosis was that Feng Xiaoli had suffered a blow to the head, resulting in internal bleeding and a complete loss of memory.

Feng Xiaoli sneered inwardly—what a performance! But Imperial Physician Chen was renowned in Huai Capital for his medical skill and, as the royal physician, his words were above doubt.

Yet Feng Xiaoli found herself unable to extricate from the situation. She didn’t know how long she would remain there; all she could do was take one step at a time.

Upon hearing the diagnosis, Empress Yuanmin offered a few perfunctory words of comfort and, upon returning to the palace, sent over thousand-year-old ginseng and other rare medicinal herbs—purportedly on the emperor’s behalf—to aid in dispersing the blood clot.

In the end, the grand entourage departed from Prince Chun’s residence, leaving behind only Prince Chun himself, Feng Xiaoli, and a few servants.

Prince Chun looked at Feng Xiaoli, unable to find the right words. He wrung his hands in worry and finally spoke, “A’Li—”

He did not continue, instead turning to the servants and instructing, “Take the young miss back to her chambers.”

Feng Xiaoli glanced at Prince Chun, said nothing, then followed the servants to what used to be “A’Li’s” room. She made straight for the exquisitely carved bed and flung herself onto it without a care for decorum.

That night, she slept soundly.

Meanwhile, the lamp in the study burned through the night, a silent testament to another’s sleeplessness.

Feng Xiaoli did not wake until midday. No one had come to rouse her, and she found this to her liking—at least she wouldn’t be disturbed. Back when she’d apprenticed on Snow Mist Mountain, she’d be dragged from bed before dawn by her master’s feather duster, since all her fellow disciples were already up. She alone lingered, and to her chagrin, her roommate Yue Wanqing never bothered to wake her, instead hiding to watch her get scolded.

At least now she could sleep in.

This was the only advantage. As for everything else, there was truly nothing good about it.

When night fell and all was quiet, Feng Xiaoli donned a bright red silk dress, intent on secretly slipping out of Prince Chun’s residence. Martial arts were not her strength, but her lightness skill—taught to her personally by her master—was nearly peerless.

Just as she was vaulting over the wall, a massive object barreled toward her. Focused on her escape, she failed to notice in time and was thus struck by it, crashing to the ground with a force that left her sprawled, serving as an unwilling cushion.

“Damn it!” Feng Xiaoli cursed, shoving the hulking figure off her.

The night was too dark to make out his features, and she had no mind to care. After kicking the man several times in irritation, she attempted to vault the wall again.

But as she leapt, the man grabbed her right ankle. Caught off guard, she tumbled once more, hitting the ground painfully.

Before she could recover, the man wrapped his right arm around her and shielded her with his left, fending off a barrage of attacks. He held her close and rolled them both to safety, his left hand skillfully deflecting blows with a flexible sword, sparks flying as he parried the black-clad assailants.

Feng Xiaoli was utterly confused, her head spinning, but she knew this was no time to faint. Danger flashed through her mind. The black-clad men stood in formation before them, their faces hidden by cloth.

When the man had landed in the courtyard, he hadn’t expected anyone else. Unable to stop himself upon seeing Feng Xiaoli, he’d crashed into her. He would have left immediately, but doing so would leave Feng Xiaoli at the mercy of the attackers.

The assailants, seeing the man holding the woman, naturally assumed Feng Xiaoli had come to aid him—which meant she was their enemy as well, and the order was clear: no one was to be spared.

The man understood this, and so could not let go of Feng Xiaoli. His narrow eyes flashed dangerously as he faced their adversaries.

Feng Xiaoli squirmed in his grasp, protesting, “If you’re going to fight, can you do it somewhere else? This is hardly the place for a brawl. Can’t you see there’s an innocent woman caught up in this?”

The implication was clear—she was the innocent bystander.

One of the masked men sneered, “Seems you care about this woman a great deal!”

“If I leave, she’ll surely be killed. Isn’t that so?” the man retorted.

No one answered her, so Feng Xiaoli spoke again, “Are you all deaf? I said this isn’t the place for a fight. You’re going to draw a crowd!” Her tone was indignant; what she really wanted to say was, if they didn’t leave, how was she supposed to escape?

“Shut up!” Two voices, different in timbre, silenced her at once.

Feng Xiaoli promptly closed her mouth.

“Master, if you wish to protect her, you’ll have to defeat me. Otherwise, don’t blame me for what happens!” the lead assailant threatened, then launched his attack. The others, seeing their leader engage, drew their swords as well—their faces, surely, were grim with murderous intent.

Feng Xiaoli felt a sudden tightness at her waist; before she knew it, she was airborne. The man had leapt as well, but in midair, he let her go, sending her plummeting toward the ground.

He fought barehanded against swords, sending a wave of force with his internal energy that knocked back the assailants. They faltered, then quickly regrouped, forming a half-moon to surround him.

With a glance, the man tracked Feng Xiaoli’s descent and dove after her. The attackers anticipated his move—several blocked his path, while others tried to cut him off from behind. The leader and his closest allies faced him directly. The man gathered his energy in his palm, and in a flash, he was behind them. The assailants’ eyes widened in disbelief.

With a clang, their swords snapped cleanly in two.

As Feng Xiaoli braced for impact with the ground, she twisted at the last moment, landing feet first. With a nimble spring, she launched herself upward, brushing past the man as they crossed paths midair.

Seeing that Feng Xiaoli was unharmed, the man paused and turned his attention back to the masked attackers.

Feng Xiaoli did not stop moving. Using her lightness skill, she reached the assailants effortlessly. The leader, sensing danger, shouted, “Retreat!”

“You think you can just come and go as you please? Who do you think you are? I told you nicely to leave, but you wouldn’t. Now you’ll see what happens when I lose my temper—did you take me for a kitten? Take this!” With that, Feng Xiaoli kicked the leader, then kneed him in the groin as he staggered.

The leader doubled over, clutching himself in pain. At some point, Feng Xiaoli had yanked away his mask, revealing a face as handsome as carved jade. She paused in surprise—was it possible for an assassin to be so good-looking?

Unable to muster his strength, the leader plummeted toward the ground.

“Leader!” The remaining attackers rushed to his aid.

“Not so fast!”

In an instant, Feng Xiaoli appeared before them. She struck one assailant in the chest with her foot, jabbed another with her elbow, then used one as a springboard to vault into the midst of the others, unleashing a flurry of blows. She didn’t see herself as a villain, but she wasn’t a saint either. She had warned them kindly to leave, but all she got in return was a curt “Shut up.” And that man—he’d abandoned her with no concern for her life. Though he’d later risked himself to save her, had she not possessed some skill, she’d be dead by now. The thought fueled her anger—toward the black-clad men, and even more so toward the man.

In no time, only half the attackers remained.