Chapter 869 – Overlord of the North (Part Six)
Feng Zhen, who had been led into a predicament by Wei Ci, contemplated for a long time without a clue, while Wei Ci kindly brewed him a cup of tea.
“Thank you.” Feng Zhen said as he accepted the tea.
Just as his lips touched the rim of the cup, he suddenly snapped back to reality—wait a minute—he had almost been tricked by Wei Zixiao!
Looking up, he caught sight of Wei Ci’s slightly furrowed brows, his eyes sparkling with a rich, thick hue.
Seeing this, Feng Zhen’s heart softened, and he swallowed the words that had stuck in his throat, refraining from further pestering Wei Ci.
“I’m exhausted; I’ll be bothering you for a while today.” Feng Zhen’s eyes shifted, and a different thought popped into his mind. He shamelessly continued, “Remember the old days when we would sleep on the same bed and discuss the affairs of the world all night? I can’t believe it’s been so long.”
Wei Ci glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and replied, “There are guest rooms available in the house.”
It wasn’t that Wei Ci was stingy; it was just that Feng Zhen’s sleeping habits were on par with Lü Zheng’s—both were the type to roll from one end of the bed to the other.
Though Feng Zhen’s frame was frail, his face was thick-skinned enough to shamelessly demand Wei Ci’s master bedroom.
While Wei Ci stepped away to bathe, Feng Zhen boldly stripped down to his nightclothes and rolled onto the bed in a flurry. Wei Ci, who had a mild obsession with cleanliness, had his bedding changed and aired regularly. Even in this sweat-inducing weather, the bed remained fresh and tidy, exuding a natural fragrance. It was certainly far better than Feng Zhen’s dog kennel-like bedroom.
By the time Wei Ci was cleaned up and ready for bed, Feng Zhen was already sprawled out, sleeping in a completely disheveled state, with his clothes slightly open, hair in disarray, occupying most of the space. The weather was still warm, making it easy to sweat, so Feng Zhen hadn’t even bothered to bathe and had just rolled into bed… Wei Ci thought to himself that once Feng Zhen woke up, he would need to wash this bedding thoroughly three to five times.
Dressed in light blue night attire, Wei Ci lay down at the edge of the bed, drowsiness sweeping over him as he gradually drifted into dreamland.
At that moment, Feng Zhen deliberately lowered his voice to ask, “Zixiao? Zixiao? Are you still awake?”
Wei Ci struggled to open his eyes, mumbling, “What’s the matter?”
Feng Zhen said, “Speaking of sleeping side by side, I suddenly thought of something. You and the Leader seem to have once shared a bed and slept side by side too?”
Wei Ci squinted at this, his alertness peaking at any mention of Jiang Pengji.
Once he pieced together Feng Zhen’s inquiry, he was hit with a jolt of shock, instantly wide awake.
“Feng Zishi, if you’re not going to sleep, you might as well head home early!”
Feng Zhen propped his chin on his hand, turning to look at Wei Ci, whose flawless, jade-like face was now laden with complex emotions—shame, anger, surprise, and an anxious fear of having his secret exposed. It was a sight that greatly amused Feng Zhen.
“No! I’m not leaving!” Feng Zhen stubbornly climbed onto the bed, hugging the pillow, and his fingers suddenly brushed against something rolled up.
He pulled it out and examined it closely, revealing a carefully hidden scroll.
Before he could react, Wei Ci’s expression changed, and he surprisingly lunged at him.
Feng Zhen instinctively dodged, leveraging his swift movements to escape with the scroll in hand.
He hadn’t intended to unroll the scroll, but Wei Ci’s reaction was just too abnormal.
“Tsk—Is this treasure on your bedside for your leisure and private occasions?”
Feng Zhen was quick on his feet, unrolling the painting as Wei Ci hesitated, unable to pursue him effectively.
“Feng Zishi!”
Wei Ci, furious, drew the long sword from beside the bed with a swift motion, startling Feng Zhen to the core.
Is this for real?
Feng Zhen stole a glance at the painting’s content, and upon realizing, his gaze toward Wei Ci turned peculiar.
Because the woman in the painting was none other than Jiang Pengji.
The painted woman lay among flowers, with delicate and realistic brushwork, in stark contrast to the current pursuit of impressionism. This painting sought realism more than anything. The woman’s long lashes fluttered slightly as if about to open her slightly intoxicated eyes, revealing a pair of crystal-clear, watery orbs.
Not only that, the woman’s attire was exceedingly bold, diverging sharply from the conservative styles of the time.
With her narrow sleeves and exposed arms, the skirt was grand and blooming like a peony. Contrastingly, the hem was quite short, barely covering her calves, revealing two moderately sized delicate feet, with silver rings jangled with bells adorning her slender ankles.
The woman, drunkenly sleeping on the ground, had flower petals scattered around her, enhancing her whiteness and the redness of the flowers all the more.
Surrounding rockeries created a secluded and tranquil atmosphere, yet here lay such a mesmerizing sight that seemed almost real.
Feng Zhen glanced at the date affixed to the painting and raised his brows, unafraid of the consequences.
“The Leader was only twelve at the time, and you already had such thoughts?”
The signing date on the painting was six years ago, right in the first month after Wei Ci’s reincarnation.
Back then, the beauty was sleeping in full bloom, and seeing the petals scattered all around reminded Wei Ci of past memories, leading him to impulsively paint it.
Now that he thought of it, his regret could drown him.
Feng Zhen, who was incapable of keeping secrets, might just let slip some words to the Leader at any moment.
Though Wei Ci’s cover had been blown away in front of Jiang Pengji, he still clung to a fragment of hope.
“Give it back!” Wei Ci shouted, sword drawn, his urgency escalating.
Feng Zhen wasn’t afraid of death, but he knew better than to push Wei Ci too hard.
An angry rabbit bites, not to mention this guy’s swordsmanship was no joke.
“Okay, okay, I’ll return it.” Feng Zhen cautiously rolled the painting back up and handed it over to Wei Ci. Yet, he remarked smugly, “I’ve never seen anyone who dawdles as much as you do. You were just so stubborn earlier; now with solid evidence, I wonder what else you can say.”
That he secretly painted such a piece was one thing, but to hide it beside the Leader’s pillow was another altogether.
What on earth was he thinking? Did he need further analysis?
Wei Ci returned the sword to its sheath, but the gloom on his face didn’t dissipate.
Feng Zhen suddenly asked with a smirk, “Are you perhaps afraid of dying?”
Wei Ci had previously suggested that “the best approach is for the father to leave the child,” yet now he harbored feelings for the Leader but continued to deny it, making others suspect.
Of course, Feng Zhen understood Wei Ci’s temperament; the idea of being afraid of death was utterly impossible.
Feng Zhen coolly waited for Wei Ci’s explanation, observing his flustered demeanor, only to unexpectedly see Wei Ci dawn a dazed expression.
“If I were afraid… then back then, Ci wouldn’t have…”
Wei Ci barely managed to halt his words, cutting off the phrase.
Otherwise, with Feng Zhen’s knack for causing trouble, it wouldn’t end there.
Seeing the alarm lifted, Feng Zhen instantly grew bold once more.
“Look at you like this; it seems you’re emotionally invested in the Leader for quite some time.” To Feng Zhen, if Wei Ci had a crush on her six years ago, that had been a twelve-year-old young girl… how very beastly of him, “Instead of tormenting yourself like this, why not express your feelings early on?”
