Bai Qingqing didn’t think much of it, but Qiyue felt a faint ripple of unease rise in her chest. The next moment, she heard Ning Yan say in an unhurried tone, “I’d quite like to see you in that outfit. How about it? Not such a difficult request, is it?”

Qiyue’s heart gave a hard thud. She opened her mouth instinctively, “My lord, that outfit is—”

A sharp glance sliced through the air. Qiyue fell silent at once. She lowered her head, stunned. What was the Lord playing at? Was he trying to make things hard for Qingqing?

Bai Qingqing froze for a moment, then shook her head. “No, that doesn’t seem like a proper way to show gratitude. Besides… besides…”

She was far too embarrassed!

Ning Yan’s voice dropped low, threaded with a subtle, seductive lilt. “But gratitude should suit the taste of the one receiving it, should it not? If I say this counts, then why shouldn’t it? Seems perfectly reasonable to me.”

“It’s not even a difficult thing. I’m just curious, is all. When you first saw Qiyue dance, didn’t you compliment her clothes? I remember thinking then—what would it look like on you?”

Bai Qingqing’s cheeks began to warm. She vaguely remembered that moment. Back then, she and Ning Yan weren’t familiar, and she’d fumed about that comment for quite a while. Looking back, perhaps this man was simply irreverent by nature—not deliberately teasing her.

After a brief inner struggle, she looked up and asked in a soft voice, “Really, that’s all it takes?”

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Ning Yan smiled and nodded, making Bai Qingqing feel oddly guilty. That was far too easy—she’d expected him to come up with something difficult just to make her squirm.

Biting her lip, she picked up the garments and retreated into the inner room. Before long, her gentle voice floated out, “Could you let Qiyue come help me? I don’t quite know how to put this on…”

Qiyue had just moved when Ning Yan’s eyes swept over, carrying a quiet warning—know what to say, and what not to.

Her heart gave a start. She quickly stepped inside.

After the time it took to steep a cup of tea, Qiyue stepped out first, lifting the hanging curtain with deliberate care.

Bai Qingqing tugged nervously at the hem of her robe before slowly stepping out.

She had never worn a dress like this before. It hugged the curve of her waist perfectly, the skirt flaring below with tiny, glittering gems sewn into the fabric. A slender ornament circled her waist, tassels dangling from it that swayed gently with each step, catching the light with every movement.

She felt uneasy, and it took several hesitant steps before she dared lift her eyes toward Ning Yan. Did she look strange?

Ning Yan had clawed his way to where he stood today with nothing but blood and grit. To him, only things of utility had value. Beauty—frivolous, fleeting—was not something he had time for. He’d never spared much thought for beautiful things; they served no purpose.

Except once.

He remembered the time he’d chased an enemy out of the city, fallen into an ambush, nearly died fulfilling his mission. Afterward, he’d sat on a barren hilltop dressing his wounds. The golden crow was sinking westward, painting the sky in deep strokes of blood-red. In that moment, looking at the scarlet-tinged sunset, he’d thought: so this is beauty.

He’d thought he’d forgotten that feeling.

But now—he remembered.

That same vivid beauty had returned, incarnated in Bai Qingqing. Pure, harmless, breathtaking. The kind of beauty that made a mark on the soul.

Bai Qingqing didn’t know what to do with her hands, her feet—she looked down, mumbling to herself, “This feels so awkward…”

“Is that so?” Ning Yan said lightly. “Qiyue, leave us. Don’t make her feel awkward.”

Qiyue: “…”