If he wanted it, he could simply take it — why phrase it in such an ambiguous manner? Anyone who did not know better would think he intended to do something else entirely.

Feng Jiu’er felt she had by now worked out the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s pattern. She turned and sat with her back to him, and instinctively and carefully tugged her garment back into place, covering her forearm.

It was fortunate that last night the Ninth Imperial Uncle had not had much strength, and had not had the opportunity to remove her clothing.

So the wound on her arm — the Ninth Imperial Uncle had not seen it at all.

Moreover, since the Ninth Imperial Uncle had been coughing up blood so frequently of late, he had long grown accustomed to the scent of blood, and thus could not detect the faint trace of blood from her wound.

In any case, it was best that he did not know. Should he find out, it would cause trouble.

Zhan Qingcheng leaned against her back and looked down at her — her fair shoulder half-exposed. Yet this time, he did not immediately lower his head to drink her blood. Instead, he unconsciously raised his hand, and his slender fingers traced across her shoulder, slowly sliding toward her fair, delicate face.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle?” Feng Jiu’er’s brow furrowed. If he was going to drink her blood, he ought to get on with it — not make things so… so ambiguous.

Her poor little heart truly could not bear it!

The Ninth Imperial Uncle’s fingers were beautiful — long and slender and fair, with clearly defined knuckles. The warm breath from his fingertips traced across her face, like a current of electricity shocking her into unconsciousness, wave after wave.

So this was what it felt like to be electrified — waves of warmth, spreading throughout the entire body.

“Ninth… Imperial Uncle…” It was so hot! On a morning such as this, why was it inexplicably this stifling?

Did the Ninth Imperial Uncle have any idea what he was doing?

In truth, Zhan Qingcheng truly was not entirely clear on what he wanted to do.

The morning air was thick with a scorching tension, and his body was roused with restless urgency, wave after wave.

He had originally only intended to drink a little blood. Toward dawn, he had channeled a measure of true energy into her, and now he was genuinely exhausted.

Yet once he had slipped her garment down, that urgent need to drink blood seemed to have lost its keenness.

The sight of the little girl sitting in his arms with her clothes in disarray — as beautiful as a painting — and the flush of crimson coloring her face made her all the more captivating to him.

Feng Jiu’er, for her part, was inexplicably overcome with a wandering, restless sensation. Being held in the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s arms like this, her clothes in disarray — it inexplicably gave rise to a strange, hollow emptiness inside her.

It was as though her body were missing something, yearning for something to fill it — perhaps loneliness, perhaps solitude, perhaps something else entirely.

She could not name whatever the other things might be. In any case… in any case, it was unbearable. It was… it was overwhelming.

The Ninth Imperial Uncle’s fingers were so beautiful. She could not help but take his hand in hers and grip it — tighter and tighter.

She could not help leaning further into him, as though she wished to merge with him completely.

She could not help grabbing hold of his robes and yanking them downward.

She could not help pushing him back onto the bed and throwing a leg over to straddle him!

She could not help seizing the front of his garment with both hands and tearing it open!

When his muscular chest was laid bare before her very eyes, Feng Jiu’er’s pair of cloud-grey eyes flushed with a reckless crimson. She lowered her head and was about to sink her teeth in—

Knock knock. From outside came the sound of Yu Jingfeng rapping on the door. “Is His Highness awake? We should be setting out.”

From within — no response at all. Yet it was plain enough that both of them were already awake.

Just now, there had been audible movement from inside.

“Your Highness?” Yu Jingfeng knocked again. “Your Highness, I have brought water.”

The door was lightly pushed open, and he stepped in on long strides—

“Ahhh—Yu Jingfeng! Get out! OUT!”

Ah! Ahhhhhh!

Feng Jiu’er snatched up the blanket and pulled it tight over herself and the Ninth Imperial Uncle, and grabbed hold of something — she did not even register what it was — and hurled it with full force toward the doorway.

Yu Jingfeng, after a brief moment of stunned shock, felt his face instantly go red. He reeled back his step and scrambled frantically for the door.

He retreated so hastily and so clumsily that his foot caught on something, and his large, imposing frame came crashing straight down.

The wooden basin full of warm water was sent flying — and basin and water alike fell with a resounding thud, landing squarely over his head.

Qiaomu came running when she heard Feng Jiu’er’s shriek, and the sight that greeted her was a thoroughly absurd tableau.

A man lay flat on his back on the ground, completely drenched, a wooden basin clamped over his head so that his face could not even be seen, with a pool of water spreading out across the floor.

Had she not been certain this person must be the very same Yu Jingfeng who had kept watch outside His Highness’s door, Qiaomu would have truly thought some assassin had been sent flying through the door by whoever was inside.

As for whoever was inside — had that just been Feng Jiu’er screaming?

“General Feng?” Qiaomu ventured softly.

Jiu’er’s face was flushed crimson, her breath coming in short gasps. With difficulty, she finally extracted her head from under the blanket.

She truly had no desire to respond — but she feared that if she did not, Qiaomu would come barging in.

She let out a low breath or two and managed, with effort, to press down her own alarm, before answering in a hoarse voice: “Qiaomu, I am treating the Ninth Imperial Uncle. Keep watch at the door, and do not let anyone in.”

“Of course!” For anything that was good for the Ninth Prince, Qiaomu would give her very life!

She delivered a kick to Yu Jingfeng’s leg and frowned. “Lord Yu, shall I send for a physician?”

Yu Jingfeng finally lifted the wooden basin from his head. Drenched from head to toe as he was, there was no describing the sorry state he was in.

Yet at this moment, Yu Jingfeng’s first instinct was not to pick himself up off the ground — instead, he stared at the Qiaomu standing before him, as though he had yet to fully collect his senses.

“What has happened?” Qiaomu’s brow furrowed further. Had Feng Jiu’er not said there was nothing wrong, she would truly have barged in by now.

What on earth had happened?

Yu Jingfeng felt he was about to go mad. He blinked, then gingerly revisited in his mind what he had just seen.

What had he seen?

A moment’s recollection, and Yu Jingfeng was overcome with a wave of mournful grief.

Their pure and unblemished, supremely noble Ninth Prince — as pristine as a blank sheet of paper — had truly been defiled by that girl Feng Jiu’er!

When he had walked in just now, Feng Jiu’er had been sitting astride the Ninth Prince, his garments pulled down, and she had been lowering her head to kiss… His Highness’s chest!

Boo hoo hoo. The Prince was so innocent and pure — of course he had not known how to respond, and so he had simply lain there in bed, allowing Feng Jiu’er to do as she pleased with him.

Besides, the Ninth Prince’s current condition meant he was surely without strength throughout his body — without even the ability to resist.

And so every last advantage was going to be seized by Feng Jiu’er!

Yet His Highness had seemed to be reveling in it, not the slightest bit aware that he was being taken advantage of by Feng Jiu’er…

Yu Jingfeng picked himself up off the ground, cast one last look at the room door — and inexplicably, both shoulders slumped. He turned and walked away.

The Ninth Prince had been defiled. From this day forward, their Ninth Prince had truly grown up.

Suddenly, he felt profoundly, deeply, terribly lonely. He had lived over twenty years and had never been this intimate with a woman.

The Ninth Prince was already getting girls, while he remained utterly alone — why was he so despondent, so desolate, so sorrowful?

Qiaomu stared at his retreating figure and found the entire thing thoroughly bewildering.

The way he looked — was he not like a mother who had lost a son, so utterly bereft? What on earth had gone on in there? Could she please go in and have a look?