“Jiu’er…”
In a hazy half-sleep, he swept out a large hand and seemed to grasp hold of something, then clenched it tightly in his palm and pressed it against his heart.
Those two tightly knit, sword-like brows slowly relaxed a little, then a little more. Having caught hold of that small, soft hand, he seemed as though he had swallowed a reassuring pill, and slowly drifted back into deep sleep.
Yet the tightness between his brows never quite managed to smooth away entirely.
Feng Jiu stared at her own hand, held against his chest in his grasp, her tightly pressed lips trembling faintly.
Through the night he kept murmuring in his sleep, calling out the name “Jiu’er” again and again, calling for so long that it left her entirely unable to sleep the whole night through.
Finally, after he had called out the name “Jiu’er” for who knew how many times, she couldn’t help walking over to check whether he was running a fever or had fallen ill.
She hadn’t expected that once he took hold of her hand, he would refuse to let go no matter what.
Their two hands rested together on his chest, at the place closest to his heart. Sweat beaded on his temples, and between his brows lurked a panic that should have been impossible for the Ninth Prince to feel.
Yet this time, Feng Jiu saw it with absolute clarity—he was, without a doubt, in genuine panic.
The iron-willed warrior prince, always so far above everyone else—who would believe he also had this side of panic, if not for seeing it with their own eyes?
A pang struck Feng Jiu’s heart; she wanted to pull her hand back, but it remained held fast in his tight grip, not loosening even slightly—if anything, it tightened further, as if he were terrified she might suddenly leave, suddenly vanish.
He was calling for Jiu’er…
She hadn’t known that Feng Jiu’er’s disappearance could leave him this panicked.
Nor had she known that Jiu’er’s vanishing would damage the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s health to this degree.
Was it because he had been searching for her the whole time, or because he had been neither eating nor sleeping properly all this while?
When she had taken his pulse, it had seemed strong on the surface but was actually thin and unsteady underneath—as though he hadn’t had a single good night’s sleep, hadn’t truly rested, in a very, very long time.
Looking now at the exhaustion etched between his brows, at the faint dark shadows lingering beneath his eyes, to claim she wasn’t moved with tenderness for him would be impossible.
She only wished he could get one truly good night’s sleep, without such unease and panic haunting his dreams.
Even while falling asleep, his mind remained tense and on high alert—how could he ever rest properly like that?
“Ninth Imperial Uncle.” At last, that gentle voice sounded by his ear, so achingly familiar. “Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m here watching over you. Sleep well, all right?”
Zhan Qingcheng’s fingers, wrapped around her small hand, tightened further, gradually gripping hard enough that it began to hurt a little.
But the brows knit so tightly together gradually relaxed a little, then a little more.
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m right here watching over you. Sleep well.” Had he ordered her to turn around and face away from him earlier because he thought her silhouette resembled Feng Jiu’er’s?
Could a mere silhouette alone stir such deep longing in him?
How could this man be so foolish?
“You’re not allowed to leave… not allowed to leave this Prince, not allowed… to leave me…” His fingertips trembled.
If one hadn’t witnessed this terrified, anxious side of the Ninth Prince with their own eyes, they would never believe he could truly have such a fragile moment.
Had she not seen it for herself, Feng Jiu likely wouldn’t have believed it either.
This foolish man, so lofty and grand in the eyes of the world, yet so utterly lacking in any sense of security when it came to Feng Jiu’er.
He truly was… so very foolish, foolish enough to break one’s heart.
“I won’t leave. As long as you sleep obediently, I won’t go anywhere.”
The knot between his brows eased a fraction more, but very quickly, he abruptly tightened his grip on her hand again. “Don’t leave me, don’t…”
“If you don’t sleep obediently, I really will leave.”
“No! I won’t allow it…”
“Then sleep obediently, sleep well, good boy…”
…Zhan Qingcheng felt rather muddled. He had clearly grasped Jiu’er’s hand, yet when he woke, his palm was empty, holding nothing at all.
Opening his eyes, he found himself still in the room where he had fallen asleep the night before; not far away, on the couch, a slender figure lay sleeping with its back turned to him.
Watching that figure from behind, the unsettling emptiness he’d felt upon waking with nothing in his hand was, inexplicably, filled with a measure of peace.
He simply watched her figure, saying nothing, not getting up, his eyes still stinging faintly, yet his whole body felt an indescribable ease.
Last night had been the only night in this entire half year that he had managed to sleep peacefully.
At first, it seemed he had still been restless, plagued by nightmares throughout, but in the second half of the night, his dreams had been filled entirely with Jiu’er’s gentle little hands and her gentle voice—as if Jiu’er had truly returned to his side.
Over on the couch, Feng Jiu turned over in her sleep, but the couch was simply too narrow—with that single turn, she nearly rolled right off it.
A gust of palm-force shot toward her, pushing her body, which had nearly tipped into open air, back onto the couch.
That burst of force startled Feng Jiu instantly awake. Opening her eyes, she saw the man on the bed, his ink-dark, star-bright eyes wide open and fixed on her, his expression utterly blank.
Feng Jiu sat up on the couch, yawned, then stood and gave him a slight bow. “Greetings, Ninth Prince.”
Zhan Qingcheng also sat up, a flicker of displeasure passing through his eyes.
Feng Jiu said with a faint smile, “It seems the Ninth Prince doesn’t care for these worldly courtesies—then I’ll simply skip them from now on.”
Better than bowing to him next time and getting no response at all, left bent over indefinitely, exhausting herself half to death.
“Um, Your Highness, the sky has already brightened—shouldn’t you be heading back?”
The Ninth Prince hadn’t returned all night; perhaps no one had noticed last night, but come morning, there would surely be someone going to wake him.
What’s more, this was only the second day since the Ninth Prince’s return to the imperial city—there was no telling how many people might be waiting first thing in the morning to pay him a visit. If they discovered the Ninth Prince had been out all night, it wouldn’t be a pleasant matter at all.
“If Your Highness doesn’t go back soon, the people in your manor are bound to be frightened out of their wits.”
Zhan Qingcheng’s brow furrowed slightly, as if rather displeased that he was being chased out the moment he woke.
“Your Highness…” This man had already lingered here an entire night, and even now still didn’t want to leave—wasn’t that a bit much?
“Your Highness…” Feng Jiu thought it over, then continued, “This one is a man. If people learned that I’d kept a heroic figure such as the Ninth Prince overnight in my room, I fear the rumors afterward would never cease.”
“And furthermore, Your Highness…” Feng Jiu paused, then finally forced herself to continue, “Your Highness is twenty-six years old and still unmarried—many people are surely already speculating about the reason.”
“And now, with Your Highness spending the night in a man’s room, if word of this got out, the suspicion of Your Highness having an inclination for men would be very hard to clear…”
“You think this Prince would care?” Zhan Qingcheng raised an eyebrow and gave a faint scoff—whether he was displeased or not was hard to tell, since his tone always stayed equally flat and indifferent.
But even if the Ninth Imperial Uncle didn’t care, she did!
If the Ninth Imperial Uncle came to be rumored as having an inclination for men, she wouldn’t feel good about it either!
The Ninth Imperial Uncle was so flawless—how could she let his reputation be tarnished?