When Feng Jiu’er returned to her room, she truly collapsed straight onto the bed and fell asleep.

When she finally stirred, the sky had gone entirely dark.

She had slept deeply indeed.

On the table in the room, food had been set out — no doubt brought quietly by Yanu. Seeing how soundly she was sleeping, he hadn’t wanted to disturb her, so he had left it and gone.

She had slept so heavily that she hadn’t even known someone had come in.

These past days had left her thoroughly drained. At last, she was beginning to recover.

On the nearby tea table sat a washbasin and toiletries. She went over and found the water was still warm.

Yanu was meticulous in everything he did — he looked after her with such thorough care.

Feng Jiu’er found herself a little worried that once Yanu and Qiao Mu were together, she would no longer have him nearby to tend to her, and she might not adjust easily.

Still, Yanu couldn’t follow her forever. He deserved a good place to belong.

Qiao Mu was actually quite a fine young woman. At first, Feng Jiu’er had worried that Qiao Mu was too attached to the Ninth Imperial Uncle.

But Qiao Mu was sensible — once she understood that nothing was possible between herself and the Ninth Imperial Uncle, she had let go.

Having Yanu go with Qiao Mu — if Yanu were willing — would not be a bad outcome at all.

The problem was, Yanu was stubborn in his own way. He had always been set on remaining at her side.

For now, Feng Jiu’er had no solution to that, unless Qiao Mu could somehow move his heart.

Whether that one had the ability to manage it remained to be seen.

After washing up, Feng Jiu’er turned back and glanced at the table full of food. She thought it over, then went and carefully gathered everything into the food box.

She picked up the box and stepped briskly out the door.

Mu Mu had said Jiu Qing would return by evening. Evening had come.

She was eager to see him — almost impatient.

Candlelight glowed in Jiu Qing’s room.

Feng Jiu’er’s heart gave a glad leap. Without pausing to think, she knocked once and immediately pushed the door open.

Inside, the man swept one long arm out, and his robe settled into place over him in an instant.

When Feng Jiu’er looked up, she seemed to catch a glimpse of bare skin — but it vanished just as quickly.

She froze for a moment — not because she had seen something she shouldn’t, but because in that brief instant, she had clearly seen a wound on his body.

“You’re hurt?” Jiu’er stepped forward and took hold of his wrist. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Someone of his ability — how could he have been wounded? What kind of person could have done this, to have actually injured even Jiu Qing?

“It’s nothing.” Jiu Qing looked down at her, his face unreadable. “What did you come to see me about?”

“I…” Jiu’er looked at the basket in her hand, then at the robe he had just put on. Her unease didn’t ease. “You’re hurt. Let me have a look.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“I’m a doctor!”

“It’s only a surface wound.”

“Then let me look all the same — I can apply medicine for you!” Feng Jiu’er persisted, because she had clearly seen that the wound was not shallow.

The depth of Jiu Qing’s eyes seemed to darken, carrying within them a faint trace of displeasure.

“You enjoy looking at men’s bodies this much?” His gaze dropped, coming to rest on her hand.

That small hand of hers was still clasping his wrist, as though pulling him along.

“Men and women should not touch so freely — has no one taught you that?”

His voice was so cold — as though he truly was angry.

Feng Jiu’er instinctively released his hand. She didn’t know what had come over her. The moment she saw the wound on his body, her heart had clenched in a sudden, sharp squeeze.

Very painful. So painful it left her almost numb to breathing.

Yet this reaction — wasn’t it far too dramatic?

She was a doctor. How many wounds had she seen? And besides, Jiu Qing’s wound was not truly so grave.

So why, upon seeing it, had her heart ached like this?

Feng Jiu’er’s mood sank without warning — sank badly.

She glanced at Jiu Qing once more, then turned and walked to the table, setting down the food box. “I came to bring you something to eat.”

After a beat, she added: “I have something to attend to. I’ll take my leave.”

“These dishes — did Yanu prepare them for you?” Jiu Qing glanced at the food box.

This was Yanu’s dedicated food box for Feng Jiu’er. Yanu was extraordinarily attentive — everything he prepared for her was of the finest quality.

Jiu’er looked at the food, then shook her head. “I’m not hungry. I’ll find something to eat a little later.”

Jiu Qing was simply too cold, she told herself. Completely unsuited to company.

Letting him eat alone — perhaps that was the more comfortable arrangement for him.

People so detached rarely wanted to deal with others. Even at meals, they preferred their own solitude — wasn’t that right?

She turned and walked away, not knowing what exactly she was upset about, only that she felt, in some vague way, unsettled.

“Stay. Eat together.” Jiu Qing walked over and sat down at the table, looking at her. “If you won’t eat, take the things with you. I’ll find my own food.”

He had only just returned. The household below hadn’t had time to prepare anything for him before she arrived.

But this time, Jiu’er shook her head with resolve, turned, and left.

As she went, her back carried a trace of loneliness. Had his manner been too cold and driven her away?

The moment Feng Jiu’er left, Long Eleven came in carrying food: “Mas— Young Master, who just brought you your evening meal?”

Jiu Qing said nothing. Long Eleven didn’t dare press further. He set the things down and looked at him. “Young Master, will you be going out again tonight?”

But Jiu Qing’s gaze had drifted, almost without thinking, toward the door. It lingered there, heavy and still.

After a moment, he said, “I won’t be going out.”

Long Eleven gave a small nod and withdrew.

Jiu Qing sat with Feng Jiu’er’s departing figure in his thoughts. Somehow, his appetite had gone with her.

After a moment, he collected himself, gathered the things, and stepped out the door.

Not far away, candlelight glowed softly in a room. Inside, a young woman sat alone by the window, lost in thought.

Jiu Qing hesitated, then raised his hand and knocked: “I’ve brought you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry. I don’t want to eat. Take it back.”

Hearing his voice, Feng Jiu’er felt, inexplicably, even more irritable.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why, when she couldn’t see him, did she miss him so keenly? Why, when she saw that wound on his hand, had her heart ached so?

She truly didn’t know what was happening to her. Could it simply be because he had saved her so many times recently?

She could feel gratitude. She could feel admiration. But why did she feel heartache? Why did she feel this longing?

And why, the moment she woke up, had she rushed to find him?

These emotions unsettled her deeply. They carried with them a sense of… guilty unease, and something close to panic.

This kind of longing — the only time she had ever felt it was toward the Ninth Imperial Uncle. With anyone else, it had always been different.

And yet now, toward a second man, she had developed a longing like the one she felt for the Ninth Imperial Uncle.

What was wrong with her? A man she had known for less than half a month — had she lost her mind?

Jiu’er was truly agitated. Outside, there was silence — she didn’t know whether Jiu Qing had left or not.

She walked to the bed, dropped down onto it, and yanked the blanket over her head.

She was very agitated. Very agitated — and what was she supposed to do about it?