Before Feng Jiu’er had even drawn near the courtyard, she heard the lilting sound of a guqin, leisurely and pleasant, winding on without end.

Her lovely crescent brows furrowed slightly, and without realizing it, her steps quickened considerably.

As she entered the courtyard, the sound of the qin grew ever clearer—sure enough, the one playing it was right there inside.

It was clearly a tune she had never heard before, yet somehow, Feng Jiu’er felt a faint sense of familiarity.

Familiar? Her brow furrowed without her meaning it to. Why did it feel familiar? Hadn’t she just said she’d never heard it?

Whether she’d heard it before or not, as long as she liked it and found it beautiful, Feng Jiu’er certainly wasn’t going to miss it.

“It’s him?” The moment she turned a corner, Feng Jiu’er looked ahead and stopped in her tracks.

No wonder she liked this tune so much—it really was him after all.

Feng Jiu’er frowned. She really didn’t know what was wrong with her—just because he was the one playing, did that mean she was bound to like it? What nonsense was that?

In the courtyard, his plain white robes shone with particular brilliance beneath the moonlight.

It seemed that wherever he was, everything around him paled in comparison—such peerless beauty was truly rare in this world.

Zhan Qingcheng sat before a stone table, with an antique-looking guqin set in front of him.

His ten slender, well-defined fingers danced lightly across the strings—seemingly careless, yet producing music like a sound from heaven. It was simply unbelievable!

Tall and slender in build, his features beautiful beyond compare, his skin fair and luminous—even women would sigh in envy, unable to match him!

Before she knew it, Feng Jiu’er had already sat down beside Zhan Qingcheng.

Gazing at his exquisite face, which looked as though it had been frozen over, and listening to the lovely melody, she failed to react for quite some time.

It wasn’t that Zhan Qingcheng was unaware she had come, but he continued playing all the same, utterly unaffected.

This man really was an otherworldly anomaly—beautiful as the finest the human world had to offer. No! Even the very finest would seem like a flawed imitation standing before him.

What was most infuriating was that he wasn’t merely the single most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on—even playing the qin so casually, he could produce such a beautiful melody.

Heavens, it really wasn’t fair! How could fate favor one person so much?

As her gaze fell upon his ten fingers dancing over the strings, Feng Jiu’er let out another soft sigh. Tsk, tsk… this man was simply too perfect!

Feng Jiu’er propped her chin in her hand, blinking her bright eyes as she gazed at the peerlessly beautiful man beside her, looking every bit like a starstruck little fangirl.

She hadn’t been to a concert in so long—she felt a bit wistful for one.

Wait, what even was a “concert”?

Her pink lips pouted slightly, and Feng Jiu’er stopped dwelling on it, her curved lashes fluttering a few times before she closed her eyes.

With his face—so handsome it could provoke the heavens themselves—gone from her sight, a tall figure rose instead within her mind.

In the night, a figure in flowing white robes stood at the edge of a cliff, the breeze stirring his long black hair.

Everything was beautiful, tranquil, like a graceful painted scroll.

Yet for some reason, as the leisurely sound of the qin reached her ears, Feng Jiu’er’s brow furrowed, and a wave of sorrow gradually rose within her heart.

Who exactly was he? Why was he standing there all alone? Why did he give off such a feeling of loneliness?

Feng Jiu’er badly wanted to call out to him, yet had no idea what to call him.

After some unknown stretch of time, the man seemed to sense her presence and turned to glance back.

So beautiful! Too beautiful! He was beautiful beyond what words could express, beautiful enough to leave her breathless.

Yet, unexpectedly, the moment she clearly made out the handsome face before her, Feng Jiu’er not only felt sorrowful, but her nose even stung with the urge to cry.

Why did those deep, profound eyes of his feel so familiar to her? No! It wasn’t merely familiarity—she could even be certain they knew each other.

Within her mind, scene after scene gradually surfaced.

He, standing high above her, lowered his eyes to look at her for a moment, then suddenly bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

He looked at her with a face full of doting affection and said, “If anyone ever bullies you, just tell them you’ve got powerful backing.”

Whenever she felt despair, he would appear before her like a deity.

He was domineering, his face often dark and stern, but when he smiled, one would find that the whole world seemed to change color.

Thinking of all this, the girl with her chin propped in her hand felt waves of joy rise upon her face.

Then the scene shifted, as though heaven and earth themselves were about to tremble.

Before her eyes, his face grew ever paler, until at last not even the faintest trace of color remained—for her sake, he had been willing to give up even his own life…

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.” In terror, Feng Jiu’er’s eyes flew open, and she clutched hard at his powerful arm.

Lifting her gaze, she stared unblinking at the face before her, growing ever clearer, her breathing coming faster and faster.

Ninth Imperial Uncle? Why had she called him that?

Feng Jiu’er was quite certain that in her dream she had been calling out “Ninth Imperial Uncle” all along—could it be that the Ninth Imperial Uncle she’d been calling out to was him?

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.” Fluttering her fan-like lashes, she tried calling out again.

At this moment, calling him “Ninth Imperial Uncle” felt entirely natural, without the slightest hint of forced strain.

Was he truly the Ninth Imperial Uncle from her dream?

Their eyes met; Zhan Qingcheng’s face remained as expressionless as ever, only the air around him shifting somewhat.

A breeze drifted past, her long hair settling over the small hand still gripping his arm.

Zhan Qingcheng reached out with his other hand and gently rubbed the top of Feng Jiu’er’s head.

“Lass.”

His voice carried a slight rasp, as though suppressing something, leaving a faint ache in the heart of whoever heard it.

Feng Jiu’er took a deep breath, glanced down at the back of her own hand, paused for a moment, and let go of him.

Before she could think of anything to say, her gaze returned once more to his unmatched, handsome face.

Her heart pounded rapidly; even as she kept her eyes on Zhan Qingcheng, her body shrank back unconsciously.

The round stone stool in the courtyard wasn’t large, and the moment she shifted back, she found nothing beneath her.

Still lost in her thoughts, with no preparation at all, Feng Jiu’er’s body suddenly began to fall.

“Ah.”

Before the crisp cry had fully left her lips, a large, warm hand caught her by the waist.

Feng Jiu’er watched his handsome face slowly grow larger in her view, and once again froze.

Sensing something was off, she glanced down and discovered she was actually sitting on his lap, and he was holding her as though cradling a small child.

Coughing lightly, Feng Jiu’er came to her senses, pushed against him, and slid down off his lap.

“Um…”

Just how tall was this man? Even standing while he sat, she still had to tilt her head up to speak to him.

She was a dignified princess, for goodness’ sake—why did looking up at him this way feel so normal?

Normally, didn’t everyone who saw her end up kneeling all over the ground? Of course, exceptions like Jian Yi didn’t count.

Yet now, standing beside her Ninth Imperial Uncle, looking up into those deep, profound eyes of his, she felt not a single trace of incongruity.

Ninth Imperial Uncle? Feng Jiu’er was startled by her own thought—did that mean she had already decided he truly was the Ninth Imperial Uncle she had called out to in her dream?

“Have we… known each other for a long time?”