“Who cares about that?” Xiao Yingtao pursed her lips and casually set the cloth back down on the table in front of Xing Zizhou.

Xing Zizhou picked up the cloth and held it in his palm, his face full of a happy smile.

Even a blind person could tell something was going on between the two of them, and Zhao Xiaoxiao was no exception.

She looked from Xiao Yingtao to Xing Zizhou and finally settled her gaze back on Xiao Yingtao.

“Xiao Yingtao, so you and Xing Zizhou really are a couple? Brother Xing Zizhou is quite handsome too—congratulations, congratulations.” Zhao Xiaoxiao looked at the two of them and gave a small clasped-hands gesture.

Meeting Zhao Xiaoxiao’s gaze, Xiao Yingtao’s already-flushed little face turned even redder.

“Xiaoxiao, it’s not like that. Don’t talk nonsense.”

Zhao Xiaoxiao looked at her and blinked. “Am I talking nonsense?”

Turning her gaze to Xing Zizhou, she asked again, “Brother Xing Zizhou, did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all, well said,” Xing Zizhou replied with a smile.

Xiao Yingtao glanced sideways at Xing Zizhou, her pink lips pouting again.

“All right, stop teasing our little Xiao Yingtao—this girl’s skin is thin.” Feng Jiu’er looked around at everyone and raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Anyway, the good news isn’t far off either. Everyone just be patient a bit longer.”

Xiao Yingtao had actually been rather grateful to Feng Jiu’er, but hadn’t expected her to tack on that last remark.

She looked at Feng Jiu’er, brow furrowing slightly.

“What good news? There’s no good news at all.”

The words had barely left her mouth when Xiao Yingtao pressed her lips together, holding her bowl of porridge, no longer wanting to engage.

“What good news is there?” Suddenly, a voice that no one, no matter the time, would dare ignore drifted over.

That voice, however, was quite pleasant to listen to—especially to a certain woman, for whom it was said the Ninth Prince’s voice alone could make her pregnant.

“Ninth Prince.” Seeing the man approaching, Qiao Mu stood up.

Right after her, Xing Zizhou, Zhao Yusheng, and Zhao Xiaoxiao all stood as well.

“Ninth Prince.” Everyone called out almost in unison.

The other servants and maids retreated to the side, bowing and murmuring, “Ninth Prince.”

Zhan Qingcheng was dressed entirely in black today, even his robe was uniformly black.

This was completely different from Mu Mu, who stood beside him.

The two brothers—one in black robes, one in white—were both flawlessly handsome, the kind of men who could captivate anyone at a single glance.

Whether it was Zhan Qingcheng or Mu Mu, both were men of peerless beauty, one in a million.

In looks and in bearing, the two were somewhat alike, beautiful yet carrying a cold aloofness.

And yet each had his own distinct quality, still easily told apart.

Feng Jiu’er sometimes felt a bit sorry for Mu Mu on this account.

He clearly possessed flawless looks, yet because there happened to be a hundred-point handsome man beside him, he was forced to settle for being merely ninety-nine.

Zhan Qingcheng waved a hand and walked toward Feng Jiu’er.

Qiao Mu, seeing the person approaching, tactfully picked up her own bowl, wiped down the table with a cloth she pulled out, and turned to leave.

Had she known the Ninth Prince was coming, how could she possibly have sat beside Feng Jiu’er? She was simply asking for trouble.

Seeing that both the Ninth Prince and General Mu had arrived, the servants quickly set up two more seats.

Once Zhan Qingcheng and Mu Mu had sat down, everyone else sat as well.

Qiao Mu carried her own things over to the remaining seat and sat down.

Today the Ninth Prince’s mood seemed good, and everyone felt at ease and continued eating.

After Zhan Qingcheng sat down, a servant brought him bowl and chopsticks.

“Ninth Prince, please enjoy.” The servant gave a small bow and withdrew.

“What are you doing here?” Feng Jiu’er glanced at the man beside her and asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zhan Qingcheng stretched out his long arm and rested it lightly on her small shoulder.

“Coming to have breakfast with my own wife—what’s wrong with that?”

The Ninth Prince’s words had barely left his mouth when several people at the table choked.

Feng Jiu’er couldn’t be bothered with these people delighting in her misfortune, and swept a calm glance over Zhan Qingcheng.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you’re not only better than others at fighting battles—your way with words has improved quite a bit too, it seems.”

“Wife, what do you mean by that?” Zhan Qingcheng looked at the girl beside him, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile that could bewitch anyone.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Feng Jiu’er raised an eyebrow. “Clearly talking nonsense, yet able to say it with such a straight face—that’s no small feat.”

The words had barely left her mouth when she shook her head and let out a faint sigh.

Zhan Qingcheng, however, wasn’t affected by her words at all. He patted her small shoulder gently and withdrew his arm.

The thing was, the little girl couldn’t take much pressure, and he didn’t have the heart to push her.

Feng Jiu’er frowned slightly and didn’t dare turn her head to look.

But unexpectedly, today the Ninth Imperial Uncle was smiling as if he’d eaten honey, and he even picked up his own bowl and chopsticks.

He, of all people, didn’t need her to serve him.

Noticing a piece of pastry had appeared in her own bowl, Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together before glancing over.

Meeting the man’s gaze, she blinked.

“Eat.” Zhan Qingcheng said the one word gently, his gaze falling back to the food as he picked something up for himself.

Watching the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s self-sufficient movements, Feng Jiu’er composed herself, withdrew her gaze, and picked up her own bowl.

The moment she looked up, she found quite a few pairs of eyes watching her, and she gave a light cough.

Glancing at the few gossiping faces, Feng Jiu’er lowered her head and began eating.

With him by her side, she could actually have a proper meal—chances like this were rare.

Before long, someone came in from outside.

The seat where Feng Jiu’er sat happened to face almost directly toward the path leading in.

Seeing it was Ye Luocha, she made a gulping sound, forcing down the porridge in her mouth.

Eating in a hurry, Feng Jiu’er coughed lightly a couple of times without meaning to.

“Are you all right?” Jian Yi turned his head and asked softly.

But, it seemed, with that man around, it wasn’t his place to show concern for Jiu’er.

Feng Jiu’er had only just coughed when Zhan Qingcheng set down his own bowl and reached out to gently pat her back.

“Slow down.”

His voice carried a magnetism mixed with gentleness, the kind that made anyone who heard it feel as though bathed in spring breeze—let alone others, even Feng Jiu’er herself wasn’t immune to it.

Feng Jiu’er turned to look at Zhan Qingcheng and shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

The words had barely left her mouth when she pushed his arm away.

“So you’re all here after all.” Ye Luocha arrived in front of everyone and said softly.

“A’Jiu, your foster father asked me to take your measurements so new clothes can be made, and Mu’er’s too—I’ve brought the tailor along.”

“I couldn’t find you all, but heard things were lively over here, so I came.”

Her gaze settled on Feng Jiu’er, and Ye Luocha’s expression remained fairly mild.

“Since the three of you are all here, I won’t need to make another trip. Everyone, carry on—I’ll wait in the courtyard for a while.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Ye Luocha turned and walked off to the other side.

Feng Jiu’er looked up at Ye Luocha’s retreating figure, her lovely crescent brows furrowing again.

The three of them? Who did that mean? Could it be that Ye Luocha intended to have new clothes made for her as well?

Feng Jiu’er didn’t know why—though the woman didn’t seem to bear any ill will—she still found her somewhat eerie.

Blinking, she withdrew her gaze and lowered her head, continuing to eat.