Feng Jiu’er paid Xiao Yingtao no mind. She narrowed her eyes slightly, turned, and walked toward Jian Yi.

She was staying — not to wait on this nonsense-spouting fellow, that was certain.

“Jian Yi.” Feng Jiu’er set his robe down on the table. “Do you know what you just said? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Jian Yi remained perfectly composed. He set down the martial arts manual in his hand and raised his eyes to meet Feng Jiu’er’s gaze.

“I am not a child — of course I know. But don’t you think, in terms of the time…”

“Jian Yi!” Feng Jiu’er’s brow arched sharply as she cut him off. “We were sparring. Sparring, understood? I honestly don’t know what you’re imagining.”

“Mm.” Jian Yi still wore a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “That is what I meant as well — sparring. For the Ninth Prince to be subdued by you in just a few moves is indeed rather unimpressive.”

“Jiu’er, what did I say wrong? Why are you so upset?”

Looking at Jian Yi in this moment, Feng Jiu’er found herself suddenly at a loss for words. What on earth had gotten into this man today?

“Jian Yi, in three months, I am going to take you on.” Without quite knowing why, Feng Jiu’er had a sudden urge to thrash him, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“Very well. Sparring inside a chamber does sound rather interesting.” Jian Yi curved his lips in a faint smile.

That response made Feng Jiu’er stop dead in her tracks.

She finally realized that the Jian Yi she had known before must have been a false version — all that innocence and naivety had been an act.

“I’ll settle things with you later!” She left the words behind and walked out.

Ninth Imperial Uncle had said half an incense stick’s time — did she dare keep him waiting?

After Feng Jiu’er left, Xiao Yingtao looked back at Jian Yi.

“Jian Yi, I didn’t expect you to be even bolder than Jiu’er! Or is it that, since you’re the one with injuries, you feel you can get away with anything?”

Xiao Yingtao raised an eyebrow, and with a smile, took Mu Mu’s robe and turned to leave the chamber.

When Feng Jiu’er returned to her own chamber, she found Zhan Qingcheng already seated in the main chair, watching her.

She immediately closed the door and hurried inside.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, this robe is a little elaborate, I admit — but it’s already made, so just try it on. Please.”

Having kept the Prince of the War God waiting after he had taken time out of his busy schedule to come by, Feng Jiu’er already felt a little guilty.

And after what Jian Yi had just said, the only thing she could do now was attend to him properly. Besides, half an incense stick’s time was not very long anyway.

Feng Jiu’er obediently brought the robe over, and Zhan Qingcheng’s expression seemed to ease somewhat.

“Try it on — how about that? If you don’t want to wear it tonight, we can save it for a time when there aren’t so many family members around. What do you say?”

“Mm.” Zhan Qingcheng casually took the robe from Feng Jiu’er’s hands. “Yours first. Let this Prince see.”

Feng Jiu’er stared at him, eyes going wide.

“Me… well, that one should fit fine already. Oh — alright, I’ll try it.”

Zhan Qingcheng did not even need to speak. A single slight furrow of his brow was enough for Feng Jiu’er to turn around and shuffle off to fetch her robe.

She picked up what remained on the table and turned toward the inner chamber.

“Change here.” Zhan Qingcheng’s low voice sounded behind her.

Evidently, the displeasure had not entirely passed.

Feng Jiu’er looked back to meet his gaze, feeling somewhat awkward.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, now that you’re here, there are more people keeping watch outside. What if someone suddenly walks in? Wouldn’t that be unfair to me?”

“While this Prince is here, who would dare simply walk in?” Zhan Qingcheng intentionally raised his volume.

Regardless of whether those outside could hear, Feng Jiu’er knew that no one would dare wander in at a moment like this.

Even Jian Yi, who rarely deferred to the Ninth Imperial Uncle, would not be so bored as to come over now — and as for the others, they certainly would not either.

Feng Jiu’er withdrew her gaze from the chamber door, pursed her lips, and gave a small nod.

“Very well then.”

She had barely turned to face the only other person in the room when that commanding voice came from behind her again.

“Come here. This Prince will help you.”

Feng Jiu’er drew a deep breath before turning to look at the man seated in the main chair.

He spoke of helping her, yet made her come to him herself — was that really helping?

But that was not even the real concern. What it meant, right now, was that she would truly have to undress in front of him. And if the Ninth Imperial Uncle decided not to leave after all — what then?

Whatever complaints she harbored inwardly, Feng Jiu’er walked obediently toward Zhan Qingcheng.

Even she herself wondered whether those legs carrying her toward him actually belonged to her.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I can manage on my own.” At less than five steps from Zhan Qingcheng, Feng Jiu’er stopped.

“Come here.” Zhan Qingcheng’s voice sounded again.

Left with no choice, Feng Jiu’er continued forward, stopping only when she stood directly before him.

“Stretch out your arms.” Zhan Qingcheng rose, looking down at the young woman in front of him.

Feng Jiu’er glanced up at him, then obediently spread her arms out.

Watching the man before her struggling with the sash — not entirely accustomed to the task — Feng Jiu’er very nearly said that the half incense stick’s time was almost up.

But she held back. He had only just stopped being so displeased — was she really going to reignite that anger?

She gave a small cough and called softly, “Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

“Mm?” Zhan Qingcheng had just loosened the first sash and was turning his attention to the second.

“What do you have to go and attend to later? Is it something to do with the Lantern Festival?” Feng Jiu’er continued.

The silence between them was too oppressive — she had to say something to ease it.

“My foster father called for me. I am not sure of the matter.” Zhan Qingcheng answered with uncharacteristic patience.

Even with his movements less than practiced, he had still managed to undo her outer robe.

Feng Jiu’er glanced sideways as the man drew her outer garment off her, and her breathing quietly grew unsteady.

“Do not let your thoughts wander. The time is not yet right. This Prince only wishes to help his own wife change her clothes — nothing more.” Zhan Qingcheng’s voice came quietly.

Feng Jiu’er drew a deep breath and reached to hold the remaining layer of clothing in place.

“That is enough — what is underneath does not need to come off.”

“This Prince said nothing about continuing.” He gave Feng Jiu’er a faint, faintly wicked smile, then turned to pick up the new robe.

Staring at this man who appeared perfectly composed yet whose cheeks held a faint flush of color, Feng Jiu’er suddenly stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace.

Zhan Qingcheng had not expected the little girl to be so sudden and so warm — the robe in his hand nearly slipped to the ground.

“What is the matter?” He wrapped his arms around her and asked in a low voice.

“What a pity.” Feng Jiu’er rubbed her cheek against the man’s chest and gave a small, wistful sigh.

“A pity… about what?” The odd sensation made Zhan Qingcheng’s voice shift slightly.

Feng Jiu’er lifted her gaze to his, blinking those wide, liquid eyes. “A pity that the time is not yet right.”

Meeting the little girl’s eyes, Zhan Qingcheng’s composure faltered — once, and then again.

Feng Jiu’er, however, pursed her lips and lowered her head.

In that moment, hidden from his view, she curved her lips ever so slightly upward.

It was he who had said in all seriousness that she should not let her thoughts wander — she had only wanted to see whether he truly had no other thoughts at all.