Feng Jiu’er had only just set down the finished tracing when she heard the forlorn voice of the man behind her, and she immediately turned around.

On the bed waited a classically beautiful man, a rare sight in a thousand years — and she had gone and ignored him completely.

The worst of it was that after tracing so vital a mark from his body, she had simply up and left.

Ninth Imperial Uncle’s constitution was robust. On this cold night, being bare-chested to the waist would not leave him shivering. But even Feng Jiu’er, looking at him now, could not help but unconsciously draw her neck in.

Knowing she had been a little too much, Feng Jiu’er at once put on an apologetic smile and hurried back.

Coming to the bedside, she picked up the robe lying on the bed and draped it back around Di Wu Ya’s shoulders.

Feng Jiu’er supported Di Wu Ya by the arm and said gently, “Ninth Imperial Uncle, let us go and bathe first. We cannot let you catch a chill.”

Thinking of how he had said he was cold just a moment ago, Feng Jiu’er could not help but bite her lip.

He had been left out in the cold and felt wronged in his heart, yet he had not grown angry. Just how adorable was her Ninth Imperial Uncle, really? Well — very adorable indeed.

Di Wu Ya let her help him up, and the chill emanating from his whole body dissipated considerably in an instant.

How would Feng Jiu’er dare be neglectful now? She took his arm and walked directly with him toward the dressing screen.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle is worthy of being Ninth Imperial Uncle — what a magnificent constitution!” While she praised him, Feng Jiu’er also remembered to look up at the man beside her with an admiring gaze.

She gave his strong, muscled arm a light pat, and a satisfied smile spread across that young woman’s face.

When Di Wu Ya looked down, Feng Jiu’er continued, “You know, if it had been me, I would surely have caught a chill already.”

Di Wu Ya curved his lips ever so slightly, and even the last faint trace of displeasure on his face vanished entirely.

The two of them looked away in the same moment and walked together behind the dressing screen.

……

In the courtyard on the other side of Feng Jiu’er’s compound, on a rooftop, a man dressed in white sat in one spot, his gaze never once moving from a certain place.

Beside him were rows and rows of wine jars, many of them already empty.

The white-clad man picked up a jar of wine, tilted his head back, and poured it into his mouth, yet his gaze remained locked on that one spot.

It was the large chamber in the center of the neighboring compound.

The chamber glowed brightly with lamplight. Whether there was actually anyone inside, he had no way of knowing.

With a dull thud, an empty wine jar was set down, and he opened another, raised it, and tilted his head back again to drink.

In the moonlight, his tall frame sat there — white robes, white hair drifting in the cool breeze.

When he set the jar down, one could make out the face clearly: striking and otherworldly, with perfectly chiseled features, as though carved by the hand of some divine craftsman.

Yet on this perfect and handsome face were set a pair of eyes filled with despair.

He gave that chamber one last look. Di Feimu raised the jar in his hand and drank again.

He and she were to be wed. No matter how he ran from it, in the end it could not be escaped.

The man drained the last of the wine in the jar in a single breath, set the jar down, and once again sat still as a sculpture, staring blankly into the distance.

The grief in those deep eyes was enough to make anyone who saw it ache.

Tonight, there was no one else in Di Feimu’s courtyard.

He sat alone on the rooftop, and sat there for an hour or two — and nearly all the wine he had brought up with him had found its way into his stomach.

After an unknown length of time, a figure suddenly appeared before him. Di Feimu shot to his feet.

“Jiu’er.”

Just as he reached out to take her hand, the white-clad woman gave a gentle smile and moved away to one side.

“Jiu’er.” Di Feimu’s large hand closed on empty air. He gave chase at once.

The two white-clad figures left the Ninth Prince’s residence and came to a stretch of grass on the back hill.

“Jiu’er.” Di Feimu reached out his large hand again, drawing close to the white-clad woman.

This time, the white-clad woman did not move away. Di Feimu gathered her into his arms.

“Jiu’er, do not — do not marry him. I… it hurts. Jiu’er, do not leave…”

Di Feimu held the woman in his arms tightly, his words beginning to slur.

This was the first time in his life he had been truly, deeply drunk — yet even so, drunk as he was, he could not forget that face.

The white-clad woman gave a gentle push. Di Feimu, unwilling to let her go, held on tighter, as though afraid she would once again vanish from his life.

Why him? Di Feimu could never make sense of it — why did it have to be his own elder brother?

If it had been anyone else, he would have taken Jiu’er back by any means necessary, stopping at nothing.

But because it was Di Wu Ya — his elder brother — Di Feimu could not do that. If he did, it would bring destruction upon Jiu’er.

He had already brought harm to Jiu’er once. There could not be a second time.

In ordinary times, Di Feimu always wore an expression of indifference.

But watching the woman he loved be with his elder brother — how much pain he carried inside, only he himself knew.

Today, seeing Di Wu Ya hold Feng Jiu’er and announce their wedding, Di Feimu felt worse than death.

Yet he had still slipped away without a word.

Feeling the woman in his arms trembling, Di Feimu gently released her and looked down at her.

The white-clad woman glanced up once, then lowered her head again, crying all the harder.

Di Feimu’s vision was somewhat blurred, especially in a place lit by nothing but moonlight — yet he could still make out that the person before him was Jiu’er.

He had tried to forget her, but her every smile and frown was something he could never, in the end, let go of.

“Jiu’er.” Di Feimu lightly held the white-clad woman by both shoulders. “What is wrong? Why are you crying?”

The white-clad woman choked back a sob, then looked up once more.

Di Feimu reached out a long finger and wiped the tear from the corner of her eye. With a wail, the white-clad woman threw her arms around him and wept even more brokenly.

“I do not want to marry him. Mu Mu, the one I like is you. I do not want to marry Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

“But — but he… he keeps forcing me. Mu Mu, what should I do?”

“Jiu’er.” Di Feimu looked at the woman in his arms with an expression of utter disbelief.

He held her gently, as though holding the most precious treasure in all the world.

“You said… the one you like is me?” Di Feimu’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke the words.

“Mm.” The white-clad woman nodded and tightened her arms around his waist. “Mu Mu, I like you. Do not send me away, all right?”

“I do not want to marry Ninth Imperial Uncle, but I…” The woman choked again. “Mu Mu, he keeps forcing me. What should I do?”

“I know you like me too, do you not?”

The woman swayed gently in the embrace of the man she held, and asked in a hoarse voice, “Mu Mu, do you like me too?”

Di Feimu looked at her, stunned for a moment, then gave a vigorous nod.

He pulled her tightly into his arms, his voice rough and husky.

“Jiu’er, I like you — very, very much. So much that I… cannot find words to express it.”

“Since… you do not like him, let us go back together and make it clear to him. I will take you away.”

Unseen by Di Feimu, the white-clad woman’s lips curved into a wicked arc.

“Good. Go back and kill him, and I will go with you — to a place where there is no one else, and live there together with you.”