No one spoke, and the atmosphere in the cave gradually seemed to solidify once more.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before Lu Beicheng suddenly asked, “Ninth Imperial Uncle—who exactly is he?”

She still didn’t answer.

This time, Lu Beicheng suddenly grasped her wrist and pulled her close to him: “Tell me, who exactly is the Ninth Imperial Uncle? Why do you call him that!”

That was a form of address that belonged only to ancient times.

And beyond that, not far behind them stood the Ninth Prince’s Manor—clearly, it was inextricably linked to this title of Ninth Imperial Uncle!

She was a modern person—why would she call someone Ninth Imperial Uncle?

And the girl in his dreams—why had she become Jiu’er tonight, of all nights?

That call he’d never been able to hear clearly—tonight, it had come through with perfect clarity: Ninth Imperial Uncle!

In the dream, Zhen Jiu’er had called him Ninth Imperial Uncle!

“I don’t believe in things that defy science, but if you’re willing to tell me…”

“It’s just a form of address, that’s all. Why does Ninth Master care so much?”

Zhen Jiu’er suddenly flashed him a smile, a smile that was false and perfunctory, one that thoroughly concealed every thought running through her mind.

She kept smiling, but the smile never reached her eyes: “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Ninth Master actually liked a scruffy little thing like me.”

“You’re well aware you’re just a scruffy little thing yourself—do you really think my taste has fallen that low?”

She refused to tell him anything, and Lu Beicheng felt a flicker of frustration in his heart, even his tone turning somewhat sharp.

Jiu’er was about to say something when, suddenly, Lu Beicheng stood up from the ground and pulled her back into his arms once more.

“You…”

“Don’t speak.”

Lu Beicheng supported her body, retreating deeper into the cave.

Unfamiliar with this cave, its interior was jagged with strange rocks, and he had no way of knowing whether the stone walls behind them held any sharp edges.

So he used his own body to shield her completely within his embrace, taking every impact upon himself alone.

Zhen Jiu’er said nothing more, nor did she struggle.

Because she, too, had now sensed that the assassins had circled back.

Since when had her vigilance grown so poor? If Lu Beicheng hadn’t been sharp enough, their conversation here might well have given them away.

“Strange, I clearly heard voices just now,” one of the assassins said quietly outside.

“There’s a cave over there—could they be hiding inside?” another pointed toward the cave.

The group fell silent, gripping their tranquilizer guns tighter, and crept cautiously, step by careful step, toward the cave.

Jiu’er looked up at Lu Beicheng. Though she said nothing, her whole body had gone rigid with tension.

It was unease.

Lu Beicheng’s large hand settled on top of her head, gently stroking it.

A casual head-pat—he himself probably didn’t understand what it meant.

But Jiu’er inexplicably felt a sense of calm settle over her.

Though his legs hadn’t fully healed, there was something about him that inspired a deep, convincing sense of security.

The assassins searched their way to the cave.

Lu Beicheng, shielding Zhen Jiu’er, shifted further into the depths.

Their bodies sank into a narrow crevice in the rock, a spot nearly impossible to find.

Even if discovered, without a flashlight shining directly in, no one would be able to make out their figures.

It was then that Jiu’er quickly realized something wasn’t quite right—she and Lu Beicheng’s bodies were pressed… far too close together!

At this distance, his breath, exhaled with every breath, fell almost entirely upon her face.

Her heart, for no reason at all, began to leap.

In the silent space, only the sound of their two heartbeats could be heard, growing clearer and clearer…