Ghost Face truly could not believe it — and yet he did not doubt what he had seen.

So, the Venerable Lord was indeed forcing himself on Feng Jiu’er. That was beyond question.

As for why the Venerable Lord had transformed from a figure of refined and lofty aloofness, like a deity untouched by the mortal world, into… ahem, a lecherous scoundrel — only the Venerable Lord himself likely knew.

“Ghost Face, you should understand the Venerable Lord’s temperament. He… he simply finds it amusing.”

Leng Yue was genuinely anxious. If the Venerable Lord found it amusing, that was one thing — but she feared that in a moment of carelessness, he might end up being taken advantage of by the woman inside!

“That is to say,” Ghost Face gave a light cough, and repeated the same words as before: “I am watching here. You go back first.”

In truth, he also felt… the Venerable Lord must truly be doing it merely for amusement.

He was the person who had accompanied the Venerable Lord the longest. The Venerable Lord… ahem, had never once looked at erotic paintings of any kind, nor had he ever visited pleasure houses.

Their Venerable Lord was genuinely cleaner and more untouched than blank paper or plain water. Did he truly know what he was doing?

Ghost Face had the urge to press a hand to his own forehead — yet, it was said that in such matters, men were born instinctively knowing. Was he perhaps overthinking things?

After all, he himself had never visited a pleasure house, had never looked at erotic paintings either — and he knew perfectly well what such things entailed. How could the Venerable Lord not know?

It was simply a matter of lacking practical experience… Good heavens, why were his thoughts growing increasingly improper the more he dwelled on it?

…Inside the room, the two people seemed entirely unaffected by the commotion outside.

He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look directly at him.

Her delicate lips were ground and pressed against his, one deliberate moment at a time, until they had already swollen.

And yet he seemed not to tire of it in the slightest — as though he had genuinely grown addicted to the game — and simply refused to let go.

Even Feng Jiu’er herself was beginning to wonder: had the Ninth Imperial Uncle come to regard her as an entertaining toy?

From him, she felt absolutely none of the longing or impulse a man harbored for a woman. He seemed as though… he truly was just playing.

Playing in an entirely innocent fashion!

She even found herself genuinely doubting — did the Ninth Imperial Uncle actually understand what it meant for a man to kiss a woman?

Most likely he did not. And the real question was: had anyone ever taught him?

She had a sensation of speechless bewilderment, as if crying out to the heavens for answers. Was it up to her to give him a lesson?

It seemed as though the root of it all traced back to that day in the carriage, when she had performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on that young woman.

From that moment onward, the Ninth Imperial Uncle had taken to kissing her at every turn — was kissing her meant to be entertaining?

“You… you are too heavy,” she finally said. After being kissed for who knew how long, Feng Jiu’er could endure it no longer, and once again pressed her palms firmly against his chest to push him away.

“I can barely… breathe. Stop… please stop.”

“Does this mean you want this Seat to not stop?” Di Wu Ya narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze on her red and swollen lips.

The more he kissed her, the more striking his own lips looked — smooth, pink, and lustrous. So why were hers going numb and puffy?

Even without a mirror, Feng Jiu’er knew her lips must look absolutely dreadful right now.

Heaven was truly unfair!

This sort of thought, ever since the Ninth Imperial Uncle had appeared, had become a near-daily occurrence for Feng Jiu’er.

She drew a sharp breath and kept pushing against his chest, her brow furrowed tightly.

“Truly… too heavy. Venerable Lord… mmph —”

This time, it was another long and drawn-out kiss — no, this was not even a kiss. It was simply pressing lips together, nothing more. A perfectly simple gesture: lips upon lips, and beyond that, nothing at all.

She genuinely could not fathom how a movement so simple had kept him occupied for the better part of half a shichen, without the faintest sign of boredom.

At last, just as she was on the verge of suffocation, the man finally released her entirely and lay down beside her…