Looking down at the girl beneath him, Zhan Qingcheng’s face broke into a smile devastating enough to turn heads.

“You’re the one in charge.”

His doting voice lingered in the air of the tent.

Feng Jiu’er forced herself to hold onto her senses, gripping the hem of the man’s robe.

“I want to sleep, Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m tired, I want to sleep, Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m not joking, I really—” Before Feng Jiu’er could finish her last words, Zhan Qingcheng casually rolled over, carefully holding the person in his arms as he settled down to lie beside her.

“Alright, let’s go to sleep then.”

Feng Jiu’er blinked, letting out a breath of relief.

Recalling her loss of composure a moment ago, she spoke in a voice barely audible. “Um… was I… was I a bit too loud just now?”

“Mm.”

The man gave a single careless syllable in response, and there was no telling whether he was actually giving the little girl’s question any real thought.

“So what do we do?”

Feng Jiu’er raised her eyes to look at Zhan Qingcheng’s chin, pressing her lips together.

“What do you want to do about it?”

Zhan Qingcheng lowered his eyes to glance at her, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

Catching a hint of danger in the man’s eyes, Feng Jiu’er immediately looked away.

“Sleep.”

With that single word, she fell silent.

Well, it wasn’t as if this was the first time she and the Ninth Imperial Uncle had been alone together. In fact, if there hadn’t been any sound from her at all, wouldn’t the brothers have had their own ideas about that?

Still, finding the time for something like this even while on the run — that really wasn’t something an ordinary person would manage.

With the weight on her mind finally lifted, Feng Jiu’er soon began to feel drowsy.

There was no denying it — in the crook of his arm, she always felt completely at ease, and always grew sleepy especially fast.

Before long, Feng Jiu’er’s breathing, so ragged just moments ago, gradually settled into a steady rhythm. Zhan Qingcheng gently rubbed her back, then closed his eyes.

In the tent next door, Qiao Mu, having changed into fresh clothes, lay down and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

After a day of turmoil — terror, injury, poison, treatment — she felt an exhaustion unlike anything she had ever known.

Having finally found a moment of peace, the right thing to do was naturally to rest and recover properly.

By the time Long Yi went to switch watch shifts with Feng Jiang, two more hours had already passed.

In the camp, only a handful of people remained outside; everyone else slept soundly in their tents.

Feng Jiang glanced around, then came and sat down beside Jian Yi.

“There’s still congee in the pot.”

Jian Yi said flatly.

If Feng Jiu’er hadn’t given the instruction, Jian Yi rarely showed such warmth on his own initiative.

Feng Jiang didn’t stand on ceremony either, picking up a bowl and going over to lift the pot lid.

“By the way, Jiu’er said to leave some for Qiao Mu.”

With that, Jian Yi stood up.

“Qiao Mu hasn’t eaten?”

Feng Jiang glanced at Jian Yi.

“No, she seems to have been resting this whole time.”

No sooner had he said this than Jian Yi turned and vanished from Feng Jiang’s sight.

Raising his eyes to look at the man sitting up high, leaning against a tree trunk with his eyes closed in rest, Feng Jiang’s lips curved faintly.

With so many capable people around Jiu’er, he could finally set his mind at ease.

All around was utter silence — even the insects could barely be heard, only the faint sound of snoring here and there.

Leaves drifted slowly down, a sign that winter wasn’t far off. There was no telling when they would all meet again.

Feng Jiang leaned back against the tree trunk, and no sooner had he closed his eyes than he heard a faint woman’s voice.

“Yanu, are you doing well right now? Have they been mistreating you? Yanu—” Qiao Mu, who had a whole tent to herself, had plenty of space to rest in.

She would wave a hand to the left now and then, or roll over to the right, sleeping somewhat restlessly.

“Yanu, where exactly are you right now? Why didn’t you leave with the rest of us?”

“How could you be so foolish — why would you betray Jiu’er? Aren’t we all one family?”

“When are you coming back? We’re waiting for you at the clinic, Yanu, come back quickly—” At the parts that hurt her most, Qiao Mu’s voice grew somewhat hoarse, sounding deeply sorrowful.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but Feng Jiang happened to be leaning against the large tree right beside her tent, so he could still make out parts of it.

The man, resting with his eyes closed, let his lips curve faintly.

He hadn’t quite expected that such a tough, formidable woman would also have this tender side to her.

“Come back quickly, we’re all waiting for you, Yanu, don’t abandon us, we’re family—” “Why won’t you come back? Jiu’er would miss you too — don’t you feel for her at all?”

Qiao Mu kept talking in her sleep, but apart from her, no one knew exactly what dream she was having.

After mumbling on for a while, the person inside the tent finally fell quiet.

But unexpectedly, only a moment later, Qiao Mu’s voice rose up again.

“Get away, you horrible thing, don’t, don’t bite my face, Father, Father, save me—” “Don’t, get away, don’t come near, no, my face hurts, get away—”

“Father, help, so many rats, so many, don’t come near — Father, save me, save Mu’er—” “Waah, Father, you can’t die, Mu’er has already lost her mother, I can’t lose Father too — Father, please wake up—” “Waah—” “Help me, Father, so many rats, they’re going to bite my face, help me, Father—”

Qiao Mu let out a low cry and sat up.

Feng Jiang threw open the tent flap and appeared before her.

“Are you alright?”

The tent was rather low, so Feng Jiang had to bend over to get closer.

At that moment, Qiao Mu’s eyes were vacant, her body rigid — she seemed not yet to have woken fully from her nightmare.

Feng Jiang crouched down in front of her and gently patted her shoulder.

Only then did Qiao Mu come back to herself, raising her eyes to look at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Qiao Mu’s voice came out hoarse and low.

Feng Jiang gave a light cough and sat down beside her.

“I was resting outside, and you woke me up.”

“What is it?” As he turned his head and took in Qiao Mu’s appearance, he pulled a square cloth from inside his robe. “Did you have a nightmare? Here, wipe your sweat.”

Only as she took the cloth did Qiao Mu realize her forehead was covered in sweat.

“I’m fine.”

Qiao Mu took the cloth and wiped her face carelessly a few times. “I’ll give you back a new one later.”

Feng Jiang shook his head, resting his hands on his bent knees.

“When did your father pass away?”

Qiao Mu frowned, realizing she’d been rude a moment ago.

“That’s none of your business.”

She replied coldly, with no intention of saying anything more on the matter.

Qiao Mu rarely spoke of her private affairs to anyone — even Jiu’er knew little about them.

It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of her father — most likely it was because of the poisonous rats.

“At least you still remember what your father looked like.”

Feng Jiang raised a thick brow, speaking softly.

Qiao Mu turned her head to look at the man beside her, her eyes, still beaded with sweat, narrowing slightly.

“What do you mean by that?”

Wasn’t he a prince of the Feng Clan?

The Feng Clan’s emperor was alive and well — so why did he seem as though he’d lost his father since childhood?

Watching the man’s profile, feigning indifference yet unable to hide his sorrow, Qiao Mu’s confusion only deepened.

“Don’t tell me — you’re not actually the Feng Emperor’s birth son?”