The servants entered with their heads bowed, not daring to steal even a single glance at the Ninth Prince standing beside the dressing screen.

Even though they were all men, the Ninth Prince’s physique was not something their gazes had any right to profane.

And yet this ugly woman had been openly staring at their Prince. It was simply outrageous!

The Ninth Prince paid Feng Jiu’er no further attention.

After the servants had withdrawn, his long fingers hooked lightly at the gold-inlaid belt at his waist — a soft snap — and the belt fell away.

Feng Jiu’er had just turned to look back at the sound when, by unfortunate accident, she caught sight of the Ninth Prince in the act of removing his trousers.

Her eyes nearly rolled straight out of her head.

That motion… did it have to be so devastatingly graceful?

She could not conceive that something as undignified and common as a man taking off his trousers could be made so utterly spellbinding in his hands.

Especially when he was clad only in thin underpants, tossing his trousers casually over the dressing screen — that careless elegance was enough to drive any woman to madness.

Feng Jiu’er had not intended to look. She had already resolved to avert her gaze and not look!

But — but! — that view from behind was so breathtaking, the figure so arresting, those long legs, that broad back, that lean waist…

She wanted to wail! Her eyes were glued to him of their own accord, utterly unwilling to move away!

And when he turned his face to the side, that perfect profile was so stunning it made her want to scream!

Some people could live ten lifetimes and never have the chance to witness the Ninth Prince undressing. And she — she — was this not like stumbling upon a treasure?

And yet… why did that flawless, refined profile still feel so strangely familiar…

“Seen enough?” All at once, the man’s magnetic voice broke into her awareness.

Feng Jiu’er had just been on the verge of grasping at something when her train of thought was instantly severed by his cool, dispassionate voice.

Realizing she had been staring fixedly at his barely-covered, impossibly alluring back for all this time, Feng Jiu’er drew a sharp breath, instinctively stepped back two paces, and put distance between them.

“It seems you are not quite as repulsed by this Prince’s body as you have been making yourself out to be.”

With those words left hanging in the air, Zhan Qingcheng lifted his long legs and stepped behind the dressing screen.

Through the screen, she could still make out the silhouette of his tall, lean figure stepping into the bathtub.

Feng Jiu’er felt herself growing somewhat distracted — not because she was genuinely such a lewd person, but because this man was simply too impossibly, dangerously beautiful.

Never mind her — she dared to swear that any woman alive, placed before the Ninth Prince, would be utterly helpless against his magnetism.

The fact that she hadn’t flung herself at him, pinned him to the bed, and done whatever she pleased was already proof that she possessed remarkable self-restraint.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when, suddenly, a great splashing sound came from behind the screen — he was getting out!

With a single casual motion, a bathrobe fell over the man’s form, draped loosely about his lean frame.

When he stepped out from behind the dressing screen, he seemed to carry the lingering wisps of warm steam with him.

On a sweltering day like this, he didn’t bring with him any sense of heat at all. On the contrary, he gave off a feeling of cool, biting chill.

Seeing him walk toward her, Feng Jiu’er unconsciously backed away two steps.

“Ninth Prince…”

He furrowed his brow again. He clearly disliked her using that form of address.

Feng Jiu’er felt somewhat helpless, pressed her lips together, then said, “…Ninth Imperial Uncle, what exactly are you keeping me here for?”

For himself? That was impossible. Clever as she was, she absolutely refused to believe it.

He must have some ulterior motive.

Yet before she could dwell on it further, Zhan Qingcheng suddenly took a long stride — and in an instant stood directly before her.

Before Feng Jiu’er could even react, she felt her body grow weightless, and she found herself lifted entirely off the ground in his arms.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, what are you doing?” Her hands instinctively flew to his chest, pushing back in resistance.

Zhan Qingcheng wore no expression whatsoever, and said evenly, “Do you take this Prince for someone who makes idle jests?”

That face of his, frost-cold and supremely handsome, made Feng Jiu’er realize with disbelief that he was genuinely not joking.

Behind her, his voice came — unfailingly composed, low and unhurried: “This Prince wants you. Now.”