“What do you want to eat?”

Jian Yi’s voice rang out.

Feng Jiu’er glanced at the corpses scattered all over the ground and nearly retched again.

Zhan Qingcheng’s large hand gently rubbed her back, and only then did her color improve a little.

“I don’t want snake soup. Plain congee will do.”

“Maybe we should move somewhere else to rest?”

Qiao Mu suggested.

“Alright, let’s move.”

Mu Mu nodded and turned to leave.

About half an hour later, everyone found a relatively open spot and set up camp.

The sky had grown completely dark by now, and the deep-autumn night carried a slight chill.

With the tents and bedding the men had sent over, they should be able to rest well tonight and recover their strength.

Tents of varying sizes were arranged in a circle, with the brothers sitting in the middle, drinking congee and eating meat.

Feng Jiang kept watch nearby with a few of the men — for now, things seemed manageable.

Inside the tent, Feng Jiu’er pulled out the last silver needle from Zhan Qingcheng’s body, then turned to pack up her needle case.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you’d better not use your internal energy for now. These past few days your internal injuries haven’t improved at all, if—” As Feng Jiu’er turned around, she found that the man who had been lying down a moment ago was now sitting up, looking down at her.

In the faint candlelight, Feng Jiu’er could still see that face clearly — handsome enough to provoke the heavens themselves to envy.

Following the line down from his deep, piercing eyes was a high, flawless nose, and just below that, thin lips so perfect they made one want to take a bite of them at any moment.

Licking her own lips, Feng Jiu’er let her gaze travel further down, landing on his alluring Adam’s apple.

Lower still, the man’s broad, solid chest was almost entirely exposed to her view.

Feng Jiu’er swallowed audibly, then quickly reached out with both hands, leaning in to pull the man’s robe closed for him.

“In weather like this — ahem — you shouldn’t catch a cold.”

Even though it was she who had opened his robe, even though she’d just been applying needles to his sculpted chest moments ago, Feng Jiu’er found herself struggling to keep her composure now.

While straightening his clothes, she muttered silently to herself: Isn’t it already deep autumn?

Then why is it still so hot?

Knowing perfectly well what was going on, Feng Jiu’er still couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

Sharing a tent alone with a man like a god — how could anyone possibly feel cold?

Worried she might lose control of herself, the girl tied Zhan Qingcheng’s robe sash and then turned away, putting her back to him.

Even she hadn’t expected that, after turning around, she’d let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

“What’s wrong?”

Zhan Qingcheng’s deep, magnetic voice rang out.

In the small confines of the tent, it sounded especially captivating.

Feng Jiu’er didn’t dare turn back, afraid that the moment she did, something unexpected might happen.

But she couldn’t bear to leave either — that much, at least, was the truth in her heart.

She wanted so badly to hug him — even a simple embrace would have satisfied her.

And of course, if it were possible, she wouldn’t mind something more happening either.

“Ahem.” The girl, nearly startled by her own thoughts, coughed lightly to mask the pain of having just bitten her own tongue.

A moment ago, she’d actually considered teasing the Ninth Imperial Uncle — don’t get too carried away — when suddenly a large hand settled at her waist, and Feng Jiu’er’s body went soft as she was pulled into his arms.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

As she turned, she grasped his arm and gently pushed it away.

Freed, Feng Jiu’er leaned back a little.

“Let me check on your condition again.”

No sooner had she said this than Feng Jiu’er picked up the man’s hand, her slender fingers settling on his pulse point.

But unexpectedly, the man suddenly swept out a long arm and pulled her down into his embrace once more.

Looking up at the man above her, Feng Jiu’er struggled to sit up, but Zhan Qingcheng wouldn’t let her have her way, holding her close as he lay back down.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, what are you trying to do?”

Feng Jiu’er met Zhan Qingcheng’s gaze, blinking.

“Whatever it is you want to do — this prince will see it through with you, all the way.”

Zhan Qingcheng lowered his eyes to look at the girl in his arms, his handsome thin lips curving up.

Feeling as though she’d been caught doing something improper, Feng Jiu’er’s eyes widened, growing more and more uncomfortable.

“I’m not — I’m not trying to do anything.”

“Really, nothing at all?”

Zhan Qingcheng tightened his hold, lowering his head, drawing gradually closer to the girl in his arms.

Watching his handsome face grow larger before her eyes, Feng Jiu’er froze completely.

The man’s hot breath washed over her face, and only then did she unconsciously flutter her doll-like lashes.

But the next moment, before she knew it, his warm thin lips pressed firmly against hers.

Feng Jiu’er’s mind went completely blank, and she closed her eyes without realizing it.

She had no idea what awaited her, yet even her breath carried a note of anticipation.

After leaning down to seal Feng Jiu’er’s soft pink lips with his own, Zhan Qingcheng took no further action.

The atmosphere inside the tent grew heavy with tension, leaving Feng Jiu’er short of breath.

Just as she was about to suffocate, Zhan Qingcheng released her.

“Little girl, be patient a while longer. Whatever this emperor has promised, he will never break his word.”

Drawing two deep, sharp breaths, Feng Jiu’er looked up at the man’s strong, resolute jaw, her eyes still somewhat hazy.

“Be patient? What did you promise, Ninth Imperial Uncle?”

“On our wedding night, I’ll have you properly, thoroughly.”

When Zhan Qingcheng lowered his eyes again, his deep gaze had already returned to normal.

But because of his words, Feng Jiu’er’s face flushed even redder.

She raised a small hand, wanting to thump him on the chest, but in the end gave up on the idea.

Giving him a shove instead, she turned away, her face full of shy embarrassment.

“Who’s really the one having to be patient — that’s not so clear.”

Feng Jiu’er’s voice came out a little hoarse, yet rich and firm.

This man’s body had been burning so hot — she refused to believe what she’d said wasn’t true.

Giving Zhan Qingcheng another push, Feng Jiu’er tried to pull free from his arms.

“Let go of me, I want to go out and check on the brothers.”

“Stay and rest with me a while.”

Zhan Qingcheng held the person in his arms, his voice somewhat gentle.

“I want to go check on them—” “Just lie still.”

Zhan Qingcheng’s patience had its limits when it came to a girl who wouldn’t listen.

But right now, he lacked his usual coldness.

“Alright, fine — it’s this prince who’s the one being patient. You’d best not move.”

Sensing the strange tension radiating from the man, Feng Jiu’er, no matter how much she wanted to move—

The Ninth Imperial Uncle had actually admitted he was the one holding back.

Feng Jiu’er paused in mild surprise, then obediently let go of his arm.

Zhan Qingcheng reached out his large hand to rub the little girl’s head gently, then closed his eyes, one arm still wrapped around her.

Feng Jiu’er kept her breathing carefully controlled, terrified of stirring anything up again.

Though she had her own thoughts about it, she certainly didn’t have the nerve to act on them.

Besides, the brothers were just outside, separated by nothing more than a thin sheet of cloth — how could they possibly… The more her mind wandered, the harder it became to keep her breathing under control.

Suddenly, the man rolled over, pinning the anxious girl beneath him.

“It seems you can’t wait any longer.”

No sooner had he said this than Zhan Qingcheng leaned in close once more.

“Don’t—”

Feng Jiu’er let out a low cry and immediately raised both hands to cover her own lips.

Remembering all the brothers seated just around them, she suddenly felt the urge to find a hole and crawl into it.

Glancing sideways toward the outside, Feng Jiu’er turned back to look at Zhan Qingcheng, lowering her voice as much as she could.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, what are we going to do?”