Before things could spiral out of control, Feng Jiu’er took a deep breath and pushed the man off of her.

Zhan Qingcheng turned onto his side, holding the woman in his arms tightly against him.

Locked in their embrace, the two of them breathed heavily.

Looking up at the man’s firm jaw and feeling his strong, steady heartbeat, Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply the air carrying his scent, then pressed her head against his chest once more.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.”

There was so much she wanted to say, yet the moment she opened her mouth, not a single word would come out.

Zhan Qingcheng rubbed Feng Jiu’er’s small head, leaning down to press a kiss atop it.

“Be patient a little longer. Once we’re wed, I’ll properly claim you.”

The man’s voice carried a touch of hoarseness, making it all the more magnetic, all the more alluring—Feng Jiu’er found herself unconsciously intoxicated by it.

A moment later, wrapped in the man’s searing warmth, the woman finally registered what he had just said.

She frowned, pushed him away, and slipped out of his embrace in the process.

Standing up, Feng Jiu’er turned and shot the man, who had sat up, a sideways glare.

“I… wasn’t being patient at all, and I have no expectations of any kind, none of that nonsense, really… none.”

Pouting slightly, Feng Jiu’er turned away, refusing to look at the man on the bed any longer.

He was simply too handsome—looking at him for even a moment longer would make her want to throw herself at him. Best not to look at all.

“Come here, let me tend to your wounds. You’re injured all over like this, yet you’re still letting your mind wander.”

Thankfully, his internal injuries weren’t severe, but there were still quite a few wounds, big and small, all over his body.

Thinking that someone who was always unstoppable, someone whom ordinary people couldn’t even get near, had still suffered so many wounds, Feng Jiu’er could only imagine how fierce and merciless the battlefield must have been.

Coming around behind the screen, she saw the bathwater already prepared, along with the medicine box set off to one side, and her mood lifted somewhat.

Yu Jingfeng always managed to anticipate exactly what she needed—Ninth Imperial Uncle’s aide really was one in a million.

Turning back and seeing no one following, Feng Jiu’er poked her head out from behind the screen.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, didn’t I ask you to come over? Let me look at your wounds.”

Zhan Qingcheng’s tall frame sat on the bed, making the bed look especially small beneath him.

Anyone seeing it would feel he was being shortchanged.

But this was a military camp, not the imperial palace—what else could be done?

“Ninth Imperial Uncle?” Meeting the man’s dark, unreadable gaze, Feng Jiu’er furrowed her brow slightly.

“Serve me,” Zhan Qingcheng’s low voice came.

The person who had been so affectionate just a moment ago had suddenly turned cold, leaving her somewhat unable to adjust.

But perhaps this was the real Ninth Imperial Uncle, and just now, she had simply encountered a fake one.

“Oh.” Nodding helplessly, Feng Jiu’er turned and walked out from behind the screen, heading toward the man on the bed.

Zhan Qingcheng sat on the bed, watching the woman approach, without moving a muscle.

Feng Jiu’er, as though she’d grown used to being ordered around, began undoing the cords of his battle robe.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, can you stand up? Sitting like this, I can’t get it off.”

The moment her words fell, Zhan Qingcheng raised an eyebrow slightly, stretched his long legs, and stood.

Looking at the man who had once been the same height as her, now suddenly so much taller, Feng Jiu’er—who had been holding onto his collar—had no choice but to rise onto her toes.

It seemed that even with him standing, she still wasn’t going to have an easy time undressing him.

After finally managing to remove his battle robe, Feng Jiu’er’s mood instantly sank as she saw the inner garment beneath, stained with no small amount of blood.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you’re hurt.”

She had known he was injured—but seeing it now, the wound looked different from what she had imagined.

His battle robe had been full of cuts everywhere, making it hard to tell clearly, but now she could see it plainly.

His back shoulder bore a deep wound.

And judging by the bloodstains on his clothes, this wound was at least two days old.

Gently tearing open the inner garment over Zhan Qingcheng’s wound, Feng Jiu’er’s own breathing grew heavier.

“It’s nothing but a minor wound,” Zhan Qingcheng said softly, not wanting the little one to worry.

As the full scar came into view, Feng Jiu’er closed her eyes and drew in a heavy breath.

Judging by the edges of the wound and the bloodstains on his clothing, this wound had been torn open and bled again more than once.

“It’s all right, I’ll tend to it. It’ll heal quickly,” Feng Jiu’er blinked and comforted him.

Perhaps she was only comforting herself.

It was all right—as long as he had come back, everything would be fine.

But the more nonchalant he acted about it, the more her heart ached.

Heaven had given him the most flawless appearance, yet why had it treated him so cruelly?

To Ninth Imperial Uncle, this truly was just a minor wound, because wounds like this were nothing new for him.

Once the man had nothing left but his innermost garment, Feng Jiu’er took his hand and led him behind the screen.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.” She glanced up at Zhan Qingcheng and called out softly, “I’ll add some medicinal powder to the water first to disinfect your wounds.”

“It might sting a little when you get in, but once it’s disinfected, you’ll be fine—nothing to worry about.”

The moment she finished speaking, Feng Jiu’er turned and took a packet of medicinal powder from the medicine box.

Weighing it in her hand, she poured some into the bathtub, rolled up her sleeves, leaned forward, and stirred it in with her slender arm.

A moment later, Feng Jiu’er stood up and helped Zhan Qingcheng over.

“All right, get in and try.”

Zhan Qingcheng didn’t refuse, following the little one’s guidance and stepping into the tub.

Feng Jiu’er gently held onto Zhan Qingcheng, helping him settle down into the tub.

“Some of your wounds have stuck to the fabric. Let it soak a bit before we take the clothing off—I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Do I look like someone afraid of pain?” Zhan Qingcheng looked at the woman before him, brow lightly furrowed.

Feng Jiu’er blinked and forced a small smile.

“Of course Ninth Imperial Uncle isn’t afraid of pain. But it pains me to see it.”

The ache was real, but to keep the mood from growing too heavy, Feng Jiu’er could only pretend to be unaffected.

Hearing that the little one would ache on his behalf, Zhan Qingcheng’s manner softened considerably.

But just as she thought that, the woman, who had just picked up a towel and turned around, met his gaze and continued, “No matter what, you are my patient right now.”

“Seeing a patient in pain certainly doesn’t sit well with me either.”

After soaking the towel in the water and wringing it out, Feng Jiu’er studied the face before her—exceptionally handsome, yet carrying a touch of cold severity.

Giving Zhan Qingcheng a smile, she carefully began wiping away the grime on his face.

After thoroughly cleaning the man’s face and neck, Feng Jiu’er took a wooden bar wrapped in soft cloth and placed it behind Zhan Qingcheng’s head.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, lean back.” As she spoke, she gently supported the man’s head with her hands.

Zhan Qingcheng followed her guidance, gradually leaning backward.

Feng Jiu’er gathered up his long hair and rested it over the wooden bar.

“Close your eyes and relax. This princess is about to wash your hair—enjoy it.”