Watching the corners of the man’s handsome mouth lift slightly, Feng Jiu’er smiled and dipped his long hair back into the water.

She washed through each strand with the utmost care, terrified of brushing against any nerve and making him endure pain again.

Feng Jiu’er truly understood now what it meant for “his pain to be her pain.”

She didn’t want him hurt—not even a little.

Under Feng Jiu’er’s careful attention, Zhan Qingcheng’s breathing gradually grew even.

Setting down his hair, Feng Jiu’er leaned against the edge of the tub and gently massaged several pressure points on the man’s head as he sat in the water.

Only once he had fallen asleep did she release his head, attempting to slip off the clothing still stuck to his body…

When Feng Jiu’er stepped out of the tent, Yu Jingfeng, now in a fresh change of clothes, was standing guard outside.

Turning to meet Feng Jiu’er’s gaze, Yu Jingfeng followed her back inside the tent.

The screen had been moved in front of the bed, and Feng Jiu’er was applying medicine to Zhan Qingcheng’s wounds.

Yu Jingfeng brought people in to change the water in the tub, then returned to the screen by the bedside.

“Miss Jiu’er, is there anything you need help with?”

“No, you should go rest for a while too. I’ll watch over him,” Feng Jiu’er’s gentle voice carried out from within the tent.

“Understood.” Yu Jingfeng nodded and turned to leave.

Feng Jiu’er applied medicine to the largest wound on Zhan Qingcheng’s back shoulder, bandaged it, and pulled the blanket over him.

The sun hung high and the tent was far from dark, yet Feng Jiu’er still found a candle and set it in a holder.

She dripped a few drops of her own specially-made fragrant oil into it, then returned to sit by the bedside.

Reaching out to check Zhan Qingcheng’s forehead, Feng Jiu’er finally rose with a sense of relief.

She pushed the screen back in front of the tub, picked up a fresh change of clothes, and stepped behind the screen.

Soaking in the warm bathwater, Feng Jiu’er leaned against the wooden bar and closed her eyes.

How were things over in Phoenix City right now? Had the Eighth Prince also been driven from the city?

Her Ninth Imperial Uncle truly was remarkable—bringing three thousand elite soldiers to help, and in less than a single day, driving the Crown Prince’s tens of thousands of troops out of Mo City.

She wondered how things were in Ming City. Was Mu Mu all right?

And her father—how was he doing? Was he eating enough, staying warm?

There were so many questions she wanted to ask, yet she hadn’t managed to voice even one of them.

Facing someone who hadn’t rested in days and nights, Feng Jiu’er didn’t dare disturb him—more than that, she simply couldn’t bring herself to.

She hoped this war would end soon. In war, it was always the common people who suffered most.

Thinking of Jian Yi, who had hidden himself away to recover from his wounds alone, Feng Jiu’er slowly closed her eyes.

She had no idea how he was doing now. Why hadn’t the messenger bird brought any news yet?

Every time she thought of it, her heart felt heavy.

Scooping up the towel for a quick wash, just as she was about to rise, Feng Jiu’er sensed something.

She snapped her eyes open, and a tall figure appeared in her line of sight.

Their eyes met, and Feng Jiu’er grabbed the towel, about to throw it at him, but in the end she held back.

If it got his wounds wet, she’d have even more work ahead of her—and that wouldn’t be good for him either.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you… go outside first.”

Looking at the redness in the man’s eyes, Feng Jiu’er, far from getting angry, even managed a faintly ingratiating smile.

“Without you in my arms, I couldn’t sleep,” Zhan Qingcheng’s hoarse voice came.

His eyes were hazy at the moment, clearly a sign of too little sleep, yet even so, his charm remained utterly irresistible.

His robe was draped loosely over his shoulders, his firm chest visible now and then beneath it, lending him a touch of roguish charm atop his usual handsomeness.

If it had been any other man, one might have wanted to tear him apart for such audacity—but when it was the Ninth Prince, who could bear to?

Even someone as composed as Feng Jiu’er, someone well accustomed to handsome men, found herself momentarily dazed.

Perhaps in front of Zhan Qingcheng, Feng Jiu’er had no composure left to speak of at all.

In that brief moment of distraction, she suddenly noticed the man drawing closer to her.

As he stepped forward, long legs moving to climb into the tub, Feng Jiu’er snapped back to her senses.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you can’t.” She rose without thinking, grabbing his arms in an attempt to stop him.

“Your wounds—you can’t get them wet for the next two or three days…”

Then, realizing something, Feng Jiu’er’s eyes went wide as she looked at Zhan Qingcheng, and following his gaze downward, she let out an involuntary shriek.

“You… pervert.”

Just as Feng Jiu’er closed her eyes and threw her hands up to shield herself, Zhan Qingcheng grabbed a nearby blanket and wrapped it around her.

He moved swiftly—the blanket wrapped around Feng Jiu’er hadn’t even gotten wet before he had already lifted her up.

With her body wrapped securely, Feng Jiu’er finally let out a breath of relief.

Looking up at the man carrying her out, she kicked her legs lightly.

“Put me down. You shouldn’t exert yourself right now—your wounds could easily tear open again, do you understand?”

A few steps later, he set Feng Jiu’er down on the bed and lay down beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“Don’t move, girl. My patience has its limits.”

Zhan Qingcheng’s hoarse, faintly commanding words made Feng Jiu’er too afraid to move another inch.

After a while, the man’s searing breath gradually settled, and only then did she relax a little.

Seeing the fine beads of sweat at the man’s temples, Feng Jiu’er didn’t doubt what he had just said.

His patience truly did have its limits—that much was certainly true. They were, after all, both ordinary man and woman; if holding each other like this stirred nothing at all, that would have been far stranger.

Feeling his rhythmic heartbeat, Feng Jiu’er took a deep breath, thought of something, but didn’t dare act on it.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before drowsiness overtook her, and she closed her eyes, gradually drifting into sleep.

It was the most peaceful sleep Feng Jiu’er had had in all this time.

When she woke, she suddenly opened her eyes.

Seeing the maddeningly handsome face before her, Feng Jiu’er closed her eyes again and breathed in the air carrying his scent.

Thankfully, all of this was real.

He had come back, and had saved the lives of so many brothers.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, have you been awake long?”

Meeting the man’s gaze and remembering her current state, Feng Jiu’er couldn’t help but blush.

“Beautiful,” Zhan Qingcheng said, watching the blush rise on the girl’s cheeks, the corners of his mouth curving upward slightly.

Feng Jiu’er frowned, only then understanding what he meant.

Worried that the situation from before falling asleep might repeat itself, she pressed her lips together and glanced down briefly.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m hungry. From yesterday until now, I’ve barely eaten anything.”

Zhan Qingcheng rubbed her head, released her, and sat up.

“Serve me. This prince is hungry too.”

Looking at the man’s cold, indifferent back, Feng Jiu’er found herself in a difficult spot.

“Um, Ninth Imperial Uncle, can you get dressed yourself? I’m… a little indisposed right now.”

She certainly couldn’t get up carelessly right now—absolutely not!

Recalling the sweat at the man’s temples from before, Feng Jiu’er couldn’t help the corners of her mouth lifting, smiling with quiet delight.

She had to admit it—Ninth Imperial Uncle was, every now and then, actually quite cute!