As Zhan Qingcheng turned around, he saw the little one wrapped in a white blanket, only her small head peeking out.

Against the snowy white blanket, her skin appeared even more luminous, flawless.

A smile more radiant than camellia blossoms rose on her face, making her look even more beautiful, even more captivating.

Clearing his throat lightly, Zhan Qingcheng withdrew his gaze and stood up.

Watching the man stride away, Feng Jiu’er only then clutched the blanket and sat up.

While Zhan Qingcheng went to retrieve his clothes, the woman, still wrapped in the blanket, hurried barefoot behind the screen.

Feng Jiu’er no longer had time to worry about appearances—she turned her back to the screen, dropped the blanket, and hurriedly threw on her own clothes.

But before she had even gotten one thin, light garment over herself, she sensed someone approaching.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle.” Feng Jiu’er took a deep breath and called out softly. “Not done yet—wait a moment, it’ll just be a bit longer.”

Even as she spoke, Feng Jiu’er didn’t dare slow the movement of her hands.

But that man, as always, was someone no one could stop once he had set his mind on something.

Feng Jiu’er had only just managed to put on her innermost layer when the figure outside the screen was already behind her.

Biting her lip, Feng Jiu’er moved as quickly as she could, grabbing her outer robe and draping it over herself.

She clutched the robe tightly and turned around, her robe and long hair sweeping up, forming a beautiful arc in midair.

It all looked, in that moment, quite lovely.

But in Zhan Qingcheng’s eyes, there was nothing else besides Feng Jiu’er.

He stared at her without blinking, and the anger Feng Jiu’er had been building up dissipated by at least half on its own.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, men and women shouldn’t touch so casually—haven’t you heard of that? You always…”

“You are this prince’s woman.” Zhan Qingcheng skipped any explanation entirely, stepping forward and taking hold of her hand, which was still gripping the sash.

Feng Jiu’er yanked her hand away forcefully, her pink lips pursing higher.

“I’m not yet—you can’t just…” Looking into the man’s deep eyes, Feng Jiu’er’s resolve immediately weakened by half.

She pressed her lips together and said evenly, “You can’t always just do whatever you please. Could you consider my feelings, just this once?”

“If you’re willing, you could become this prince’s true woman right now,” Zhan Qingcheng said, making no move to let her go.

Feng Jiu’er let out a small “I’m not willing,” but he gave her a tug, and her whole body fell into his embrace.

Meeting the man’s displeased gaze, Feng Jiu’er bit her lip and lowered her head.

Even now, in front of him, she was still like a little quail—truly failing to live up to her father’s unparalleled martial arts legacy.

“A title not properly given carries no weight. I don’t think any woman would be willing under those circumstances,” she said firmly, recalling his earlier promise.

Perhaps accepting Feng Jiu’er’s answer, Zhan Qingcheng’s manner finally softened somewhat.

He reached out his large hand and rubbed the back of her head.

Releasing her, he took hold of her small hand, still clutching the sash.

“This prince will help you dress.”

Ninth Imperial Uncle’s words were never really a request for anyone’s opinion—him saying it at all was already a gracious gesture; there was no chance he’d actually ask for her input.

Feng Jiu’er wanted very much to say “no need,” but she didn’t dare.

In front of him, despite possessing unrivaled martial skill, she was no different from a little lamb.

Letting go, Feng Jiu’er didn’t resist any further.

After all, struggling wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

Watching the man fix her clothes with surprising gentleness, Feng Jiu’er accepted the Ninth Prince’s service.

Still, watching his clumsy movements, she genuinely began to doubt whether she’d be brave enough to walk outside afterward.

Zhan Qingcheng didn’t seem too satisfied with his own handiwork either, undoing the sash he had just tied.

The same motion repeated two or three times, and Feng Jiu’er coughed lightly to ease the slightly awkward mood.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, how are things in Phoenix City? Has the Eighth Prince been driven out yet?”

“Mm.” Still focused on his task, Zhan Qingcheng nodded slightly. “Once things have settled, this prince will marry you.”

Looking at the man before her, who at the moment stood noticeably shorter than usual, Feng Jiu’er stood frozen, unsure of what to say.

A simple line like “this prince will marry you,” even spoken with such overbearing tone, somehow felt entirely unlike anything else coming from his mouth.

He had even skipped the part where he was supposed to propose, yet she found herself wanting to marry him right then and there—what was she supposed to do?

After a moment of stunned silence, Feng Jiu’er said quietly, “Let’s leave this matter until my mother returns.”

“She’s with the Feng Clan, and I don’t even know what the situation is there right now. I can’t just marry myself off so carelessly.”

“Fine.” Having finished tying Feng Jiu’er’s sash, Zhan Qingcheng straightened up, gathered her long hair, and draped it behind her shoulders.

Lowering his eyes to meet the little one’s gaze, Zhan Qingcheng nodded with a touch of solemnity. “Once we find Mother, we’ll marry.”

Feng Jiu’er stared into Zhan Qingcheng’s eyes without blinking, and after a good while, she finally nodded.

“For now… let’s settle on that. But I still need to ask my father and mother for their opinion.”

Clearing her throat, Feng Jiu’er pulled her gaze away and glanced outside.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m hungry. Can we go out now?”

She’d just been proposed to, hadn’t she? And yet she couldn’t even get a proper sentence out—would her parents be furious if they knew their Feng daughter was acting like this?

“Mm. Have Yu Jingfeng come in.”

“Got it.” The moment Zhan Qingcheng finished speaking, Feng Jiu’er dashed off in a flash.

Zhan Qingcheng was left standing behind the screen, his long hair tousled, somewhat disheveled.

Feng Jiu’er’s long hair fluttered loosely behind her shoulders as she hurried out of the tent, catching the attention of more than a few onlookers.

Seeing this, Xiao Yingtao immediately stood up and ran over.

“Jiu’er, what happened?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Turning her head toward her, Feng Jiu’er narrowed her eyes slightly.

“What do you mean, what happened? How are the brothers doing? Is there enough medicine?”

“Everything’s been arranged.” Xiao Yingtao came up beside her, took her hand, and glanced back toward the tent behind her.

“How’s the Ninth Prince?” She pressed her lips together, lowering her voice. “Has he… woken up?”

Seeing Yu Jingfeng approaching, Feng Jiu’er didn’t bother responding to Xiao Yingtao.

“Yu Jingfeng, Ninth Imperial Uncle wants you to go in.”

“Understood.” Yu Jingfeng clasped his hands in a brief bow and continued on.

Xiao Yingtao took Feng Jiu’er’s hand, and the two of them headed together toward where everyone was having their meal.

“Jiu’er, what’s going on with the Ninth Prince? Why are you walking so fast?”

“You’re determined to gossip about my business, aren’t you?” Feng Jiu’er shot a glance at Xiao Yingtao.

Xiao Yingtao pursed her lips and looked ahead again.

“You two were just reunited after being apart—what’s wrong with a little gossip?”

The moment she finished speaking, she turned to look at Feng Jiu’er again, the corners of her mouth lifting with delight.

Swinging Feng Jiu’er’s hand, Xiao Yingtao pressed on. “So what really happened? Jiu’er, your face is still so red—you really think no one will notice if you say it’s nothing?”

“Did the Ninth Prince bully you… or did you bully the Ninth Prince?”