“Brother, this is terrible — Brother!”

Zhao Xiaoxiao, who had ridden ahead only moments before, had spotted a dense mass of people in the distance and was already galloping back.

“Brother, there are…”

Before she could finish, a person and a horse flashed past her eyes like an arrow shot from a bow.

A rush of fierce wind swept past, nearly sweeping Zhao Xiaoxiao clean off her saddle.

After the wind passed, her whipped-up hair and the ends of her garments slowly settled back down, and Zhao Xiaoxiao finally gathered her wits again and drew a sharp breath.

“So… fast!”

“Young mistress, are you all right?” The brother who had caught up was still thoroughly stunned.

Zhao Xiaoxiao looked back once, then immediately yanked on her reins and turned back around.

Feng Jiu’er and Zhuiyue had ridden forward only a short distance when a figure on horseback appeared before her.

The man stood close to six feet three inches tall. His long, jet-black hair was combed neatly behind him, revealing a face on which not a single flaw could be found anywhere.

His eyes were deep and sharp — meet them once, and you were enchanted; look a second time, and you sank in, helpless to pull yourself free.

His nose bridge was so high and perfectly formed it defied description. Feng Jiu’er was certain that even the most talented cosmetic surgeon in the world could never fashion a nose as flawless as this one.

And this was ancient times, no less — there was no such thing as cosmetic surgery here. This was entirely natural; absolutely, purely natural.

Those thin lips, lovelier in color than a rose petal, were curved up at the corners by the faintest and barely perceptible arc — enough to make anyone who caught sight of them forget every single worry they had ever had.

His face was more beautiful than any celebrity she had ever laid eyes on — flawless to an almost offensive degree.

His complexion was fair and even-toned; even wind and rain and sun could not touch it by even a fraction. It was a true living testament to what it meant to be born with natural grace.

Feng Jiu’er had always thought of herself as rather fine-looking — after all, she had borrowed this body of Feng Jiu’er’s. But standing before the Ninth Imperial Uncle, she still felt deeply self-conscious.

The key point was that she simply could not match his beauty.

All that talk of fish sinking, wild geese falling from the sky, toppling kingdoms and cities with a single glance — that was only because the people of this world had not seen enough of the world to know better.

In the presence of Zhan Qingcheng, Feng Jiu’er could only feel completely, utterly outclassed.

Before Feng Jiu’er and Zhan Qingcheng had even exchanged a word, Zhuiyue let out a whinny and seemed even more agitated than her rider.

Zhuifeng’s low, deep call rang out, and Zhuiyue immediately quieted, standing more obediently than she ever did at any other time.

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and gave Zhuiyue’s mane a gentle stroke.

“This is terrible, Brother — this is terrible, Brother…” Zhao Xiaoxiao had ridden up close to the man standing with his back to her, gave a light cough, and closed her mouth.

She shot a glance at Feng Jiu’er, then let her gaze fall on Zhan Qingcheng’s profile.

The sight of such a remarkably handsome man left Zhao Xiaoxiao’s eyes going wide as she gripped her reins tight.

The horse beneath her had its neck pulled up short by the reins and suddenly stopped in its tracks, its front legs rearing up.

Zhao Xiaoxiao had not yet recovered from staring at Zhan Qingcheng’s face — as breathtaking as a painting come to life — when the horse suddenly bolted into a frenzy, throwing her entirely off.

A scream rang out, and just as Feng Jiu’er was about to act, Zhao Yusheng — who had come galloping over — leapt from his saddle and caught Zhao Xiaoxiao firmly in his arms.

The two of them landed just a short distance behind Feng Jiu’er.

“Brother.” Zhao Xiaoxiao looked up at the face of the man holding her and called out softly.

“This is… terrible — that…” She glanced back once at Zhan Qingcheng and froze rigid all over again. “Too beautiful!”

“Brother, I have never in my life seen such a handsome man.”

“Xiaoxiao.” Zhao Yusheng gave her a light shake and gently set her down. “He is the Ninth Prince — the Prince of War, Ninth Prince. Do not embarrass yourself.”

“The Ninth Prince?” Zhao Xiaoxiao gasped and nearly lost her footing altogether.

Had Zhao Yusheng not reached out to steady her, she might well have toppled right over.

“Brother, I did not mishear? The Ninth Prince — the legendary Prince of War, the Ninth Prince?”

“Mm — it is him.” Zhao Yusheng gave a nod.

It was not as though Zhao Xiaoxiao had not known there was a strong chance she might catch a glimpse of the Ninth Prince’s bearing on this visit to Phoenix City — she simply had not anticipated it would happen under these particular circumstances.

What she had never imagined even less was that the Ninth Prince would be this extraordinarily handsome — even more so than the white-robed man she had encountered before and the beautiful young man she had once rescued.

“B-Brother — hold me up.” She looked back once and both legs went weak, as she slumped sideways against Zhao Yusheng.

Zhan Qingcheng paid no attention to any of the irrelevant bystanders. Noticing that his woman was looking at someone else, he gave a displeased, low cough.

Feng Jiu’er turned her head and met his gaze — a little helpless.

She had been looking at a woman, and even so he was jealous?

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you look exceptionally handsome today! Devastatingly handsome!” Given that he had made all the effort to come and meet her, Feng Jiu’er decided not to hold it against him.

“Come here.” Zhan Qingcheng’s voice was somewhat low and deep.

He was evidently still bothered. Bothered by what exactly? Perhaps simply the few seconds she had just spent not looking at him.

The Ninth Imperial Uncle — as handsome as he was, he was equally petty. Fortunately, he was also fairly easy to coax.

“Coming.” Feng Jiu’er put on a conciliatory smile and gave a tug on her reins.

Zhuiyue only lifted her eyes to glance once at Zhuifeng, then bowed her head meekly and walked forward of her own accord.

When the two horses’ heads were nearly touching, Zhuiyue stopped and bowed her head even lower than before.

Feng Jiu’er dropped her gaze for a moment, and was just about to look up and say something, when the man before her spoke again in that low, resonant voice.

“Come here.”

Meeting Zhan Qingcheng’s gaze, Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together faintly.

She leaned forward and leapt, landing before Zhan Qingcheng.

“I am a woman, after all — with so many people watching, having me throw myself into your arms like this, are you not worried about people laughing at me?”

She looked up once, then Feng Jiu’er immediately bowed her head.

The man’s face was drawing steadily, unmistakably closer. He was actually going to kiss her — in front of all these people? Could he not see them?

Her gaze dropped to Zhuiyue and Zhuifeng, and Feng Jiu’er was suddenly struck by an odd sensation — her own situation seemed remarkably similar to Zhuiyue’s.

Zhuiyue was by nature a rather obstinate horse — yet in Zhuifeng’s presence, she became no different from a tame little quail.

She herself had just been about to laugh at Zhuiyue, and now she was struck by the feeling that she had just been thoroughly put in her place.

Zhan Qingcheng glanced down at the little girl’s bowed head, then took hold of the reins and turned his horse around.

“This Prince’s woman — who would dare laugh?”

With the Ninth Prince’s gaze having swept over them, the effect reached not only the brothers who had come along but even the horses they rode — all of them broke into an involuntary panic.

One by one the brothers bowed their heads and cleared a path.

Who would dare laugh at Miss Jiu’er? Only someone who no longer wished to live.

Feng Jiu’er — now held securely against the man’s side by one arm — looked around at everyone and let the very faintest arc of a smile touch the corners of her lips.

Just as well — it was not that she was too weak; it was simply that the Ninth Imperial Uncle was too terrifying. She could tell just by looking at the brothers.

As this pair of people who seemed made for each other passed through, Long Eleven suddenly called out in a loud voice: “Welcome back to the city, Princess Consort! May His Highness and the Princess Consort be blessed with children soon and grow old together!”

The moment Long Eleven’s voice fell, the scene went perfectly silent.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something — even their breathing had grown carefully restrained.

Feng Jiu’er stared at Long Eleven, blinking, utterly at a loss for how to respond.

Then, quite unexpectedly, a low, resonant, and unmistakably delighted voice sounded from behind her.

“Long Eleven — rewarded!”