“All right.” Zhan Qingcheng nodded, his gaze barely leaving Feng Jiu’er.

Meeting his eyes, Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together, scooped up a spoonful of soup, and leaned over to feed it to him.

Everyone present was used to such scenes by now.

Once the Ninth Prince began eating, no one else held back either.

Mu Mu finished a bowl of soup and casually ladled another for Feng Jiu’er.

“You have hands and feet, why do you need someone to wait on you?”

Glared at by Mu Mu, Zhan Qingcheng’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze returning to Feng Jiu’er.

He reached out his large hand, rubbed the top of her head, and opened his mouth slightly.

Feng Jiu’er said nothing, simply feeding the spoonful of soup she’d raised into his mouth.

She just wanted to finish serving him quickly so she could eat herself.

Xiao Yingtao polished off the chicken thigh in a few bites, then looked up. “Jiu’er, didn’t you say you’d eat a huge meal once we got back?”

“This chicken thigh is too delicious, you’ll definitely love it.”

The moment she finished speaking, she stood up, picked up another chicken thigh, leaned over, and placed it in the empty bowl in front of Feng Jiu’er.

“Try it, you’ll definitely love it,” Xiao Yingtao said, beaming.

Feng Jiu’er held a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other; the moment she lowered her head to look at the chicken thigh, her stomach growled.

“Didn’t you have breakfast?”

“Jiu’er, you didn’t have breakfast either?”

Two different voices spoke up at the same time—the first was Zhan Qingcheng’s, the second Mu Mu’s.

Lunch had come a full hour early, and to be this hungry now, most people would assume it was because she’d skipped breakfast.

Before Feng Jiu’er could answer, Xiao Yingtao’s voice rang out again: “Skipped breakfast? We rushed through the whole night too!”

Looking up at Xing Zizhou, who’d just given her a piece of chicken thigh, Xiao Yingtao smiled and cradled her bowl.

“We did have dry rations, but they were cold and stale, with no appetite appeal at all.”

“We figured once we got into the city we’d hold off and have a big feast, but who knew…”

Looking up again, Xiao Yingtao finally noticed Feng Jiu’er giving her a meaningful look.

She blinked, swallowed, and finished her sentence: “Who knew, it would get delayed.”

Right at that moment, Feng Jiu’er’s stomach growled again, several times.

Zhan Qingcheng reached out his long arm and took the bowl with the chicken thigh from in front of Feng Jiu’er.

“Eaten.”

At the same time, Mu Mu, sitting on Feng Jiu’er’s other side, held out a plate of peeled shrimp to her.

“You like these—shrimp.”

Having just been the one waiting on others, Feng Jiu’er suddenly found herself being served by two handsome men, leaving her a little flustered.

She curved her lips slightly, reached out both hands, and took the bowls from each of them, one on the left, one on the right.

“I really am hungry.”

The moment she spoke, she set down both bowls, picked up one of them, and grabbed her chopsticks.

Forget everything else—fill her stomach first.

Maybe it was because she’d always had a fondness for shrimp, but she went straight for the peeled shrimp Mu Mu had given her.

When you’re hungry, who has time to worry about anything else? If you see something you like, you just dig in.

After eating three large shrimp in one go, Feng Jiu’er turned to Mu Mu with a smile. “These shrimp are great, so fresh and delicious!”

“No rush, there’s plenty more.” Mu Mu said with a faint smile.

“I’ll do it myself, you eat.” Seeing Mu Mu still peeling shrimp, Feng Jiu’er waved her hand.

Just as she picked up her chopsticks to go for a large shrimp, at that same instant, another pair of chopsticks landed on the very same shrimp as hers.

Following the hand that held those chopsticks back, Feng Jiu’er realized she’d ended up fighting over food with the Ninth Imperial Uncle.

She withdrew her chopsticks and looked at Zhan Qingcheng.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, do you want shrimp too? I—”

Before she could finish, Feng Jiu’er’s gaze fell on Zhan Qingcheng’s hands.

“You… stop that.” Taking the shrimp he was peeling from him, Feng Jiu’er grasped his hands, which were half again the size of her own. “You don’t know how—look at this.”

Of his ten fingers, at least three or four had traces of blood on them—just for the sake of eating shrimp, and it made Feng Jiu’er’s heart ache to see.

As she let go of one of his hands and pulled a silk handkerchief from inside her robe, Zhan Qingcheng used his free hand to pick up a piece of peeled shrimp and bring it to Feng Jiu’er’s lips.

“Eat.”

Looking up at him, Feng Jiu’er took the handkerchief and began wiping at the fingers on his left hand.

She found it strange too—just how badly did the Ninth Imperial Uncle want shrimp, that he’d resort to peeling it himself?

Normally, for something this troublesome, if he didn’t want to bother someone else, he’d simply choose not to eat it at all.

It turned out this was the shrimp he’d been peeling for her.

This man—even though all ten fingers were connected to the heart in pain, just his left hand alone had been pricked twice by the shrimp shells, and yet he hadn’t even frowned.

Even if his breathing had grown the slightest bit irregular, she might have noticed—but instead, he’d acted as if nothing had happened at all.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Feng Jiu’er shot Zhan Qingcheng a look, then picked up the tea and began cleaning his injured hand.

How could it not hurt? Anyone who’s peeled shrimp knows exactly what it feels like to be pricked by the shell.

“Eat.” Zhan Qingcheng’s right hand still held a piece of peeled shrimp.

As for his left hand, he hadn’t given it a second thought.

Meeting his gaze, Feng Jiu’er let out a soft sigh and opened her mouth.

She should have eaten his chicken thigh first—was the Ninth Imperial Uncle upset because she’d eaten Mu Mu’s shrimp instead?

With the shrimp in her mouth, Feng Jiu’er couldn’t even tell what it tasted like anymore.

Just as Zhan Qingcheng was about to pick up a second piece of shrimp, she snatched his chopsticks away and grabbed his right hand.

“Xiao Yingtao, have the innkeeper bring in a basin of hot water—if a wound like this isn’t cleaned properly, it’ll easily get infected.”

“Okay.” Xiao Yingtao nodded firmly, stood up, and turned to head outside.

Xing Zizhou stood up as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from Xiao Yingtao even for a moment, and followed her out.

Mu Mu cleared his throat, set down the peeled shrimp in his hand, wiped his hands with a cloth, and picked up a bowl of soup.

Qiao Mu froze for a moment, then frowned slightly and put something else in her mouth.

What had been a perfectly good meal now had only two people left eating.

Feng Jiu’er dampened the silk handkerchief with tea and continued cleaning Zhan Qingcheng’s right hand.

Zhan Qingcheng lowered his eyes to watch her, his breathing finally easing.

After roughly cleaning both of Zhan Qingcheng’s hands, Feng Jiu’er looked up at him.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, could your shrimp-peeling skills possibly be any worse? Eating a single piece of shrimp from you has left me feeling guilty—learn a bit more from now on!”

Feng Jiu’er truly didn’t know what else to say. This man, seeing Mu Mu peel shrimp for her, had pretended he knew how to do it too, even though he clearly didn’t.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t touched in her heart, but it didn’t sit well with her either—the guilt was very real.

Qiao Mu never expected Feng Jiu’er would dare criticize the Ninth Prince so openly like this.

She’d originally been pretending to ignore worldly matters, eating her own meal, but after hearing Feng Jiu’er’s words, pretending not to hear was no longer an option.

This Feng Jiu’er—did she really have to be this bold, daring to criticize even the Ninth Prince?

She had no idea how the Ninth Prince would respond to the little thing’s words; thinking about it, she was rather curious.

Qiao Mu coughed hard, making sure she hadn’t actually choked, and continued eating as if nothing were happening.