Behind the screen, beside the low bed, Feng Jiu’er held the medicine, somewhat afraid to turn around.

She didn’t know what Mu Mu was trying to pull, but this move of his—giving someone a taste of their own medicine—wasn’t bad at all.

The key thing was, he actually dared to challenge the Ninth Imperial Uncle. What came next was something worth looking forward to.

No one had ever dared defy the Ninth Imperial Uncle before. Now here came Mu Mu, fearless of death—not bad at all!

The air around them suddenly turned a bit chilly. Feng Jiu’er shrank her neck slightly, still not turning around.

The tent fell silent for a moment, Di Wu Ya tightening his grip on the screen.

Di Feimu, unfazed, increased his own strength considerably as well.

Seeing the situation was about to turn ugly, Feng Jiu’er turned to face the two brothers, coughing lightly.

“Whoever uses true energy without my permission during treatment—I won’t be responsible for their care from now on.”

The moment Feng Jiu’er’s voice fell, both men withdrew their strength at once.

The poor screen, pushed to one side, toppled over.

“Pick it up.” Feng Jiu’er looked at the fallen screen, giving a cold snort.

Di Wu Ya, quick of hand and eye, bent down to set the screen upright, then came to sit on the low bed.

He raised his eyes to look at Feng Jiu’er, obediently lying down.

Feng Jiu’er looked at his docile expression—she wanted to laugh but didn’t dare.

This man was the God of War, a Prince. Laughing at him would be asking for trouble.

Feng Jiu’er coughed lightly, pulled over a chair, and sat down beside the low bed.

Lying down, Di Wu Ya looked up and immediately spotted Di Feimu lingering nearby, refusing to leave.

To avoid angering Feng Jiu’er, Di Wu Ya took a deep breath, withdrew his gaze, and looked at his own woman.

Seeing the Ninth Imperial Uncle so pent-up and restrained was a rare sight—and yet, somehow, it was also a little endearing.

Feng Jiu’er reached out with both hands and undid the ties of Di Wu Ya’s robe.

“Mu Mu, what are you standing here for? Whatever he has, you have too. There’s nothing worth admiring.”

Di Feimu looked at Di Wu Ya, raising an eyebrow. “Jiu’er, I’m worried you might be taken advantage of.”

Di Wu Ya’s gaze swept over, catching that infuriating expression on Di Feimu’s face just now.

Not only Di Feimu, but even Feng Jiu’er could sense the anger radiating from Di Wu Ya.

Joking had its limits—the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s body hadn’t fully recovered yet, and if he got worked up and injured his meridians, that wouldn’t be good either.

Worried, Feng Jiu’er could only say softly, “Don’t worry! Neither of you is a match for me.”

“Still not leaving?” Di Wu Ya’s patience seemed about to snap. “Have you forgotten the harm your own thoughtlessness once brought her?”

Di Feimu turned, his back now to the person being undressed.

“Why must I be the one to step aside? You stepping aside would actually be a kind of protection for her too.”

Feng Jiu’er hadn’t expected Di Feimu to suddenly bring up this topic; her hands, in the middle of their motion, froze abruptly.

Di Wu Ya withdrew his gaze, took Feng Jiu’er’s small hand in his, placed it over his heart, and sat up.

“Di Feimu, look closely—she’s your sister-in-law. This king and Jiu’er share mutual affection. What business is it of yours?”

Di Wu Ya was accustomed to referring to himself as “this king,” even now that he’d reclaimed his true identity.

Feng Jiu’er tried to pull her hand back, but couldn’t overcome the strength of Di Wu Ya’s grip.

Di Feimu turned to look at the two of them, his thick brows furrowing, his voice deep. “Jiu’er is Jiu’er. She’s not my sister-in-law!”

“Because of this whole matter, she couldn’t taste food, couldn’t sleep at night, and grew even thinner. Other than mistreating her, when have you ever cared about her feelings?”

“Since you can’t make her happy, why can’t you give another man a chance?”

“Mu Mu.” Feng Jiu’er looked at Di Feimu, her brows furrowing slightly.

The matter of Yanu was a debt her mother owed them—shouldn’t she be the one concerned about their feelings, not the other way around?

Feng Jiu’er hadn’t expected that, in this matter, Mu Mu would care about her just as he always had before. It was his own younger brother and his own mother who had died, yet he had never once held it against her.

Di Wu Ya lowered his eyes to look at Feng Jiu’er, gently pulling her into his embrace.

The tent fell silent for a moment, then his gentle voice fell over the top of Feng Jiu’er’s head: “I’m sorry!”

Feng Jiu’er shook her head, glanced back at him, pushed his arms away, and stepped out of his embrace.

“I’m the one who should apologize. If it weren’t for my mother…”

“Jiu’er, we don’t blame you. You are you, your mother is your mother.” Di Feimu softly cut off Feng Jiu’er’s words.

“Besides, if it weren’t for General Long, we might not have made it out safely that day either. If it weren’t for you, this fool here would already be dead.”

“You don’t owe us anything. Stop being so down all the time. I believe Yanu wouldn’t want to see you like this either.”

Feng Jiu’er looked at Di Feimu, unable to find words for a moment.

A large palm covered the back of her hand once more, letting Feng Jiu’er feel its warmth.

She glanced back, raised her head, trying to hold back tears.

Di Wu Ya gently pulled her back into his embrace. “What’s past can’t be changed by anyone. Let’s look forward together, the two of us.”

Feng Jiu’er returned once more to Di Wu Ya’s embrace, her mood gradually settling.

She took several deep breaths, lowering her head, never letting a single tear fall.

“Alright, let’s look forward together.”

Di Wu Ya stroked Feng Jiu’er’s back, his large palm coming to rest at the back of her head, tilting it up so she met his gaze.

At this moment, his expression carried an indescribable seriousness.

“Jiu’er.” Di Wu Ya called softly. “Are you willing to give me another chance?”

Feng Jiu’er met Di Wu Ya’s gaze, unable to react for a moment—she had actually glimpsed a lack of confidence in the depths of the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s eyes.

This wasn’t an expression that should ever appear on his face. Its sudden appearance left Feng Jiu’er almost unable to trust her own eyes.

He was a king standing high above all others, yet on a matter like this, he lacked confidence in himself.

Feng Jiu’er composed herself, withdrew her gaze, and gently pushed him away. “Wait… let’s talk after we win this battle.”

Di Wu Ya didn’t grow angry over not receiving a definite answer. He looked at Feng Jiu’er and nodded lightly.

“Alright, I hope by then you’ll be able to give me a definite answer.”

Feng Jiu’er made no response, glancing past Di Wu Ya’s shoulder instead.

Di Wu Ya understood and lay back down once more.

Feng Jiu’er sat down, pulled his robe open, and fixed her gaze on the wound at his heart.

She carefully cut away the bandages over it, then quickly composed herself and focused on examining him properly.

“You’re the same—starting today, you don’t need bandages anymore. Just apply some ointment yourself.”

“I don’t understand this.” Di Wu Ya looked at the woman before him, shaking his head slightly.

“I told you already, this kind of thing—we don’t understand it.” Di Feimu, standing not far behind Feng Jiu’er, suddenly stepped forward.

“But I can teach myself. Jiu’er, give me the ointment.”

“Fine.” Feng Jiu’er curved her lips slightly, stood up, turned, and rummaged through the medicine box on the table for the ointment.

She placed the ointment in Di Feimu’s hand, instructing softly, “Twice a day, always apply it after bathing.”