Under Feng Jiu’er’s urging, Di Wu Ya finally settled obediently into the bathing tub.

Behind the screen, the man sat in the tub, only his solid shoulders and two thick, muscular arms exposed above the water.

The woman stood behind him, kneading his shoulders and arms.

The surface of the water was covered with pink rose petals.

A faint mist rose from the water, and a fine sheen of sweat formed on the man’s handsome face.

Whether it was from exhaustion or because the woman’s touch felt too good, the man had closed his eyes, his breathing steady and even.

His arms rested casually on the edge of the tub, his muscles clearly defined, undeniably alluring.

The man’s head tilted back slightly, his flawless features made even more captivating, set off by the beads of sweat.

Feng Jiu’er’s soft hands kneaded continuously at his sturdy neck, though her gaze couldn’t bear to look away from that breathtakingly handsome face.

His full forehead, his hawk-like eyes—even closed, one could still imagine how deep and piercing they were.

His high, straight nose bridge—even in a society with such advanced medical skill nowadays, surely no one could surgically create a nose this perfect.

Feng Jiu’er’s gaze landed on Di Wu Ya’s slightly pursed thin lips, and without realizing it, she licked her own.

This was the mouth that drove no shortage of women wild, and she had tasted it—seemingly the only one who ever had the chance to.

Recalling the sweetness from back then, Feng Jiu’er licked her lips again, and even the air around her seemed to grow noticeably warmer.

Indeed, Ninth Imperial Uncle wasn’t someone an ordinary person could appreciate—she had only looked at him for a moment, and already her breathing had grown heavier.

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together and forced herself to pull her gaze away—mainly to rein in the thoughts in her heart that shouldn’t be there.

She was a woman, after all, a very proper and decent woman, wasn’t she? She hadn’t been thinking too much, not at all!

But she really was just a woman, an ordinary woman. With such a handsome man right beside her, how could she not think too much?

“What’s wrong?” Di Wu Ya’s voice suddenly rang out.

Feng Jiu’er snapped out of her thoughts and glanced at him. “What… what’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong with me, nothing!”

Nothing wrong—how could that be true! But she could hardly tell Ninth Imperial Uncle that she’d accidentally let her thoughts wander, could she?

She was a proper, decent, dignified young lady of ancient times. They weren’t even married yet—what was she thinking? Nothing! Definitely nothing!

Feng Jiu’er had just tried to convince herself that she truly hadn’t been thinking anything.

But unexpectedly, the moment she turned her gaze back to Di Wu Ya, she found him already with his eyes open, watching her.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I really wasn’t thinking anything.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Feng Jiu’er realized just what kind of nonsense she had spoken.

Wasn’t this exactly like writing “no silver buried here” on a sign over buried silver? How pitiful!

No matter how strong she was, no matter how unflinching she could be even if the sky fell, in front of him, she was still that same frail, helpless Feng Jiu’er from before.

And this, too, was exactly what he believed her to be, wasn’t it?

Feng Jiu’er pursed her pink lips, lowered her head, and continued massaging Di Wu Ya.

How unfair! She clearly wasn’t a weakling anymore, yet she kept forcing herself to act like one.

Wasn’t this simply because she missed him too much? She hadn’t used to be like this, truly not!

Di Wu Ya turned his head and took hold of that small hand, soft as water. “If you’re tired, you don’t have to keep massaging.”

“You must have something you want to ask, don’t you? Come sit down, and let’s talk properly.”

Feng Jiu’er met Di Wu Ya’s gaze, which carried a hint of tenderness, and nodded.

After a soft “mm,” she picked up a cloth and wiped her hands, then sat down in a chair beside the tub.

On a small table next to the chair sat freshly squeezed orange juice and some pastries.

Pastries that he loved, and that she loved too.

Feng Jiu’er picked up the large cup and took a sip of the orange juice; her heart felt considerably more at ease.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, would you like some pastries?” She set down the cup and turned to look at Di Wu Ya.

Di Wu Ya nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth carrying a faint smile.

Feng Jiu’er wasn’t unaware that he was laughing at her foolishness—even she herself was laughing at herself, so how could she stop others from doing the same?

But in truth, Di Wu Ya held no mockery at all. He was simply quite pleased with how the little girl had behaved since his return.

Feng Jiu’er composed herself, picked up a piece of pastry, and fed it into Di Wu Ya’s mouth.

While Di Wu Ya slowly savored the pastry she had prepared for him, Feng Jiu’er had already begun eating one piece after another herself.

She must be hungry—that was surely why her thoughts had run away from her. No matter! Once she was full, she’d be fine.

After a few pieces of pastry went down, Feng Jiu’er’s mood did seem to genuinely lift.

She took another sip of orange juice and turned back once more to look at the man beside her.

Noticing Ninth Imperial Uncle’s gaze fixed on her orange juice, Feng Jiu’er raised an eyebrow. “Do you want some?”

Di Wu Ya nodded again, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

Feng Jiu’er brought her favorite freshly squeezed orange juice over to him.

Di Wu Ya parted his lips slightly, his arms still resting lazily on the edge of the tub, the very picture of indolent ease.

Feng Jiu’er pursed her lips and fed him a sip. “How is it?”

“Not bad!” Di Wu Ya opened his mouth again.

Feng Jiu’er fed him another sip and said softly, “There’s nothing particularly special about this place—just that there’s an unusual abundance of fruit.”

“It’s harvest season right now, so there’s even more fruit than usual. I like fresh, juicy fruit—I never get tired of eating it.”

The smile on Feng Jiu’er’s face grew a little strained as the man drank her orange juice mouthful by mouthful, until the cup was nearly empty.

But then again, Ninth Imperial Uncle had never been someone who particularly liked fruit. If he wanted to drink it, she’d let him—she could just make more.

Just as she finished consoling herself, the man had already finished off every last drop of her orange juice.

Feng Jiu’er stared at Di Wu Ya, swallowed audibly, and asked, “Is it really that good?”

“Mm.” Di Wu Ya nodded, withdrew his gaze, and leaned back against the tub once more.

Feng Jiu’er even caught him unconsciously licking his lips—Ninth Imperial Uncle had licked his lips.

Did Ninth Imperial Uncle really like orange juice this much? How had she never known before that he liked oranges?

What Di Wu Ya never told her was that the only reason he liked it was because it was the juice she had drunk.

Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together, and with a touch of confusion and reluctance, turned back to set down the cup.

She pulled her chair closer, propped her elbows on the edge of the tub, rested her head in her hands, and gazed at the handsome face that had just left her so dazed.

Now that she’d eaten her fill—though she hadn’t quite had enough to drink—at least she wouldn’t fall back into that earlier state of losing her mind.

“You can tell me now—where exactly did you go during this time?”

“To the capital.” Di Wu Ya answered softly, his eyes still closed.

“And then?” Feng Jiu’er pressed her lips together, not particularly surprised by his answer.

“Father isn’t in Feng Qiongcang’s hands. That’s the only thing we gained.” Di Wu Ya suddenly opened his eyes and leaned a little closer to Feng Jiu’er.

Feng Jiu’er looked at those eyes now so close to her own. Whether it was the steam getting in her eyes or something else, she found herself blinking nonstop.

“That, well… about Father, I…”

Di Wu Ya leaned in a little further, and Feng Jiu’er’s words were swallowed beneath his thin lips.