Di Wu Ya continued to read his military strategy book, ignoring her.

So he had learned her trick of ignoring people!

Feng Jiu’er pouted slightly, studying the half of his face visible beneath the mask.

So perfect, so dashingly handsome — truly, the more she looked, the more pleasing the sight, the more she looked, the more she wanted to swallow him whole.

She had rated him a hundred points before, and even that had been an underestimate. He deserved a thousand points, ten thousand points — in short, he was simply perfect.

Still, constantly being ignored was terribly dull.

“Honored Lord, are you truly not going to speak to me? Are you certain?”

Di Wu Ya did not even deign to give a single grunt.

“Very well — if you won’t speak to me, there’s little point in my staying here. So then…”

She rose to her feet and turned toward the door. “I’ll go find someone else to keep me company. Goodbye!”

The cold aura pressing against her back in that instant was so intense she could barely summon the strength to walk. But Feng Jiu’er pressed on, making it swiftly to the doorway and pulling the door open.

“Get back here!” Di Wu Ya’s patience had reached its limit.

He was still angry, and yet this girl had actually dared to leave him standing there and run off to find someone else!

The corner of Feng Jiu’er’s lips curved upward. She had known it — this man was a brooding, quietly sentimental type. He had been keeping up his silence the entire time, but wasn’t he just waiting for her to coax him?

It wasn’t that she was unwilling to coax him. He was simply accustomed to being treated as someone lofty and exalted, after all. Humoring him a little cost her nothing.

But at the very least, couldn’t he give her an opening to do so? If he just kept his face stony and his silence absolute, she found that terribly dull too.

She gave a yawn, then turned around and closed the door again, returning to stand before him.

“Honored Lord, so you’re still willing to acknowledge me after all. Then I won’t go anywhere — shall I stay here and keep you company?”

Her brows arched and her eyes curved with a warm smile. After all, even the sharpest hand does not strike a smiling face.

Di Wu Ya truly wanted to ignore her. But for some reason he could not fathom, not even his beloved military strategy books could hold his attention tonight.

There was a sullen, frustrated energy lodged in his chest, and unless it found release, nothing would feel right.

He was not well acquainted with this feeling. In the past, whenever something discomfited him, he would simply have the person who had displeased him removed — and just like that, equilibrium would be restored.

But now, the very person who had displeased him was circling in front of him without cease — he could neither cut her down nor shake her loose — and when she had turned to leave, he had actually felt… aggrieved!

Aggrieved! In all his years of life, he had never once tasted the flavor of those two words!

Feng Jiu’er caught that faint shadow of darkness in the depths of his eyes, and all of a sudden, a small, genuine pang of sympathy welled up in her.

He was the Ninth Imperial Uncle who had always looked after and protected her. If she could help it, she did not wish to make him unhappy.

Though they had not known each other very long, he had, aside from drinking her blood, been genuinely kind to her.

“Are you still angry?”

She crouched down before him. “What would it take for you to let go of this anger?”

Di Wu Ya gave a cold huff, averted his face, and pretended to read his military strategy book.

Feng Jiu’er promptly reached out and snatched the book from his hands.

“Impudence!” Di Wu Ya’s brow creased. He glared at her. This girl’s audacity was growing by the day.

“You’re not even taking any of it in — what’s the point of reading?” Feng Jiu’er settled herself into the chair on the other side of the tea table.

Di Wu Ya immediately made to turn away to the other side, and she grabbed hold of his sleeve, trying to pull him back.

But this man simply refused to budge.

Feng Jiu’er rubbed her brow, feeling a touch helpless.

Ninth Imperial Uncle, is being this temperamental really a good look for you?

“I’ll sing for you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh, then I won’t sing.”

“This seat commands you to sing!”

“…” Was she allowed to laugh? How was it possible that the Ninth Imperial Uncle — so noble, so pristine, so coolly transcendent and unparalleled — could be, right down to his bones, a petty, childish boy?

She propped her chin in her palm, her brows arched and her eyes warm and curved as she began:

“Sometimes, sometimes, I find myself believing everything has an end…”