Zhen Jiu’er had just stepped outside when she ran into Lu Feifan.

“Let’s talk somewhere private.” His expression was somewhat cold, but not hostile.

Qiaoqiao, who was following behind Jiu’er, was very curious about what kind of relationship existed between Lu Feifan and Jiu’er.

However, she never did anything Jiu’er disliked.

It was as if fate had decreed it — ever since meeting Jiu’er, she’d felt she ought to treat her well.

“I’ll carry your things over first.” She took everything from Jiu’er’s hands and left.

Lu Feifan led Jiu’er away from the camp. They didn’t go far, just to a small river not far away.

This river again.

But today Lu Feifan seemed even more weighed down by his thoughts than before.

“My father… isn’t the easiest person. Try not to have any contact with him.”

Today he chose not to waste time and got straight to the point: “Also, he’s not someone you can afford to provoke. Be careful with what you say in front of him.”

“Should I take that to mean you’re badmouthing your father?”

Jiu’er looked at him, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Do you think your father would go after me? Because of my relationship with your youngest uncle?”

Lu Feifan didn’t want to speak ill of his father, but his silence was itself an admission.

“So those assassins really were sent by your father, weren’t they?” Perhaps even Lu Beicheng knew as much.

But Lu Beicheng might not actually harbor that much hostility toward Lu Qihong.

That much was clear from his attitude toward Lu Feifan.

Lu Beicheng’s affection for Lu Feifan was genuine, born of real family feeling.

“Zhen Jiu’er, I told you a long time ago — the affairs of the Lu family aren’t something you should meddle in. You’d best stay out of it.”

But Jiu’er just looked at him and said nothing.

That look — that same look again!

As if they’d known each other for a long time, as if their relationship had already reached a point of being very, very close!

What on earth was she thinking?

“Zhen Jiu—”

“Do you really not remember what happened before?” That question surfaced in Jiu’er’s mind once again.

What kind of era was this, exactly?

“Third Young Master, could it be that, like Ninth Master, you’ve also lost some of your memories? Do you remember everything from your childhood onward?”

She hadn’t expected that the moment she asked, Lu Feifan’s expression would suddenly change!

“How… how do you know that?” Lu Feifan thought for a moment, then seemed to relax. “Did my youngest uncle tell you?”

Jiu’er said nothing, the doubts in her heart growing larger and larger.

Suddenly, without a word, she turned and ran off toward the camp.

“Jiu’er… Zhen Jiu’er, where are you going?” Lu Feifan’s face darkened slightly as he tried to chase after her.

He hadn’t even finished speaking.

But to his surprise, the little wretch ran faster and faster, until he could hardly keep up.

In the end, inexplicably, he found himself running along with her.

His heart was tense, though he didn’t know why.

But in the end, he stopped once he reached the camp.

He couldn’t let his father’s people see him interacting with Zhen Jiu’er like this — it would look as though they were on very good terms.

His father would surely form more opinions about Zhen Jiu’er, and who knew what other ways he might think of to use her.

Lu Feifan stopped, but Jiu’er didn’t stop the whole way.

Not far from Lu Beicheng’s tent, she spotted Qiaoqiao, who had just finished delivering her things and was about to head back to her own tent.

“Jiu’er?” Qiaoqiao looked at the girl who had rushed up to her, utterly confused. “What’s wrong? Why are you running so fast?”

Zhen Jiu’er, slightly out of breath, asked, “Qiaoqiao, do you remember what happened ten years ago?”