In truth, Zhan Qingcheng did not know what he was angry about. He only knew that when he had woken, that girl was nowhere to be seen beside him. In that moment, his heart felt hollow and empty, as though something had gone missing from his life itself — a restlessness he could not put into words. There was even, beneath it all, a faint trace of unease. This kind of unease was something he had never once experienced in all his twenty-odd years of life. In those previous days when she had not been around, he had never felt this way either. But now that the girl had come, it seemed as though he wanted to keep her by his side always.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, please don’t be angry anymore, all right?” Feng Jiu’er coaxed him, the way one would coax a child. He was clearly brilliant and formidable, clearly capable of anything — yet in this moment, here beside her, he truly was like a little child. Feng Jiu’er was helpless about it. She said her own willfulness had been spoiled into her by Ninth Imperial Uncle; so then — was his occasional childishness something she had spoiled into him in return?

The feeling of being with Ninth Imperial Uncle grew more and more tangled the longer it went on, like a knot one could neither cut through nor unravel. Even she herself no longer knew what, exactly, the two of them were to each other.

Zhan Qingcheng’s gaze settled on her face. That small face of hers had grown a little thinner, and her complexion carried a faint, barely perceptible pallor. He turned his face away with a soft grunt. “Try the food first and see whether it has been poisoned.”

“……” Very well, so now she was to serve as his tasting mouse. Still, Yu Jingfeng had sent enough food for two people with plenty to spare, so tasting a little of it herself was no great matter. If Yu Jingfeng had gone to the trouble of sending things over, he had naturally already tested them with a silver needle. Toward Yu — the great Yu — Feng Jiu’er placed absolute trust.

So as not to interfere with Ninth Imperial Uncle’s meal, Feng Jiu’er immediately ate several mouthfuls, chewed, swallowed, and only then said: “Ninth Imperial Uncle, look — nothing has happened to me at all. May we eat now?”

Yet Zhan Qingcheng merely glanced at what remained in her bowl, then gave another grunt. “Keep tasting.”

She had eaten only a few small bites, and not even half of what was in the bowl was gone. No wonder she had grown this thin.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, since when did you become so careful and cautious?” Feng Jiu’er gave a faint smile, helpless, and had no choice but to keep eating.

This time, however, after only two bites, she suddenly stopped and raised her head to look at him. It turned out that Ninth Imperial Uncle had been staring at her eating the whole while. When she lifted her head so abruptly, his gaze had no chance to retreat and was caught squarely by hers. Watching her eat — and finding it utterly absorbing.

Feng Jiu’er paused for a brief moment, swallowed what was in her mouth, and felt a faint, sweet ache in her heart.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle isn’t asking me to test for poison at all, is he? He’s just worried I’m eating too little, and wants me to eat first — isn’t that right?”

He hadn’t even begun eating himself, and yet he was already looking after her first. Did Ninth Imperial Uncle really have to treat her this well? It was moving enough to make her want to offer herself to him — but what was she supposed to do about that?

“Is this Prince so bored as all that?” Ninth Imperial Uncle turned his face aside, and the tips of his ears were, just barely suspiciously, a little red.

So Ninth Imperial Uncle’s skin was actually this thin after all — caring about someone, and yet afraid of being found out.

Jiu’er bit her lip, and without warning, her heart filled with something warm and sweet.

This man… who talked about women saying one thing and meaning another — wasn’t he doing exactly the same?

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I want to eat together with you.” She picked up a piece of food with her chopsticks and held it out to his lips. “Would you think it beneath your dignity for Jiu’er to share a meal with you?”

“Nonsense.” This time, Zhan Qingcheng didn’t even think — he simply opened his mouth and ate what she offered.

Feng Jiu’er’s eyes curved in a smile, and she picked up another piece. “This one doesn’t taste good. I don’t like it. Ninth Imperial Uncle, won’t you eat it for me?”

Zhan Qingcheng raised not a single objection, and simply opened his mouth and ate that too.

Hadn’t she heard that Ninth Imperial Uncle was incredibly picky? Yet looking at him now, that was nothing but legend. Ninth Imperial Uncle was so easy to get along with, not picky at all.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, come sit over here to eat, all right?” The little girl made her request once more.

Zhan Qingcheng cast her an indifferent glance, then at last moved away from the reclining couch and came to sit beside her at the low table. But he didn’t pick up his chopsticks — he didn’t seem to have any intention of eating for himself at all.

Goodness — even eating had to be done with someone else serving him. Ninth Imperial Uncle truly was a person born with a golden key in his mouth. Entirely too noble.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, try these beans.”

“You test for poison first.”

“All right.”

“…Come now, open up — eat a little more. This fish looks very fresh. It must have been caught from the stream just a little while ago. Ninth Imperial Uncle, do try some.”

……Not far away, Leng Yue was pushing Emperor Ji’s wheelchair toward them. Every time a meal came around, it was not only Yu Jingfeng who was troubled — Leng Yue and Emperor Ji would also fret themselves half to death. The Ninth Prince was far too picky. He disliked everything. One displeasuring bite, and he would refuse the rest entirely. Emperor Ji had already come by once earlier, seen Yu Jingfeng carry in two rounds of different dishes to no avail, and gone away again in helpless resignation.

“How is it? Is it still—” Emperor Ji’s question was cut dead midway through, abruptly silenced by the voices drifting from inside the carriage.

Yu Jingfeng shook his head, then nodded, gesturing for them to listen to what was happening inside.

“…Ninth Imperial Uncle, this sparrow is a little overcooked. I don’t enjoy it. Would you eat it for me?”

Zhan Qingcheng did not reply — yet both Emperor Ji and Leng Yue went pale with indignation.

This girl — she was actually pushing food she didn’t want onto their lord and master to eat. Was that not going too far?

Yu Jingfeng was also a little uncomfortable. Miss Jiu’er, really — pushing whatever she didn’t like onto the Ninth Prince. Didn’t she know the Prince was particular about his food? He didn’t even know whether the Prince had eaten it or not.

Emperor Ji cherished Zhan Qingcheng almost like the apple of his own eye. How could he possibly stand by while someone bullied his precious adopted son? Without waiting for Leng Yue to push his wheelchair, he pushed himself forward on his own. Leng Yue was even more agitated than Emperor Ji — she had already hurried forward and in one motion threw open the carriage curtain.

“How dare you! How dare you treat our Young Lord with such disresp—”

But whether it was Leng Yue or Emperor Ji — or even Yu Jingfeng — every single one of them stood there in stunned, wide-eyed disbelief at the scene inside the carriage.

They saw Feng Jiu’er holding a bowl and chopsticks, feeding Zhan Qingcheng some piece of food she had declared she “didn’t like.”

And that Zhan Qingcheng — whom everyone cherished so dearly they feared he might dissolve if kept in one’s mouth, and shatter if held in one’s hands — was at this very moment biting down on the chopstick and the morsel Jiu’er had brought him, his eyes shimmering with a quiet, glowing delight.

Most overwhelming of all was the expression at the corner of his lips — a smile so faint it was barely there.

He was smiling. The Prince who only two days ago had been listless and dead-eyed — he was smiling.

That smile was not prominent, yet it was beautiful beyond all reckoning — beautiful enough that in one instant, every color was drained from the world around it.

He was smiling, eating the food Feng Jiu’er had discarded because she didn’t like it, smiling like a fully contented child.

“My lord—” Leng Yue bit her lip, staring at that smile at the corner of his mouth, feeling at once both happiness and a quiet, private grief. Happiness, because seeing him smile was like the gentlest of breezes drifting through the human world, blowing straight into one’s heart, filling it with ease and a satisfaction beyond words. And grief — because she knew, with perfect clarity, that this smile had not appeared for her sake.

She had never once seen their lord smile with such contentment, such joy — smiling as though he were a happy child. Her lord… Leng Yue felt a pang in her heart, turned her face away, and very nearly wept.