In that lightning-flash instant, Feng Jiu’er’s mind went completely blank.

What exactly had happened? Her mind was suddenly empty, and she didn’t even know where she was in that moment.

All she knew was that the sensation on her lips was soft, indescribably soft, and the taste at the edge of her lips was sweet…

Her body, which had been lying face down, had been turned over by someone at some point without her noticing.

Heavy breaths fell over her, along with his hard, solid body, pressing down on her as if covering the whole sky and earth, crushing every last bit of her reason into ruin.

So hot… the heat made her whole body go weak, her limbs powerless, she couldn’t even lift her hands.

It was really hot…

“Mm…”

Outside, the two sides were still locked in a standoff, but inside, the girl’s soft, low voice fell clearly into the ears of every martial artist present.

After a moment, Nanmeng Rong nearly went mad!

“You said Feng Jiu’er was treating A’Jiu’s injuries! Is this how you treat an injury? What are they doing in there?”

She could no longer hold back, she couldn’t wait another moment, her heart was burning with anxiety!

With a swoosh, she struck a palm toward Yu Jingfeng — this time, she truly could not bear it any longer!

What was happening inside was no treatment at all — it was clearly Feng Jiu’er moaning softly! That was… that was a sound only made when a man and a woman were entangled together!

Feng Jiu’er’s soft moan just now had been heard by both Yu Jingfeng and the brothers of the Twelve Flying Dragon Riders.

Yu Jingfeng’s ears burned with embarrassment at the sound, and in his momentary distraction, he nearly took a direct hit from the Empress’s palm strike.

He dodged it just in time, still standing his ground in front of Nanmeng Rong, and said in a deep voice, “No matter what, no one is allowed to enter the Prince’s tent!”

Strangely enough, with such a commotion happening, why hadn’t the Old Master come to take even a single look?

Although there was nothing here that truly required the Old Venerable Master’s help, given how much he doted on the Prince, it seemed unlike him to stay so quietly in his tent.

Outside, the two sides suddenly broke into chaos again.

Inside, on the soft couch, Feng Jiu’er — who had been completely lost in the moment — suddenly snapped back to her senses amid the sounds of fighting outside.

She opened her eyes, and could hardly believe what she saw. How could this be happening?

She… she and the Ninth Imperial Uncle… how could this have happened?

How terrifying! The Ninth Imperial Uncle was actually pressing down on top of her, his head buried right at her chest…

“Ah! Ninth Imperial Uncle! You—” Feng Jiu’er bit down hard on her thin lips, forcing herself to swallow back the scream rising in her throat.

Her hands landed on Zhan Qingcheng’s shoulders, and in a fluster she tried to push him off.

To her surprise, this time she actually managed to push him aside.

Yet Zhan Qingcheng still held her body tightly in his arms, completely unwilling to let go.

His eyes were somewhat unfocused, as if he couldn’t quite see clearly — his actions just now had likely happened while he was caught between sleep and waking.

But how could the Ninth Imperial Uncle be so naughty! Even half-asleep, he had still managed to do something like this to her — bullying her like that!

If she hadn’t seen that the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s awareness was truly hazy, his eyes glazed and unfocused, Feng Jiu’er really would have been unable to resist giving him a proper scolding.

If he needed to drink her blood, fine — but he wasn’t allowed to take advantage of her like this!

She thought to herself: how would she ever dare take her clothes off in front of him again after this?

Still, her body felt cold and bare, and the fighting outside was still raging fiercely — dwelling on this matter now was pointless.

Feng Jiu’er, her face flushed red, fumbled to put her clothes back on.

Just as she was about to step out, the man on the bed — who seemed to have nearly drifted into sleep — sensed that she meant to leave and suddenly seized her wrist.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m only going out to stop them from causing a fuss, so it won’t disturb your rest.”

Feng Jiu’er was pulled so hard she nearly fell onto him; she barely managed to steady herself, but ended up lying on the soft couch, carefully prying his fingers loose one by one.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, be good. I’ll go and come right back, I promise, it’ll be quick.”

Zhan Qingcheng said nothing, but the grip on her wrist never loosened.

Outside, the sounds of fighting grew ever more intense, yet the Ninth Imperial Uncle was truly exhausted, drowsily wanting to sleep even now.

But it seemed he truly disliked her slipping away from his side — or was it that only with her there could he sleep soundly?

In any case, holding onto her so tightly — how unreasonable of him! What if there were casualties outside?

But then again, trying to reason with someone whose mind wasn’t clear was simply impossible.

The Ninth Imperial Uncle’s face was still so pale it ached to look at him; if she could, Feng Jiu’er wouldn’t want to leave his side for even a moment.

His color had clearly been improving, yet that damned Nanmeng Rong just had to stir up such trouble and wear him down like this.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, how about… I sing you a song? Once it’s done, you let go and sleep like a good boy, all right?”

He still gave no response. Jiu’er bit her lip and, with a small laugh, began to hum a soft, wistful tune — something about a season she hadn’t yet had the chance to feel.

Outside, the fighting was real and fierce, but in everyone’s heart, there lingered more than a little confusion.

Some felt anger and resentment, some felt shock and bewilderment, and then there were those like Yu Jingfeng, who actually knew exactly what Feng Jiu’er was doing in there — but with blood being spilled outside while romance bloomed within, the brothers simply couldn’t make sense of it!

The melodious singing was, in truth, very pleasant to hear, and the men whose breathing had grown ragged and blood had been boiling from the fight finally, gradually, began to stop.

Nanmeng Rong let out a breath, wanting to say something, but suddenly found that, at this moment, she couldn’t get a single word out.

She didn’t know what to say — to her, a song like the one Feng Jiu’er was singing seemed so childish and unrefined.

And yet, even through the tent curtain, she seemed to sense that the gravely ill man inside was gradually calming his breath, growing steadier and longer with each breath.

His breathing seemed to relax bit by bit, growing quieter and quieter, like an obedient child slowly drifting off to sleep within his mother’s lullaby.

Had he truly fallen asleep?

The singing continued, soft and gentle, thread by thread, seeping into the heart — the melody drifting toward a quiet wish for someone to one day share the long, unhurried years ahead.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, we had an agreement — once the song was over, you’d sleep like a good boy. Now, let go of my hand and sleep well.”

The five fingers gripping her wrist loosened slightly, but the strength behind them remained.

Feng Jiu’er lowered her eyes, looking at his face which was slowly regaining a touch of color, her expression turning faintly stern: “If you don’t let go, I won’t speak to you anymore, and I’ll never sing for you again.”

At last, his fingers relaxed, his broad hand slipping from her wrist and falling quietly onto the couch.

The Ninth Imperial Uncle had finally fallen asleep, but even though his breathing was steady, it grew weaker and weaker, more and more feeble.

Feng Jiu’er pulled the blanket over him before turning and walking out. Staring at Nanmeng Rong, who was still radiating an air of bloodshed, she said coldly, “If you truly love him, then you shouldn’t let him be hurt, not even the slightest bit, ever again!”