It was a noodle shop—not quite a roadside food stall, but nowhere near a fancy teahouse either. In short, it was simply a small noodle shop.
Customers were scattered here and there, and the tables were set rather close together. With the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s frame being so impressively tall, sitting at one of the small tables made him look almost like he was perched on furniture meant for a child.
“N-Ninth Lord, please don’t mind it. The shop isn’t much to look at, but this is, without question, the best noodles I’ve had anywhere in the imperial city.”
Feng Jiu gave him a smile, carefully trying to soothe him, afraid that this formidable presence might suddenly grow displeased and sweep out the door.
Zhan Qingcheng looked at her but said nothing in response; he simply disliked the occasional feeling of someone passing close by.
Whenever someone brushed against him in passing, even by accident, a chill would instantly rise through his whole body—he truly disliked being touched.
Feng Jiu of course knew that the Ninth Imperial Uncle despised any physical contact with others. That he was even sitting here now without having already left was already far beyond what she’d expected.
When she’d brought him here, she truly hadn’t thought of that at all—she’d only been thinking about how good the noodles were, wanting to share every delicious thing with the Ninth Imperial Uncle.
Now she regretted it a little, but the noodles had already been ordered, so… could he just bear with it a bit?
“Ninth Lord, why don’t we switch seats? This spot’s further inside—you shouldn’t be bumped here.”
Feng Jiu stood up, ready to trade places with him.
But Zhan Qingcheng didn’t budge an inch, glancing at her flatly. “If you come over here, won’t you be the one getting bumped instead?”
“I don’t mind, though.” In truth, no one had even really touched him—it was just people passing behind him, with their clothes occasionally brushing his.
She herself didn’t mind, but the Ninth Imperial Uncle certainly did. He had something of a cleanliness obsession; under normal circumstances, he would never allow anyone to intrude upon the safe distance he set for himself.
As for that safe distance, it was, of course, at least five steps away—often even ten.
At this distance, sometimes less than a single step, how could her Ninth Imperial Uncle possibly stand it? That he hadn’t already kicked someone flying on the spot was already remarkable enough.
Still, the people who came here were all ordinary folk with no martial arts training. If the Ninth Imperial Uncle really did kick someone, even if it didn’t kill them, it would leave them gravely injured.
“Ninth Lord, why don’t you come over here—”
“Sit down.” Zhan Qingcheng glanced at her, his gaze somewhat stern.
“Ninth—” Feng Jiu froze for a moment, and under the chill of his gaze, she sat back down without another word. Watching the young man who carefully edged his way past behind him, she felt a bit conflicted.
The Ninth Imperial Uncle radiated cold air from head to toe—people passing him clearly felt it too—and yet he still refused to trade seats with her.
Was it… that he was worried she’d be the one getting bumped if she sat there?
To keep her from being touched, he was willing to endure the discomfort of strangers brushing against him instead? Why was her Ninth Imperial Uncle always so good to her?
And yet now, Feng Jiu had no idea what the Ninth Imperial Uncle actually meant by it. Had he truly already recognized who she was?
He hadn’t said a single word about it, and Feng Jiu naturally didn’t dare ask.
Had he truly recognized her, or was this simply because she’d let him sleep a night in her room the evening before? But she was supposed to be a “man”—did the Ninth Imperial Uncle really care this much even for another man?
Still, it was far better for the Ninth Imperial Uncle to take a liking to a “man” than to fall for some other young lady…
Ugh, for no reason at all, she’d actually gone and gotten jealous of herself…
Soon, a steaming bowl of big pork-rib noodles arrived, along with a plate of braised pork ribs cooked over an open stove.
The flame still burned in the stove, the pork rib on top still trailing wisps of steam. Feng Jiu picked up a large piece of meat with her chopsticks and set it in the empty bowl Zhan Qingcheng had ready.
“Ninth—” The words “Ninth Imperial Uncle” nearly slipped out of her mouth, startling her so badly she almost frightened herself.
She couldn’t let herself get this careless—she had to be cautious, or she’d really give herself away.
She said instead, “Ninth Lord, try the pork ribs here—they’re quite famous.”
They certainly didn’t look as refined as anything the cooks at the Ninth Prince’s estate would prepare, but they truly tasted good—one bite would prove it.
Zhan Qingcheng stared at the piece of pork rib in his bowl, a flicker of distaste showing in his eyes.
Feng Jiu had known it—the Ninth Imperial Uncle, with his cleanliness obsession, was bound to find the rib distasteful, braised as it was until nearly falling apart, with that faint, dark, smoky char to its color.
She picked up her own rib with her hands and gave him a smile. “It’s really delicious—I’ll eat first to show you.”
She took a bite, tearing off a large piece with her teeth, eating with real relish—though her manner of eating wasn’t exactly elegant.
Caught up in the enjoyment of it, Feng Jiu failed to notice that the strikingly beautiful man across from her had been watching her steadily the whole time, his gaze deep and unreadable.
By the time she sensed something was off and looked up, the Ninth Imperial Uncle had already withdrawn his gaze. He studied the pork rib for a moment, then finally, suppressing his discomfort, took a bite.
His manner of eating was just as unrefined as hers—so why did it still look so good?
Watching the Ninth Imperial Uncle eat was like gazing upon some heavenly scene. Feng Jiu quickly realized she wasn’t the only one staring in a daze—the young women all around them had been struck dumb by the sight too.
Each of them watched him eat his meat, their eyes glazed over as though a peach tree had sprouted right behind them, blooming with pink peach blossoms.
Feng Jiu’s gaze drifted back to the Ninth Imperial Uncle. His lips were a softer pink than peach blossom petals, more vivid than fresh jelly, looking almost delicious in themselves.
As he ate, a few specks of grease caught on his lips by accident. Far from diminishing his beauty, it lent him a touch of innocent, childlike charm—enough to stir every watching young woman’s maternal instincts, making them long to rush over and wipe the grease from his lips themselves.
No—what she really wanted was to lick it clean for him…
“Cough!” Feng Jiu’s throat tightened, startled by her own bold and wicked thought. She hastily looked away, not even daring to glance at him again.
How could she be thinking about licking the grease off the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s lips? That was going much too far—how could she let her mind wander like that about him!
Aaahh! What was she even thinking? Why did she keep imagining devouring the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s lips whole? She really was… far too shameless!
“Did something go down the wrong way?” Zhan Qingcheng narrowed his eyes, studying her small face that had suddenly flushed bright red.
“N-no… I mean, a—a little, that is, I… I don’t know…”
Feng Jiu’s breathing came ragged, her lips and tongue dry. She grabbed the cup on the table and gulped the tea down in one go.
The Ninth Imperial Uncle was, frankly, a walking aphrodisiac—one look at him and a woman’s whole body would heat up, leaving her aching to throw herself at him, pin him down, ravish him, swallow him whole…
“Cough, cough, cough…”
This time she really did choke, the tea sending her into a violent coughing fit.
Her stool was suddenly yanked sideways. Before Feng Jiu could even register it, she—stool and all—had already been pulled right up beside him.
Zhan Qingcheng’s broad hand came to rest on her back, patting it gently.
The gentleness of it sent the surrounding young women into an instant fit of heartbreak.
So gentle… could this be what they mean by “bromance”?