One man of peerless, breathtaking beauty, with a natural-born noble charm beyond compare; one fair-skinned, handsome, graceful young man—both so striking that they stood out anywhere in a crowd, either one alone enough to drive young women wild with admiration—and yet here they sat together, so intimately close!

How could anyone bear it! Could anyone possibly bear it?

No wonder young women could never find a handsome man of their dreams—it was because all the dream men out there had already paired off with each other!

This was too much! Truly too much!

Couldn’t someone just pull them apart and match them with some young women instead? To waste such men on each other like this was an absolute travesty!

She just wanted to separate them and carry each one home for herself, waaah!

Feng Jiu’s face had grown ever rosier and more radiant from the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s closeness.

Once she’d caught her breath, she quickly shifted away to the side, saying in a fluster, “I’m… I’m fine now, Ninth Lord. It’s nothing.”

She tugged her stool back to its original spot, putting a little more distance between them, afraid that being too close might invite misunderstanding.

She spent the rest of dinner on edge, since the Ninth Imperial Uncle kept glancing her way now and then, leaving her face flushed red the whole time, never once returning to normal.

Fortunately, the Ninth Imperial Uncle seemed to discover the food was actually quite good, and finally spared her face from his attention, focusing instead on the noodles.

Only then did Feng Jiu finally get a chance to properly enjoy her meal.

After the meal, the two strikingly handsome men left the noodle shop, crossed the street, and entered an alley—only to find themselves blocked inside by a group of burly men.

A robbery—of virtue, not valuables.

Well, true, that thought seemed a little strange given they were both men, but—the Ninth Imperial Uncle was right there!

With looks like the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s, he was bound to charm men and women alike—what if these burly men happened to have a taste for handsome men?

Whether or not Feng Jiu’s mind really was such a jinx, whatever she thought of seemed to come true.

The leader of the burly men stared at Zhan Qingcheng’s face, practically drooling. “Now this little brother here is a stunner. Come on, why don’t you join your big brother for a couple of drinks?”

Feng Jiu couldn’t find words for how she felt in that moment—these men dared to harass even the Ninth Imperial Uncle? Did they have a death wish?

Zhan Qingcheng’s expression remained blank, but a killing intent had already begun gathering, invisible yet unmistakable.

A man standing behind the leader, meanwhile, had set his sights on Feng Jiu’s delicate, pretty face. The other one really, truly was gorgeous, but a frame that tall and imposing felt like more than he could handle—he preferred something small and dainty.

“Hey there, little one—why don’t you come have some fun with me too?” A few of the men, apparently unafraid of death, strode toward Feng Jiu.

If, a moment ago, only a trace of killing intent had shown in the Ninth Prince’s eyes, then in this instant his entire body radiated it, as though he meant to tear someone apart.

His right hand clenched in an instant, a lethal burst of palm force ready to be unleashed.

Suddenly, a small hand caught hold of his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re the Ninth Lord.”

So this peerless martial prowess of his shouldn’t be flaunted carelessly—doing so could easily expose his identity and draw far more attention than they wanted.

With the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s return to the imperial city this time, there were probably even more people now wanting him dead than before, and yet he was reckless enough to go out alone.

Granted, the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s skill in combat was unmatched, but an open spear was easy to dodge while a hidden arrow was hard to guard against—he still couldn’t afford to be too careless.

What’s more, if word got out to anyone with ill intent that she had been alone with the Ninth Prince, trouble would follow swiftly—more of it than she could possibly handle.

“Ninth Lord, why don’t we just—” Feng Jiu tugged at his hand, taking half a step back.

Just as the burly men were about to close in on them, Feng Jiu suddenly yanked at Zhan Qingcheng’s hand and laughed. “…Let’s run!”

…This was, without a doubt, the first time in the Ninth Prince’s life that he had ever fled in such an undignified scramble—and also the first time he had ever fled feeling so… exhilarated!

Being dragged along by the hand by a young man in white, chased down by a pack of burly men like some green young lad—no, chased by men out to rob him of his virtue, no less—was the kind of thing no one would believe even if he told them.

Even he himself could hardly believe it.

After escaping from the narrow alley, they used no martial arts, no lightness skill at all—they simply ran, the whole way, on foot.

Although there were plenty of passersby along the way, everyone knew those burly men were the local thugs of the area, and no one dared step in to help.

Besides, the two stunningly handsome men running had laughter dancing at the corners of their eyes and brows—nothing like people fleeing for their lives. If anything, they looked more like they were toying playfully with the men chasing them.

For the man in the black robe, the moment a hint of a smile slipped unguarded across his lips, the very scenery around them seemed to brighten all at once.

Heaven and earth themselves seemed to smile because he smiled; the glow about his brow seemed to make even the moonlight shine unusually bright.

Whether it was because the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s legs were simply too long, despite keeping what should have been the same pace, by the end it was the Ninth Imperial Uncle who ended up dragging her along as they fled.

Feng Jiu found herself rather disgusted with her own short legs. Among young women, her legs were already plenty long, but next to the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s perfect, endless legs, they simply didn’t measure up.

For every one of his strides, she had to take nearly two just to keep up. By the end, Feng Jiu was gasping for breath, barely able to keep running at all.

Just as Feng Jiu, exhausted enough to give up and simply use her lightness skill instead, felt a sudden weight at her waist—and then, all at once, her body went light.

She blinked, then blinked again. The wind kept rushing past her ears, though not too fiercely, since their speed wasn’t as fast as when using lightness skill properly.

They were, after all, only running—running the whole way. Even if their pace had reached the very limit of ordinary running, it was still, in the end, just running.

That was why the wind wasn’t so loud.

But what truly stunned her wasn’t the wind rushing past her ears—it was that she had actually been hoisted right up into the air!

She found herself seated on the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s arm, carried in the crook of his single arm as he kept running forward!

It should have made for quite a striking scene—a small, delicate young woman perched against the arm of a tall, breathtakingly handsome man, carried swiftly along while he ran, not even flushed or out of breath, his bearing as elegant and captivating as ever.

Shouldn’t this have been a sight that every man would envy?

But… ahem, why did something about this feel so off?

Especially when she caught the stunned, wide-eyed stares of the passersby fixed on them, Feng Jiu suddenly remembered, in a flash—hey, right now she was supposed to be a man!

Here she was, one man, riding in the arms of another man—how was she ever supposed to show her face in public after this? Could she even keep showing up around the imperial city anymore?

“N-Ninth Lord, put me down.” She could run on her own—worst case, she’d just use her lightness skill. Who didn’t know a bit of lightness skill these days?

The way things were now—her sitting in the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s arms while he carried her along—surely only drew even more attention?

Who would have thought that this man, normally so sparing with words that every syllable seemed precious, would actually toss out a stubborn reply: “No.”

“Ninth Lord, I can run on my own.”

“I… happen to like carrying you while I run.”

“…” Was he doing this on purpose? He absolutely had to be doing this on purpose. Ninth Imperial Uncle, is it really alright for you to be this mischievous?

Two men in a pose like this—people really were going to take them for a couple!