Yanu drew his hand back, tucking it behind him. He smiled at Feng Jiu’er and pointed toward the stone table where the breakfast was laid out.

Feng Jiu’er reached out and took hold of his wrist again, pulling him over to sit on a nearby stone stool.

She went back to her room to fetch her medicine chest, and when she returned, she sat down beside him and began to remove the haphazardly wrapped bandaging from his arm.

The moment the gauze came away and the wound was exposed, Feng Jiu’er nearly wanted to slap herself.

“I bit you, didn’t I?” She truly had not imagined she could have done this to him.

The crisscrossing bite marks — every single one had sunk deep into the flesh, every single one raw and bloodied.

Though the bleeding had stopped by now, the wound looked so savaged and torn that it was not hard to imagine how much pain he must have suffered while she was biting him the night before.

Yanu shook his head. The smile never left his face. That face — scarred and ruined as though it had rotted and then healed over — was by any measure ugly. Yet in this moment, through his bashful smile, it looked somehow beautiful.

Most beautiful of all were Yanu’s eyes — a pair of eyes that plainly belonged to someone of noble birth, so clear, so filled with a quiet, innate dignity.

Feng Jiu’er’s heart ached dully. Why did Yanu have to endure all of this? Why had he become Yanu? Why did his body carry poison — and who was behind it?

And yet, despite having suffered so much pain and so many disasters, he could still face each day with a smile.

Day after day, as long as she exchanged a few words with him, as long as she smiled at him, he looked as though he had everything he could ask for.

Noticing that she was staring at his wound with a sorrowful expression, Yanu wanted to pull his hand away. But Feng Jiu’er would not allow it.

“This wound was not treated properly. If it is not dealt with now, it will leave terrible scars.”

Feng Jiu’er rolled up his sleeve. His hand was also injured — if she had not seen that, she might never have known that his entire arm was covered in wounds.

As she cleaned the wounds, she could feel the muscles of Yanu’s body tensing and stiffening slightly beneath her hands.

He knew it hurt. He simply refused to make a single sound.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? I’ll be gentle. Don’t tense up.” Feng Jiu’er’s hands moved not only gently but with care — after each application of medicine, she leaned close and softly blew on the wound.

Some people say that blowing on a wound does nothing to ease the pain. But in truth, she had tested this before.

Blowing on a wound — patients genuinely felt the pain lessen when it was done. Not only on the body, but in the mind as well.

Sometimes, psychological suggestion could bring about real changes in the body’s response.

Indeed, the furrow between Yanu’s brows eased slightly, and the tension in his body loosened a little.

“Yanu, have you ever thought about the future?” A distraction technique was also a form of treatment — drawing the injured person’s attention elsewhere so the pain could fade a little more.

Right now, Feng Jiu’er truly felt a deep sense of guilt. This Yanu — he was far too foolish in his kindness.

Yanu shook his head. The gaze he turned on her held a flicker of bewilderment, and a moment later his eyes dimmed slightly — a clear undercurrent of loss.

“Don’t let your mind run away with you. I’m not trying to drive you away.” Jiu’er saw through his thoughts at once and quickly explained. “But everyone should have something they pursue for themselves. What kind of life do you like? That is a pursuit, too.”

Yanu thought about it for a moment, then used his uninjured hand to point at the pastries on the stone table — and then at her.

Feng Jiu’er exhaled softly, somewhere between helplessness and fondness. “Who would want to spend their whole life serving others? Surely you don’t want to wait on people for the rest of your life?”

But as it turned out — Yanu looked directly at her, and gave a very earnest nod.

Feng Jiu’er was struck speechless. She could not find a single thing to say in response.

It was not servility. He simply wanted to stay by her side.

Yet Feng Jiu’er truly could not see what there was about herself that deserved such unwavering devotion from him.

He had followed her to Tianjitang without once asking about the terms of his position. Of course, in bringing him here, Jiu’er had never regarded him as a servant — but Yanu had already made a habit of caring for her, and that habit, it seemed, was something he found genuinely pleasing.

Yanu was simply watching her now, without another word.

Feng Jiu’er finished rebandaging his arm, then began tidying the medicine chest. “If you want to stay by my side, then stay. As long as you like, for as long as you want. However…”

She lowered her gaze, looking at his arm.

His sleeve had been pulled back down now, covering the bandaging wound from view, only the short length at the back of his hand remaining visible.

But this wound had been wrapped by Feng Jiu’er’s own hands. She knew how terrible it really was.

“You must never do this again. Otherwise, the guilt will be the death of me.”

Yanu shook his head. He took her hand and led her over to sit by the stone table, then promptly began ladling out a bowl of congee for her.

Feng Jiu’er did not want him to do the work, but he would not be pleased if she refused — he insisted on caring for her himself.

This fellow — he had not even agreed to what she had just said. And by the look of him, even if he did agree, the next time something like this happened, he would make the same choice all over again.

What had she done to deserve this — what fortune had she accumulated, to have encountered someone who treated her so well?

“Yanu, from now on, as long as I am here, I will never let anyone bully you again. Unless I am also being bullied at the same time.”

“…” He stared at her for a moment — and then he laughed.

That smile looked so beautiful when it came. Even with his face destroyed, it was just as beautiful.

Feng Jiu’er took hold of his uninjured hand and drew him down to sit beside her. “Eat with me.”

Yanu moved to stand up immediately, but Jiu’er said, “From now on, we eat together every time. Otherwise, I won’t eat either.”

Seeing that he said nothing, she truly set her chopsticks down.

Yanu frowned, eyes on that bowl of congee. If it sat any longer, it would go cold.

“If you want me to eat, then go and get a bowl and a pair of chopsticks for yourself. We eat together — or I don’t eat. Your choice.”

“Uh…” Yanu wanted to say something, but no words would come.

Feng Jiu’er widened her eyes and pouted her lips slightly. “Then I simply won’t eat!”

Yanu was anxious, but he knew the young miss’s temperament all too well. If she said she would not eat, she truly would not — there was no empty bluffing in her.

In the end, Yanu went to the kitchen, came back with a bowl and chopsticks, and sat down beside her once more.

Feng Jiu’er personally ladled a bowl of congee for him. Only after she had watched him take a sip did she lower her head and begin eating herself.

“Don’t stop, now. If you stop, I’ll stop too — try me if you don’t believe it.”

“Take bigger bites. You’re so tall, you must have a good appetite. You take two bites of the pastry, I’ll take one. If you only take one bite, then I won’t eat, hmm.”

“Look — another bite, or I’m stopping…”

“…”

In the sunlight, two figures sat together close, the wind lifting the hems of their clothes and strands of their hair, the shadows they cast on the ground nearly overlapping. Viewed from behind, it was a picture of quiet loveliness.

Watching those shadows falling on the ground, almost intertwined as one, the light in Yanu’s eyes was even more beautiful than all the scenery around them.