As for whether Ninth Royal Uncle could or couldn't, Serena Feng had absolutely no desire to discuss it further. Whether he could or not had nothing to do with her—she wasn't about to meddle in his business.
Besides, even if Ninth Royal Uncle could, with his pride, there was no way he'd ever do anything in the carriage, let alone in front of her. To put it nicely, he was obsessed with keeping up appearances; to put it bluntly, he'd rather suffer than lose face.
Of course, Serena couldn't even imagine the scene of Ninth Royal Uncle handling himself right in front of her. Just picturing him with a lecherous look, staring at her while taking care of his own desires, made her shudder with disgust.
She patted her own head, decisively shooing away that ridiculous thought. If Ninth Royal Uncle ever found out what she was imagining, he'd probably want to kill her.
If Ninth Royal Uncle couldn't, then there was even less to say. Don't expect her to lend a hand—she wasn't about to do that kind of thing. She was a trauma surgeon, not a urologist, and even a urologist wouldn't personally handle this sort of problem.
Either way, whether Ninth Royal Uncle could or couldn't, he'd just have to deal with it himself. Even if he suffered for it, it was none of her business. Sure, she was at fault for what happened, but she hadn't started it—if anyone was to blame, it was him.
After straightening her clothes, Serena sat down across from Ninth Royal Uncle, pulling the small table out from the corner to set it between them as a barrier.
The man in front of her wasn't exactly a gentleman, so it was better to stay on guard. Yes, she could accept the idea of doing 'that' with Ninth Royal Uncle, but accepting it didn't mean she was willing to do it, or willing to be at his beck and call.
She didn't want to lose her chastity in some muddled, unclear way. If she couldn't even cherish herself, who else would? Rely on Ninth Royal Uncle? That was a stretch. Better to depend on herself.
The carriage smelled a bit odd and was stuffy inside, so Serena opened the small window to let in some air—and to casually check out the scenery outside.
The carriage rolled steadily toward the outskirts of the city. Early autumn had arrived, and the scenery beyond the walls was still beautiful—leaves not yet fully yellow, the grass not yet withered.
Clusters of leaves drifted down from the branches, swirling gently to the ground, lending the landscape a subtle charm. Even as hints of bleakness crept in, Serena Feng felt no melancholy for autumn. Instead, she looked forward to the coming month, thinking that soon it would be time to admire chrysanthemums and feast on crab.
Her body had already calmed, and Serena enjoyed the view in quiet contentment. But for Nolan, it was pure torment.
Nolan never imagined Serena could be so composed, so ruthless—knowing full well how uncomfortable he was, knowing how harmful it was to hold back, yet she hardened her heart and simply ignored him, as if he didn’t exist.
Fine, Serena won again. He’d meant to tease her, but instead of getting a reaction, he only made himself look more ridiculous.
Nolan shot Serena a glare, only to see her squinting blissfully into the autumn breeze, utterly at ease. He couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy.
They’d both been equally inflamed—so why did Serena recover so much faster? Judging by her relaxed demeanor, it was as if nothing had happened, while he was still a mess.
He was still struggling, trying to suppress his desire and regain control of his body.
The more Nolan dwelled on it, the more stifled he felt. How did Serena grow up to be like this? Faced with such a situation, she was even calmer than he was, recovering faster than any man—damn, it was infuriating.
Nolan squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to quell his desire. But his legendary self-control refused to cooperate; after a long while, not only did his agitation fail to subside, it only grew worse.
Serena snuck a glance at Nolan, then calmly returned to admiring the scenery. A frustrated man with pent-up desire was dangerous—better not provoke him.
The carriage crawled along, but even slow journeys reach their end. As they neared the compound, Nolan grew increasingly anxious. He couldn’t possibly step out like this—if the guards saw him, he’d never live it down.
Exhaling deeply, Nolan closed his eyes, forced Serena’s image from his mind, and began silently reciting the Calming Heart Mantra.
He hadn’t needed it since coming of age, yet here he was—driven by Serena to recite it, not once but three times, before his mind finally settled and his desire faded.
Nolan let out a breath of relief. At last, he could face people again.
No sooner had Nolan straightened himself out than the carriage stopped. The coachman, having hesitated outside for ages, finally ventured a cautious, "Master?"
He wasn’t a guard; he’d been right outside the carriage, and some sounds reached his ears no matter how hard he tried not to listen. He’d done his best to block them out—really, he swore!
"Mm." Nolan brushed off his sleeves, checked his appearance, then stepped down from the carriage. Standing at the door, he offered his hand to Serena. "Come down."
After all the holding, kissing, and nearly losing control, there was no point pretending innocence. Serena placed her hand squarely in Nolan’s palm.
The instant their hands met, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between them. Serena startled, and when she looked up, her gaze locked with Nolan’s—an unspoken tangle of intimacy and ambiguity hanging in the air.
Instinctively, Serena tried to pull her hand back, but Nolan held on, his grip tight—a clear sign he, too, was affected.
Serena drew a slow breath, tamped down her racing heartbeat, and, leaning on Nolan’s hand, stepped down from the carriage with as much elegance as she could muster.
Thanks to all her dueling with Wendy Summers lately, Serena had gotten used to putting on a show of ‘refined grace.’ In truth, elegance was just an act—but act long enough, and it became second nature, etched into her bones, until every gesture was naturally elegant.
As soon as Serena stepped down, the sound of approaching hooves echoed behind them—Nolan’s men had brought her medicine chest from the West District courtyard.
Seizing the opportunity, Serena slipped her hand free and stepped forward to accept the chest. Nolan didn’t insist; in fact, the moment their hands touched, he’d already regretted it.
Right now, they really shouldn’t have any physical contact at all. Every touch made Nolan want Serena more, his desire impossible to suppress.
He remembered that night in the Imperial Palace when he and Serena had been just as close. Even then, he’d managed to stop at the last moment. He’d felt a bit of regret, sure, but he could still control himself, and afterward he’d interacted with her coolly. So why was it so different today?
Nolan couldn’t make sense of it, and could only curse himself for his slipping discipline. He’d have to retrain, and soon.
Annoyed as he was, Nolan didn’t forget to look after Serena. He strode ahead, took the medicine chest from the guard with one hand, and signaled for Serena to follow. Serena could only withdraw her hand, resigned.
She’d learned to deal with Nolan’s domineering ways, so she obediently trailed after him. By now, she was used to following the Ninth Royal Uncle.
Once they entered the inner courtyard, they parted ways. Nolan handed Serena’s medicine chest to a eunuch and signaled him to guide her to the ward, while he headed off to another wing.
Serena didn’t ask questions, simply followed the eunuch to change dressings for the seven injured soldiers. As for Nolan—
He went straight to his own quarters. Once inside, he stripped off his outer robe and loosened his inner garment—sure enough, his bandages were soaked in blood…