Before long, Cheng Qiyue returned with a helpless expression on her face, "Feng Jiuge is awake. A servant went in to deliver her breakfast, but she couldn't control herself and injured the person."
Upon hearing this, Yang Cheng quickly stood up and hurried outside, his brow filled with concern.
Cheng Qiyue watched his hurried departure and murmured discontentedly, "He says he's not worried, but as soon as he hears trouble, he rushes over."
By now, several servants had gathered at the entrance to Feng Jiuge's room. A middle-aged woman sat on the ground, clutching her arm and grimacing in pain.
Feng Jiuge stood at the door, wrapped in a towel, her hair disheveled, her face pale, but her eyes were sharp as knives, her presence emanating a fierce and chilling aura.
"Feng Jiuge, what are you doing?"
Yang Cheng shouted, rushing over to grasp her arm.
