The door behind her slammed shut with a bang, and Feng Jiu’er, by reflex, immediately shifted her footing, trying to dodge to one side.

But she had barely taken her first step when her entire body felt as though it had been seized by something — she couldn’t move her feet at all!

Such formidable internal energy!

Sensing someone closing in from behind, Jiu’er struck backward with a palm — and that strike landed squarely against someone’s chest.

The blow carried no small amount of force; even the person behind her was startled by the power behind that single strike.

Compared to before, it was clearly different! In such a short time, her skill had risen to this level so rapidly!

He had never used his protective true-energy shield around her before, so this strike landed solidly on his chest, completely unguarded.

A thin trail of crimson blood slipped down from the corner of his achingly beautiful lips — a sight so striking it was hard to look away from.

Feng Jiu’er simply stood there, staring at his face, at the blood sliding down the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, time seemed to come to a complete standstill.

It wasn’t until her breath had nearly stopped, until she forced a sharp inhale to steady herself, that she realized — she had hurt him!

Feng Jiu’er grabbed her sleeve and, without thinking, immediately wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

But… “Your Highness?”

She froze, then was struck with shock, scrambling backward in a panic.

Damn it — she had actually wounded the Ninth Prince! That was a crime punishable by death!

But she had no way to retreat — she had barely taken one step back before her back hit the solid door.

She looked up, only to find the man before her leaning in, standing right in front of her. Worse still, their bodies were pressed tightly together!

“Your Highness!” Feng Jiu’er startled, instinctively placing both hands on his chest, trying to push him away.

Wasn’t he supposed to arrive back at the imperial capital, at the earliest, the morning after tomorrow? Why had the Ninth Prince suddenly returned?

Returning was one thing, but coming back without a sound at all — shouldn’t the Ninth Prince, after winning a battle, ride in on a tall horse through the capital gates, receiving the people’s homage all the way back to the palace to claim his reward?

Although, knowing the Ninth Prince as she did, she figured claiming rewards probably wasn’t something that interested him in the slightest.

But coming back like this, so suddenly, with no advance notice at all — it was truly strange!

Stranger still — why was he behaving so intimately toward her? Pressing her against the door, trapped between it and his tall frame?

“Ninth Prince, please first—”

His hand fell on the collar of her robe and suddenly yanked it with force.

Feng Jiu’er’s almond eyes widened, and she sent out another palm strike.

That strike, too, landed solidly against his chest. The man, whose face had already been pale, now had another trail of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Jiu’er was truly stunned — this was the second time tonight she had wounded him, and each time, he hadn’t fought back at all! He hadn’t even guarded himself in the slightest!

Given the Ninth Prince’s skill, if he had been willing to use even a trace of his protective true-energy, it would have been her who got hurt instead!

But now he… a chill swept through her chest, and it instantly cleared her muddled mind.

“No!” She instinctively tried to clutch her robe shut, but his large palm had already slipped through the open front of her garment and pressed against where her heart was.

Here — this was where she should have been wounded, wounded so gravely there should have been no way to survive. And yet, she had lived.

His eyes carried a faint, intoxicated look. Having lived more than twenty years, this was the first time he had ever known gratitude — thanking the heavens for letting her appear before him, still very much alive.

This heart was still beating; he could feel its rhythm and strength clearly. Though the strength was somewhat faint, it was, without question, truly beating.

She’s still alive — how wonderful…

Back then, after he had driven off the army of the Nanyue Kingdom, he’d received word that Emperor Ji had returned to the Tianzun Sect, yet Feng Jiu’er had not returned to the Imperial Academy, nor had she returned to the Feng Family.

When he sought out Yu Jingfeng to ask, only then did he learn what had happened.

By coincidence, just a moment before the Ninth Prince was about to fly into a rage, he received news that someone had spotted Feng Jiu’er and Mu Mu on the road back to the imperial capital.

So he had abandoned his army and come back alone.

Yu Jingfeng and the Twelve Riders of the Soaring Dragon had followed close behind, but the Prince had still left them far in his wake — which was why, this time, only Zhan Qingcheng himself had made it here; Yu Jingfeng and the others had yet to arrive.

No one knew how the Ninth Prince had endured these three days and nights. An ordinary person, even on horseback, would need nearly ten days for such a journey, yet he had made it in three.

Feng Jiu’er’s hand pressed against the wrist of his large hand. She tried again and again, with all her strength, to push him away, but his hand seemed glued to her skin, utterly immovable — she couldn’t budge him in the slightest.

Jiu’er’s breathing was in disarray. Was there anyone who, being treated this way by a man, could possibly keep their breathing steady?

She looked up to glare at him, but the Ninth Prince’s gaze was so utterly pure that she found herself completely unable to muster any blame.

He seemed to be… stirred, moved, relieved — a kind of gratitude that came from regaining something he had thought lost forever.

But whatever the emotion was, there was not a trace of malice in it — not the slightest hint.

It was as though, in doing something so excessive, he wasn’t trying to take advantage of her at all — he simply, purely, wanted to keep his hand there, to feel something.

Her heart… suddenly, Feng Jiu’er seemed to understand.

Blushing, she said hurriedly, “I’m fine, Your Highness. There’s nothing wrong with me here at all, truly, I’m fine. Please take your hand away first.”

Did he know about what had happened — that she had nearly died saving him?

Although in truth she had been forced into using her own life to save him, it was, at the very least, a debt of gratitude.

The poison worm had bored into her heart — by all rights, she should have died for certain. Was he simply shaken that she was still alive?

“Your Highness, this matter has nothing to do with you. You needn’t blame yourself. Though, I’m also glad — glad that I was able to save you.”

Feng Jiu’er still felt deeply awkward. He was, after all, the Ninth Prince, towering above all, with power over the realm — someone everyone ought to look up to.

She did admire him too, truly, especially after hearing from Xiao Yingtao about all his imposing feats on the battlefield.

But admiration was admiration — that was purely worship, and it didn’t mean she was willing to be this intimate with him.

“Your Highness, please first—”

“What did you just call this prince?” Zhan Qingcheng narrowed his eyes, staring at her delicate, fine-boned face.

Those brows, those eyes — they lacked the familiar warmth he knew. What was she thinking?

“Or are you still resentful that I nearly got you killed?” He gave a soft sigh, finally withdrawing his palm from inside her robe, and pulled her into his embrace.

Feng Jiu’er’s bright, dark eyes went wide; for a moment, she couldn’t quite react.

“Your Highness, that… you can’t just go around holding a young lady like this, can you?” Why was it that this felt as though they were a pair of intimate lovers?