“Young Master, Noble Consort Qing from the palace has arrived. Her carriage is right outside the gate, and she has sent word summoning you to come greet her.” Xiao Yingtao came rushing over in a huff, clearly having only just received the news herself.

Feng Jiu and Feng Yinan were having their midday meal beneath the pavilion. Setting down her chopsticks, Feng Jiu fixed her gaze on Xiao Yingtao’s flushed face. “Noble Consort Qing?”

Who was this person? When had she appeared? How was it that nothing had ever been heard of her before?

Xiao Yingtao shook her head, equally at a loss. “I haven’t heard of her either. The Noble Consort is still inside the carriage, waiting for you to come out and receive her.”

A Noble Consort — that rank sat higher than an ordinary consort. Didn’t that mean even Consort Rong’s status fell beneath hers?

Where had this Noble Consort come from at Emperor Qiwen’s side? They had only been away from the imperial capital for half a year — had the palace truly undergone such sweeping changes in that time?

“There is also this, Young Master — the Seventh Imperial Prince, not yet having established his own household, has now been taken into Noble Consort Qing’s Qinghua Palace and adopted as her son.”

Xiao Yingtao was thoroughly bewildered. Truly, go without following palace gossip for a stretch of time, and the whole place transforms beyond recognition.

“But the Seventh Imperial Prince was already granted his own princely manor. Why would he still need to be adopted by a consort?”

By all reasoning, even without having taken a wife, being granted a manor counted as having established one’s own household. A prince of his age had no need of any consort to look after him.

His birth mother was no longer around, and at his age, he hardly lacked for other court ladies to care for him.

“That part I don’t know. But this Noble Consort Qing has never once been heard of before. Could it be that because she has no children of her own, she wanted a son — so that she would at least not be left without support in her old age?”

“How could Nanmeng Rong possibly allow it?” Was this not inviting a wolf into the fold? What if she harbored intentions of bringing the Seventh Imperial Prince into the struggle for imperial favor and succession?

“But what if even Nanmeng Rong could not stop it?”

Xiao Yingtao’s words sent Feng Jiu into deep thought. If there truly was such a formidable figure operating in the inner palace, it was impossible that there had been no stir at all before now.

But at this moment, since the person had already arrived at her gate, she — running an open establishment — could hardly refuse to receive her.

She couldn’t very well let the woman sit there blocking the entrance indefinitely. No one else would dare come in.

Wiping her mouth with a handkerchief, Feng Jiu turned to glance back at Feng Yinan. Feng Yinan said, “Young Master, go ahead. I’ll make my way back to the bedchamber to rest in a bit.”

“You’re sure?” Feng Jiu was a little uneasy.

“I’m sure!” Feng Yinan gave a nod.

Feng Jiu only hesitated for a moment before walking off with Xiao Yingtao toward the front courtyard. Along the way, she instructed one of the pageboys to come attend to Young Master Nan and see him back, and only then did she truly set her mind at ease and walk on ahead.

Outside the main gate of Tianji Hall, a row of guards stood in neat formation. Before them sat a carriage, its presence bold and unhurried, planted squarely in the gateway — waiting for the one inside to come out and receive whoever was within.

Standing beside the carriage was none other than the Seventh Imperial Prince, Zhan Luori. Half a year had passed since they last met, and he seemed to have tanned just a touch, his complexion now a healthy bronze — no longer the pale fairness of before.

Yet on a man, that bronzed complexion seemed somehow even more becoming. Compared with how he had looked before, Zhan Luori was undeniably more robust and striking, more compelling than ever.

Even so, the gaze Zhan Luori turned on Feng Jiu was cool and distant, even faintly remote.

From the faint glimmer of anticipation in his eyes at the very start, the moment he saw her face and figure, it faded entirely into disappointment — and then, into coldness.

He simply stood beside the carriage, thin lips pressed together, his expression utterly blank.

“Greetings to the Seventh Imperial Prince.” Feng Jiu and Xiao Yingtao exchanged a glance, then stepped forward together to bow.

There was not a trace of familiarity about it — as though they had only just learned that this before them was the esteemed Seventh Imperial Prince of the palace. The bow was an unavoidable formality, neither overly deferential nor remotely servile. Calm, composed, unhurried — standing before a Noble Consort and an Imperial Prince, there was not the slightest lapse in bearing.

The expression on Zhan Luori’s face remained, as ever, cool as still water. Though this first meeting with the Ghost Doctor Feng Jiu had left him with no unfavorable impression, he was accustomed to indifference and had never been one to take the initiative with people.

It was the Noble Consort Qing inside the carriage who, upon hearing Feng Jiu’s voice, spoke at an unhurried pace: “So you are the legendary Ghost Doctor — Feng Jiu?”

“Greetings to the Noble Consort.” Feng Jiu and Xiao Yingtao bowed toward the carriage — but that voice… why did it sound so familiar?

A palace maid stepped forward and lifted the carriage curtain for the Noble Consort. As the Noble Consort Qing emerged from within — draped in jewels, radiating an imperious nobility — a flash of bewilderment crossed Feng Jiu’s eyes. But in the shortest possible moment, she concealed every trace of her thoughts.

She stepped forward and bowed again. “This one is Feng Jiu, paying respects to the Noble Consort.”

Had she not stepped forward in that instant to place herself between Xiao Yingtao and what was in front of them, Xiao Yingtao would certainly have given herself away.

Because this Noble Consort Qing was none other than… Feng Qingyin!

No one knew what had transpired — why this Feng Qingyin, who had once trailed after the Crown Prince at every turn, declaring time and again that she would marry her beloved Crown Prince, had now become Emperor Qiwen’s woman, and indeed had risen to the rank of Noble Consort Qing — a station even more exalted than Nanmeng Rong’s.

In any case, Xiao Yingtao did not react as swiftly as Feng Jiu. She had genuinely been so stunned that she had nearly cried out in shock.

Had Feng Jiu not stepped forward in that moment, the expression of utter astonishment on her face would absolutely have been captured by the other party.

Xiao Yingtao broke into a cold sweat inwardly — thank heaven the Young Master had reacted so quickly. Otherwise she would have been in real trouble.

How could someone who had never seen Noble Consort Qing before, who was equally unacquainted with Feng Qingyin, possibly wear such an expression? If they had — that could only mean they had known Feng Qingyin before. And if so, what identity did that person carry, and what identity did this Feng Jiu standing here carry? The deeply scheming Feng Qingyin would certainly grow suspicious.

Feng Qingyin stared at the figure before her. The height was wrong. The face was even more wrong. To remain so composed upon learning she was the Noble Consort — it seemed as though the only things this person shared with that detestable woman from before were her medical skill and the name Feng Jiu.

Word had previously reached her that the Crown Prince had been wounded and brought here to be treated, and ever since, there had been a persistent thorn lodged in her heart. How uncannily similar this was to what had happened before.

“You are Feng Jiu?” She smiled faintly and descended from the carriage — a small eunuch immediately threw himself down beneath her, serving as a human step-stool.

Feng Qingyin appeared to have grown entirely accustomed to this manner of noble living. She stepped down upon the small eunuch’s back with an utterly composed expression.

This woman had truly, from birth, been inclined — even eager — toward this kind of existence. Trampling another person’s dignity caused her not a flicker of remorse; on the contrary, it made her feel all the more at ease in her own life.

“This one is Feng Jiu.” Feng Jiu inclined her head, replying with composed equanimity. Not a trace of unusual expression crossed her brow — neither dislike nor liking, neither resistance nor flattery.

That unhurried, cloud-light manner of hers lent her a distinctly otherworldly air, as though she were truly some transcendent figure from beyond the mortal world.

“I have heard that your medical skill is exceptional — capable even of curing a man who has been paralyzed for many years.”

Feng Qingyin fixed her gaze on Feng Jiu’s fair complexion. No matter how she looked at it, this face did not appear to be false — yet it was, unmistakably, not Feng Jiu’er’s face.

Could it be that she truly was not Feng Jiu’er, and she herself had simply been overthinking?

Yet why was it that something about her always carried the unmistakable scent of Feng Jiu’er?