Seeing Xue Gu blame herself so much, Feng Jiu said, “The unfeeling gu was originally in me. If he’s ended up like this, it’s because of me—what does that have to do with you?”

But Xue Gu shook her head. “You weren’t conscious when I performed the poison transfer. If you had been awake, would you ever have let me do such a thing?”

That much was true—when the unfeeling gu had been transferred out of Feng Jiu’s body, she had been gravely wounded and still unconscious.

In truth, in that battle, Feng Yinan had hardly been the only one wounded.

No one had expected that within the Ninth Prince’s own army, there would be someone who wanted Feng Jiu’er dead.

On top of that, Tuoba Keyan had wanted to take Feng Jiu’er alive at the time, issuing an absolute order that she be brought back—as long as she was breathing, no matter how badly wounded.

With such a heavy reward on the line, there was no shortage of men willing to risk everything—the soldiers of Ruohe were practically dying to pin Feng Jiu’er down at swordpoint, so long as she was still alive when they brought her back.

Caught between enemies from front and back, and forced to protect Feng Yinan, who had been struck down by a stray arrow, Feng Jiu’er had fought through every step at great cost, suffering no small wounds of her own.

If Xue Gu hadn’t turned back to help, Feng Jiu’er surely would not have survived.

The assassins within the Ninth Prince’s army had been hunting Feng Jiu’er relentlessly, and Tuoba Keyan had personally led men in pursuit as well. Through a strange twist of fate, Xue Gu ended up capturing Tuoba Keyan alive, and with Hu Shuang leading men to cover their escape, the group fled straight into Butterfly Valley.

Afterward, again with Hu Shuang’s help, the unfeeling gu was transferred out of Feng Jiu’s body and into Tuoba Keyan’s at Butterfly Pond.

At the time, as far as Xue Gu was concerned, Tuoba Keyan was a man who deserved death many times over.

But never could she have imagined that Tuoba Keyan carried on him a jade pendant she would never forget for the rest of her life.

It was Long Feiyan’s pendant, with the character “Long” carved upon it by her own hand—something Xue Gu would never forget even to her dying day.

Given Long Feiyan’s age, it was impossible for her to have a son as old as Tuoba Keyan—but if Long Feiyan herself had given him that pendant, the bond between the two of them had to be no ordinary one.

Thinking back further on the fighting style Tuoba Keyan had used, Xue Gu suddenly recalled that it truly did resemble the techniques Long Feiyan had once used.

Perhaps Tuoba Keyan was Long Feiyan’s disciple.

A man who deserved to die had suddenly become someone of such importance—Xue Gu’s feelings about it were impossible to put into words.

Worst of all, after the transfer, a portion of the deadly poison still remained in Feng Jiu’s body, while the portion that went into Tuoba Keyan underwent some unforeseen change, becoming so different from the original unfeeling gu that no one could make sense of it.

Another symptom that came along with it was that Tuoba Keyan lost his memory.

He forgot everything about his past—forgot his own identity as the eldest prince of Ruohe, and forgot that his own mother, a royal consort, had once been cruelly murdered by people of the Bei Mu kingdom.

The Yan of today was Tuoba Keyan after losing his memory.

What surprised both Feng Jiu and Xue Gu was that, after losing his memory, Tuoba Keyan had turned out to be such a kind-hearted person.

Though withdrawn and unwilling to be around any strangers, he showed remarkable gentleness toward small animals.

The last time Feng Jiu and Xue Gu had taken him out, he had nearly fallen to his death off a cliff trying to save a rabbit.

Who could have imagined that the once cold-blooded, merciless eldest prince of Ruohe could also have such a kind, gentle side to him?

Xue Gu believed that gentleness was simply part of his true nature underneath it all, and that it was perhaps what happened to his mother that had turned him into who he later became.

Who could ever say for certain, in matters like these?

“How are you feeling right now?” Xue Gu looked at Feng Jiu, a fresh wave of melancholy rising in her chest. “He’s back now, and the full moon isn’t far off.”

Perhaps, for Feng Jiu, the one good thing to come out of Xue Gu’s poison-transfer technique was that, ordinarily, no matter how much she missed the Ninth Imperial Uncle, it caused her no harm. Only on the night of the full moon did thinking of him bring her to the point of wishing she were dead.

But as long as she didn’t think of him, there was no problem at all.

As it happened, there was one fortunate coincidence: since Yan’s gu poison flared up on the night of the full moon, Feng Jiu had to spend the first half of the night administering needles to ease his suffering, leaving her no time to dwell on thoughts of the Ninth Imperial Uncle.

It was always only in the second half of the night, once Yan’s poison had finally been suppressed and Feng Jiu’s mind had settled, that she would find herself helplessly slipping back into thoughts of him.

And the moment she did, the pain was ten times heavier than it had ever been back when the unfeeling gu used to flare up in her own body.

In short, on full moon nights, not thinking of him meant no trouble at all—but the moment she did, the agony was unbearable.

What worried Xue Gu most now was that, with the Ninth Prince back in the imperial city, there was no telling what further entanglement might arise between the two of them in the future.

If the Ninth Prince recognized her as Feng Jiu’er and came looking for her, might the unfeeling gu suddenly begin flaring up far more often?

“I’m fine. There’s nothing unusual going on for now.” Feng Jiu paused to think it over, then her expression suddenly changed, and she very nearly bolted straight out the door.

Oh no! She had actually forgotten something terribly, terribly important—the Ninth Imperial Uncle was still waiting under that tree by the back gate!

No, wait—it had already been more than an hour since she’d come through the door. More than an hour meant more than two hours by modern reckoning. There was no way the Ninth Imperial Uncle would still be waiting there.

He’d probably already barged his way in!

But there didn’t seem to be any commotion outside…

“You’ve spent this last half year studying witchcraft and gu arts—have you made any progress?” Noticing the odd look on her face, Xue Gu felt a flicker of surprise. “Is it that… you really can’t find a way?”

“No, actually there’s already some sign of progress. I just need to dig a little deeper into it.”

Feng Jiu had no mind left to keep talking. “Keep an eye on Yan—I still have something I need to deal with. I’ll head off first.”

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” The old Feng Jiu’er had always been composed, and ever since becoming Feng Jiu, she’d grown even steadier—Xue Gu had rarely seen this anxious side of her.

Xue Gu’s doubts only deepened, her unease growing. “Jiu’er, is something troubling you? I’m not someone who needs coddling—if you’re in trouble, you can tell me directly. I can handle whatever comes of it.”

As long as she didn’t keep everything bottled up inside and try to bear it all alone, that would be enough.

“No, Xue Gu, it’s really nothing. I just suddenly remembered—I… there’s some new medicine, I thought of a new way to approach the research.”

Feng Jiu certainly didn’t dare tell her anything about the Ninth Imperial Uncle right now—Xue Gu, fearing the unfeeling gu would flare up, would never allow her to be with him.

Then again, come to think of it, these past two days spent with the Ninth Imperial Uncle, the unfeeling gu hadn’t stirred at all, had it?

Did that mean that, outside of the full moon, she no longer needed to worry about the unfeeling gu flaring up at all?

Even with the Ninth Imperial Uncle right beside her—could she actually be… intimate with him without worry?

Hmm, out of nowhere like this, why would she even think about being intimate with the Ninth Imperial Uncle? That was simply… far too shameless of her.

Terrified that Zhan Qingcheng might actually have barged his way in, Feng Jiu could spare no more time for explanations. She hurried out of Yan’s room, dashed back to her own to grab a hat, and then sprinted toward the back gate.

The whole way there, she kept watching for any sign of trouble in the back courtyard, but there were only two young servant boys at work there, no one else around, and certainly none of the uproar she had imagined.

Still, it had already been more than an hour—was there any chance the Ninth Imperial Uncle was still there waiting?