“Master!” Emperor Ji was so excited he wanted to grab Feng Jiu by the shoulders, but Feng Jiu nimbly stepped aside.

Emperor Ji didn’t mind. His voice wavered with the rise and fall of his emotions, losing all composure: “Master, it… hurts!”

Compared to Emperor Ji’s excitement, Feng Jiu’s expression appeared far too calm — so calm it gave one the illusion of coldness.

Perhaps that was just how physicians were. Having witnessed too many patients, too many miracles, whether filled with hope or despair, perhaps the emotions of the sick truly held no meaning to them.

Emperor Ji finally reined in his excitement, composed his expression, and said: “I have heard that Master once cured an elderly woman who had suffered from a leg ailment for many years.”

“Don’t celebrate too soon. Your condition is different from hers. Just because I could cure her does not necessarily mean I can cure you.”

Feng Jiu’s face remained thoroughly composed, not a ripple of emotion in sight. Emperor Ji felt deeply unsettled by that expressionless face — and yet, knowing that his legs still had sensation, he simply could not suppress the excitement that surged within him.

Even his voice carried a slight, barely-contained tremor: “Then… Master, roughly what are the chances?”

“Unknown.” Feng Jiu had already returned to the physician’s characteristic precision and seriousness: “In addition to designing a specialized recovery treatment plan for you, I will also need your full cooperation — disciplined, rigorous, and earnest cooperation.”

“I will naturally cooperate.” His legs had been injured for so many years. Now someone was telling him there was a chance of recovery — he had even felt for himself that life still stirred in his legs. To Emperor Ji, it was as if a gift had fallen from the heavens.

He feared it was false, yet longed for it to be true. And most importantly, he had already tasted what that gift was like.

“I will examine your other leg.” Feng Jiu maintained the same unhurried, impartial manner and tone. Young as she was, her composure while working put people at ease with remarkable ease.

In truth, Emperor Ji also found himself thinking — somewhat — that Feng Jiu gave him a feeling very similar to Feng Jiu’er.

That was when Ninth Prince had been gravely wounded, and Feng Jiu’er’s commanding presence over the entire group had left him quietly marveling.

But how could Feng Jiu possibly be Feng Jiu’er?

If this were Feng Jiu’er, she would absolutely never tell him his legs still had a chance of recovery.

If this were Feng Jiu’er, at such a close distance just now, she could have administered needles — or worse, laid hands on him. She would certainly have acted already.

After all, he was someone Feng Jiu’er would not mourn even if he died a hundred deaths.

So she could not be Feng Jiu’er. There was no reason for her to be Feng Jiu’er.

Feng Jiu tested both of Emperor Ji’s legs in turn. The meridians of his left leg were not as strong as those of the right leg she had examined first, but just like the right, there was at least still hope.

She administered needles, wrote a prescription — some medicine for internal use, some for external — and sent Leng Yue off to queue up and collect the medicine.

Leng Yue nearly came to blows with the people filling prescriptions, because that proud young woman felt her status placed her above waiting in line, and she wanted to march straight to the front of the queue.

The two of them nearly got thrown out of Tianji Hall, which was quite embarrassing indeed.

Even so, Emperor Ji’s mood today was clearly very different from usual. He did not even take to heart the discourtesy of those people.

Besides, setting face aside, it truly had been Leng Yue’s fault.

“Foster Father…” The moment they left Tianji Hall and boarded the carriage, Leng Yue could not wait to press him.

“He is not.” Emperor Ji knew what she wanted to ask, but his mind was entirely on his legs. He had little patience for anything else.

“Foster Father, how can you be so certain he is not? If Yue’er remembers correctly, that wretched Feng Jiu’er is also quite gifted in medicine!”

Though these words might be considered something of a compliment toward Feng Jiu’er — and though she was thoroughly unwilling to admit Feng Jiu’er had any virtues at all — Feng Jiu’er’s medical skill was publicly acknowledged.

The same build, the same feeling, a similar name, and equally impressive medical skill. Was that still not enough to prove that Feng Jiu was Feng Jiu’er?

On what grounds was Foster Father saying she was not?

“I say she is not, so she is not. From now on, stop harboring any twisted notions about Master Feng Jiu. He is Feng Jiu — he is a man.”

Emperor Ji’s expression was rather stern. Feng Jiu was now his only hope, and he neither wished nor would allow Leng Yue to ruin everything.

If she were to ruin it, she would be destroying his future.

Leng Yue could feel how fiercely Emperor Ji was protecting Feng Jiu — he had even addressed him as Master.

In an instant, Leng Yue understood. Feng Jiu had won Emperor Ji over.

Not with money — Emperor Ji had never lacked for that. Which meant the only thing that could have won him over was Emperor Ji’s legs.

“Did she tell you your legs still have hope?”

Leng Yue let out a scornful huff. She just knew Feng Jiu would resort to such a trick.

“Foster Father, you have been deceived. She only wants to control you this way — by giving you hope so that you will listen to her from now on.”

Emperor Ji said nothing, only his expression became rather unpleasant.

Leng Yue felt certain she had guessed correctly, and immediately pressed on: “Even Master Mo Bai was powerless. Can you truly place your faith in some wandering quack from out there?”

“Yue’er does not mean to upset you, but Foster Father’s legs…” She did not say it outright, yet her attitude said everything. She believed there was no longer any hope of Emperor Ji’s legs ever recovering.

“Foster Father, Feng Jiu must be Feng Jiu’er. She is far too skilled at playing people. She only wants to control you!”

“Then does Yue’er also believe that Foster Father’s legs will never recover for as long as he lives?” Emperor Ji asked, his words carrying a cold edge.

Leng Yue opened her mouth to speak, but in the very next instant she caught sight of the absolute chill buried deep in Emperor Ji’s eyes.

She had perhaps gone too far. In her eagerness to expose Feng Jiu’s deception, her words had been truly cruel.

“Yue’er of course hopes Foster Father’s legs will recover, but Feng Jiu is clearly trying to…”

“My legs had sensation today. Beneath Master Feng Jiu’s needles, they knew pain!”

Emperor Ji had no desire to explain further. This girl was trying his patience more and more with each passing day.

She was not fit to be the mother of a nation. Emperor Ji even began to wonder whether she was suited to be so much as a consort in Wu Ya’s harem.

A woman like this left in the harem would inevitably stir up trouble and ensure the inner palace never knew a day of peace.

He would need to reconsider Wu Ya’s harem arrangements carefully.

The chill Leng Yue had read in his eyes sank directly into her heart.

She had realized as early as half a year ago that she could not afford to appear petty before Emperor Ji. She had spent half a year conducting herself as a proper young lady of noble standing — so why had she completely lost control these past two days?

Composing herself in an instant, Leng Yue lowered her head and hastened to recover: “Foster Father, Yue’er truly did not mean anything by it. What I fear most is Feng Jiu’er returning to take revenge. If Foster Father is caught off guard, I worry he will come to harm.”

Emperor Ji let out a quiet breath and lifted the carriage curtain to look outside: “He is not Feng Jiu’er. If he truly were Feng Jiu’er, Foster Father would most likely have no opportunity to be sitting here speaking with you now.”