Jiu’er slept deeply and soundly, and in her dream, she seemed to have drifted back into Ninth Imperial Uncle’s arms.
This light, floating sensation of being held — the feeling of having him near — brought a calm that was unlike anything else.
She did not know whose presence surrounded her now. It seemed not quite the same as Ninth Imperial Uncle’s, carrying within it a faint scent of medicinal herbs.
But beyond that faint herbal trace, it was remarkably, strikingly similar to him.
Jiu’er couldn’t tell the difference. She only knew that resting here in his embrace was a feeling of peace — her body, so long weary, finally found true rest, and she had no desire to wake from such a dream.
For a while, everything was perfectly tranquil. Then, deep into the night, the nightmares came.
Someone was attacking Ninth Imperial Uncle’s Phoenix City. Through the vast and faceless crowd, she could not make out who it was — only that he wore full armor and sat astride a great horse.
With a single sweep of his sword, countless soldiers surged toward Phoenix City.
They were storming the gates. Phoenix City’s citizens and soldiers fought in desperate, bloody resistance — yet where was the Ninth Prince?
The Ninth Prince they revered and trusted above all else — where was he at this moment, their most desperate hour? Why had the warrior god, the Ninth Prince, not appeared in their most dangerous time of need?
The city gates were about to be breached. Jiu’er clenched her hands tightly, heart in turmoil, desperately wishing she could descend and fight alongside them.
But her body was weightless, as though suspended in midair — she could only watch helplessly as Phoenix City’s soldiers and citizens fell, one by one, into pools of blood.
The attacking general laughed with smug satisfaction and bellowed aloud: “Your god — your Ninth Prince — abandoned every one of you for the sake of a woman!”
“He is unfit to be your lord! Unfit to lead you! All who surrender — all who cry out that the Ninth Prince is a traitor, all who renounce your allegiance to him — this general will spare your lives!”
The soldiers continued to resist with everything they had. But the common people had begun to weep.
At last, a single voice rose from among them all, and then the crowd cried as one: “The Ninth Prince is a traitor! We renounce our allegiance to Zhan Qingcheng!”
“Ninth Imperial Uncle is NOT a traitor!” Feng Jiu’er startled awake, lurching upright, tearing herself free of the dream.
No — Ninth Imperial Uncle was not a traitor! Ninth Imperial Uncle had not abandoned them! He had only…
She opened her eyes. Around her was a pitch-dark cave, lit by a faint flicker of firelight, just enough to make out the shapes close by.
She was in a cave.
The man sitting not far away was watching her, his gaze unreadable.
Feng Jiu’er’s hand instinctively pressed to her chest, and she dragged in hard, ragged breaths.
She had dreamed that Ninth Imperial Uncle had let Phoenix City’s people and soldiers go for her sake, and followed her to the Phoenix clan’s territory.
And the worst of it — at the very moment Ninth Imperial Uncle arrived at the Phoenix clan’s land, a great army had come to attack the city.
In her dream, Phoenix City’s citizens and soldiers suffered terribly. In the end, they had all turned against Ninth Imperial Uncle.
The dream had been so vivid, so real — as though it were unfolding right before her eyes. It left Jiu’er’s heart trembling, shaken to its core along with those blood-soaked people.
If Ninth Imperial Uncle had truly left — if someone had truly attacked the city in that window of time… Jiu’er dared not even imagine it.
Waking to find Jiu Qing sitting quietly on the other side of the cave, watching her with that calm, composed gaze, Feng Jiu’er finally let out a slow, shaky breath.
Thank heavens. Ninth Imperial Uncle had kept his head — he had not actually followed her.
She would never want Ninth Imperial Uncle to become a figure condemned by history for the sake of one person.
Jiu Qing glanced at her a few times, then calmly removed the roasted chicken from the flames and wrapped it in fresh leaves he had prepared.
He walked to Feng Jiu’er and set it down beside her.
The rich, savory scent of roasted meat pulled her out of the haze of her dream and back into the waking world.
She pressed her fingers to her brow, and only after a long moment managed to truly settle herself. She looked down at the roasted chicken and let out a soft sigh.
It seemed that while Jiu Qing was a man of the martial world, his wilderness survival skills still had considerable room for improvement.
Half the chicken was charred to varying degrees — fortunately, the other half was edible.
She looked beside Jiu Qing — there were already several discarded chickens lying in a pile, all of them reduced to lumps of coal.
The burnt ones had a certain progression to them: one entirely black, one about three-quarters black. This one she was holding must be the third attempt.
After sitting down, Jiu Qing picked up the mostly-charred one and began gnawing at it.
“It’s burned like that — don’t eat it,” Feng Jiu’er said quickly.
And beyond that, the feathers hadn’t been plucked particularly thoroughly either. Scorched feathers and charred flesh stuck together in a way that was rather… well, rather difficult to find appetizing.
By comparison, though, the one in her own hands was noticeably better — a strikingly rapid improvement. He was certainly a fast learner.
“Mine’s in better shape — let’s share it. I can’t finish it on my own anyway.” She made to move toward him.
Jiu Qing said nothing. He simply tore away the scorched outer skin and meat, discarded them, and gnawed at what was left.
His brow was tightly furrowed — even he seemed to know it was rather difficult to get down. He frowned, and then simply accepted it.
The whole picture made him look exactly like someone of immense stature and dignity, forcing himself to endure something beneath him.
Feng Jiu’er found herself with a strange, unbidden feeling — as though she would happily give him the finest things in the world.
It was a feeling she had only ever had in front of Ninth Imperial Uncle. Yet looking at Jiu Qing now — ugly face, body masked by the scent of herbs until his true fragrance was impossible to detect — there was still something, if one looked past all of it, that quietly commanded a kind of reverence.
Jiu Qing’s cold gaze swept toward her, and Feng Jiu’er immediately looked away, not daring to stare again.
How had she forgotten — Jiu Qing disliked being stared at. Most likely because of his disfigured face.
Feng Jiu’er said nothing more. Once she had eaten the edible half of the roasted chicken, she turned and looked out at the night beyond.
The night was deep and dark. It was only just past midnight — at least two more hours before dawn.
That dream had left her with no desire to sleep.
She was genuinely afraid the dream might become real.
Ninth Imperial Uncle was still in the imperial city, and she had already been traveling for a day and a night — yet there was a vague, unsettled unease she couldn’t shake.
Why had Ninth Imperial Uncle been so agreeable this time, actually staying behind when she told him not to follow?
Why had the veiled woman chosen this particular method to send her to the Phoenix clan’s territory in search of a treasure and a martial arts manuscript?
She did want the treasure and the manuscript — she genuinely did. But something about the veiled woman’s motives didn’t feel pure.
And though Xue Gu was willing to stake her name on it that the veiled woman meant her no harm — whether that woman would harm those around her, Feng Jiu’er could not be certain.
A thousand threads of thought tangled in her mind, tied in a knot she could not loosen.
Stripping her of her martial arts, and then sending her off to find a new martial arts manuscript — what, in the end, was the veiled woman’s true purpose?
Could it be that she intended to draw Ninth Imperial Uncle away, so that she and Emperor Qiwen might scheme something together?
Jiu’er let out a slow breath. At least, thankfully, Ninth Imperial Uncle had not taken the bait.