They were staying at an inn.

Though agents were always asking questions outside, a conspicuous place like an inn was sometimes precisely the safest kind. In all these days, not once had soldiers come to search it — because no one would think that fugitives would have the audacity to lodge openly in an inn.

Feng Jiu’er was still apprehensive as she stepped inside.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, her courage steadied of its own accord.

Perhaps it was because the roomful of people before her genuinely seemed to carry no ill intent.

“Jiu’er!”

No one had expected that Jian Yi would slip away on his own, and then return with the very Jiu’er they had spent so many days searching for without success.

Surprise — pure, overwhelming surprise.

Qiao Mu was so overcome with emotion she nearly coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Xue Gu, too, was so stirred that her blood and qi surged in disorder.

Mu Mu stared at the young woman walking ahead of Jian Yi, his large hands clenched tight. He could not believe it, yet he desperately wanted to.

Jiu’er was back. She had truly come back.

Yet — why was the way Feng Jiu’er looked at all of them so strange?

Why… was it as if she were looking at strangers?

“Jiu’er…” Xue Gu moved to approach. Feng Jiu’er stepped sharply back, stumbling directly into Jian Yi’s arms.

Jian Yi’s ears flushed red. He immediately stepped aside, putting distance between them, and turned to close the door behind him.

“She… has forgotten who she is.” Jian Yi’s words were simple and direct — yet everyone in the room understood perfectly.

Xue Gu did not press forward. She simply stared at Jiu’er, and softened her voice: “You truly… do not remember me at all?”

Feng Jiu’er shook her head. Not a single one of them — no matter how hard she tried, she could not recall any of these faces.

Mu Mu did not dare take so much as half a step toward her. He only clenched his large hands tighter, tighter still.

“Then you… where have you been these past days?”

“She has been in the palace — as the very princess we suspected.” Jian Yi said.

“So it truly was you!” But she was their Jiu’er. How had she become a princess?

“You’ve forgotten us — but is it that you’ve forgotten everything? Then why, when they told you that you were a princess, did you believe it?”

Xue Gu’s question completely stumped Feng Jiu’er.

Her Imperial Father had told her she was a princess — why had she believed it? In truth, everything had seemed to fall naturally into place, as though there had been nothing to question.

What emperor would go so far as to find an ordinary common person and pass them off as his own daughter? If it were a minister — or someone scheming to seize power — who wanted her to impersonate someone and deceive the Emperor, that would be another matter entirely.

But if the Emperor himself said it, that was absolutely enough to command belief.

Even so — she had in fact already begun to question her own origins.

Jian Yi looked at Xue Gu, anxious: “She asked me to prove that she is who she is, and I didn’t know how. Xue Gu, think of something.”

But Xue Gu was looking at Jiu’er, and something in her heart eased.

It seemed the girl was already doubting for herself.

She was still the Jiu’er they all knew — born with sharp instincts, not deceived by the prestige of a princess’s title into ceasing to think about the world around her.

“On your lower back, there is a phoenix mark. In the past it only appeared when you channeled your qi, but by now it should be visible to the naked eye.” Xue Gu said.

Feng Jiu’er’s expression did not change. That fact — her Imperial Father knew it, her imperial brothers knew it, even Fourth Imperial Uncle knew it.

That a few outsiders also knew it was not particularly remarkable.

But these people knew something so closely guarded. If they were not genuine friends, then they were formidable enemies.

Seeing that Feng Jiu’er had no reaction whatsoever, everyone understood — that she bore the mark was knowledge not exclusive to them.

If that could not serve as proof, then what could?

“This head of white hair — it came from exhausting my inner strength to save you.”

The man reclining at the bedside looked at her. His gaze appeared calm on the surface, but the tumultuous feeling surging within it was plain for Jiu’er to see.

Her eyes settled on his silver-white hair. Such a remarkably handsome man — the face of youth — and yet not a single dark thread remained on his head.

For her sake…

Something clutched suddenly at her heart — sharp, like pain.

Her hand rose to her chest, pressing hard over it. Yet the gaze she turned on Mu Mu remained clouded with bewilderment.

Despite the inexplicable ache — that pain of unknown origin — this man before her, beautiful and white-haired, still stirred no memory in her.

“And… you don’t remember me either?” Qiao Mu looked crestfallen. “I may not have been at your side for long — not even a full year — but I followed you through danger after danger. How could you have forgotten even me?”

“You are badly injured.” The healer’s instinct rose without thought. She walked over and took Qiao Mu’s wrist, feeling for her pulse.

In truth, everyone in this room was a patient.

The middle-aged woman who had spoken to her a moment ago was also not lightly hurt — but not as seriously as the young woman before her.

The reason Qiao Mu’s injuries were so severe was that among everyone present that night, her internal strength had been the weakest. In a clash between masters, those with weaker inner strength were at a tremendous disadvantage. A single palm carrying true qi could take her life directly.

That she was still alive was only because the black-robed man at the time had not set his focus on her. Otherwise, with Qiao Mu’s level of cultivation, how could she have survived?

“You sustained such heavy injuries — why are you not lying down and resting in bed?”

As Jiu’er spoke, her gaze moved instinctively to the room’s only bed.

The bed was already occupied.

She had only meant to glance — but the moment she caught sight of the figure lying there, something in her chest seized with a sudden sharp pain, as though struck by a heavy blow.

She walked quickly toward the bed, certain she was about to see the face she was expecting.

Though she herself did not know what face she was expecting — she could not say what features she wanted to find — still, a feeling rose within her that she could not name: an emotion on the verge of emerging, enveloping her completely.

And so when she finally looked clearly at the man’s face — covered in wounds, a face utterly unfamiliar to her — she was plunged into a wave of wild, crashing disappointment.

Why was it not the face she had wanted to see? Why was this face so completely foreign?

“She…” Jian Yi moved to approach.

Xue Gu reached out and stopped him, shaking her head.

If the Ninth Prince was the only key capable of unlocking Feng Jiu’er’s memories, then this secret — let her unseal it herself.

If others intervened, they might not help. They might, in fact, interfere with the return of her memories.

No one dared to speak. No one made even the smallest sound.

All eyes were on Feng Jiu’er — and Feng Jiu’er kept her full, unwavering attention fixed on the stranger’s face lying before her on the bed.

Something told her it should not be this way — and yet why it should not be this way, she could not work out.

Then, suddenly, she leaned down — and with one swift motion, tore open Zhan Qingcheng’s robe.

His chest, further down — nearly at his lower abdomen…

Jiu’er’s face flushed crimson, but her gaze remained resolute.

She raised her hand. Her long fingers settled on Zhan Qingcheng’s lower abdomen. Her fingertips caught hold of something — and with a sharp pull—