A faint, barely-perceptible scent of medicine hung in the air of Ninth Imperial Uncle’s room.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle — are you injured?” Feng Jiu’er had arrived with a head full of questions, only to stumble upon this secret instead.

“Miss Jiu’er!” Yu Jingfeng’s expression shifted, and he moved at once to cut her off.

But the extraordinarily handsome man seated on the bed merely cast him an indifferent glance — a silent signal to leave.

Yu Jingfeng had no choice. He withdrew from the room, closed the door behind him, and stationed himself in the courtyard, permitting no one to approach.

Feng Jiu’er stepped quickly to the bedside, sat down, and took hold of Ninth Imperial Uncle’s wrist, pressing her fingertips to his pulse.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle — why would the Gu Poison flare up at a time like this?”

She had always known he carried Gu Poison within him, but had it not been suppressed remarkably well all this time? Why had it suddenly erupted?

His complexion was ashen — it was plain he had just recently used his internal energy to force the poison back down, yet it seemed the effect had been poor.

Before he could speak, Feng Jiu’er bit her lip and extended her own finger toward him. “Ninth Imperial Uncle, bite me.”

Being bitten would hurt, but his color right now was truly unsettling.

What she did not expect was for Ninth Imperial Uncle to look at her outstretched finger and furrow his brow, his eyes communicating unmistakable disdain.

“What does it even matter at a time like this — and you’re still being particular about it!” Feng Jiu’er truly wanted to roll her eyes at him. It was only a bit of blood — did he really need to be this selective?

Was a finger not good enough?

Evidently, someone found her finger entirely unappetizing.

Feng Jiu’er was incensed. “Ninth Imperial Uncle, if you’re going to keep being this picky, I won’t bother with you anymore!”

He said nothing. Even his expression did not change — he simply looked at her with that same unhurried calm.

And it was precisely that unhurried look that made something in her chest constrict uncomfortably. His complexion truly was dreadful right now — even his lips were losing their color.

Feng Jiu’er bit her lip. She badly wanted to harden her heart and leave him be, to teach Ninth Imperial Uncle a lesson for his proud and willful ways — to make him understand that the blood was hers, and she’d let him draw it from wherever she chose, not wherever he preferred.

But beneath that steady gaze, her resolve crumbled. Her heart softened. And she — damn it all! Why could she never bring herself to be truly ruthless toward him?

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you are being unfair! Stop looking at me!” Staring again! If he kept staring, she would leave — let him fend for himself! Stop looking!

……

Half an incense stick later, Feng Jiu’er drew the bed’s gauze curtain aside. She sat before him, biting her lip.

Only her shoulder bore the visible marks — one or two small wounds left by his sharp teeth, not for the first time.

In truth, each time Ninth Imperial Uncle drew blood from her, he would first use his internal energy to part her skin with the edge of his teeth before drawing the blood — a method that spared her considerably compared to an outright bite.

All things considered, it was not exactly painful. And yet, to serve as a living medicinal vessel — liable to be bitten at any moment — still stung a little in its own quiet way.

The young girl sat before him, arms wrapped around her own disheveled figure, her expression a small mixture of irritation, grievance, resignation — and a tender concern for him she could not quite suppress.

That small, layered expression deepened the gaze of the man behind her.

At last, he lifted his hand and pressed it gently against her back. He leaned down and drew close — but rather than biting her shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her instead.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle!” Feng Jiu’er startled, and instinctively moved to push him away.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck. Against her skin fell the warmth of his exhaled breath, and in her ear — his voice, roughened by the Gu Poison’s flare, carrying a magnetic timbre that was almost intoxicating.

“This Prince is… a little tired.”