“Understood!” The brothers of the Feilong Shi’er Qi answered as one: “On our lives, we protect the Prince! All who approach shall be struck down without mercy!”

Nanmen Rong’s fury was so intense she stamped her foot. “Yu Jingfeng, you dare even bar my path!”

Yu Jingfeng made no sound whatsoever. He simply stood guard outside the tent — a sentinel without expression, as immovable as a figure carved from stone.

Long Yi was now filled with regret that could find no bottom. Earlier, because she was the Empress, he had permitted her entry along with the dozen or so people at her side.

Yet the consequence of letting her in had turned out to be this.

He was now so wracked with guilt he felt he deserved death by his own hand.

“Yu Jingfeng, beyond this valley, there are more than a hundred of my hand-picked guards — every one of them a fighter of exceptional skill. Are you certain you wish to continue opposing me?”

But Yu Jingfeng still said nothing. He remained exactly where he was, unhearing, unspeaking, unmoved.

Nanmen Rong finally saw clearly the situation before her: Yu Jingfeng truly had no regard for her exalted position, and was absolutely determined to keep her outside.

“Yu Jingfeng, the inner power I have cultivated runs deep beyond measuring. I can channel energy to heal A’Jiu — and yet you refuse to let me in?”

“That wild girl knows nothing. You would leave A’Jiu in her hands — do you not know that you are pushing A’Jiu toward…”

The word “death” would not come. Because the pain of it was too great.

“Yu Jingfeng — you treat A’Jiu this way, and when he recovers his senses one day, he will certainly hold you to account for it.”

Yu Jingfeng remained just as he had been — unmoved, and utterly expressionless.

Nanmen Rong raged, her foot striking the ground — but with Yu Jingfeng leading the Feilong Shi’er Qi to hold the line before the tent, breaching it was absolutely beyond her reach.

Was she truly to watch helplessly as that terrible woman stole A’Jiu away? Feng Jiu’er — on what basis? Why was it that every single person here seemed to be under some kind of spell, all of them falling in line behind her?

Had she actually placed everyone under a Gu Poison?

Inside the tent, Feng Jiu’er helped Zhan Qingcheng shift so he was leaning against the post of the pallet.

She lifted her sleeve, prepared to unwrap the bandage on her arm and let him take her blood.

But then the memory surfaced — of the last time she had wounded her own arm and let the Ninth Imperial Uncle drink, and how furious he had been at the sight. She hesitated.

At last, she bit her lip. She removed her outer garment, leaving only her inner bodice.

She sat before Zhan Qingcheng, and drew a long finger across her own shoulder.

Pain. A wound like this was far larger than anything the Ninth Imperial Uncle had made before — but if she did not do this, he would insist on taking only a little.

Yet a little was nowhere near enough right now. His injuries were too severe.

Vivid red blood welled immediately and slid down from her back shoulder, staining Zhan Qingcheng’s slowly clouding eyes with its color.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, quickly!” Feng Jiu’er leaned toward him, closing the distance between them.

Zhan Qingcheng’s awareness was fading, his vision clouded and indistinct. Before his eyes, there seemed to be only a trail of deep red, slowly descending.

His large hand reached out and drew the slight girl’s body toward him.

There was no need to see clearly — as though he had long since grown accustomed to this slender frame, he lowered his head and closed his lips over the wound at her shoulder.

Her blood was truly extraordinary. No one could say why it possessed such power, but for Zhan Qingcheng, the effect was particularly potent.

As her blood passed his lips and was swallowed down, the scorching sensation that had burned through Zhan Qingcheng’s body — as though he were being devoured by raging flames — gradually began to cool.

Wounded as he was, his awareness could not fully clear for the time being.

He only knew that he greatly liked her blood. Greatly liked her body. Greatly liked her…

The wound on her shoulder — the bleeding gradually slowed to a stop. The Ninth Imperial Uncle’s erratic breathing seemed to ease considerably as well.

Feng Jiu’er finally let herself exhale. In truth, she had been genuinely afraid — afraid that one day her blood might cease to work.

Even as a physician, even as someone trained in medicine, she could not explain why her blood was able to help him.

Because the entire matter was so inexplicably strange, she carried a real and constant fear: if there came a day when her blood no longer held the Gu Poison at bay, what would become of the Ninth Imperial Uncle?

They had to reach Southern Frontier as quickly as possible. The Gu Poison had to be cured as soon as could be managed. The longer this dragged on, the more harm it would do to the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s body.

Zhan Qingcheng’s lips were still against her back. Feng Jiu’er turned her head to look — and found both her arms locked in his grip, her body unable to turn even a fraction.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle…” She was uncertain what he was doing. She called out tentatively: “Ninth Imperial Uncle, are you… feeling better?”

The person behind her made no sound whatsoever. Feng Jiu’er knew his awareness had not yet fully returned.

Yet his grip on both her arms remained tight. She could not even manage to look back at him properly.

All she wanted was to see him — to see his color had improved, and find some peace of mind.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle… you—!”

Feng Jiu’er suddenly opened her eyes wide. Those eyes, glistening and bright, were now suffused with a wash of flustered crimson.

What was the Ninth Imperial Uncle doing? He — why was he kissing her back? And the kisses were moving… moving further and further down…

“Ninth…” The sound died in Feng Jiu’er’s throat before it could fully form.

The man behind her gave her a gentle push, and with effortless ease sent her lying face-down against the pallet.

He imprisoned her slender body, lowered his head, and pressed his lips to the small of her back, moving slowly, deliberately.

Feng Jiu’er did not know what was happening — but in truth, Zhan Qingcheng had simply caught sight of a few drops of blood that had slipped down to her waist.

Yet once his lips found her skin, something in him was reluctant to let go.

The small article of clothing she wore was, quite simply, a nuisance — and so, with something of a willful impulse, he pulled it away entirely.

“Ah—!” A soft cry slipped from Jiu’er before she could stop it, and then she immediately remembered — there were countless people just outside.

Yu Jingfeng. The brothers of the Feilong Shi’er Qi. The Longqi Army brothers. And the people on the Empress’s side…

Heavens above. And she had just made a sound in the middle of all of that.

But… but what was the Ninth Imperial Uncle doing? Why had he — why had he taken away the only garment left on her?

Feng Jiu’er felt heat suffuse her entire body with shy mortification, a faint rosy flush rising across her skin.

The wound on her shoulder — the bleeding had long since stopped. The man at her back drew in breath that seemed to grow less and less heavy.

Only… it appeared to grow more and more rapid. Until at last, it transformed into an entirely different kind of weight.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, you should… let me go first.” Both arms were locked in his hold. Even wounded as he was, the strength of his grip was astonishing.

Feng Jiu’er tried to rise, helpless, finding no way out whatsoever.

What was worst of all was that after the Ninth Imperial Uncle had pressed her down — he lifted her face.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle…” Jiu’er was forced to turn and meet his eyes. Before she could fully take in what she saw, his lips descended, sealing hers completely.