This time, Zhan Qingcheng did not refuse. After all the tossing and turning through the better half of the night, he was genuinely exhausted.
He lay back down. Feng Jiu’er walked up to him and, from somewhere, produced a short blade.
The blade flashed, its cold gleam cutting through the radiant glow of the night-luminescent pearl.
Zhan Qingcheng simply watched her, his expression blank.
Feng Jiu’er suddenly smiled with a hint of mischief. “They say that throughout history, all the great rulers and high ministers would never allow anyone carrying a sharp weapon to come near them.”
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, now that I’m drawing a blade right in front of you — do you truly have no guard up at all?”
She had been hoping he would say something heartwarming — that he trusted her.
But what came back instead was this: “You’re too weak. No need to be wary.”
“…” Feng Jiu’er pouted, giving him a somewhat resentful look.
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I am not weak at all — you’re simply too strong.”
Against ordinary people, Feng Jiu’er was confident she had more than enough ability. It was just that he was truly far too powerful.
Even now, injured as he was — even with a strange poison coursing through his body — Ninth Imperial Uncle in this very state could crush her just as easily as he might crush an ant beneath his fingers.
Even so, she still brought the blade down — but the cut fell on her own arm.
“What are you doing?” The already reclined Zhan Qingcheng’s pupils contracted sharply. He shot upright in an instant, seizing her wrist with one hand.
This girl — what on earth had possessed her to cut herself?!
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, the blood is already flowing — drink quickly!”
Feng Jiu’er tossed the blade carelessly onto the table and fixed her eyes on him. “Hurry — it’s about to drip!”
Zhan Qingcheng stared at the wound, his face a mask of frost.
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, are you really going to let my blood go to waste?”
The word “waste” sent a tremor through Zhan Qingcheng’s breathing. He leaned in, and his thin lips closed around the droplet of blood sliding down her skin.
At last, he drew in every drop that had flowed from her wound, one by one, until the bleeding slowed to a stop. Only then did he push her away with one hand. “Bandage it. At once!”
Feng Jiu’er understood — if she didn’t listen to him now, he would certainly lose his temper.
In truth, even by listening to him, he was already angry.
No matter what, suppressing the Gu Poison within his body was the only thing on her mind right now. His anger or lack thereof had become secondary.
She sealed the acupoint on her arm, then picked up the gauze and dressed the wound herself with practiced ease.
There was no mistaking the skill of a professional — even bound so casually, the result was neater and tighter than what an ordinary person might manage after great deliberation.
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, please hurry and channel your energy to heal. Now should be the best time.”
Every time he drank her blood, he would channel his inner energy to heal afterward — and the effects seemed to be greatest when the blood had just entered him.
Zhan Qingcheng continued to stare at her with that gaze of his, and beneath it, she was beginning to feel uneasy. “Ninth Imperial Uncle…”
“Who gave you permission to harm your own body?” He narrowed his eyes.
Ninth Imperial Uncle like this looked truly dangerous — the kind that made it impossible to meet his gaze directly.
“That… um…” Feng Jiu’er averted her eyes and lowered her head. “I only wanted you to get better.”
“You were already injured before. Was the blood you lost then not enough?”
Zhan Qingcheng’s breathing grew unsteady again. He had been made angry multiple times tonight already — was she trying to make it happen one more time?
“Ninth Imperial Uncle, please don’t be angry — I won’t dare do it again.”
Feng Jiu’er had come to understand: it could only be him actively drawing her blood, never her cutting herself to offer it.
Otherwise, Ninth Imperial Uncle would be angry. But she had truly done it for his sake!