“Who said I can’t?” Feng Jiu’er shot Qiao Mu a cool look and let out a light scoff. “I am an expert at decocting medicine.”

An expert who spent her days tending a fire and working with a furnace — how could such a person be unfamiliar with a kitchen?

Granted, the ancient kitchen and the modern kitchen were indeed a little different; even lighting a fire was a particularly cumbersome affair. But it was nothing she could not handle.

Both Yu Jingfeng and Qiao Mu were left blinking at this.

“Miss Jiu’er, you… what you mean is, because you are an expert at decocting medicine, even though you have never actually cooked before, you can still do it well?”

The key point being — she had never cooked before!

Feng Jiu’er this time didn’t even bother to look at either of them: “And what of it?”

She was gifted and sharp-minded; anything she read, she retained. Such a simple thing as kneaded food — could it really defeat her?

Most importantly, she had just heard from Yu Jingfeng that Ninth Imperial Uncle had essentially had nothing pass his lips in days. The moment she heard it, her heart ached.

Yu Jingfeng wanted to say something, but looking at Feng Jiu’er’s pale face — drenched in cold sweat, still bent in single-minded concentration over preparing food for His Highness — he found himself with a measure of pity stirring inside him.

In the end, he said nothing.

After all, His Highness was not willing to eat anything lately. Even if what she made didn’t turn out well, the worst that could happen was that he would simply not eat it.

Dead horse… no, that was a terrible way to think of His Highness. And yet — was the situation not exactly that? It truly was a case of trying anything and hoping for the best.

If His Highness kept refusing food, even with the Gu Poison temporarily held at bay, he could not endure indefinitely.

From outside came the sound of a guard’s voice: “Miss Leng.”

Leng Yue had arrived.

The three inside exchanged glances. Feng Jiu’er fixed Yu Jingfeng with an unamused look.

Had they not agreed that no one was to come and disturb things for now? Everything had to wait until Ninth Imperial Uncle’s condition was truly stable!

Yu Jingfeng looked perfectly miserable — he had swallowed a bitterness he couldn’t spit out. Ordinary people he could turn away, but the Old Sovereign and Leng Yue… they were genuinely troublesome.

He exchanged a glance with Feng Jiu’er, then immediately turned and went out.

“What is the meaning of this?” Outside, Leng Yue looked at the guards who had blocked her way, her face flushed with indignation. “What is going on in there? Why am I not being allowed in? Stand aside!”

“Miss Leng, Lord Yu has given orders — Physician Feng is preparing a medicinal meal and no one is to be disturbed.”

The guards were His Highness’s men; Leng Yue was of the Heavenly Sovereign Sect. The guards didn’t know her identity — only that she was, as Lord Yu had put it, the adoptive daughter of the Old Master.

She was, in short, one of the masters of the household — but they still had to follow Yu Jingfeng’s instructions.

Seeing Yu Jingfeng step out, Leng Yue said with an air of annoyance, “Let me in. I want to prepare a meal for… for Young Master.”

“There is no need. Go back and keep the Old Master company in watching over Young Master — Physician Feng is preparing a medicinal meal for Young Master, and you must not disturb her.”

“This physician again?” The more Yu Jingfeng tried to prevent her from seeing, the more curious Leng Yue became.

“A physician — what sort of proper, nourishing meal could she possibly produce? No wonder Young Master hasn’t been willing to drink so much as half a mouthful of soup these past few days. Yu Jingfeng, is this how you have been managing Young Master’s meals?”

On that point, Yu Jingfeng felt genuinely guilty. Yet the cooks from before had been the very best from the Prince’s residence — and still they had been unable to produce anything that suited His Highness’s tastes. He had truly been at his wit’s end.

And now, having seen a little of Feng Jiu’er’s culinary abilities tonight, he felt even less confident.

But since Feng Jiu’er was unwilling to be seen by outsiders, he could only turn everyone away at the door.

“The physician has her own methods. She is not merely preparing food for Young Master — she is preparing a nourishing restorative meal. This is something beyond your area, Leng Yue — your presence would only be a hindrance.”

“I…” Yu Jingfeng’s argument sounded somewhat reasonable on the surface, yet why was it that no one was permitted even a single glimpse?

Her suspicion toward this physician who refused to show herself remained steadfastly lodged in her heart.

“I will only watch. I will absolutely not get in anyone’s way!” Leng Yue gave a dismissive sound and made to push her way in.

Yu Jingfeng extended a long arm and blocked her path. “Leng Yue, it was the physician’s medicine tonight that made Young Master better.”

“If you go in right now and disrupt what Physician Feng is doing, causing Young Master’s condition to relapse, the Old Master will not let you off either.”

“You—!” He was actually using their adoptive father to pressure her! Did she not want the Young Master to get better?

It was only — the physician inside was genuinely difficult to trust. Why was it that she would not come out and show herself even once?

In particular, this physician had the surname Feng.

She couldn’t say exactly why, but lately, Leng Yue found she had developed a particularly strong dislike for anyone with that surname.

“Leng Yue, go back and look after Young Master first — I still need to go in and help. Good day.”

The kitchen door closed with a bang behind Yu Jingfeng.

Outside, Leng Yue stood stamping her foot in frustration — yet in the end, she turned and left.

As long as this physician remained here, there would naturally come an opportunity to see her face. For now, the most important thing, as Yu Jingfeng had said, was the Young Master’s wellbeing.

Inside the kitchen, Feng Jiu’er had originally intended to make a bowl of noodle soup, but she quickly discovered she had absolutely no idea how to pull noodles.

In the end, the noodle soup never materialized. What she did manage were two bowls of thin grain porridge.

Yu Jingfeng took one look and his expression soured: “His Highness probably won’t be willing to… touch this.”

It did look rather unfortunate.

Feng Jiu’er paid him no mind. She set the porridge aside, then began unwrapping the bandage from her arm.

“Miss Jiu’er, what are you doing?” Yu Jingfeng was alarmed.

Qiao Mu also rose to her feet, frowning deeply with an expression of clear disapproval. “You already did this tonight — keep going like this and you’ll collapse before he does!”

But Feng Jiu’er appeared to have already made up her mind, and paid their attempts to stop her no heed whatsoever.

Once the bandage came away, the wound was laid bare before them.

It had not healed at all. A firm press — and blood welled up immediately, running in a thin stream.

“Hss.” No matter how resolute she was, Feng Jiu’er still couldn’t help the way her brow furrowed, and a low sound of pain escaped her.

It hurt. It truly hurt.

Yu Jingfeng looked away; he couldn’t bear to watch. “Miss Jiu’er, to do this to yourself… if His Highness found out, he would be furious.”

“So make sure he doesn’t find out.” Feng Jiu’er spoke through gritted teeth. “Otherwise, if something happens to Ninth Imperial Uncle, you will be the one with blood on your hands.”

“I…” Yu Jingfeng was left speechless. How had that somehow become his responsibility?

“And another thing — no matter what, you must get him to finish this bowl. Otherwise I truly won’t have that much blood left.”

Feng Jiu’er’s face was deathly pale, the pain pulling her features into a tight knot.

“But His Highness lately… his appetite is genuinely very poor.” Yu Jingfeng dreaded it — dreaded that His Highness would let Miss Jiu’er’s blood go to waste.

This blood was priceless, genuinely difficult to come by. There was not much of it to spare.

“I’ll tell you a way…” Feng Jiu’er told him something — exactly what, kept low — and only after the wound had no more fresh blood to yield did she rebandage it.

She retrieved a small vial from the bag she carried and let two drops fall into the grain porridge. “This medicine will neutralize the smell of blood,” she said. “Take it over to him.”

She tucked the vial away, and that bowl of grain porridge was placed before Yu Jingfeng.