That night, the group made camp deep within the mountains.

The location, nestled between steep cliffs, was easy to defend and difficult to attack — a spot Long Twelve had scouted out, one that the Feilong Shi’er Qi was said to have used before.

All things considered, aside from the somewhat harsh conditions, the safety rating was exceptionally high.

But no matter how inhospitable the surroundings might be, when it came to the Prince’s accommodations, that was an absolute matter no one would ever dare take lightly.

Feng Jiu’er quickly came to realize that these men genuinely cared for the Ninth Imperial Uncle — from the very bottom of their hearts, with reverence and love and tenderness all wrapped into one.

She had never once witnessed a master whose subordinates held him with such adoration.

The love they bore him was not merely respect — it was, far more than anything else, a kind of fierce and tender protectiveness.

They feared he might go hungry, feared he might grow weary, feared he might be displeased or feel the slightest discomfort. In short, they looked after him with an all-encompassing, unwavering care.

The masters of other households relied on prestige and authority. This one, beyond prestige and authority, relied also on his looks — well… that was probably it, wasn’t it?

Otherwise, why else would every single one of them hold him in the palm of their hands, cherishing him so dearly?

In truth, the Ninth Imperial Uncle really did not ask for much. Though fastidious in his tastes, he more often than not was genuinely refusing things — not angling for something better.

Yet the moment he refused, it would immediately set off a wave of unease among his men, drawing forth an endless outpouring of worried affection.

Goodness… the more she thought about it, the more it sounded like describing some breathtaking beauty who had been showered with the world’s adoration.

What a remarkable existence. What a remarkable Ninth Imperial Uncle.

“Miss Jiu’er, dinner will be ready very soon. I’m keeping an eye on things — you go keep the Prince company.”

Yu Jingfeng’s figure had lately taken to hovering around the kitchen. The Prince had barely touched his food for the past few days, and today’s midday meal was the only time he had eaten a proper amount — of course Yu Jingfeng was going to keep watch.

But the moment he caught sight of Feng Jiu’er, something seemed to dawn on him.

He glanced back at her. Seeing her give a small nod, Yu Jingfeng hesitated for a moment before turning his gaze toward the cook standing nearby.

“Go attend to something else. I’ll manage things here.”

Shortly after, he carried the Ninth Prince’s evening meal and made his way into another tent.

Qiao Mu stood guard outside the tent, her expression clouded. She watched the tray in Yu Jingfeng’s hands, her feelings complicated.

She wanted the Ninth Prince to recover quickly, to have more energy, to stop looking so ashen all the time — that pallor was painful to look at.

Yet she also knew that, under the current circumstances, the only way to restore his strength was Feng Jiu’er’s blood.

But she had witnessed with her own eyes, just the previous night, how Feng Jiu’er had drawn her own blood and added it to the Ninth Prince’s meal. That blood of hers… even someone as robust as Qiao Mu herself could not keep this up indefinitely.

And yet, by Feng Jiu’er’s own reckoning, this would have to continue until the Gu Poison was cured.

How much blood could one person have? Every drop taken left one less. How long could she hold out?

Even if blood could regenerate, how could the rate of replenishment ever match the rate it was being drawn?

Yu Jingfeng glanced at Qiao Mu. Though she said nothing, Yu Jingfeng already knew what was going through her mind.

Their feelings were the same.

They wanted the Ninth Prince to recover, yet feared Feng Jiu’er would collapse in the process.

What a tormented stretch of days. When would it ever end?

Yu Jingfeng, in the end, carried the tray and stepped inside.

Feng Jiu’er had long been waiting inside the tent. Her sleeves were already rolled up, and the bandage over last night’s wound had already been unwrapped.

The wound had only just healed. Though not large, set against the snow-white, soft skin of her arm, it was still a jarring, unsettling sight.

“Miss Jiu’er…” Yu Jingfeng looked at her resolute little face, and for a moment felt as though he were no better than an executioner.

Knowing full well this act would hurt her, and yet pressing forward with it all the same — what was that, if not the work of an executioner?

“Bring it here.” Feng Jiu’er cleaned her wound with a warm, damp cloth, then drew out some medicinal solution and applied it to the wound.

After that, she picked up a small blade, positioned the edge directly over the wound from the night before, and brought it down in one swift motion without the slightest hesitation.

Only the two graceful arches of her brows drew together in a tight knot for just an instant.

Without any numbing agent, to inflict such a wound on oneself — it truly hurt. It hurt badly enough that a fine sheen of sweat instantly broke out along her temples.

Yu Jingfeng set the tray down and turned his face away, unable to bring himself to watch.

Feng Jiu’er paid him no mind. The reason she cut open the existing wound rather than making a new one was to ensure that even if the Ninth Imperial Uncle were to notice her injuries one day, there would not be enough of them to arouse his suspicion.

Besides, what girl would want so many scars left on her body? One was already enough.

Yet wound upon wound — the pain of cutting into an old injury was far worse than opening a fresh one.

The blood fell into the medicinal broth Feng Jiu’er had specifically requested be prepared. The broth was dark in color to begin with, and the red of the blood was quickly absorbed and dissolved away.

She then retrieved a specially formulated medicine, letting two drops fall into the broth. Remarkably, that thick, coppery scent of blood transformed at once into a faint, delicate fragrance.

Catching a whiff of that subtle scent, Yu Jingfeng looked astonished. “Miss Jiu’er, what medicine is this? How can it be so potent?”

“Is it not simply the herbs I gathered today, refined into medicine?” Feng Jiu’er smiled lightly, carefully tucking the small medicine bottle back into the folds of her robe.

“Fresh herbs have greater medicinal potency than those that have been dried in the wind. As long as one understands the refining method — and, most crucially, the formula, and the precise ratio of each herb — even the most common and ordinary herbs can be refined into fine medicine of superior quality.”

What mattered most of all was that the medicinal herbs of this era were genuinely pure. Having been untouched by any industrial influence, their potency was of absolute, pristine quality.

Combined with her own refining techniques, the medicine she produced yielded results that even she herself had not anticipated.

Yu Jingfeng could not help but be deeply impressed. Miss Jiu’er was not only exceptional in the art of medicine — even her skill in refining remedies was this remarkable.

For such a remarkable individual to be at the Prince’s side… in a way, that was its own kind of fortune, was it not?

Setting aside the considerable drawback that the Prince would be willing to throw away his very life for her, the truth was that Feng Jiu’er’s presence at the Prince’s side was a thing of pure benefit, with not a single disadvantage.

Though, on that single point alone — that the Prince could disregard everything for her sake — Miss Jiu’er’s existence was… also a sharp and double-edged blade.

He gave a quiet sigh, watching as Feng Jiu’er finished bandaging her own wound, then applied some kind of medicine over the gauze to dispel most of the remaining scent of blood. After that she lifted the tray and made to leave.

Yu Jingfeng followed quickly after her, lowering his voice: “Miss Jiu’er, about tonight’s matter…”

“I’ll get the Ninth Imperial Uncle to sleep as soon as I can. Just wait for me.” Feng Jiu’er tossed back those words without so much as turning her head, and walked on.

That night, the Ninth Imperial Uncle ate much the same as he had at midday — essentially whatever Feng Jiu’er coaxed him to eat, he ate.

The entire company had long since noticed that ever since Miss Jiu’er arrived, the Ninth Prince had become considerably more obedient.

Deep in the stillness of the night, Feng Jiu’er finally managed to coax the Ninth Imperial Uncle into sleep. With great care, she eased herself out from within his embrace.

She was just about to slip away quietly when the man’s long arm suddenly reached out, pulling her close against him once more. His hoarse voice murmured softly: “Girl… don’t you dare run…”