Whether it was grief or anger, Zhan Qingcheng did not know — nor had he ever concerned himself with such finer distinctions.

But the way Feng Jiu’er looked at him, always so unfamiliar, was something he simply could not endure.

He seized her wrist in his grip, ready to say something, but just as he opened his mouth, another surge of blood came pouring out.

Coughing up blood from sheer fury — in all his years alive, this was truly the first time.

Feng Jiu’er did not even know what she had done wrong. She had called him Ninth Prince once, and it had driven him to this state — three times coughing up blood in total.

What terrible deed had she committed to deserve this? For her, it really was just a form of address. It carried absolutely no weight at all.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, just tell me what you want from me. I’ll do whatever you say, all right?” His physical condition was genuinely quite poor. When she had taken his pulse just now, she discovered that his pulse was alarmingly irregular.

She was not particularly close to him, and yet watching him cough up blood made her feel as though something had struck her in the chest several times — it was deeply unsettling.

Right now, she had only one thought — to help him calm down and stop hurting himself further.

She pressed her hand against his chest. Over his clothing, the effect felt limited, so she pulled his lapel aside and slipped her hand underneath.

Her palm lay flat against his chest, and she began working it gently with her own method, massaging in small, steady circles.

A trace of internal energy flowed through her palm — not to redirect his vital energy as such, since the Ninth Prince’s cultivation was far too formidable and overwhelming. What little of her own internal energy she had yet to master would have no effect on him whatsoever.

That thread of energy, carried through her palm, was meant solely to soothe the agitated, overheated state of his heart and help him return to calm as quickly as possible.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, does the tightness in your chest feel any better? Is it improving at all?”

Zhan Qingcheng said nothing, but he glanced at Yu Jingfeng.

Yu Jingfeng’s heart jumped, and he immediately lowered his head and withdrew, returning to his place on the driver’s seat and urging the carriage forward.

Feng Jiu’er, faced with this extraordinarily handsome Ninth Imperial Uncle before her, truly did not know how to read his mind. Fortunately, once the coughing of blood ceased, a trace of color began to return to his face.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, is this pressure all right? Is it comfortable?” Her five fingers worked steadily over his acupoints, pressing and kneading to release the tension in his blood and breath. “Is the tightness still there?”

Zhan Qingcheng still said nothing. He gave a slight, quiet shake of his head.

Feng Jiu’er finally let out a breath of relief. Just a moment ago, the blood and vital energy within his chest had been surging and churning in turmoil, with suppressed frustration knotted in his chest cavity. If she had not swiftly worked to release it, he might very well have coughed up blood once more.

She had no wish to watch him suffer. Seeing such an extraordinarily handsome man coughing up blood left an inexplicable ache in her heart.

She lifted her eyes — and sure enough, there were still faint traces of deep crimson at the corners of his lips. But somehow… how could it look so striking?

Feng Jiu’er now understood at last why people in ancient times spoke of frail beauties as being beautiful in a way impossible to resist.

The Ninth Imperial Uncle before her was of course no delicate beauty, and yet that air of illness lent him a loveliness that nothing in all the world could rival.

It was simply… beautiful beyond all rational comprehension. Resolute and commanding at his core, with just that hint of vulnerable fragility — the combination eclipsed every beautiful sight the world had to offer.

So breathtakingly beautiful, like a painting. Truly, truly too beautiful — so beautiful that no words in existence could capture it.

Feng Jiu’er stared at him in a daze, her hand still resting on his chest, and she had long since forgotten to go on with the gentle massage.

After some undetermined span of time, the carriage jolted over an uneven patch of road, and Feng Jiu’er snapped abruptly back to herself.

She looked up again — the handsome man was gazing down at her, his expression carrying a layer of complexity.

And she… one hand still pressed flat against his chest, was staring fixedly at those lips of his — which, having been stained by traces of blood, had taken on a rosier, more striking color than before — so intently that her eyes had gone perfectly blank.

“I—!” Feng Jiu’er yanked her hand back in an instant, a flush of red rushing across her small face.

“Looking at what?” He raised his hand and wiped idly at the corner of his mouth. But the traces of blood were not fully wiped away.

Feng Jiu’er genuinely did not dare look anymore. If she looked again, she feared her thoughts would start running wild.

She quickly produced something and wiped at the blood for him, then looked at him once more. “How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?”

Zhan Qingcheng would not speak. Faced with this impenetrable silence, Feng Jiu’er did not know what to do.

She pressed her fingertips to his pulse again. The pulse was still not ideal, yet it was at least somewhat improved over before.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, your current physical condition is genuinely not well. You should not let anger flare up — in the future, you need to keep your temper in check to some degree.”

Seeing his brow crease slightly, Feng Jiu’er immediately backtracked: “What I mean is, from now on, I’ll keep my own temper in check and make sure not to upset you.”

Only then did the man’s expression ease a fraction.

Jiu’er let out a quiet breath, genuinely exasperated. Ninth Imperial Uncle’s temperament really was… well, more flattery could never do any harm.

She was just about to rise when he pulled her back again in one motion — and just as before, she tumbled right down to lie face-down across his thighs.

Feng Jiu’er propped her hands against his thighs to keep her body from fully sinking against him, but even so, she felt rather awkward about the whole situation.

She and Ninth Imperial Uncle… were they truly this close? What on earth was this man thinking?

If she were not afraid of him coughing up blood again, she would have fled by now. How could she just let any man take such liberties with her?

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, what exactly do you want from me?” She was beginning to feel quite helpless. In the end, forced to lie face-down across his legs, she found a faint drowsiness unexpectedly stealing over her.

“I genuinely made plans with everyone tonight — a barbecue gathering at the back hill of the academy. And now you insist on bringing me to the Prince’s residence. Aren’t you putting me in an impossible position?”

The man beside her remained silent the entire time. Feng Jiu’er lay across his legs and felt herself growing drowsier and drowsier.

Without noticing it, her consciousness began to blur at the edges — and in that hazy, half-conscious state, fragments began to surface in her mind without reason or warning.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, don’t ever be so reckless again. You must not hurt yourself — not for anyone, no matter who it is.”

Her voice had gone slightly hoarse, carrying a clear tremor of tears, and her slender frame was faintly shivering, as though some terrifying memory had come flooding back.

“Don’t harm Ninth Imperial Uncle — don’t you dare! You wretch, I’ll fight you to the last!”

“I… will fight… don’t hurt Ninth Imperial Uncle, don’t…”

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, run — never mind me. Don’t come over here. It’s a trap, it’s a trap! Don’t… Ninth Imperial Uncle, don’t die… I need you to live…”

Her body was suddenly gathered up into someone’s arms — held against his chest.

That tiny, delicate face of hers was creased and knotted, her brow deeply furrowed. At the corners of her closed eyes, two stricken tears slid quietly down.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, don’t die. I don’t want you to die. Ninth Imperial Uncle…”

Zhan Qingcheng felt a sudden jolt in his chest — but this time, it was not from anger. It was a feeling he could not name. Something like agitation. Something like being deeply moved.

He raised his fingers and gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. Gazing at this small girl, who even in dreams remained frightened and anxious on his behalf, his expression at last softened into something gentle.

Why, when she was awake, did she look at him with such unfamiliarity? Why, when she was asleep, could she dream of all the small moments that had passed between them?

The Gu Poison worm that had once entered her body — what had it truly done to her?

Do not panic. This Prince will never let you be frightened and unsettled again. This Prince swears it.