After a brief moment of panic, Feng Jiu’er scrambled up from the bed.

Zhan Qingcheng stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her from above, commanding as a god.

The luminescence of the night pearl fell upon him — his tall shadow enveloped Feng Jiu’er completely.

The air about the Ninth Prince gave off an effortless, inexplicable sense of pressure.

Feng Jiu’er struggled to keep her composure. “Ninth Imperial Uncle, if you have something to say, you might as well say it plainly.”

The man gave no reaction whatsoever, yet after a moment of gazing at her, he suddenly leaned in close.

That cool, piercing sensation wound itself around her the instant he drew near, enveloping her entirely.

Feng Jiu’er finally believed him — what he had said just now was not a jest.

The very moment Zhan Qingcheng leaned in, she suddenly swung her palm out at him.

There was very little force behind the strike — she only hoped that by making him dodge, she could create a brief opening to escape from the bed.

What she had not anticipated was that her opponent paid her blow absolutely no mind.

Her palm landed squarely against his chest. That strike, carrying at least thirty percent of her true strength, sank into him like a stone thrown into the sea — not the faintest ripple in response.

The first blow having failed, Feng Jiu’er formed her left hand into a blade and immediately chopped at Zhan Qingcheng’s shoulder.

As long as the Ninth Prince was willing to step aside to dodge it, she could seize that moment to slip past him and flee.

But once again, Jiu’er’s plan came to nothing.

That blow landed on his shoulder, and Zhan Qingcheng didn’t even furrow a brow — he simply looked at her with the same unhurried, indifferent gaze as before.

Jiu’er herself, on the other hand, felt a dull, stinging ache spread through her striking palm.

This man’s body was like iron walls and copper ramparts — indestructible. Truly terrifying.

“Is that all you have?” The man’s gaze remained as composed and still as ever, without the faintest trace of a ripple.

Feng Jiu’er bit her lip, deeply reluctant to accept this.

She was the heir of an ancient martial arts lineage. In every martial arts tournament her clan held, she had always placed in the top three.

And yet these same skills were entirely useless before the man standing in front of her now.

Was he too strong — or had she grown weaker after crossing over into this world?

Zhan Qingcheng suddenly pulled his bathrobe open, and Jiu’er immediately averted her eyes: “What exactly are you trying to do?”

This time he didn’t even bother offering a word in reply. With a sweep of his large hand, he seized her by the wrist.

Feng Jiu’er frowned instinctively and raised her other hand to chop at the space between his thumb and forefinger.

But he simply gave a light, effortless flick of his arm, and she was flipped completely over, pressed face-down onto the bed.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle!”

Her wrist — right at the pulse point — was locked in his grip.

“You have decent technique. A pity your inner strength is sorely lacking.”

“That’s because this body…” Feng Jiu’er was visibly indignant, but caught herself just in time, biting her lip and swallowing the rest of her words.

If it weren’t for having been forced into this frail, weakened body, would she really have been unable to get through even a single exchange against him?

Though, in fairness, the Ninth Prince’s martial strength was simply too fearsome. Losing to him was no disgrace.

In all the world, she had yet to encounter anyone who could best him.

Even the most formidable elders of her ancient martial arts clan would likely not survive five exchanges against the Ninth Prince.

Then, quite suddenly, something warm seemed to seep through the fingertips Zhan Qingcheng had locked around her pulse point — flowing slowly into her.

Feng Jiu’er’s bright phoenix eyes widened, her heart shaken. “Ninth Imperial Uncle, you…”

He said nothing. Yet because of that warm, flowing sensation, Feng Jiu’er felt her consciousness beginning to grow hazy.

The Ninth Prince’s inner energy was far too powerful. She had no means of withstanding it, even briefly.

When that flow of inner energy finally ceased, Feng Jiu’er’s whole body went limp, and she collapsed weakly.

The man sat down beside her. His long fingers settled upon the ties of her outer robe and began… to undo them.