At the far end of the road, in an open clearing, two horses were grazing unhurriedly on the grass. The riders who had been in their saddles were nowhere to be found.

“I clearly saw them come in here.” Several black-clad figures armed with long swords pressed forward — and found no trace of Zhan Qingcheng or Yu Jingfeng.

The black-clad man following behind them felt his expression shift the moment he stepped inside. He turned immediately to retreat.

But it was already too late.

Yu Jingfeng was standing not far behind them, cutting off their path of escape.

“Who are you people? How dare you follow my Lord!” With a sharp ring of steel, the sword at Yu Jingfeng’s hip came free — its point leveled at the lead figure in black.

The black-clad man looked back. And indeed, there was Zhan Qingcheng, standing at the other end of the road — and beside him stood a young woman. None other than Feng Jiu’er, who had just shared a meal with them.

Damn — walked right into a trap!

The leader of the black-clad figures let out a sudden shout. The others immediately rushed at Yu Jingfeng, while the leader himself wheeled around and charged at Feng Jiu’er and Zhan Qingcheng.

Whatever he held in his hand — he scattered it into the air in a single motion. A colorless, odorless powder scattered in the sunlight, barely visible to the naked eye.

Jiu’er sensed it. Zhan Qingcheng saw it directly.

Both swept their sleeves in the same instant. With a casual push of his palm, Zhan Qingcheng sent the powder surging straight back toward the black-clad leader.

The leader did not flinch. He showed not the slightest guard against the lethally poisoned powder heading his way.

The powder settled on the ground — and the wild grass beneath withered at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Such lethal poison. Nothing survived it.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, hold your breath.” Feng Jiu’er’s wrist flicked, and with a sharp sound, a blade appeared in her hand.

Her figure moved like a swallow — in a flash she was before the black-clad leader, a streak of silver cutting through the sunlight, aimed directly for his heart.

Her skill, her inner power — both had grown substantially. She seemed to have ascended to an entirely new level compared to just a few days prior.

Zhan Qingcheng’s gaze stayed fixed on Feng Jiu’er. He had long since perceived that this girl was a prodigious talent in martial arts — but progress this rapid still held a trace of the uncanny.

Could there be someone behind the scenes guiding her training?

Still, the blade in her hand was far too ordinary. Without such a remarkable surge in inner power, a plain shortsword alone would have made subduing an opponent a difficult thing.

The black-clad leader hadn’t expected the Ninth Prince to have so many capable people around him. What surprised him most of all was this wretched girl — she seemed utterly fearless of every poison he carried.

She appeared to see through every one of his strikes. She seemed to know exactly where the poison was, when to breathe and when to hold.

The leader was clearly no match for Feng Jiu’er in martial skill, relying entirely on his lethal poisons — but his poisons seemed to have absolutely no effect on this girl.

Another flash of steel. The blade in Feng Jiu’er’s hand drew a line across the black-clad leader’s chest.

Pain bloomed in his chest as a gash of blood opened across it.

The vial in his hand slipped — flew upward — and hurtled through the air, about to fall directly onto Feng Jiu’er.

Not far away, Zhan Qingcheng had a button pinched between his fingers, ready to flick it at any moment.

But Feng Jiu’er paid it no mind at all. She drove her blade into the black-clad leader’s shoulder, then pulled her stance in and retreated quickly.

The leader, struck and reeling from pain, forgot entirely to dodge.

With a crack, the vial shattered on the ground, and a plume of black smoke poured out — only to disperse in moments.

Yu Jingfeng had subdued the other black-clad figures and was moving to come over, when he heard Feng Jiu’er call out: “Yu Jingfeng, fall back!”

Yu Jingfeng didn’t pause to think. He stopped and stepped back immediately.

A chorus of agonized cries erupted. The black-clad leader collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

Ordinarily, he would have had nothing to fear from his own poison — after all, it was something he had refined himself. But he hadn’t anticipated that the blade wounds to his chest and shoulder would open cuts — and once that lethal poison mixed with his blood, its potency surged tenfold, perhaps more.

Even with his years of handling toxins, even having taken an antidote before setting out, he could not withstand it now. Black blood spilled from his lips, and his body shook uncontrollably.

Just how deadly this poison was required no further explanation.

Zhan Qingcheng stepped forward slowly. Feng Jiu’er immediately reached out and blocked him: “Ninth Imperial Uncle, don’t go closer. The toxic vapor hasn’t fully dispersed yet.”

A breeze swept through, carrying the already-scattered black smoke further away. Wherever it passed, green grass and leaves withered.

Even diluted by the wind, it was still this potent. Feng Jiu’er had never encountered a poison so devastating.

Yu Jingfeng stepped back a few more paces, and indeed saw the black-clad figures he had subdued — lying on the ground, convulsing briefly before going still.

It seemed they too had been caught in the poison smoke. Terrible — not a single one left alive to be questioned.

The black-clad leader in front was still trembling. Afraid even he would die before they could learn anything, Yu Jingfeng moved to approach.

Feng Jiu’er spoke: “Don’t go — let me.”

Her body was unusual. Ordinary poisons, even if harmful to her, produced only a brief effect before fading.

Before Yu Jingfeng could respond, Feng Jiu’er had already taken a step forward and was about to proceed.

Her wrist suddenly tightened. Someone pulled her back.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle—” Jiu’er lost her footing and stumbled directly into his arms. The moment was a little awkward.

She frowned, a note of mild displeasure in her voice: “Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’m not afraid of poison.”

Truly — in such a tense situation, this man still managed to create this sort of atmosphere. Was that really appropriate?

In that brief moment of delay, the black-clad leader convulsed violently one final time — and then lay completely still.

Moving closer, one could see black blood running from all seven orifices. He was plainly dead.

A trace of lingering fear moved through Jiu’er. The man’s techniques with poison were no small matter — and thank goodness she had sent Yanu back to Feng Manor early. Otherwise, there was no telling whether he might have been caught up in it.

“Here, take the antidote first.” Jiu’er reached into her bag and produced three antidote pills. She tossed one to Yu Jingfeng, put one in her own mouth, then turned and looked at Zhan Qingcheng.

The remaining pill was pinched between her fingertips, held up before him.

Zhan Qingcheng did not take it from her hand. Instead, he lowered his head and took the pill directly from her fingers with his lips.

Taking the antidote was one thing — but those thin lips of his had to brush across her fingertips as he did it, hadn’t they?

Soft and faintly tingling, leaving her… inexplicably shaken.

Feng Jiu’er’s cheeks went faintly red. Unable to meet Zhan Qingcheng’s burning gaze, she quickly turned her face away, staring at the empty air around her to conceal her flustered state.

Who could have expected it — one brush of Ninth Imperial Uncle’s lips against her fingertips, and she felt as though she had touched something electric. Her very heart seemed to quiver.

Hadn’t she told herself there was nothing particular between her and Ninth Imperial Uncle? Then why was it that every time they touched, there was that fluttering feeling deep in her chest?