Upon hearing this, Long Yan’s face immediately lit up with joy, his excitement utterly impossible to hide. “Good! Good! Tomorrow morning, I will come to receive you, sir! I’ll come first thing in the morning!”

Feng Jiu, feeling rather helpless, could only say honestly, “Mister Long…”

“Just call me Big Brother, the same as Steward Qiao does.” Then, thinking it over, he felt the term might be a bit presumptuous toward the doctor, and immediately corrected himself: “Sorry, sorry—just call me Long Yan, that’ll do.”

Feng Jiu had no wish to form any sort of close bond with others—not that she thought he was trying to climb above his station by associating with her; given his standing, it was hard to say who would be currying favor with whom.

She simply didn’t want to get entangled in matters of personal favor. Whether it was making house calls, consulting here, or other dealings in medicinal herbs, business was business—she didn’t trade on personal relationships.

“Mister Long, let me also make this clear in advance: there are far too many baffling illnesses in this world. Since Manor Lord Lanyue’s stubborn ailment has gone uncured by any physician for all these years, that alone tells us this ailment is truly formidable.”

The Number One Manor Under Heaven was renowned far and wide—there was no way they lacked the money to hire physicians. If they wished, they could likely even summon the imperial physicians from the palace itself.

Yet to this day it still hadn’t been cured, which could only mean Manor Lord Lanyue’s illness was no simple matter.

“So even if I go, there’s no guarantee I can cure him. I ask that Mister Long be mentally prepared—I’m nothing more than an ordinary physician, not some divine healer.”

“I understand. As long as you’re willing to go take a look, sir, I am already content.”

Feng Jiu was unwilling to call him by his given name and unwilling to call him Big Brother. Long Yan understood—this Ghost Doctor had no wish to form a close bond with anyone at all.

People of exceptional skill were often like this, carrying a degree of aloofness—nothing unusual about that.

However, Long Yan seemed to be in something of a bind, as if there were words he wanted to say but held back.

Qiao Mu glanced at Feng Jiu, and seeing no sign of displeasure from her, asked, “Steward Long, if there’s something on your mind, feel free to just say it.”

“Well…” Long Yan glanced at her, then looked back at Feng Jiu, clearly somewhat troubled. “Sir, my manor lord’s temperament is a bit… well, a bit… withdrawn, and his temper isn’t very good either. He might… might not be that easy to get along with.”

“The suffering a sick person endures is something a healthy person cannot possibly imagine. Having borne such pain for years, it’s only natural if his temper runs a bit hot.”

Although she hadn’t practiced medicine for very long, she had seen all manner of patients, so this didn’t trouble her in the least.

“Your generosity is appreciated, sir. But, sir, I promise you, I will definitely look after you, and won’t let you… ahem.”

He gave a light cough, not daring to make promises carelessly, so he changed his wording: “I will do my utmost to ensure you’re not wronged in any way.”

“Heh…” Qiao Mu couldn’t help a soft laugh—this fellow certainly switched his tone quickly.

Not bad—at least he wasn’t someone who spoke recklessly; he would never give a promise he couldn’t keep. That much was commendable.

“Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

…

Afterward, Feng Jiu stayed in the pharmacy the whole time, not returning to her room until late into the night.

Tianji Hall’s rear courtyard had quite a number of buildings. Feng Jiu liked quiet, so she lived alone in one of the small courtyards in the east wing, where, under normal circumstances, no one would disturb her.

After bathing, she read medical texts for a while. Feeling a bit drowsy, Feng Jiu casually snuffed out the candlelight and was about to lie down on the bed.

Suddenly, a chill swept toward her face.

Her heart gave a violent jolt—a heart that had stayed calm for so long nearly seized up in fright!

The other party had entered the room without her noticing at all—if he hadn’t approached so quickly, she might never have detected him.

With a whoosh, she struck out with a palm—only to find that the other party neither dodged nor evaded, but instead seemed intent on taking her blow head-on with his own body.

Fearing a trick, Feng Jiu instantly twisted her wrist, her fingertips imperceptibly seizing two silver needles, and shot them with two soft hisses straight at the other party’s heart.

The black-clad figure casually raised a hand, and the silver needles landed at his fingertips, which he then idly tossed aside.

He was truly a master of the highest order!

Feng Jiu’s brow furrowed tightly. Twisting her wrist again, there came a sharp crack—this time, her palm actually landed squarely on the other party’s shoulder.

He still didn’t dodge, simply standing there by the bed and taking her blow head-on.

Perhaps his internal cultivation exceeded her expectations—that single strike threw the qi and blood in his chest into disorder, and a thin trickle of blood slid from his exquisitely beautiful lips.

A breeze seeped in through the window; the bright moon parted the dark clouds, and threads of moonlight spilled in, falling upon the man’s face, serene as an orchid.

That face, handsome to a degree that would provoke the wrath of gods and men alike, came suddenly into sharp focus within Feng Jiu’s sight.

Shock, astonishment, disbelief—and finally, all ripples vanished from her eyes. She hastily climbed down from the bed and dropped to one knee. “Greetings, Ninth Prince.”

The man standing by the window said nothing, his gaze fixed on her—precise, sharp, cold as frost.

“Take off your clothes. This Prince wishes to see.” His voice was like water, yet so cold it could freeze any lake in an instant.

Feng Jiu’s heart jolted; a vein of frustration nearly bulged at her temple.

Was there anyone else this domineering? The moment he arrived, he demanded she strip! What a pervert!

“Ninth Prince, might I ask what purpose brings you here in the dead of night?” Her voice remained as low as ever—a deliberately trained, deep male voice that, while not exactly magnetic, wasn’t unpleasant either.

“This Prince already said—strip!”

Zhan Qingcheng glared at her with furious eyes; this command left not the slightest room for argument.

His chilling stare clearly warned her: if she didn’t strip, she could expect to be torn to shreds.

Feng Jiu felt rather helpless—under all the heavens, he was probably the only one this tyrannically unreasonable.

She stood up, straightened her body, met his bone-chilling gaze, and finally walked over to relight the candle.

“Your Highness, this one has no inclination for men, so please, Your Highness…”

He was walking toward her; though his pace was slow, he soon arrived right before her.

His long fingers reached out, leaving no room whatsoever for negotiation, as if to simply tear her clothes off.

Feng Jiu sighed silently and stepped back abruptly twice. Before Zhan Qingcheng could close in on her again, she said flatly, “Your Highness, I’ll undress myself.”

She walked over to the window, putting a little more distance between them, and was just about to undress when, unexpectedly, Zhan Qingcheng swept his long sleeve, and with a bang, the window slammed shut from the force of his palm.

Was this meant to keep anyone outside from catching a glimpse of her body? Only, he hadn’t anticipated this, had he?

Feng Jiu’s hands fell to her own collar, and she suddenly yanked it open with force.

The thin sleep-garment she wore was flimsy to begin with, and with that single tug, it was pulled down past her shoulders.

Her collar fell wide open, revealing snow-white skin at once. Yet though that fair, delicate skin looked like a woman’s, why did this chest…

Zhan Qingcheng’s large hand clenched tight, a surge of fury rising in his heart—whether it was anger or disappointment, he himself could not say—and abruptly, he opened his mouth and a gush of fresh blood poured out.