“Are you afraid?” Feng Jiu’er asked.

Yan considered it, then nodded honestly.

Before Feng Jiu’er could respond, Yan said, “If I lose control badly, what will you do?”

Feng Jiu’er blinked in surprise. “By ‘afraid,’ you mean you’re worried about losing control and not knowing what I’ll do about it?”

Yan nodded. “Have you already thought of a way to handle it? Perhaps you should tie me down.”

Tying him down was something Feng Jiu’er had indeed considered. But judging from past experience, even if he did lose control, her own skill should be enough to restrain him.

So she still couldn’t bring herself to do it—it would cause him too much pain.

“It’s fine. I’ll handle it as it comes.”

Still, since she was giving him a new medicine tonight, even Feng Jiu’er had no way of predicting how far his loss of control might go.

“Give me your hand—let me check your pulse.”

Yan obediently rested his hand on the armrest of the chair. Feng Jiu’er checked his pulse carefully, then glanced out the window at the darkening sky before finally drawing a vial of medicine from her case.

“I’m going to have you take this now. After you do, tonight’s pain will be worse than before—even I don’t know exactly how bad it will get.”

She held the medicine out to him. “Whether to take it is up to you.”

After all, she was asking him to endure tremendous suffering, and if Yan was unwilling, she had no wish to force him.

Acupuncture and massage could also clear the gu poison gradually, but it would take a very long time.

What worried Feng Jiu’er most was the possibility that, during that long process, something might change within the poison itself—and then no one could say whether the needles and massage would even remain effective.

And every time the poison flared, he suffered so terribly that one mistimed episode could lead to consequences no one could predict.

This poison had to be cleared as soon as possible, to eliminate the risk once and for all.

Tonight, it wasn’t only Yan taking the new medicine—she would be taking it too, so there was no telling what tonight might bring for either of them.

Yan didn’t hesitate at all. He took the vial and asked, “How should I take it?”

“One pill will do.” Feng Jiu’er poured him a cup of warm water.

Without another word, Yan shook out a single pill and swallowed it with the warm water.

The pill dissolved the moment it touched his tongue. Soon, heat began spreading through his body—not just heat, but a kind of pain too, rising faintly from somewhere deep in his chest.

At first it was bearable, but as the bright moon climbed higher, the pain grew steadily more pronounced, more deeply rooted.

His large hand gripping the chair’s armrest tightened further and further, veins standing out across the back of it—clearly, he was nearing the edge of his endurance.

Feng Jiu’er took out her needle kit and set it aside, then took hold of his clenched hand, prying it loose from the armrest with some effort before turning it palm-up.

“My lady…” Yan’s breathing grew heavy, his face flushing red before turning ghostly pale. Beads of sweat the size of peas slid down from his temples. Even without touching him, one could feel the scorching heat radiating from his body, as though he were being consumed by flame.

“Don’t panic. I’ll start the needles right away to ease the pain.”

After checking his pulse once more, Feng Jiu immediately retrieved her silver needles, had him lean back against the long bench, pulled open the front of his robe, and let the long needles fall with practiced precision from her fingertips.

The instant the needles went in, Yan’s complexion improved slightly, the pain visibly easing. But before long, his face turned even paler, and his grip on the armrest tightened again—this time not just his veins bulging, but his very fingers trembling uncontrollably.

Before his eyes, countless images began to surface, one after another, each more harrowing, more horrifying than the last!

He seemed to see a woman—a woman already dead—her corpse brought before him, the blood long dried, her limbs broken and incomplete.

He didn’t know who that woman was, but his heart ached terribly, truly terribly…

Don’t die. You mustn’t die!

Who could be so cruel? Who?

“Ah—” Yan suddenly shoved Feng Jiu’er hard and leapt up from the bench, lunging toward the door.

Feng Jiu’er shifted her footing and blocked his path, pressing a hand to his shoulder to push him back. “Don’t think such things. Just get through tonight, and you’ll be all right!”

“Who? Who killed her, who?” Yan’s eyes had turned bloodshot, his gaze clouded and unseeing—clearly his mind was no longer lucid.

“No, don’t touch her, don’t touch her…” After Feng Jiu’er pushed his hand away, Yan clutched his own head and let out an agonized cry. “Don’t! Don’t hurt her, don’t! No… Mother! No! Ah…”

“Yan, open your eyes and look at me. It’s all over now, all in the past. There’s no mother, no harm here. I’m Feng Jiu. Yan, look closely at me!”

Feng Jiu’er shook him by the shoulders, but he kept clutching his head, suffering unbearably.

It seemed his mother’s death had truly devastated him—even after all these years, what remained etched in the depths of his mind was still the image of her brutal death.

These past months together had made it clear to Feng Jiu’er: Tuoba Keyan had originally been a deeply kind person at heart.

In his very bones, he cared for his people as though they were his own children. If not for what had happened to his mother, he might well have become a benevolent ruler.

It was his mother’s death that had turned him into the cruel, merciless Tuoba Keyan he later became! Her death had struck him far too hard!

“Yan, please come back to yourself. Don’t move so much—let me give you—mmh!”

A hand suddenly seized her throat—Yan had grabbed her by the neck with both hands, gripping with every last ounce of his strength.

Tuoba Keyan glared at her viciously, his bloodshot eyes seeming almost to spit flame.

“It’s you—you killed her, all of you killed her! I’ll make you pay with your lives! I’ll make you accompany her in death!”

“Yan…” Feng Jiu’er still held the silver needle in her hand—one strike to the right acupoint, and she could stop this violence at once.

But Tuoba Keyan was so agitated now, the true qi within him running wild—striking an acupoint with a needle in this state could, at best, injure him, and at worst, leave him utterly crippled in martial arts and out of his mind entirely!

“Yan… I am… Feng Jiu, I haven’t… cough… haven’t…”

She had no chance to finish her words. Tuoba Keyan’s grip only grew tighter around her throat, her breath growing shorter and shorter.

If she used the needle… using it now might genuinely ruin him for good.

But if she didn’t, her own life would be in mortal danger. Given his current state, persuading him out of it seemed nearly impossible.

“Yan…” Feng Jiu’er’s face flushed deep red, able now only to exhale, with no fresh air able to enter her body at all.

“Yan, come back… to yourself. Just… just get through this, and it will be all right, it will… be all right.”

She gripped his hand, staring straight into his eyes. “Yan, hold on a little longer—just… a little longer. Listen… to me.”