In an even more remote parlour in the Prince's manor, Yang Zhuofei's expression was slightly anxious. The day before, Feng Puzhi had had someone deliver a letter saying that she'd be coming to the manor, but now, the skies had already darkened, and her figure had yet to be seen. Feng Puzhi was a link in Yang Zhuofei's plans that couldn't be done without, and there absolutely couldn't be any mistake. Finally, just as the sun was about to set, a maid led an woman who looked as ethereal as an immortal in. Already nearing her seventies, Feng Puzhi's hair was as white as snow, but her face didn't have much in the way of wrinkles to match her age. "Feng-daozhang." Seeing she'd entered, Yang Zhuofei hurried forward to lend her an arm. Yet Feng Puzhi seamlessly dodged her, and as she did so, she placed a porcelain bottle on the table, and said, "This is the very last bottle of medicine; use it up according to prescription, and the traces on th...