That hoarse, shattered word "Granted" fell, as if it had drained all the strength from Xiao Yuhuang's body—and drained the very last thread of clarity I had been forcing myself to hold on to.
The taut nerves suddenly slackened. The searing pain, the dizziness from blood loss, and the fear, grief, and fury that had been piling up for days came crashing down like a breached flood, instantly submerging me. The final image before my eyes went dark was her suddenly releasing my wrist, rushing forward in panic to catch me, and the complete collapse on her face—that ghastly pallor mingled with terror and remorse…
Then, there was boundless darkness.
When I regained consciousness, my body felt unbearably heavy. It was as though I had been taken apart and put back together again; every bone was weak and aching. From the stab wound in my chest came a burning, dull pain, and every breath tugged at it. Worse still was my throat and the depths of my chest, which felt as if they were stuffed with coarse grit—every attempt to swallow or inhale triggered an irrepressible, muffled urge to cough.
I struggled to lift my eyelids. My vision blurred for a moment before slowly focusing. It was still the familiar bedchamber of Phoenix Roost Palace, only the light was unusually bright—it was clearly daytime. The air was thick with the pungent scent of medicine, tinged with a faint trace of blood.
"Young Master! You're awake!" Aunt Qin's hoarse yet delighted voice sounded beside my ear. She hurried closer, her eyes bloodshot, her face drawn with exhaustion. "You're finally awake… thank the heavens…"
I tried to speak, but only a rasping sound came out, my throat dry and burning.
"Don't rush to talk." Aunt Qin quickly moistened my lips with a warm cloth, then carefully propped me up a little and brought a bowl of ginseng broth, just the right temperature, to my lips. "Drink a bit slowly. Moisten your throat."
The warm liquid slid down, bringing a slight relief. I forced myself to swallow a few mouthfuls and swept my gaze around the room. Besides Aunt Qin, there were two unfamiliar, elderly Imperial Physicians standing respectfully in the corner, their expressions grave. The hall was unusually quiet, yet I could sense that the guards outside were tighter than ever before—the very air felt heavy with suppressed tension.
"I…" I tried again, my voice hoarse and weak. "How long… have I slept?"
"Two days and two nights," Aunt Qin said, her voice still trembling with lingering fear. "You lost too much blood, and your anger attacked your heart—your pulse was once… extremely perilous. Thankfully, the Director of the Imperial Medical Bureau and the other physicians spared no effort to save you. And Her Majesty…" She paused, a complicated look flashing through her eyes. "Her Majesty remained outside the hall the entire time, until your pulse stabilized somewhat. Only then was she persuaded to go rest for a short while."
Xiao Yuhuang standing guard outside the hall? I felt no ripple in my heart—if anything, a kind of numb indifference. Whether her fear and compromise were to keep me, this 'object,' or for some other reason, it made little difference to me now.
"The Su family…" That was what I cared about more.
Aunt Qin immediately lowered her voice. "Young Master, rest assured. Her Majesty… has already issued an edict. Commandant Su has been transferred out of the Heavenly Prison and is temporarily detained at a separate residence of the Ministry of Justice. Though he has not regained his freedom, Imperial Physicians are permitted to treat his old injuries, and his food and clothing are assured. Most of the guards at the Chancellor's Residence have been withdrawn. Although Her Majesty has not restored his official post, she has explicitly ordered that he be 'allowed to retire in peace,' and no one is to disturb him. As for the Second Miss and Third Miss, there have been no new moves for the time being."
Temporarily safe. A brief chance to breathe, bought with the stab to my chest.
I closed my eyes. There was no joy in my heart—only a vast, hollow exhaustion. The price was far too heavy. And how long could this so-called 'safety' last? It all depended on a single thought from the one who sat so high above.
The days that followed passed slowly and arduously under the full efforts of the Imperial Medical Bureau. The wound in my chest was carefully dressed every day, using the palace's finest wound medicines and flesh-regenerating ointments. As for the cough, stronger prescriptions were used to suppress it—several bowls a day of thick, pitch-black, bitter decoctions were poured down. They barely managed to suppress the symptom of coughing up blood, but the stagnation and dull pain in my chest and lungs clung to me like a disease in the bones, never truly leaving.
Xiao Yuhuang came every day. She no longer tried to maintain that distant imperial bearing, nor did she hide her anxiety and… her caution. She always stood a few steps away from the bed, silently watching the Imperial Physicians take my pulse and change my dressings, asking about the details of my condition. Her gaze lingered long on my pale, gaunt face and on my chest wrapped in thick layers of gauze. That look was impossibly complex—lingering fear, deep pain, worry so thick it could not be dissolved, and a near-humble timidity, wanting to draw closer yet not daring to.
She tried, as before, to sit by my bedside, to say something—anything—even just to look at me. But each time she approached, I would stiffen instinctively, close my eyes, and turn my head away, refusing any interaction. After several such attempts, she stopped trying. She still came every day without fail, silently watching, silently listening to the physicians' reports, and then silently leaving. Her retreating figure seemed to grow stiffer by the day, shrouded in a gloom that would not disperse.
Palace servants whispered in private that since that day, Her Majesty's temperament had grown ever more volatile. Her methods in court were increasingly thunderous, and her urging and harsh reprimands toward the Imperial Medical Bureau grew ever more severe, demanding that they must heal me "no matter the cost."
The cost? My own body—I knew it best. That day, when I used death as my threat, what was consumed was not only blood, but the last shred of vitality in this body that had long been on the brink of collapse. I could feel the luster of life irreversibly dimming, like the final withered leaf on an autumn branch, ready to fall silently at any unknown moment.
Another half month passed.
The one who came to take my pulse was the most senior and most skilled physician of the Imperial Medical Bureau—a venerable old man with white hair and beard, held in the highest esteem. He spent an unusually long time examining my pulse, his withered fingers resting on my wrist as his brows knit tighter and tighter, the lines on his face seeming to deepen. Afterward, he carefully inspected my complexion and tongue coating, and asked in detail about my diet, daily routine, and the nature of my phlegm and cough.
Throughout the process, Xiao Yuhuang stood to the side, her gaze fixed like that of a hawk on every change in the old physician's expression. The atmosphere in the hall was so heavy it was suffocating.
After a long while, the old physician withdrew his hand, stepped back two paces, lifted the hem of his official robe—and slowly knelt toward Xiao Yuhuang's direction, knocking his head to the floor.
"What does the Director mean by this?" Xiao Yuhuang's voice sank abruptly, taut with ominous tension.
The old physician remained prostrate, his voice aged and heavy, carrying the resolve of one who had cast everything aside. "This old servant… begs Your Majesty to dismiss all others."
Xiao Yuhuang's pupils shrank. She waved her hand. Aunt Qin and the other two Imperial Physicians bowed and withdrew. The hall doors were gently closed.
"Speak," Xiao Yuhuang said softly, yet her voice carried the pressure of an impending storm.
Still prostrate, the old physician trembled as he spoke. "Your Majesty… Young Master Su's illness has been deep-rooted for a long time. Cold evil invading the body and pent-up worry and grief are the surface causes. This time, extreme anger attacked the heart, causing the heart blood to surge in reverse, compounded by the blade wound near the heart meridian… Though we have spared no effort in treatment and the external wound is gradually healing, the internal depletion has already… already damaged the foundation."
Xiao Yuhuang's body swayed almost imperceptibly. Her fingertips dug hard into her palm. "I… want to hear the truth. He… exactly… how is he?"
The old physician knocked his head heavily to the floor, tears streaming down his aged face. "Your Majesty! Young Master's heart meridians and lungs already show the signs of oil exhausted and lamp about to gutter! Like a remnant candle in the wind, like foam floating on water! Ordinary medicines can only barely sustain him, slowing the rate of decline—but it is difficult… difficult to defy heaven and change fate!"
"Defy heaven and change fate…" Xiao Yuhuang repeated the words, her voice drifting, her face frighteningly pale. "Does the Director mean… there is no cure?"
"Not so!" The old physician hurriedly raised his head, only to let it fall again in despair. "If he is carefully nourished, avoids all mental strain, worry, and exposure to cold, and is gently sustained with the rarest medicines under heaven, perhaps… perhaps some time may be prolonged. But Young Master's heart damage is too severe, the stagnation too deeply rooted—afraid… afraid…"
"Afraid of what?!" Xiao Yuhuang suddenly raised her voice, its sharpness teetering on the edge of collapse.
The old physician shuddered violently, shut his eyes, and with all his strength spat out the verdict. "Afraid… his lifespan will not be long! In this old servant's foolish judgment, if this continues, even if all the finest medicines under heaven are exhausted, Young Master… may still… may not live past… five years!"
Five years.
Those two words were like the cruelest thunderbolts, striking the silent hall—and striking Xiao Yuhuang's suddenly frozen, ash-gray face.
Time seemed to stop at that moment. The air congealed into ice.
I lay on the bed, listening to this death sentence that was expected yet unbearably clear, and felt an unexpected calm in my heart. Five years… so there are only five years left. Perhaps that is for the best. This endless pain and imprisonment finally has a definite end.