The heavy oak doors of Tang Liu's chamber groaned open, letting in a gust of fresh air that momentarily stirred the heavy silk curtains. Footsteps, firm and deliberate, echoed through the room, cutting through the oppressive silence that had become his constant companion. Tang Liu remained motionless, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, faking the deep, troubled sleep of a man nearing his end. His internal senses, however, were acutely aware of the formidable presence that had entered. This was not another fawning minister or whispering servant. This was a warrior.
"Physicians! You said he would wake when the elixir took effect. It has been three days!" A voice, rough as granite, yet tinged with a deep, tired sorrow, boomed through the chamber. It was Zhao Wu, his loyal captain, but standing beside him, a man of even greater authority. This was Uncle Liang, the Emperor's personal protector, a Tier 5 Soul Integration expert whose spiritual pressure, though controlled, still felt like a mountain pressing down on Tang Liu's hidden cultivation.
A trio of palace physicians, their faces pale, bowed nervously. "Honored Protector Liang, we assure you, the Nine Lotus Revitalization Elixir is potent. Perhaps His Highness requires more time for the energies to come together." One of them wrung his hands, his gaze darting between the unmoving prince and the glowering protector.
"Come together?" Liang's voice was a low growl. "My Emperor suffers, waiting for word. The Prince Regent parades his competence while the imperial line falters. We have no more time for coming together! Force him awake, or I will consider you all traitors." The air crackled with unspoken threat. Liang's loyalty to the Emperor, and by extension, the Emperor's direct bloodline, was absolute, a flickering flame in the darkening court.
The physicians scrambled, their pale hands hovering over Tang Liu's body. A cool, damp cloth was pressed to his forehead, followed by a light, rhythmic tapping along certain pressure points. He felt the subtle surge of foreign Qi probing his body, attempting to stimulate his consciousness. It was a crude method, easily resisted by his Void-Shattering Primordial Physique, which simply absorbed the incoming Qi, leaving the physicians confused and frustrated.
He chose his moment. With a gentle sigh, perfectly timed, Tang Liu's eyelids fluttered open. His gaze was slow, unfocused at first, then widened slightly as if awakening from a long, confusing dream. He let out a weak, raspy cough.
Zhao Wu rushed forward, his scarred face showing a mix of relief and anguish. "Your Highness! You're awake!" His voice cracked with emotion. This man, Tang Liu noted internally, was genuine. A rare commodity.
Uncle Liang stepped closer, his gaze sharp, piercing, scrutinizing Tang Liu as if looking for a hidden flaw. Tang Liu met his eyes, faking confusion, then managed a weak, almost imperceptible smile. "Uncle Liang… Zhao Wu…" His voice was barely a whisper, conveying the fragility expected of a man on his deathbed.
Liang's expression softened, but only slightly. "Third Prince. Thank the heavens. Your father, the Emperor, has been… unwell since your attack. He has grieved deeply for you." His words were a prelude, a somber drumbeat to the grim news he was about to deliver.
Tang Liu's internal sensors registered the sadness in Liang's tone, but also a deep-seated frustration. He maintained his weak, bewildered expression. "My attack? What… what happened?"
Liang sighed, running a hand over his stern, grizzled face. "You were poisoned, Your Highness. At your own wedding banquet, ten days ago. A soul-erasing poison. It was meant to be fatal, to leave no trace. Only your… unusual constitution… allowed you to cling to life." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the physicians, who visibly flinched. "But the damage was severe. Your meridians… they are shattered. Your cultivation base, gone."
Tang Liu allowed a flicker of despair to cross his face, a performance for his audience. But internally, he felt a surge of cold satisfaction. Liang believed the story the court had made up: a miracle of survival, but permanent crippling. Excellent.
"The Emperor, in his sorrow, has retreated deeper into his meditations," Liang continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, though Tang Liu knew it was loud enough for every physician and servant to hear. "The court… it has changed. Prince Regent Tang Yun, your uncle, has taken command of daily affairs. He has proven… efficient." The word 'efficient' hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications of ruthless ambition.
Then came the true hammer blow. "And, Your Highness, there is a matter of state. With the dynasty's stability wavering, and the Emperor incapacitated, the Heavenly Sword Sect has made… demands. They will lend their considerable military might to protect the Imperial borders from rising threats, but at a price." Liang's jaw tightened. "They demand your hand, Your Highness, in marriage to their Saintess, Lin Xian'er. It is to be a political alliance, a public display of unity."
Tang Liu's heart, for a fleeting moment, skipped a beat. Lin Xian'er. He remembered the name from the original prince's memories, a celebrated prodigy, a beauty of ethereal grace. To be married to her was, in normal circumstances, an immense honor. But now, it was a brand, a symbol of his crippled state, a means to bind a powerful sect to a weakened dynasty through the pretense of a union. He was a sacrifice, a pawn in a desperate game.
He kept his expression carefully neutral, faking deep exhaustion. "A marriage… to the Saintess. I… I understand. For the dynasty." His voice was thin, reedy, as if the words cost him immense effort. He closed his eyes again, letting the silence fall.
Liang placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of fatherly comfort. "Rest, Your Highness. The Emperor will be informed of your awakening. And the Saintess… she arrives tomorrow." With that, Liang, Zhao Wu, and the now-relieved physicians retreated, leaving Tang Liu once more in the quiet solitude of his chamber.
But Tang Liu was no longer alone. Within him, the Primordial Breathing Technique pulsed, drawing chaotic energy, slowly mending the unseen wounds of his soul. He had awakened. He had gathered intelligence. He had received the first, crucial pieces of his future. The political landscape was treacherous, his enemies numerous and powerful, his own physical state a carefully crafted lie. The marriage to Lin Xian'er was an impossible burden, yet in his new, ruthlessly calculating mind, he already saw the faint outline of an opportunity, a shield he could wield, and perhaps, a blade he could turn. The game had truly begun.