Ling Ting finished decocting the medicine and headed back. The moment he stepped through the courtyard gate, he realized the two eunuchs who had been guarding the door were nowhere to be seen.
His heart lurched. He hurried forward and knew, even before pushing the door open, that no one was inside.
He quickly set the medicine bowl down on the table and rushed out to find the servant boy sweeping the grounds. Anxiously, he demanded, “Where is the prince?”
Startled by his tone, the servant boy dazedly lifted a hand and pointed toward the garden. “I saw the prince heading that way.”
Ling Ting didn’t stop to ask more. He hurried after him.
Snow fell in thick, swirling flakes, already blanketing any footprints. The servants tasked with clearing it had all ducked under the covered walkways to escape the chill. The sprawling prince’s mansion lay eerily empty, and Ling Ting’s anxiety mounted as he dashed toward the garden.
Fortunately, he spotted the two eunuchs as soon as he entered the garden. A few steps farther on, and there was the lonely figure seated beneath a tree.
“My lord!” Ling Ting rushed over and reached out to brush the snow from Liu Yuanxun’s shoulders, only for Liu Yuanxun to block his hand.
He was huddled deep within a heavy fox-fur cloak, cheeks flushed red from the cold, but his eyes sparkled brightly, lit with a trace of amusement. “Ling Ting, come look—don’t I resemble a snowman?”
Ling Ting paused for a moment but played along. “You do.”
Satisfied, Liu Yuanxun smiled and extended a hand to him. “All right, now that you’ve found me, let’s head back.”
Ling Ting helped him to his feet and brushed the snow from his clothes. Worry creased his brow as he said, “You ate meat at noon and then got caught in the snow. I’m afraid…”
“No matter.” Liu Yuanxun replied, “I’m not cold.”
Ling Ting saw how happy he looked and recalled his master’s poor spirits over the past few days. Not wanting to spoil the mood, he simply supported Liu Yuanxun’s arm as they made their slow way back to the courtyard.
Once inside the room, Liu Yuanxun drank the medicine and lingered in his chair for a bit, leafing through a few pages of a book. It wasn’t long, though, before waves of heat began rising through his body, his stomach starting to ache dully. He felt profoundly unwell.
He realized at once that this was the price of his indulgence. He wanted to tough it out without telling Ling Ting, but his stomach churned violently, the discomfort too severe to hide.
Liu Yuanxun closed the book with a sigh. “Ling Ting,” he said, “go fetch Physician Wang.”
Ling Ting had already noticed his master’s uneven breathing but hadn’t dared bring it up unprompted. He replied at once, “Right away.”
He passed the task on to Ling Qing, then doubled back to tend to Liu Yuanxun. He helped him out of his boots and outer robe before easing him onto the bed.
Lying down only made things worse for Liu Yuanxun. Spasms wracked his stomach in waves, and he pressed a hand to his chest, voice faint. “Ling Ting, help me up… I think I’m going to vomit.”
Ling Ting didn’t dare let him stand on his own, intending to attend him right there by the bed. But he knew his master was particular about such things and would never allow it.
After meat at noon and the chill of the snow, he had to be in agony. Ling Ting wasted no more time and helped him down from the bed.
In mere moments, Liu Yuanxun’s legs had gone so weak he could scarcely stand. Most of his weight leaned against Ling Ting, and he began to sag after just a few steps.
They finally reached the side room, where he retched into the basin. He’d eaten little at noon, though, and by the end it felt as though his stomach had taken a brutal beating. His body curled up like a shrimp. Without Ling Ting holding him upright, he would have collapsed right there on the floor.
Once the worst had passed, he took the water Ling Ting offered and rinsed his mouth. Barely two steps later, he turned and heaved again.
This time, he brought up a shocking splatter of blood.
“My lord!” Ling Ting wrapped an arm around his waist and eased him down to sit on the floor. His hand shook as he wiped the blood from the corner of Liu Yuanxun’s lips.
Liu Yuanxun’s eyes were closed, feverish red blooming on his cheeks. His pale lips trembled, and beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead. He looked utterly wretched.
Ling Ting didn’t dare move him, terrified that carrying him back to bed might trigger more bleeding. He held Liu Yuanxun’s waist steady and gently patted his back, helping him breathe easier.
Paradoxically, Liu Yuanxun felt better after voiding that blood. He rested with his eyes shut until the nausea ebbed, then murmured weakly, “I’m all right now… Help me to the bed.”
Ling Ting agreed instantly and scooped him up with utmost care, each step measured and smooth. Mindful of his master’s fastidiousness, he stripped off the soiled robe before laying him down.
…
Physician Wang arrived promptly. By then, Liu Yuanxun’s eyes were shut tight—whether in sleep or unconsciousness, even the sound of the door failed to rouse him.
Ling Ting watched tensely as the physician took his pulse in silence. “Physician Wang,” he asked, heart in his throat, “how is my lord?”
“Strange,” Physician Wang muttered. He had arrived on tenterhooks, dreading further decline in this exalted patient, but the pulse reading now made him question his own expertise. “The prince’s condition is… much improved from before.”
Ling Ting gazed at the insensate figure on the bed and frowned instinctively. Yet gradually, he acknowledged the truth in the words—Liu Yuanxun had indeed seemed better of late.
When Physician Wang had last examined him in early December, the prince’s pulse had been faint, like a man at death’s door. Even then, it had strengthened somewhat. The physician had chalked it up to rest and care, but now the pulse thrummed with undeniable vigor: the prince was genuinely recovering.
Puzzled, Physician Wang asked, “What prescription has the prince been following lately?”
Ling Ting answered, “The second one. With so much going on recently, he feared his body wouldn’t hold out, so we switched.”
“That doesn’t add up,” Physician Wang said, brow furrowed. “A different formula might perk one up short-term, but it’s all surface—easy to spot. This pulse feels like true recovery from the source, almost as if…”
Inspiration struck. “Could it be you’ve found a Pure Yang Physique?”
“No—” Ling Ting began to refute, but the words caught in his throat.
He thought of Gu Lianzhao.
Physician Wang, who had been scrutinizing his face, latched onto the hesitation. “You have found one?”
“No.” Ling Ting pushed the thought aside for now, deflecting. “Regardless, it’s good news that my lord is improving. But he caught a chill today and vomited blood—this…”
Deflated at the denial, Physician Wang replied, “I examined the blood; it’s dark, unhealthy stuff. Likely from pent-up worry these past days, stagnant qi in the chest. Purging that congealed blood is actually beneficial. The fever has nothing to do with the cold—it’s just the meat disagreeing with his stomach. A couple days’ rest and bland food, and he’ll be fine.”
The explanation eased Ling Ting’s mind. He let out a long breath and said sincerely, “Thank you, Physician Wang.”
…
After seeing Physician Wang off, Ling Ting turned his thoughts to the matter of the Pure Yang Physique.
Gu Lianzhao practiced his martial arts in the back courtyard without ever shying from onlookers. Ling Ting had observed several times. His knife technique was fierce and unrelenting, movements grand and sweeping, the true qi it unleashed radiating scorching heat.
Ling Ting had assumed it stemmed from whatever internal art he cultivated. But reconsidering now, Pure Yang Internal Energy wasn’t impossible.
Gu Lianzhao had joined the Embroidered Uniform Guard four years prior, only later training under Liu Xun. Even a prodigy needed at least a year and a half to make real progress.
Yet the Imperial Edict List had been rescinded three years ago.
In other words, the palace had ceased its search for Pure Yang Physiques before Gu Lianzhao could have cultivated such power. Missing him in that window was entirely plausible.
Moreover, Ling Ting had long puzzled over why the emperor would bestow the infamous warden of the Imperial Prison upon the prince.
If Gu Lianzhao possessed a Pure Yang Physique, though, it all fell into place.
A martial artist’s internal force was precious beyond measure. Channeling it long-term to regulate another’s qi risked damaging one’s meridians and halting all further advancement.
An ordinary person might be swayed by bribes, but a Pure Yang Physique was a prodigy of the martial path, destined to forge their own legend through sheer talent alone. Trading that future for petty gain was like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs—no one in their right mind would agree to it.
But Gu Lianzhao was a ger…
A ger had to marry. Once installed as a concubine in the prince’s mansion, no amount of ability would matter—the prince would always come first.
If Gu Lianzhao truly was a Pure Yang Physique, everything clicked: the emperor’s marriage decree stemmed from it; the prince’s gradual recovery tied to it; their growing closeness made perfect sense!
Yet if the prince knew, why had he never mentioned it? Just days ago, he had spoken of resuming the search himself. Did that mean Gu Lianzhao lacked it? Or the prince was unaware? Or perhaps… theirs was merely a transaction, unworthy of mention.
Ling Ting’s reason insisted Liu Yuanxun was not the sort for such callousness, yet he could conceive of no other basis for the prince to take a liking to Gu Lianzhao.
Before, he had assumed Gu Lianzhao benefited from his status, the marriage forced by imperial decree—leaving the prince no choice but to accept and shoulder the duty.
But if it was the Pure Yang Physique… Ling Ting couldn’t help delving deeper, darker thoughts, laced though they were with his own selfish longings.
He was so deep in reverie that he missed Liu Yuanxun stirring awake. It was the voice from the bed that finally drew his gaze upward—too late to mask the turmoil in his eyes. Liu Yuanxun saw it plainly.
“What’s wrong?” Liu Yuanxun rasped. “Did Physician Wang say something?”
“No.” Ling Ting forced a smile, sinking to one knee beside the bed and leaning in close. In a low voice, he said, “He said your body is much improved. The blood was just from pent-up frustration these past days—nothing serious.”
Liu Yuanxun’s lips curved in a feeble smile. “I’ve felt sharper these last few days myself.”
“Are you thirsty, my lord?” Ling Ting asked. “Shall I get you some water?”
Liu Yuanxun shook his head. Awake as he was, the fever still burned, muddling his thoughts. He might not have roused himself at all had Ling Ting’s expression not looked so grave.
