Chapter 6: Unable to Bear It

The guards exchanged glances and quickly finished tidying up before hurrying away. They didn’t dare say much while inside the Ruyi Pavilion, but the moment they stepped out, their tongues loosened.

“Can you believe the Crown Prince even laid hands on a fool?”

“Tch, that’s nothing. You must’ve come late—years ago, the Crown Prince killed someone just because they barked twice at him in front of the Heir Apparent.”

“What? That was the Heir Apparent! The Crown Prince is too overbearing.”

“The Empress favors the Crown Prince. What can the Heir Apparent do but back down?”

“Tsk, tsk. The Heir Apparent is her own son, but she’s biased toward her nephew.”

“The Crown Prince lost his mother when he was young. The Empress is kind and compassionate—she’s always defended him. And the result? He’s only become more and more out of control.”

“Isn’t a prince supposed to leave the palace and establish his own residence at eighteen? Why’s the Crown Prince still living in the palace?”

“The Empress couldn’t bear to let him go. She begged the Emperor to let him stay.”

“Having a monster like that around… It’s us poor servants who suffer.”

“Tell me about it. I’d be glad to see him gone.”

As the chatter went on, someone shifted the topic again.

“Anyone know how that lunatic from the Southern Wing offended him?”

They looked at one another, shaking their heads. Since no one knew the real story, the guesses ran wild.

“Maybe he went out looking for food and scared the Crown Prince?”

“Come on. A lunatic with no food wouldn’t survive this long.”

That sounded suspiciously informed.

“Spit it out then, what really happened?”

The speaker looked around, made sure no one else was nearby, then lowered his voice.

“There’s someone named Qingyuan with the lunatic. Good-looking one. Sold his ass to Xiao Hongping.”

“What? Isn’t Xiao Hongping a eunuch? He can still buy people?”

“A eunuch just means he’s missing a part. Doesn’t mean he’s out of tricks. Everyone on night shift has heard the noises from his room. It gets wild.”

“Rouran people are just cowards. Dishonorable, shameless, scared to die. They’ll do anything to survive.”

“Exactly. If he’d offed himself sooner, it would’ve been cleaner. Now that he’s crossed the Crown Prince? He won’t die easy.”

---

Meanwhile, inside the Ruyi Pavilion, the ones at the center of gossip were just waking up.

Shao Ning’s acupuncture had worked. The fever broke, and the patient’s energy returned. With only Feng Li left unscathed, he’d taken over everything. Seeing Chu Xi awake, he walked over.

“What do you want to eat?”

Chu Xi rattled off a long list—he had quite the appetite. Shao Ning sat inside, cold compress on his forehead, jotting down prescriptions while half-listening. When he heard Chu Xi mention greasy, heavy food, he quickly objected:

“The illness could relapse. Keep it light.”

Feng Li didn’t quite get how the two were related, but he didn’t dare doubt Shao Ning—especially since he couldn’t cook anything heavy anyway.

“Got it. I’ll make some porridge.”

Porridge and dumplings were the only things Feng Li could cook. Everything else he ruined.

---

Chu Xi’s luck was good. Feng Li’s too. The only unlucky one was Shao Ning. Dizzy and barely staying upright, he had no choice but to grit through it—he was the only physician around.

Zhang Zhao watched him, equal parts sympathetic and curious. He wanted to ask why they hadn’t summoned an imperial physician, but a glance at Chu Xi stopped him. He swallowed the question.

Chu Xi noticed Zhang Zhao staring at him like a lost puppy and suddenly mused:

“Did someone drug you or something?”

Zhang Zhao blinked. Was that… an insult?

But taking it at face value, he shook his head.

“Have you never seen anyone from outside before?”

“More or less.”

Since pretending to be mad, Zhang Zhao hadn’t left his quarters. For the past five or six years, he’d only seen Dongli and Qingyuan.

That made sense. Chu Xi nodded with pity, then spoke earnestly:

“It’s normal at your age to have urges. But just so we’re clear—I have no plans to help you relieve them.”

Zhang Zhao processed that slowly. Chu Xi clearly knew he wanted out of the Southern Wing, but hadn’t decided to help. He’d expected this, but it still stung. Dongli always said he was peerlessly beautiful—that as soon as he made a move, he’d succeed.

But now, surrounded by palace beauties—even Feng Li and Shao Ning were stunning—his own charms seemed nothing special.

Chu Xi saw the light drain from Zhang Zhao’s face and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Alright, I’ll let you kiss me once.”

Zhang Zhao froze. Even while faking madness, he’d never encountered logic this erratic. But he didn’t dare go against Chu Xi. They were sitting face-to-face—Zhang Zhao slowly stood and walked over, heart thumping.

The night before in the Eastern Palace, he’d been fully prepared to risk it all. But after a night passed, that courage had faded. Especially now—he barely understood Chu Xi’s temperament. Qingyuan had briefed him on the Crown Prince, Rui Wang, Xian Wang—but not Chu Xi.

Then again, who would’ve thought someone the Crown Prince didn’t even summon would actually show up?

As Zhang Zhao hesitated in front of him, readying himself… a loud bang and a scream from Shao Ning startled them both. Chu Xi rushed over, and Zhang Zhao, both relieved and shaken, silently gave thanks: No kiss needed.

---

Shao Ning had finally hit his limit. A large clump of his hair had been yanked out—he was still flipping through medical books, eyes practically rolling back. Chu Xi couldn’t bear to watch. He grabbed a sword from the wall and cut the rope holding up Shao Ning’s hair.

Thud. Shao Ning collapsed face-first onto the desk, unconscious.

Chu Xi frowned and ordered Feng Li to move him to the bed.

“Did he leave you any prescription for reducing fever?”

“No,” Feng Li replied. “He never wrote one.”

“Then how did the fever break?”

“Acupuncture.”

Chu Xi looked up toward the courtyard sky, half-blocked by towering palace walls. Only a small sliver of blue remained visible.

“I’ll go find an imperial physician. You stay and watch him.”

“Your Highness, it’s dangerous out there. Let me go.”

“Do you think you can actually bring one back?”

Feng Li fell silent. He wasn’t confident. Honestly, he didn’t think even Chu Xi could succeed.

Zhang Zhao assumed they were worried about Shao Ning. He wanted to offer comfort but hesitated—afraid to say something wrong. By the time he’d thought of the right words, Chu Xi was already gone.

Once things calmed down, Zhang Zhao finally remembered Dongli and Qingyuan.

“How are they?”

“Still locked in their rooms,” Feng Li answered truthfully.

“Is Dongli any better?”

Dongli had been the first Shao Ning tried his needles on. To put it bluntly, he’d been the practice dummy. His body was covered in tiny pinpricks.

“The fever’s gone down a bit. His wounds aren’t serious.”

Feng Li wasn’t lying. The needle marks looked worse than they were—just a few days of soreness.

Zhang Zhao, alarmed, asked:

“He’s injured?”

“Shao Ning pricked him.”

Zhang Zhao let out a breath of relief.

Just then, a soft bark echoed from somewhere. Feng Li perked up and followed the sound.

“It’s born!”

Zhang Zhao followed. In a flower bed, nestled under layers of shrubs, an old dog lay weakly. A newborn brown pup squirmed against her, rooting for milk.

The old dog, barely alive, looked up at the noise, eyes cloudy with tears. Even Feng Li was moved—Zhang Zhao’s eyes misted over instantly.

Feng Li gently picked up the puppy.

“Old Chen, rest easy. We’ll take care of your pup.”

The old dog whimpered, unwilling to let go.

“His Highness went to get the physician. If you can hold on a little longer…”

Another whimper—it sounded like a promise.

Zhang Zhao turned away, wiping his tears. The pup trembled in Feng Li’s arms—maybe cold, maybe scared.

“Can you hold it? I’ll get Old Chen some food.”

Zhang Zhao quickly took it. The puppy was warm and chubby, soft but not too delicate to touch. Holding it gently, he stroked its back.

“Are you looking for your mama?”

Yip yip! The pup cried out again.

Taking that as a yes, Zhang Zhao lifted his robes, climbed into the flower bed, and nestled beside the old dog. He placed the pup next to her, and the moment it caught her scent, it wriggled toward her.

Zhang Zhao reached to stroke the old dog’s back but found scars—several grotesque ones. Her belly, too. Though healed, they looked painful.

He lightly brushed her fur and suddenly remembered his past. In the palace, people didn’t beat others with bare hands—they used tools. Whips, spiked clubs, scalding water, slow-burning flames. They laughed at the smell of burning flesh.

He shook his head hard to banish the memories.

“I’ve been bullied too. It’s okay… We just have to endure.”

But the more he said it, the more the memories surged—waves of pain, buried deep, crashing down on him like a summer storm, leaving nowhere to hide.