Because of the Emperor’s illness, no one had passed this New Year in peace.
Empress Xu came to Zichen Hall every day to show her concern, while the consorts took turns paying their respects. Prince Yan, the Crown Grandson, and the two princesses also came to attend the Emperor, each demonstrating their filial devotion.
Wei Yan, for his part, had no rest at all, keeping watch at the Emperor’s bedside every day—examining him, administering acupuncture, adjusting prescriptions—all while fending off everyone’s questions and difficulties.
From the consorts came doubts like: “Imperial Physician Wei, why hasn’t His Majesty’s condition improved at all?”
From Prince Yan came a reprimand: “If Imperial Physician Wei is incapable, you’d best say so sooner rather than later. If you delay Father Emperor’s recovery, I doubt you could bear the consequences.”
Princess Changping, too, knitted her finely drawn willow-leaf brows, her face full of worry. “Imperial Physician Wei, what exactly is wrong with Father Emperor? It’s already been over ten days—why is there still no improvement?”
As for Empress Xu, there was no need to elaborate—every day she arrived at Zichen Hall, she would invariably scowl and snap a few sharp words. “Imperial Physician Wei, I will give you a few more days. If you still cannot cure His Majesty, I will hold you accountable!”
Wei Yan had lost count of how many such remarks he had endured.
The post of Imperial Physician sounded glamorous, but in truth it was bitter on the inside despite its sweet exterior. Coming and going through the palace every day, serving the noble personages within—the slightest misstep could invite disaster. Skill in medicine alone was not enough; one also needed the sharp judgment to read the situation and the ability to adapt with the shifting winds.
Putting up with a few sharp words was hardly worth mentioning.
Compared to the other physicians, Wei Yan’s treatment was already the best one could hope for. At least he wasn’t scolded or punished at every turn. The Emperor placed exceptional trust in his medical skill and had relied on him for treatment these past several years. No matter how fiercely the others might rail at him, as long as the Emperor said nothing, no one could shake his position.
Still, this time the Emperor’s condition truly was dire.
Years of recklessly consuming pills of immortality had depleted his vitality and stirred up old, long-dormant ailments. Acupuncture and medicine could only ease the symptoms somewhat; a full recovery would require at least several months of careful, undisturbed rest.
Of course, such blunt truths could never be spoken aloud. And so, no matter who came to scold him, Wei Yan’s answer was always the same: “It is this humble servant’s incompetence.”
What was to be done about it, then?
Naturally, Wei Yan would simply continue treating the Emperor.
Within the entire Imperial Medical Institute, there was no one whose skill surpassed his. Besides, everyone understood perfectly well that the Emperor’s habit of taking pills of immortality and summoning consorts to his bed was the real cause.
That his illness lingered unresolved was because the Emperor had depleted his own health—it truly could not be blamed on Wei Yan.
…
Soon, the Lantern Festival arrived.
As was the custom every year, the capital held a lantern fair for the Lantern Festival. The consorts within the palace would inevitably join in the festivities as well, each preparing her own lantern to enter into the palace’s lantern display. Standing out at the lantern fair meant catching the Emperor’s eye—it was one of the best ways to win his favor.
But this year the Emperor was still bedridden, recovering from his illness. None of the consorts had the heart to bother with lanterns! Empress Xu issued a direct decree canceling the lantern display for the year.
This Lantern Festival, the palace remained quiet and still, even as the common people outside continued to celebrate in lively crowds, flocking in groups to the lantern markets to admire the displays.
The Ling Manor, too, had put up a few lanterns to mark the occasion, but no one in the household went out to join the festivities at the lantern market. Even Ling Wuye, who normally loved a lively crowd more than anyone, had lost the mood for it.
After tonight, it would be time for Ling Jingshu to enter the palace.
After a subdued family dinner, Ling Wuye called Ling Jingshu to the study and earnestly instructed her, “A’Shu, tomorrow you’ll be entering the palace to serve Empress Xu. You’ve been clever and level-headed since you were a child, careful and thorough in everything you say and do. I have no real worries about you taking up this post. Just remember your place at all times—not a single word or action can afford to be a mistake. If you bring trouble upon yourself inside the palace, there will be nothing we can do for you out here.”
He paused, then continued, “I know these words may sound harsh, but they’re the truth. Once you’re in the palace, no one will be able to help you—everything will depend on yourself.”
He had stopped just short of saying outright, “Even if you die in the palace, there’s nothing we could do.”
A flicker of mockery passed through Ling Jingshu’s eyes, and she answered evenly, “Thank you for your guidance, Father. I understand.”
Ling Wuye had always been this kind of man. In her past life, she had suffered every humiliation at the Lu family’s hands, and he, her own father, had weighed the costs and benefits before hardening his heart and turning a blind eye.
He would never harm his own children, but neither would he ever sacrifice anything for their sake.
She had never expected anything from this father of hers, and so she felt not the slightest disappointment now.
Under Ling Jingshu’s knowing, faintly mocking gaze, Ling Wuye looked somewhat awkward and embarrassed. As if trying to make up for something, he pulled a thick stack of silver notes from his sleeve. “I had someone send word back to Dingzhou about your going into the palace a few days ago. I haven’t yet received a reply from your grandmother. So I’ll take it upon myself this once—here are twenty thousand taels in silver notes. Keep them on you. You’re bound to need silver once you’re in the palace.”
Compared to when they had first arrived in the capital, he was being considerably more generous now.
Ling Jingshu didn’t stand on ceremony either, and immediately accepted the notes. “Thank you, Father. I won’t decline such generosity.”
With conditions in the palace so uncertain, carrying extra silver for protection was indeed a sensible precaution.
She already had over ten thousand taels in silver notes on her, and with these additional twenty thousand, she now had over thirty thousand taels altogether—quite a substantial fortune.
Having handed over the silver notes, Ling Wuye had nothing further to say. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Go on back and rest. Rise early tomorrow, so as not to delay your entrance into the palace.”
…
Back in her chamber, the familiar face of Ling Jingyan greeted her.
Ling Jingyan pressed a thick pouch into Ling Jingshu’s hands. “A’Shu, I’ve always been the careless, easygoing sort—I never had the habit of saving money. There’s a thousand taels in silver notes here, every bit of my own private savings. Take it all with you, so you won’t be short on silver in the palace.”
Ling Jingshu blinked in surprise and instinctively tried to decline. “Cousin Jingyan, Father already gave me plenty of silver notes just now. I don’t need yours—you should keep it for yourself…”
“You’re not allowed to refuse!” Ling Jingyan glared at her, her tone fierce. “I’m stuck at the manor every day—where would I even spend money? That’s enough, don’t say another word, just take it.”
The pouch held only a thousand taels in silver notes, hardly a large sum—nowhere near as much as what Ling Wuye had given her.
Ling Jingshu clutched the pouch tightly, her emotions churning without rest, warm tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Seeing the tears welling in her eyes, Ling Jingyan felt her own pent-up sorrow rise to the surface. She suddenly pulled Ling Jingshu into a tight embrace, choking out, “A’Shu, I can’t bear for you to leave, I truly can’t bear it…”
Nearly a year of living together day and night had forged a deep bond of sisterhood between them.
Ling Jingshu’s own tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as well, and she silently tightened her arms around Ling Jingyan.
How could she ever truly be willing to leave behind those who cared for her?
But ever since the moment she had decided to come to the capital, her fate had been destined for hardship and uncertainty. There was no road back for her now—she could only square her shoulders and walk forward.