Cheng Chang’s gaze drifted to the window; the sunlight outside was faint and pale, giving no clue as to the hour. “Have I… come back?”
The Consort of Cong said, choking back tears: “You’ve been back for three days now, sleeping the whole time — nothing we did could wake you.” She tucked the blanket in around him. “Fortunately the physician said there’s nothing seriously wrong with you, likely just exhaustion. It’s just this wound on your face — it had already healed, but for some reason it started bleeding again this morning. The physician has just finished applying medicine to it, so don’t touch it.”
Cheng Chang knew the Consort of Cong meant the ash-gray scar along his cheek left by the fire.
He glanced past her to where the physician who had examined him stood waiting beside the bed, and nodded: “All right.”
Since waking, Cheng Chang had felt a persistent sense of unreality, as though his soul were floating somewhere above his body, only slowly settling back into it.
He felt a slight chill, as though a draft carried some trace of cold air. Looking around again, he noticed a basin of ice set in the room — it was, after all, the height of summer; simply sitting quietly in a room would normally work up a sweat.
Cheng Chang paid it little mind and asked: “Where is A’Ting?”
The Consort of Cong took a moment to recall that A’Ting was Yun Xi’s childhood name, then said gently: “These past few days since returning to Jinling, she’s come to the mansion every day to ask after you. As it happens, this morning General Xuanwei of the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household formally inherited his title, so she went into the palace for the ceremony.”
As she spoke, she gave a faint smile. “Chang’er, your father and I have thought this over thoroughly. If you truly are fond of the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household, we will go and propose the marriage on your behalf.”
Cheng Chang was momentarily taken aback: “Mother?”
The Consort of Cong said: “All these years, your father has trodden so carefully, relinquishing nearly every scrap of power he could — and still it brought suspicion down upon us, and you suffered for it again and again. After this ordeal at Mount Pingnan, your father and I have finally come to understand — when the sovereign lacks benevolence, there is nothing his subjects can do to change that, so we might as well simply honor your own wishes instead. Besides, I’ve heard that at Mingyin Temple, this young lady of the Yun family very nearly gave her own life trying to save you. Such devotion is truly rare to find. Your mother intends to go to the marquis’s household in person in a few days to formally propose, and ask for the Yun daughter’s hand to become your princess consort.”
Hearing this, a soft warmth rose in Cheng Chang’s eyes as he smiled: “Good. Thank you, Mother.”
The Consort of Cong was momentarily stunned — this was the first time in over half a year that Cheng Chang had smiled at her so genuinely, so sincerely.
The Consort of Cong thought to herself, well then, it seemed Chang’er’s feelings for this Yun girl were truly sincere after all.
Since he cared for her so deeply, they would treat her well. She recalled hearing that not long ago, Chang’er had scoured the world for a diamond the size of an infant’s fist, meaning to secretly add it to the betrothal gifts for the Yun girl. What kind of gift was that? A diamond was nothing but a hard, shiny stone — pretty enough by lamplight, perhaps, but not worth much silver at all. Sending such a thing to the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household would practically be shortchanging the poor girl.
It seemed Chang’er, in the end, still had the impulsive heart of a young man. Never mind — matters like preparing the betrothal gifts would simply have to be handled entirely by her, his mother.
With this thought, the Consort of Cong said to Cheng Chang: “Rest well. Your mother has other matters to attend to — I’ll come see you again later.”
With that, she gave a few instructions to the servants in the room and hurried out.
Once the Consort of Cong had gone, Cheng Chang had Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu withdraw from the room as well, leaving only the physician waiting beside the bed.
This physician’s surname was Wu; he had long attended the princely household in years past. Back when Cheng Chang had first transmigrated into Great Sui, when Uncle Bai of the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household had once suffered a leg ailment, Cheng Chang, wanting to help Yun Xi, had privately arranged for Physician Wu to visit the household and treat him free of charge — and gradually taken the man into his own confidence.
Since his return this time, whenever Cheng Chang felt unwell, he had only Physician Wu examine him; regardless of what the pulse readings showed, the official word given out was always that there was nothing seriously wrong.
Cheng Chang had originally done this simply out of concern that Prince Ling’s faction might use his illness against him as leverage — but as time went on, he had gradually begun to sense that something was not right.
Seeing Physician Wu close the doors and windows securely, Cheng Chang asked: “How am I?”
“Reporting to Your Highness, Your Highness’s pulse reads the same as last time — at times strong and healthy, at times weak and frail. It’s most peculiar,” Physician Wu said.
“Over a year ago, right before the fire at the Imperial Guard Bureau, I also suffered a fainting spell. Did my pulse show this same peculiarity at that time?”
“No, Your Highness. This humble servant remembers it clearly. At that time, when Your Highness fainted at the mansion, I examined your pulse three times in total, and from the pulse alone, there was no sign whatsoever of any chronic illness — quite unlike this time, when your pulse, at its weakest, reads almost like that of a dying man.”
Cheng Chang fell silent.
He had originally assumed that his ill health stemmed from his connection to the twenty-first century — but now it seemed that wasn’t entirely the case. Based on past experience, the modern body was modern, and the ancient body was ancient; however sick his modern body became, it shouldn’t have been able to affect his body here in ancient times.
Could it be, as He Yuenan had suggested, that having crossed between the two timelines so many times, he had reached some kind of limit, resulting in these symptoms of vomiting blood and pain?
That didn’t quite fit either. The last time, before and after the fire at the Imperial Guard Bureau, he had also felt unwell for a period, but his pulse hadn’t shown any abnormality then.
Moreover, in the half year since he’d returned to Great Sui, each time he’d felt unwell, the sensation had been different from before. In previous brushes with death — whether the fall from the cliff or the fire — the burning pain had centered mainly in his chest, likely some shared sensation arising between the timelines during the transition, connected to his modern body. But this time, the pain was in his chest and lungs, a kind of helpless, suffocating feeling that filled him with genuine dread.
Seeing Cheng Chang fall silent, Physician Wu continued: “There’s also the matter of this wound on Your Highness’s face…”
“What about my wound?”
Physician Wu hesitated for a moment, then fetched a bronze mirror from the corner of the room and handed it to Cheng Chang: “This wound of Your Highness’s appears, on the surface, to have been burned by fire — but that isn’t quite accurate. The stretch from your left cheek to the base of your ear is, in fact, an ash-gray patch of discoloration. The reason it keeps bleeding is that a small crack has opened on the patch itself, as though from some kind of impact. This morning, in the blood seeping from the wound, this humble servant found a very small, soft substance — I first thought it was a flake of skin, but on closer inspection, it wasn’t that at all. It looked more like some kind of moss. Is Your Highness certain this wound was burned in the fire at Mingyin Temple?”
Cheng Chang thought it over: “I’m certain.”
“Then this becomes rather difficult to explain,” Physician Wu said. “And combined with the fact that Your Highness has, on several recent occasions, described a suffocating sensation in the chest and lungs — to this humble servant’s eye, it resembles… it resembles the symptoms of someone who has drowned. Might I ask, has Your Highness recently experienced a near-drowning, one that left a lasting fear in the heart?”
Cheng Chang was about to answer that he hadn’t, but before the words left his mouth, an outlandish possibility suddenly surfaced in his mind.
“I… have drowned. But not recently — over two years ago.”
“Over two years ago, on the night of the Flower Festival.”
Physician Wu said: “If it happened over two years ago, then it shouldn’t have any bearing on Your Highness’s current condition.”
And yet, hearing this, Cheng Chang felt no real relief.
He suddenly recalled that since his return this time, the first time he’d fallen ill was the day after Chai Ping’s death, when he’d fainted for half an hour after Yun Xi left Wangshan Cottage; the second time was three days after he had forced Tian Ze to return to the palace and be reunited with Emperor Zhaoyuan as father and son; the third time was when he told Fang Fulan the whole truth of the past, extinguishing her will to live; and after that came the chaos at Mount Pingnan, and Prince Ling’s fall from the cliff.
Cheng Chang could not quite discern the pattern behind all of this.
Was there truly some cause and effect running through it all, or… was he simply overthinking things?
Cheng Chang said to Physician Wu: “I understand. You may go.”