Physician Wu said, “Reporting to Your Highness, Your Highness’s pulse has always been perfectly normal — which is exactly why none of the imperial physicians could diagnose anything. But right before Your Highness woke, this humble physician checked your pulse once more, and this time…”

He raised his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. “This time, Your Highness’s pulse was nearly that of a dying man — at one point it nearly vanished entirely, showing every sign of a life about to end.”

“Following Your Highness’s instructions, this humble physician has not told anyone of this. Fortunately Your Highness has woken — otherwise, this humble one truly wouldn’t have known how to explain it.”

His pulse nearly vanished, showing every sign of a life about to end?

Hearing this, Cheng Chang suddenly recalled the dream he’d had just before waking.

He had been dreaming of the original young prince drowning, gradually losing his breath beneath the water.

So — when the young prince in his dream died, had his pulse vanished along with him?

“There’s also this,” Physician Wu said, fetching a bronze mirror and holding it up before Cheng Chang. “Your Highness, please look.”

The bronze mirror reflected Cheng Chang’s face — the wound along the mottled marks on his cheek had split open again, blood seeping out once more. That alone was manageable, but more unsettling still was that the color of the mottling itself had shifted from a pale grayish-blue to a deep bluish-purple.

Beyond that, the same marking had now appeared on the back of his neck as well.

Physician Wu said, “These marks on Your Highness’s body are quite bizarre. Ordinarily, when someone develops mottled skin marks, it’s usually accompanied by fever, itching, or caused by external injury, typically beginning as small blood spots. But Your Highness’s marks seem to have appeared out of thin air — this humble physician has no idea what condition this could be.”

Physician Wu set down the mirror and said to Cheng Chang, “This humble one would be so bold as to ask whether Your Highness might check the rest of your body for any other new markings.”

Cheng Chang gave a soft “mm,” loosened his robes, and examined himself carefully, spot by spot.

Sure enough, beyond his cheek and the back of his neck, the same bluish-purple markings had appeared at the small of his back and at both elbows.

The day before Cheng Chang had gone to Yanfu Palace, he had bathed — at the time, there had been nothing on his body at all. Which meant these new markings had appeared suddenly during the day and night he’d spent unconscious after leaving Yanfu Palace.

Physician Wu said apologetically, “This humble physician begs Your Highness’s forgiveness — my skills are simply inadequate. I truly cannot determine what these markings on Your Highness’s body signify. I will study the medical texts diligently these coming days and do my utmost to find Your Highness a proper treatment as soon as possible.”

Cheng Chang held no blame toward Physician Wu.

How could what was happening to his body possibly be so easily explained by ordinary medical theory?

He nodded. “All right. You’ve worked hard.” Recalling that Physician Wu had kept watch over him for an entire day, he added, “Go rest for now.”

By now it was already the second watch of the night. After Physician Wu left, Cheng Chang sat alone on the couch, turning over the dream from earlier in his mind.

The circumstances of Cheng Mingying’s death matched exactly what he had later investigated for himself.

And it seemed that after Cheng Mingying’s death, a lingering fragment of consciousness had remained embedded within Cheng Chang’s own awareness — a conviction that his death was no small matter, and must never be casually revealed to anyone.

And so, after crossing over, Cheng Chang had followed this lingering instinct, treating his own fall into the water as a mere accident, telling no one of the truth except Yun Xi.

Later events had proven this the right choice — with Prince Cong’s power in decline and Emperor Zhaoyuan willing to shield both Prince Ling and Prince Yun, had he loudly demanded justice from Prince Cong and Emperor Zhaoyuan from the very start, Prince Ling would surely have made further attempts on his life.

This lingering fragment of consciousness left behind by Cheng Mingying could, in a sense, be described as the only bond between Cheng Chang and the deceased young prince. Beyond this, he had no other memories of the young prince at all.

He had been in Great Sui for so long now, always feeling his way forward on his own, step by uncertain step — so why, now, on this very day when everything was finally settling into place, had he suddenly gained a fragment of the young prince’s memory from just before his death?

Cheng Chang recalled the last words He Yuenan had spoken to him, in that hazy, water-rippled vision, just before he’d fallen into the dream.

“The cause and effect close. The attachment dissolves.”

Could it be that this fragment of memory from just before the young prince’s death was, in fact, the very attachment he had left behind in this world?

And what, then, did “cause and effect closing” actually mean?

In that demon-haunted hour of dusk, He Yuenan had gripped him desperately, urging him to hurry back.

He’d said, if you don’t come back soon, something will happen to you. Both your life-tracks will be in danger.

He’d also asked, what kind of attachment could possibly be worth refusing to leave?

Only now did Cheng Chang realize — back then, amid the chaos and flames of Mingyin Temple, when that demon-haunted apparition had first appeared, the reason he had stayed might not have been solely because Yun Xi had rushed to save him. It might also have been because, deep down, he had genuinely wanted to stay.

If it hadn’t been his own will to remain, no one could have stopped him from returning to the world that truly belonged to him.

He Yuenan had said, within three dusks, you will surely—

He hadn’t heard what would surely happen, but he could guess. It was certainly nothing good.

And how should these three dusks be counted?

If yesterday had been the first, and today’s, the second, had already passed while he slept, then tomorrow would have to be the third, wouldn’t it?

Cheng Chang wasn’t sure if this reasoning was correct, but the moment the thought occurred to him, he suddenly felt an urgent pressure of time bearing down on him.

He rolled over and got out of bed, and barefoot, took his court robes down from the wooden rack, instructing, “Someone come.”

Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu, dozing in the side chamber next door, snapped awake immediately at the sound and pushed open the door. “Young Prince.”

Cheng Chang was already putting on his court robes by himself. He glanced at the two of them. “Did Father come back last night?”

The third watch’s drum had already sounded long ago; it now counted as the second day.

Sun Haiping said, “He’s back. His Highness returned around the second watch of the night.”

Cheng Chang gave a soft “mm.” “Go fetch water.”

Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu had originally thought that, given Cheng Chang’s illness hadn’t fully passed, he ought to rest more. But seeing his grave, resolute expression, and knowing he wasn’t one to be argued with once his mind was set, they quickly acknowledged and went off to fetch water and prepare breakfast.

Cheng Chang hastily finished his breakfast, then headed to Prince Cong’s Youshi Pavilion.

Prince Cong had slept for roughly two hours and had already risen. Seeing Cheng Chang dressed in full court attire, he was momentarily taken aback, then raised a hand to dismiss everyone else in the room, and asked, “You’re planning to attend court council?”

Cheng Chang nodded. “Mingying wishes to meet with His Highness the Crown Prince at the court council. I wanted to inform Father beforehand.”

He didn’t say exactly what he intended to discuss with Tian Ze, but Prince Cong understood at once — he was going to relinquish power.

At present, Cheng Chang and Tian Ze each held half the realm’s authority. Though neither harbored any intention of harming the other, the throne could only ever belong to one man — trust between them couldn’t be entirely guaranteed regardless.

Besides, with rumors constantly circulating outside, at a moment like this, whoever yielded first would be placing his own safety directly beneath the executioner’s blade.

Prince Cong asked, “Have you thought this through clearly?”

Cheng Chang said, “I have.”

“For the sake of that girl from the Zhongyong Marquis household?”

Cheng Chang fell silent for a moment, then gave a soft “mm,” and added, “Also for Father and Mother’s sake.”

Holding so much power in his hands as he did, once Yun Xi married him as his wife, she would be forever entangled with him, unable to extricate herself.

Who could say what the future might hold? If he didn’t withdraw from this power struggle, what if, one day, she were implicated because of him?

So there was one alternative, second-best solution — he would relinquish his power first, become an idle, unburdened prince. Then even if, one day, his sensitive status brought suspicion and imprisonment upon him, given Tian Ze’s regard for the Zhongyong Marquis household, it wouldn’t implicate Yun Xi, nor even Prince Cong and Princess Consort Cong, both already advancing in years.

In truth, this wasn’t really a good solution at all, because it meant handing all initiative over to others entirely.

Moreover, the current Crown Prince, raised among the common people, still possessed a genuinely pure and unspoiled character, not yet worn down by the corrupting weight of imperial power — over the long years ahead, he might well remain benevolent and virtuous just as he was now. Cheng Chang could, in truth, simply hold onto his power and take things one step at a time.

Prince Cong had no idea what exactly had happened to push Cheng Chang into making such a drastic, decisive choice overnight.

But he didn’t ask.

Over these past two years, father and son had settled into a kind of unspoken understanding, always leaving each other a certain distance.

Prince Cong only said, “Actually, having come this far in holding power, you shouldn’t be doing this.”

Since ancient times, princes who held such weighty power had, at the least, stood in rivalry with the sovereign; at worst, they had seized the throne for themselves — only by doing so could they secure an unassailable position.

“But you’re different,” Prince Cong said. “You’ve always had your own principles, your own way of thinking.”

It was precisely this unique, unconventional set of principles and thinking that had brought him to where he stood today — seeking justice for himself, setting things right by lawful means.

“So, if you believe this is the right thing to do, then go see His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Cheng Chang folded his sleeves and bowed deeply to Prince Cong. “Thank you, Father.”

Having said this, he turned and headed toward the door.

The sky had just begun to lighten faintly. The clouds hung pale above, and the earth below lay in shades of pale blue-gray.

Prince Cong watched that figure — clear and elegant as fine jade — moving through the pale blue-gray light, and suddenly called out, “Mingying.”

Cheng Chang turned back.

Prince Cong let out a sigh, then said slowly, “Actually — you’re not Mingying, are you?”

He was, after all, the son raised at his side since childhood — how could he not know his true nature intimately?

Rivers may shift course, but a person’s nature rarely changes so completely. Even after falling into the water and undergoing some change in temperament, how could it possibly change to this degree?

It was only that, however inconceivable it had seemed at first, he had gradually come to accept the reality over time.

Prince Cong said, “Your mother and I — we’ve actually known for quite some time.”

“We don’t know exactly what you’ve been thinking, but,” Prince Cong paused, gazing at Cheng Chang through the desolate mist of dawn, “you must remember — whoever you truly are, your mother and I will always be your family.”

Hearing this, Cheng Chang was struck momentarily still. After a moment, he nodded, and standing there amid the bamboo groves and pavilions of the courtyard, once more folded his sleeves and bowed deeply to Prince Cong.