“His Majesty has probably not slept properly for nearly seven or eight days.” That sentence was forcibly suppressed by Yu Lingxin himself.
The imperial physician left trembling to prepare the medicine.
Jiang Nong found it amusing—how could someone be so angry that they made themselves this sick?
Besides, she really hadn’t done anything.
If she’d known it was this easy to make Yu Lingxin angry enough to get sick, she would have done it in her previous life.
Half an hour later, the imperial physician brought in the prepared medicine. Jiang Nong handed it to him. Yu Lingxin looked at her suspiciously.
Jiang Nong could instantly tell what he was thinking.
As concerning as Yu Lingxin’s mouth was, the medicine Jiang Nong handed him was equally suspect.
She said: “No poison. Really. No poison this time.”
Yu Lingxin, with his hoarse throat, still had to retort: “Not this time—so there will be next time?”
“Tsk—drink it or don’t.” She wasn’t angry anymore.
Jiang Nong was starting to pick up a pattern. When Yu Lingxin was truly angry, he wouldn’t say a word—like a stubborn mule, stewing in silence.
If he was talking and being snappy—a dozen retorts for every word of yours—that meant he wasn’t actually angry. The density of his speech was directly proportional to his mood. The better his mood, the more he talked.
“Fine, fine, fine—I’ll drink it. Even if it’s poison, I’ll drink it.” Yu Lingxin sat up and took the bowl.
He drank the medicine without flinching, like water.
Jiang Nong had always struggled with medicine—letting it cool and reheating it repeatedly before finally working up the courage to down it in one gulp. Watching Yu Lingxin down it without hesitation surprised her. She wondered if it wasn’t bitter.
She dipped her fingertip in a bit of the leftover residue at the bottom of the bowl and tasted it. A wave of nauseating bitterness surged up. She turned away, gagging over the bowl.
Yu Lingxin, sitting up in bed, clutched his chest and laughed uncontrollably.
Jiang Nong hastily popped another piece of candy in her mouth. As for Yu Lingxin—if he didn’t ask, she wouldn’t offer.
After a long while, the bitterness still lingered faintly. Jiang Nong, being kind-hearted, eventually tossed him a piece too.
By custom, when the emperor was ill, his consorts should attend to him. But right now, Jiang Nong was the only one in the entire palace, so the duty fell to her.
She had to stay in Xuan Shi Hall all day, never leaving his side.
Yu Lingxin was quite good at ordering people around—wanting water one moment, wanting a book to read the next, then complaining his eyes hurt and demanding she read to him.
Jiang Nong slammed the book onto his face and told him to read it himself.
His throat was so sore he could barely speak, yet he still insisted on straining his voice. Jiang Nong felt like she was surrounded by hundreds of quacking ducks—she just let him shout.
“Your book looks more interesting.”
Jiang Nong snapped her book shut. “Aren’t we reading the same one?”
“Then why can’t you hear me when I talk?”
So that was the trap. She asked: “What did you say?”
“I want water.”
“Really—I’m serious. I’ll hold a flower-viewing banquet in spring.”
“For what?”
“To choose a few consorts for you.” Though those women would be unlucky to face someone like him—but with sufficient rewards, there would always be brave takers. She believed someone would be willing.
As she spoke, she handed over the warm water. Yu Lingxin had already turned over, pulling the covers up and ignoring her: “I’m tired. I don’t want it anymore. Take it away.”
Then came a long silence.
Angry again? Jiang Nong pursed her lips. Then suddenly, a flash of insight struck her—she glimpsed something unusual in his silence.
The first time Yu Lingxin had given her the cold shoulder was at the state banquet, when she said she’d keep those two Song beauties in the palace. The second time was by the river, when she asked if Xiaoman had any close siblings. The third was now—when she said she’d hold a spring banquet to select gentle and virtuous concubines for him.
Individually, she might not have connected the dots. But once, twice, three times?
An idea formed in her mind—improbable, yet seemingly the only explanation.
Yu Lingxin’s anger, his frustration—stemmed from her asking these questions.
Jiang Nong had grown up in the palace, with a father who had so many consorts. So she naturally assumed Yu Lingxin would eventually take concubines too—that a harem of thousands and countless children in his previous life was simply natural. She thought these were insignificant questions—yet in his heart, they were worth getting angry over, even sick over?
How absurd—yet impossible to refute.
A thousand thoughts flashed wildly through Jiang Nong’s mind, leaving only one word behind: loyalty.
Love and hate alone couldn’t fully describe it. Only loyalty fit best—remaining singular, unchanging.
Because she had denied his loyalty?
But Jiang Nong had never asked him to be loyal to her. Just as when she had given up on Yu Lingxin, she’d hoped he would find a good girl. If she hadn’t married Chao Ning—if they only had sibling ties, familial love—perhaps she too would have tried to accept her husband.
After she passed that dreamy age of sixteen, Jiang Nong no longer fantasized—nor dared to hope—that anyone would remain loyal to her in places she couldn’t see or didn’t care about.
She understood that everyone had more important people in their hearts, that she held no singular place in anyone’s heart. She also understood that human hearts were like water—always flowing, always changing.
She tried to think of other possibilities, but found none.
Yu Lingxin was genuinely sulking over those words.
Jiang Nong’s hand trembled violently, and the cup slipped, shattering on the floor in a clatter of porcelain—as chaotic as her heart at that moment.
Yu Lingxin startled awake, instinctively turning toward her. Seeing she was unharmed, he closed his eyes again.
Jiang Nong desperately wanted to confirm her suspicion. Her voice stuck in her throat; it took a moment to find it. In as casual a tone as she could manage, she said: “You’re not asleep yet, are you? Let’s talk. I was joking earlier. Whoever enters the palace would be truly unlucky—having to face you every day. Oh, and Xiaoman’s pretty pitiful too—not even a single sibling, and stuck with a father like you.”
Her transition was somewhat awkward, but she couldn’t worry about that now.
“Isn’t that you? You’re the unlucky one—I personally delivered that misfortune to you. What good are siblings? Just a bunch of scheming people.” Yu Lingxin finally broke his silence. The medicine had made him drowsy, and he spoke slowly.
With just a little appeasement, he’s not angry anymore?
Her suspicion was confirmed. Yu Lingxin truly had no children other than Yu Ling Yin. Jiang Nong didn’t dare think further.
If it were merely longing for the unattainable—how great an obsession would it take to sustain that forever? Was it that he had no children besides Xiaoman? Or that he had no one else besides her?
Jiang Nong didn’t know what it was like to be an emperor’s only daughter, but she could well imagine.
Even if Yu Lingxin wasn’t fond of Xiaoman, the palace people were always opportunistic—they would still flock around the sole princess. Even if Yu Lingxin paid little attention, his gaze and focus would inevitably fall on this one child.
Even without a mother, Xiaoman would be free and happy. She wouldn’t have to worry about being married off as a bargaining chip.
She could just choose whoever she liked.
Xiaoman’s life would be far, far better than Jiang Nong had imagined.
Yu Lingxin heard a faint, choked sob. He swallowed the dryness in his throat, took her hand, and turned it over carefully to examine it. Even with one eye not working well, he could see clearly that there wasn’t a single scratch on Jiang Nong’s hand.
“Just a broken cup—why are you crying?”
Jiang Nong wouldn’t say. She shook her head, tears uncontrollably falling like raindrops onto their clasped hands.
Yu Lingxin, sick as he was, had to drag himself up to wipe her tears. He cupped her face—but as soon as he wiped them away, more came, like an inexhaustible spring.
She rarely cried, so when she did, it was alarming.
“Fine, fine—I’m the unlucky one, alright? You cry when I say you’re unlucky? I’m the one who should be crying—I’m this sick and you still want to run off with someone! Stop crying. If you don’t want to stay here, go out for a walk—I don’t have you chained up… Why are you even crying?”
Jiang Nong lowered her head slightly, rubbing her face against his palm, and said without context: “Thank you.”
She really meant it.
Besides the fact that Xiaoman was doing well, Jiang Nong couldn’t articulate more—and didn’t dare to.
Did Jiang Nong love Yu Lingxin?
No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She liked people who were upright, kind, and gentle.
—
Court was held every five days. Yu Lingxin skipped three sessions in a row—fifteen days of convalescence.
Truthfully, he had fully recovered by the fifth day. It was purely that he couldn’t get up in the morning—especially winter mornings—so he simply claimed illness and stayed away.
All official documents and memorials were moved to Xuan Shi Hall for review.
Jiang Nong’s attitude toward him had shifted to a subtle indulgence. Not only did she not slap him, but she even—unprecedentedly—made excuses for him: “If you’re unwell, you really do need rest.”
Xunliang and the other attendants all sensed it too—they had made up again, and things were even better than before.
With Yu Lingxin absent from court five times in a row and many matters being handled by the Empress, the court ministers couldn’t help but speculate.
Unless he couldn’t move about, why would he so easily stay out of sight? If it had reached the point where he couldn’t walk or appear in public, then whether he was alive or dead was anyone’s guess.
They secretly sent inquiries into the palace about Yu Lingxin’s health, desperate to know his true condition.
The ministers jointly submitted a memorial requesting to see Yu Lingxin. Jiang Nong temporarily held it off.
She asked him when he would return to court—or at least meet with the ministers.
Yu Lingxin held a chess piece, propped his chin, and leisurely surveyed the board. He said casually: “No hurry. Wait until the dogs start jumping the wall. You’ve heard the story of ‘Beacons to Toy with the Vassals,’ haven’t you?”
“King You of Zhou lit the beacons to amuse his beauty. The vassals, thinking an enemy was attacking, rushed to the capital—only to find it was a farce, and left in anger. Later, when the Quanrong invaded and King You lit the beacons again, no one came to save him—and his kingdom fell.”
“Though it’s been passed down through the ages, it’s hard to tell fact from fiction—best taken as just a story. But think about it: a story that’s survived this long must have its reasons.”
Having said that, he slumped lazily onto her lap and said: “So tired. Looks like my illness hasn’t recovered yet. The Empress will have to continue acting as regent. I wonder which loyal minister will come to rescue the throne—I’ll be sure to reward his entire clan generously.”
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