Li Jie found himself confined to the sanctuary of his quarters, an unwelcome prisoner of his own ailing body. A persistent fever, each breath stolen by the mere effort of taking a few steps, and a throat so sore that it resisted the simplest acts of speech and nourishment—these were the oppressive confines of his illness.
In stoic silence, the fifteen-year-old bore the burden of his deteriorating health, unwilling to burden those around him with the weight of his suffering. Despite his valiant efforts to conceal his discomfort, he keenly felt the relentless march of his affliction, each passing day a reminder of his diminishing strength.
A nagging fear gripped Li Jie upon the onset of his ailment—fear that his malady might prove contagious. This fear compelled him to retreat indoors, citing late-night studies as a plausible excuse for his sudden seclusion. It was not an entirely fabricated pretext.
In orchestration with Li Jie’s self-imposed isolation, Han Yasheng echoed the narrative, skillfully diverting inquiries about the crown prince’s whereabouts, especially from the watchful eyes of the Huang siblings and the emperor.
The second day ushered in even greater trials for Li Jie. His eyes struggled to remain open, the feeble light filtering through shrouded windows an unwelcome intrusion to his hypersensitive vision.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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By the third day, every breath was a struggle for Li Jie. Pain gripped his lungs, head, and throat, clouding his once-clear mind.
When Han Yasheng, faithful in her daily routine, knocked on his door to check on him, Li Jie found himself incapacitated, unable to concoct a response or formulate an excuse.
“Your Highness?” Han Yasheng’s concerned voice echoed through the door. “Are you awake?”
Attempting to reply, Li Jie managed a hoarse and feeble “Yes,” a mere whisper lost in the vast expanse of his own suffering.
Growing more concerned, Han Yasheng knocked again, voicing her unease. Li Jie, who customarily rose early, failed to respond promptly, a deviation that stirred worry in the observant maid.
“Your Highness?” Her tone held genuine concern as she spoke once more, promising to enter if met with continued silence.
As Li Jie’s silence persisted, Han Yasheng breached protocol and opened the door, only to be confronted by a sight that shook her to the core.
“Your Highness!” Han Yasheng rushed to his side, her worry palpable. “Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
Li Jie panted heavily, his once vibrant face now a canvas of flushed pallor, the usual sparkle in his eyes extinguished, replaced by a dull emptiness.
“Summon the imperial physician at once!” Han Yasheng’s urgent entreaty reverberated through the corridors, setting maids into swift motion.
Three arduous hours later, the physician succeeded in quelling Li Jie’s fever, allowing a collective exhale of relief.
Turning to the emperor, who had maintained a steadfast vigil, the physician conveyed the prognosis. “Your Majesty, His Highness will undoubtedly recover within a month, and his physical condition should not give rise to significant concern.”
“But considering how he suffered alone, resisting the solace of aid,” the physician advised, “my earnest recommendation to Your Majesty is to heed His Highness’s heart, offering what he yearns for to bring tranquility to his troubled soul.”
The emperor, frustration etched across his face, directed a firm command: “Summon the empress immediately!”
