Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Compared to real physicians who diagnosed and healed, Su Huaijing had seen few patients.

His medical skills were taught by his mother. The first “patient” was his father, the emperor; the first to test his medicines was the crown prince, his elder brother; the first to experience his acupuncture was his third brother.

Apart from family, the only others Su Huaijing had treated were the palace maids and eunuchs in his own chamber, and his loyal followers from the Xing Feng Yun group. After teaching his skills to Bi Xin, even they ceased to disturb Su Huaijing for medical aid.

His mother once said he had a talent for medicine beyond ordinary reach. When his third brother sneaked out of the palace for a night of drinking and feared falling asleep during the emperor's lessons, he would secretly bring a candied haw and tiptoe into Su Huaijing's chamber in the early morning, waking his brother, then only six or seven, to administer a few acupuncture needles.

From a young age, Su Huaijing never found healing and saving lives particularly difficult.

So even after detecting Rong Tang's pulse in the Li residence at Songjing Lane, he only hesitated briefly.

At first, he didn't want to heal, but later he believed it could be cured.

But when the afternoon sun scattered its light and the storm clouds over Suzhou City dispersed, revealing the rekindled vitality buried in the soil, and Rong Tang, curled up, dependently snuggled into his arms, drawing all the warmth he could, Su Huaijing was momentarily stunned.

At first, he was happy for Rong Tang’s subconscious initiative, but when he fully awoke from days of accumulated exhaustion and saw Rong Tang still unconsciously biting his lip in his sleep, he hesitated before reaching out to check his wrist.

The pulse under his fingertips was clear, distinctly conveying to Su Huaijing the unbearable pain endured by its owner.

Birds chirped outside the house, summer insects emerged from the ground, and troops patrolled the streets of Suzhou City. Collapsed houses were about to be repaired, and people from the manor were setting up porridge stalls with rice grains, filling the town, known for its abundance of fish and rice, with the rich aroma of rice once again.

Yet Su Huaijing suddenly felt lost.

He originally had no desire to save this world. His only goal was revenge, and later, because of Rong Tang's arrival, he added the desire to be with Rong Tang forever.

To add anything more would be an overwhelming burden, too exhausting for him to bear.

But if Rong Tang wanted to save people, then Su Huaijing would help him.

He initially thought he was just helping Rong Tang, but seeing the embankment plans sent by Zhou Zihai and others, hearing about the conditions of residents in the villages along the way, living in Suzhou City during seven days of torrential rain, and hearing the cries of the people, Su Huaijing felt that saving them wouldn’t be bad.

Despite all the misunderstandings, his father indeed was a diligent and loving ruler, his eldest brother died defending against foreign enemies, and his third brother perished quelling internal strife.

Even the most delicate and charming fourth princess of the palace chose to leap from the city walls, seeing through the farcical nature of the rebellion.

What a coincidence it was.

Just as trouble stirred on the northern border and the crown prince led troops to quell it, a rebellion started in the south?

His dear uncle, in his ambition to ascend the throne, colluded with foreign powers to disrupt the border, never considering that greed could lead to ruin. If one link in the chain broke, all of Dayu might fall into others' hands, leaving him no throne to ascend.

From Su Huaijing's perspective, his entire family were heroes. So, day by day, as he conversed with the officials brought by Cheng Chengming, thinking of better strategies to mitigate the disaster, he gradually immersed himself in these efforts.

The moment the rain stopped, he instinctively relaxed, still holding the pen in his hand. His guard down, he fell into a deep sleep.

Before passing out, he even thought that his parents and siblings might be happy, and Rong Tang might be happy too.

Since the age of eight, Su Huaijing had finally done something good, feeling a slight sense of joy within himself.

But waking up from Rong Tang's bed, holding his pulse, Su Huaijing fell into deeper confusion.

He was a healer, how could he not see it?

How did he fail to realize Rong Tang was enduring pain in his body every day, reminding them to eat in the study? How could he not hear the tremor in Rong Tang's throat when suggesting where they could improve?

It was for Rong Tang that he wanted to save these people, but in the end, his little Bodhisattva fell ill.

Su Huaijing was somewhat dazed.

Had he checked Rong Tang's pulse even once these past days?

How did things get to this state?

He almost fled the room in panic, rushing to find medicinal herbs to brew a tonic for Rong Tang.

But as he grabbed the herbs, they slipped through his fingers.

Su Huaijing paused, stunned, looking down to find his hands trembling uncontrollably.

He was finally forced to face a truth he didn't want to admit or accept.

It seemed he might not be able to stay by Rong Tang's side forever.

He was the skilled young doctor his mother always spoke of, but it seemed, he couldn't save Rong Tang.

When they first met, Rong Tang said he only had three to four years to live. Su Huaijing thought that after three or four years, he could find renowned doctors and precious medicines to continue treating Rong Tang.

But it wasn’t so. No patient could hide their pain so well that their body shakes uncontrollably while keeping a composed face.

No patient endures sleepless nights yet remains smiling gently.

No patient... after his meticulous care, experiences worsening symptoms instead of improvement.

Su Huaijing even dared not ponder how long Rong Tang could still live, fearing that even three to four years might be too hopeful.

Now, with the kitchen smoke curling up outside and the stars drawing their curtain, he watched Rong Tang through the rising mist from the medicine pot, stopping him from approaching for the first time.

This wasn't like the time in Songyuan when Rong Tang fainted and woke up. Su Huaijing felt heartache but was also angry.

This time he couldn't even muster anger, only feeling panic and an indescribable regret.

What do all these people in the world matter to him? And to Rong Tang, what do they mean?

Lost in almost frantic contemplation, Su Huaijing didn't notice Rong Tang stood still for a moment before moving again.

Rong Tang walked around the medicine pot and fog, approaching Su Huaijing. He looked down quietly at his nominal wife, his voice exceptionally soft, free from any fear of being discovered, the person enduring pain asked as if to comfort, “Has the doctor visited?”

Su Huaijing was startled, lifting his head to look at him.

Rong Tang then crouched down, slightly lifting his head, reaching to hold Su Huaijing’s hand resting on his knee: “What did the doctor say?”

“…” He’s saying your life is not long.

“He didn't say I'm going to die now, did he?”

“…” At most, you have three more years.

“He didn't, right?” Rong Tang curved his eyes, tilting his head to smile at Su Huaijing, squeezing the fingers he held, like coaxing a child, his voice soft: “If he didn't, why are you so worried?”

Su Huaijing remained silent, looking down at him, seeing the marks unintentionally bitten on Rong Tang's lips in his sleep from pain.

Only one candle was lit in the kitchen. Most of the light from the medicine pot was obscured, and no one else was there. In the dim courtyard, their shadows, one sitting, one crouching, hands clasped, were cast on the wall by the candlelight, inseparably close, gently swaying with the passing breeze.

Rong Tang's voice mingled with the crackling of firewood: "Huaijing, I'm actually very happy."

"...Why?" Su Huaijing finally asked.

Rong Tang's smile broadened: "You've done a great deed."

Su Huaijing: "..."

A slight noise emanated from the crucible. He shifted his gaze, bent down to lift the small pot off the stove, then fetched a bowl from the cupboard, slowly pouring the medicinal soup into it.

The already strong herbal scent intensified, so bitter that Rong Tang's nose and brows wrinkled in distaste before even tasting it, feeling an inherent bitterness.

Yet, concerned about Su Huaijing's mood, he followed closely, asking softly from behind: "Huaijing, are you angry?"

Smoke rose, the medicinal aroma permeating the air, mixing yet clashing with the post-rain fragrance of grass and trees.

Su Huaijing didn't respond immediately, only after a long while did he speak in a hoarse voice: "No."

Rong Tang hesitated, neither believing nor reassured, he leaned closer to look up, and froze on the spot.

The beauty under the light was always breathtaking. Across three lifetimes, his most profound memories with Su Huaijing always involved such scenes.

The side profile of a peony under the setting sun in Songyuan.

Leaning against the railings on Liujin Floor, glancing over lightly, asking him if he wanted to share a pot of wine.

In Fengyue Tower, the young man stood alone, confined in a small space by a slender chain, looking over with a mix of resolve and resignation.

Twilight, river lanterns, candles...

His arch-villain could always draw all sources of light onto himself, making one forget the lanterns upon seeing him, and remember the bright moon in the sky.

And now, in this cramped, dim kitchen, Rong Tang saw Su Huaijing crying.

It wasn't a heart-wrenching or tearful weeping, not even close to 'tears with a smile'. His face was almost expressionless, just standing there quietly, head bowed, letting the medicinal steam rise, as tears silently slid down his cheeks, one by one, leaving trails like pearls.

Rong Tang's heart trembled violently, his mind panicking as he fumbled for a handkerchief. Finding nothing, he could only lift his sleeve to wipe Su Huaijing's tears, his heart aching as if hammered.

No one had seen Su Huaijing cry; since the age of eight, those who had were now buried under the ravages of war.

Cold, ruthless, and cruel, he viewed the lives of millions as mere pawns in a chess game, disposable at will.

Who had ever seen him cry?

Rong Tang was frantic, momentarily forgetting his bone-deep pain. All his agony seemed to surge from his heart, as he apologized without thinking: "I was wrong, I won't do this again. I'll tell you when I'm in pain, I won't endure it anymore..."

He blurted out promises in his haste and panic, and finally, with a soft plea: "Please, don't cry, okay?"

He had only wished to protect Su Huaijing in this life, yet ironically, it was Rong Tang himself who caused him to weep.

Wracked with guilt, Rong Tang touched the slightly cooled medicinal soup, hastily drinking it down, hoping to alleviate Su Huaijing's sorrow.

Still, it was hot and bitter. Struggling to swallow, Rong Tang stuck out his tongue, trying to cool it off and ease the numbing bitterness.

The pale bite marks on his lower lip reddened from the heat, his small, tender tongue cautiously exploring his lips. Rong Tang kept panting, fanning himself, trying to soothe the numbing sensation.

"Rong Tang," Su Huaijing called softly, his voice more hoarse and deep.

Rong Tang looked up: "Hmm?"

Suddenly, it got darker. In the dim room, with the fire in the stove crackling, Su Huaijing leaned down and kissed him, sweeping away all the lingering bitterness and heat from his lips.

Outside, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, while inside, tears fell onto Rong Tang's face, splashing like droplets of water.