Chapter 325

Chapter 325

Liang Jiugong was practically sprinting to keep up with His Majesty's hurried pace, even nearly plowing past when Kangxi suddenly stopped. Fortunately, it was a close call, and he halted behind him without daring to catch his breath.

The emperor, who had been rushing over urgently just moments ago, now stood motionless before the door. Liang Jiugong didn’t dare ask why.

Separated by the door, Su Yi seemed to make eye contact with the person outside.

Debating whether to keep up appearances, she didn’t hesitate long before calmly dabbing at the blood seeping from her lips. Since she wouldn’t recover anytime soon and he had already noticed, there was no point in pretending anymore.

Kangxi didn’t linger outside for long before pushing the door open. That brief pause seemed to give her a moment to decide.

Su Yi listened as his steady footsteps drew closer. Though she had decided to stop pretending, she still felt that 'mom-caught-you-with-junk-food' dread.

When Kangxi spotted the figure behind the screen, his expression darkened, brows furrowing tightly as he swiftly stepped around it. Her normally glowing face had gone ghostly pale, her demeanor indifferent as she wiped blood from her lips with a stained handkerchief. "Consort!" His normally calm voice cracked with urgency.

Outside, Liang Jiugong, who hadn’t followed His Majesty in, immediately turned to Qinxin upon hearing the emperor’s unusual tone. Qinxin, just as panicked—her mistress had been fine just moments ago—hurried inside to check, only to hear Kangxi urgently order the summoning of the imperial physician.

Liang Jiugong realized something was truly wrong and wasted no time sending for the physician, his shrill voice nearly cracking. Qinxin, upon seeing her mistress weakly spitting blood in the emperor’s arms—with no sign of stopping—staggered forward in shock. "Your Highness! How—?"

Her hands trembled as she completely lost her cool, replacing the blood-soaked handkerchief with a clean one. She couldn’t believe her mistress, who had been fine moments ago, was now in such a state. Had the emperor not arrived unexpectedly, who knew when they would have discovered it? The thought filled her with dread and relief.

Su Yi appeared calm, though her eyelids flickered briefly with guilt before settling back into indifference. It was just muscle memory—she had mentally prepared for this, but it still unsettled her.

The constant bleeding was annoying. Ignoring it made her feel like a cup filled to overflowing. This damn body just wouldn’t get with the program.

Kangxi’s expression was icy, the air around him thick with barely-contained fury. Yet his hands were gentle as he wiped her lips. Then, abruptly, he turned his fury on Qinxin. "How could you neglect your duties so? Failing to notice your mistress’s condition! Guards—"

Qinxin paled, lips trembling in fear. Earlier, her mistress had lain down fully dressed—unusual for someone who prized comfort—yet she’d brushed it off. If not for the emperor’s sudden visit… She had no excuses; this was entirely her failure.

Seeing the blame shift to her right-hand woman—her indispensable manager—Su Yi panicked. Who would handle duties and assignments if Qinxin was punished? Even if replaced, the transition would be a nightmare—and who suffered? Her!

Frantic, Su Yi ignored how unrealistic it was to speak clearly while coughing up blood (unlike in dramas). "M-my—*cough*—p-people—*cough*!"

Damn it—talking just made the blood flow back, choking her further. Pale as a ghost—whiter than week-old laundry—the stark contrast between her pallor and the blood made her look terrifyingly fragile, as if she’d choke to death any second.

"Fine, fine. Your people, your responsibility."

Kangxi relented. *Easy there, Consort. You’re giving me a heart attack.*

Her desperate defense of Qinxin—a mere palace staffer—irked him. He could easily find someone better! But now wasn’t the time to argue. He simply snapped at the servants to hurry the physician—what were they dawdling for?

Qinxin, dodging a bullet, was still shaken. With her mistress’s relapse and the emperor’s worry, she wasn’t about to screw up again. She quickly followed the old protocols for her mistress’s episodes, though rusty, not daring to make another mistake.

Luckily, she’d packed the emergency meds, just in case. She’d prepared them out of habit—regularly replaced in the palace to ensure potency—and brought them on this trip, hoping they’d never be needed. But better safe than sorry.

None of this stopped Su Yi from inwardly cursing the bitter medicine and restricted diet awaiting her. She was pissed enough to kick a puppy.

Kangxi, tuned into her mental rant: *Even like this, she’s still griping.*

He didn’t know what to say. Her mouth stayed shut, but her brain was a complaint factory—and he couldn’t *not* hear them. Yet he had to pretend he didn’t, maintaining a gentle facade toward this frail woman whose inner monologue was pure rage.

The disconnect gave him whiplash, but he played along.

As for the imperial physician—though elderly and needing little sleep, his body wasn’t accustomed to being dragged out of bed at three or four in the morning. When roused, he was still half-asleep!

If he hadn't woken up quickly, he would have been carried off without even time to put on his clothes. Such urgency and suddenness must mean something serious had happened to the Emperor. The imperial physician dared not delay, abandoning his usual slow pace on his old legs, and was practically carried away in a rush.

Then he noticed the destination and—ugh!—a dreadful sense of familiarity struck him.

Surely not. It couldn’t be what he was thinking, right? Yet the moment he saw the familiar faces, his heart sank completely, and he felt a chill on his scalp, as if his hairline had retreated further.

Normally, the Emperor was robust, in the prime of his life, and in excellent health. Routine check-ups were just perfunctory. Unless there was an unexpected incident like the Eldest Prince’s injury, the imperial physician’s life was quite peaceful, with no need for constant heart-pounding crises. Even the Grand Empress Dowager, due to her advanced age, was something the physicians were mentally prepared for.

But during Consort Rong’s illness, those days had left the imperial physicians spine-chilled, perpetually on edge. They had thought this Mulan hunting expedition would be routine, uneventful, and by the numbers.

Who could have predicted that first, Consort Ping and the Eldest Prince would be involved in an incident? The Eldest Prince was fine, but Consort Ping had succumbed to her severe injuries and couldn’t be saved. It felt like teetering at death’s door—fortunately, it was a close call. But before their hearts could settle, now it was Consort Rong’s turn.

Just that morning, he had pitied his fellow physicians caught in the crossfire between the Eldest Prince and Consort Rong, trapped in a dilemma.

Well, now it was his turn.

But it was fine—soon, other colleagues would join him in this misery.

Sure enough, almost immediately, fellow physicians were "invited" in the same manner. Faced with Consort Rong’s rapidly deteriorating pulse, their brains nearly fried. They couldn’t fathom how she had suddenly fallen so gravely ill, her body failing so badly that stopping the bleeding was a nightmare.

After using golden needles to stem the bleeding, they thought they had stabilized her—only for it to fail repeatedly. After two attempts, they were met with the Emperor’s fury. The needles caused suffering but no results, ramping up their stress.

They exhausted every method, struggling until midday before Consort Rong’s condition finally stabilized. Though they hadn’t been exposed to the scorching sun, their underrobes were drenched and dried over and over from sweat, their nerves frayed to the breaking point. The sudden relief left them dizzy, their exhaustion mirroring that of the palace servants who had endured a day and night of terror like sleep-deprived sentries.

But the physicians soon realized they had relaxed too soon. By afternoon, Consort Rong developed a fever, and she couldn’t keep down any medicine. Even getting a third of a dose down was an achievement—before she vomited it back up with blood, her life force draining fast.

The fever showed no signs of breaking by midnight. A prolonged high fever could be fatal, yet none of their cooling methods worked.

The Emperor remained by Consort Rong’s side, seething with rage at the lack of improvement. He demanded they find a way to cure her—or else, if anything happened to her, they would join her in the grave. The imperial physicians had a keen sense of crisis in such matters.

While others might not grasp the extent of the Emperor’s concern, the physicians had plenty of experience. After all, theirs was a high-risk profession where practice made survival.

Originally, some had tried to capitalize on the feud between the Eldest Prince and Consort Rong to weaken certain factions. The imperial bondservant clans had suffered heavy losses, and they couldn’t let the Manchu nobility get too cocky. They planned to use Consort Rong’s harsh treatment of the Eldest Prince—a royal heir—against her, arguing that as a stepmother, she lacked maternal compassion.

But the Eldest Prince’s injuries worsened, and he was carried back. Before their grievances could gain traction, Consort Rong suddenly relapsed into illness—and it was severe.

This wasn’t some imagined dizziness or chest tightness with no real consequence. This was a matter of life and death: a high fever lasting two days and nights without waking, her breath so shallow it barely registered, her pulse scattered and weak. The physicians dared not relax, terrified that if Consort Rong didn’t pull through, they would face the Emperor’s wrath and follow her to the grave.

When the fever finally broke, it didn’t fully subside, lingering as a low-grade fever that could spike again at any moment. Those on duty didn’t dare close their eyes. The Emperor even moved his paperwork to Consort Rong’s side, refusing to leave. As her condition dragged on, his mood grew dangerously volatile, like a lit fuse.

This was keenly felt not just by the palace servants and physicians, but also by the ministers summoned for discussions. Any mistake by the servants now could cost them their lives, and the physicians were under unbearable pressure. The ministers, meanwhile, didn’t dare bring up Consort Rong’s treatment of the Eldest Prince—that would be poking the bear. Even the usual token impeachment motions were abandoned.

Yet some couldn’t resist provoking the Emperor—and paid the price. One moment, they were thrown onto the confiscation roster and stripped of their rank; the next, they were dragged out for a public flogging, followed by a total asset seizure. And none of it could be blamed on Consort Rong.

The Emperor wasn’t punishing them for causing trouble while Consort Rong was critically ill.

No, it was because they were embezzlers who had slipped through the net earlier.

Since they were in such a hurry to join the condemned, the Emperor was happy to oblige.

Kangxi acted swiftly and decisively, his tongue-lashings leaving the ministers stunned. Minor mistakes that might have been overlooked when he was in a good mood now earned them scathing reprimands. None present could claim to be entirely clean, and none dared draw attention to themselves, lest they invite the Emperor’s wrath. They could only tread carefully and pray for Consort Rong’s swift recovery—so they wouldn’t have to endure his foul mood, sharp tongue, and ruthless punishments any longer.

Otherwise, how could they endure this? When would it end?

The Crown Prince found it hard to rest even while recuperating, mainly because he never expected the Rong Noble Consort—who could be so exhausting and only seemed to thrive on it—to suddenly fall ill. It was so abrupt that he began to suspect whether she was faking illness to make him look bad.

As the Rong Noble Consort's condition showed no signs of improvement and even took a critical turn at one point, rumors gradually spread that her collapse was due to being driven to illness by his actions.

The Crown Prince absolutely refused to accept such blame. How could he possibly have caused the Rong Noble Consort’s illness? On the contrary, he hadn’t gained even the slightest advantage—he was the one being tormented by her!

He immediately wanted to go and explain this to the Emperor, but the palace servants desperately stopped him in time.

They were terrified that the Crown Prince, as before, would rush over at such a moment. The Emperor was already deeply distressed over the Rong Noble Consort’s condition, and no one dared to provoke his temper at this critical juncture. Everyone was on edge, hearts in their throats.

If the Crown Prince acted impulsively now, it would only add fuel to the fire—especially since the Rong Noble Consort was genuinely in a dire state.

Whether her relapse was truly caused by the Crown Prince or not, his going to the Emperor would only backfire. Instead of helping, it would remind the Emperor to vent his anger on the Crown Prince. While the Crown Prince might survive the Emperor’s wrath, the servants would surely lose their heads for failing to stop him from acting recklessly.