Chapter 124: Feeding Medicine

Chapter 124: Giving Medicine

Jiang Xun was burning with fever, his face glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. His brows were tightly furrowed as he clutched Shen Que’s arm tightly, his gaze fixed intently on Shen Que, as if trying to confirm his identity.

The Emperor studied Shen Que’s face intently, from his refined and elegant features to the neck tightly wrapped in his robes. Suddenly, as if alarmed, he flung back the covers and reached out toward Shen Que.

Shen Que was taken aback—the Emperor’s current condition shouldn’t be exposed to drafts. He quickly wrapped Jiang Xun back up.

But Jiang Xun struggled anxiously, like a creature burrowing out of its den. He extended a hand from beneath the blanket, reaching for Shen Que’s leg.

Shen Que was torn between amusement and exasperation, unsure what fascination the Emperor had with his leg. Yet Jiang Xun had already found his knee, his fingers mapping every ridge of muscle, feeling every curve of the bone. He pressed gently for a long while before finally letting out a faint sigh of relief.

“…”

The Emperor’s fever made his fingertips scalding hot, sending a strange tingle up Shen Que’s leg from his knee to his chest. He flinched but held himself still, allowing the Emperor to continue his exploration.

Shen Que soothed softly, “Your Majesty, get back under the blanket. You can touch me from there, alright?”

Jiang Xun seemed to grasp vaguely. He released Shen Que, as if confirming something important, and stopped struggling. He rolled over, pulling the blanket with him, and lay with his back to Shen Que.

It wasn’t a relaxed sleeping posture. Instead, he curled into a tight ball facing the wall, occupying only a small space, nearly pressing himself into the corner—vulnerable and unsettled.

Shen Que frowned.

Princes were raised in pampered privilege, each carrying themselves with ease and confidence. Jiang Xun had been the one always daydreaming by the window, completely ignoring the lectures—every bit the spoiled child. How could he now appear so lost and fearful?

Jiang Xun, burning with fever, shivered and burned in turns. When Shen Que reached out to touch him, he instinctively leaned toward the warmth, pressing closer. Shen Que wrapped an arm around him, tucking the blanket securely before resting a hand on his forehead—cold sweat against burning skin.

A fever this high, unchecked for hours, was dangerous.

Shen Que pinned Jiang Xun gently, intending to call for the imperial physician. But the Emperor clutched stubbornly at his sleeve, making it impossible to pull away. After a moment’s hesitation, Shen Que embraced Jiang Xun instead, patting his back soothingly.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, “this subject will fetch the imperial physician for you.”

It was a somewhat presumptuous gesture, but Jiang Xun did quiet down. Shen Que threw on his outer robe and instructed Wang An to summon the physician.

Then he returned to the room to check on the Emperor.

Jiang Xun’s brows remained furrowed, his lips slightly parted as he mumbled something under his breath.

In dreams, time blurs, blending fragments of memories together. Shen Que leaned closer to listen. Jiang Xun’s words were fragmented, only scattered phrases like “cold,” “blanket,” “fire,” and “save them” reaching his ears.

Shen Que strung the words together, inferring he meant, “Cold… want the blanket… there’s a fire… save them.”

None of it made sense. He bent down again, catching two more words this time.

“Sister” and “mother.”

The late Emperor had many consorts, and aside from those with particularly powerful families, most faded into obscurity—Shen Que wasn’t familiar with them. As for sisters, the late Emperor had several princesses, but only two were older than Jiang Xun: Princess Anping and Princess Ningguo.

Both were long married, living harmoniously with their husbands and rarely returning to the palace. Shen Que pondered for a moment but couldn’t recall either having any notable connection with Jiang Xun. Then again, he wasn’t well-versed in palace matters—it wasn’t strange that he wouldn’t know.

“Is Your Majesty missing one of the princesses?” he wondered silently.

The Emperor’s mother had passed away early, and with no Empress Dowager now, Jiang Xun couldn’t see her even if he wished. But summoning his sisters wasn’t difficult. The upcoming Qianqiu Festival would be the perfect occasion to host a banquet and invite the princesses for an audience.

Jiang Xun, alternating between fever and chills, kept shifting restlessly under the blanket. Shen Que pressed a hand down, keeping him firmly tucked in.

“Your Majesty, don’t move,” he coaxed. “You need to sweat the fever out… Which princess do you miss? This servant will have Wang An summon her another day so you may see her.”

Jiang Xun lifted his eyelids, giving Shen Que a dazed glance before closing them again.

He said, "Can't see them anymore."

"...Never see them again."

That sister who would make tiger-head shoes for him, who would share a bit of food with him, who would hold him along with his mother—he would never see her again.

Shen Que’s confusion grew. While the two princesses weren’t in the palace, they were both alive and well. One of them, Princess Ningguo, was married to a marquis in the capital, and the marquis's residence was just a few streets away from the palace. A royal summons could bring her here in the time it takes to drink two cups of tea. How could it be that he would never see her again?

But the Emperor had already drifted off, so Shen Que refrained from pressing further.

Roughly half an hour later, a sedan chair carried the Imperial Physician, jogging all the way to the palace gates.

The Imperial Physician was past sixty, an elderly man with graying hair. Yanked from bed in the dead of night, he dared not show the slightest complaint. He just set his medicine case by the bed and asked, "Lord Shen, what is His Majesty's condition?"

Shen Que tugged Jiang Xun’s hand free from the blankets. The cold wrist instinctively flinched back but was firmly held in place.

The Imperial Tutor pressed the Emperor's wrist onto the pulse pillow and gestured for the physician to take his pulse. "I don’t know what happened. He went out with two young lords in the afternoon and returned like this—feverish, shivering, sweating cold sweat, and rambling, his thoughts all over the place. If the fever doesn’t break, he could pass out."

The physician’s face darkened at that. He checked Jiang Xun’s pulse, his expression growing odd.

Shen Que asked, "Well?"

The Emperor wasn’t brilliant, but he wasn’t a fool either. With tensions this high, with the Northern Di eyeing them covetously and the court in chaos, no matter the consideration, Jiang Xun absolutely could not fall ill.

Moreover...

Shen Que lowered his gaze to Jiang Xun. The Emperor was caught between boyhood and manhood, his body bearing both the delicacy of adolescence and the slenderness of maturity, yet his frame was worryingly slight—nothing like the robust health expected of someone raised in the palace.

This old man thinks... After deliberating for a long while, he finally spoke. "His Majesty was exposed to cold wind and caught a chill, hence the persistent fever. But..."

He hesitated, then seemed too afraid to continue.

Shen Que frowned. "This concerns the Emperor’s health. What is it that you dare not say?"

The physician replied, "The chill is merely the surface issue. The real issue is His Majesty’s poor health—internal and external depletion. This is the result of long-term strain, not something that happened overnight. This chill merely triggered it prematurely. Moreover, judging from the pulse, His Majesty is... suffering from excessive melancholy. He needs to ease his mind—can’t let it weigh on him."

At these words, not only did Shen Que fall silent, but even Wang An’s eyebrows shot up.

Excessive melancholy?

Who was suffering from excessive melancholy? Their Emperor?!

For a moment, the physician had to lick his lips to hide his awkwardness, Wang An looked utterly shocked, and Shen Que said nothing, merely stating, "Prescribe the medicine."

The physician, uneasy after his diagnosis, hurried out, hastily writing out the prescription and handing it to Shen Que before taking his leave.

Shen Que glanced over the prescription—mostly tonics and warming herbs, to be taken daily without interruption.

Wang An left with the prescription and returned shortly with a bowl of dark brown medicinal broth that smelled bitterly pungent. The eunuch passed the bowl to Shen Que, grimacing. "Lord Shen, this...?"

No way was he forcing that down the Emperor’s throat.

Shen Que said, "I’ll handle it."

Propping Jiang Xun up slightly, he brought the spoon to his lips. Jiang Xun wrinkled his nose at the bitter smell and turned his head away, only to hear Shen Que say, "Your Majesty, this will reduce the fever. I’ve already asked Wang An to prepare candied fruits for you."

Well, he was still young enough to need coaxing.

Jiang Xun opened his eyes weakly and asked softly, "66, must I drink this?"

He had carefully reviewed the system's contract before—during the plot missions, his body wouldn’t suffer any harm. As for outside the missions, Jiang Xun didn’t care much anyway.

66 blurted out instinctively, "You must."

Jiang Xun was the only Host who had actually read the contract thoroughly. 66 should have been pleased, but now it was panicking, hastily making up an excuse: "...The system ensures the host’s baseline survival, but if your health is already depleted before the plot begins, many missions can't be completed, and you won’t hit 85... er, never mind—just drink it!"

By the end, 66 was practically frantic.

Jiang Xun chuckled.

66 urged, "Drink it now! How can you laugh, Host? Hurry up and drink!"

It was genuinely getting anxious.

Apart from the system, the Imperial Tutor’s frown hadn’t eased either.

Jiang Xun remained still, and Shen Que couldn’t force it down. Spoon in hand, he stalled, unsure how to coax him further. He only said, "If Your Majesty desires anything else, please command me. Once the medicine is finished, I’ll prepare it for you."

Jiang Xun smirked to himself—was he being treated like a three-year-old? Before Shen Que could finish speaking, he had already taken the bowl and drained it in one go.

Shen Que was slightly surprised.

Given the Emperor’s temperament, he had expected Jiang Xun to put up a fuss before drinking.

Yet Jiang Xun drank it decisively, finishing it all without even waiting for the candied fruit.

The bitter medicine soured his mouth, and he pressed a hand to his chest, coughing lightly.

Shen Que reached out to pat the Emperor’s back, but Jiang Xun glanced at the screen—their daily intimacy quota was already full—so he waved him off and said, "Lord Shen, you’re dismissed. I’ll sleep alone for the rest of the night."

Shen Que paused. "You’ve just taken ill. Someone should stay with you."

Jiang Xun lowered his gaze. "Wang An will attend me."

Jiang Xun’s infamy as a tyrant was legendary. He had confined the Imperial Tutor in the palace and found various ways to defile him at whim—though it was necessary for the plot, Jiang Xun still felt guilty.

After all, when history condemned Jiang Xun for his tyranny, one of the charges was forcing his teacher—the future Qingyi Prime Minister, whose name would be celebrated for generations—to remain in the palace, subjecting him to disgraceful treatment.

In his past life, Jiang Xun no longer remembered what mindset had driven him. But in this life, since he had no intention of harming Shen Que and their intimacy was already sufficient, he wanted to let Shen Que leave first. That way, Shen Que could be more at ease, rather than lying beside a tyrant, restless and unable to sleep properly.

Shen Que frowned.

He objected, "Your Majesty, Steward Wang can only sleep in the outer chamber. If you thrash free of the covers at night, he won’t notice immediately."

Jiang Xun still looked listless. "Then so be it."

It wouldn’t kill him.

Shen Que’s frown deepened. "Your Majesty, that’s not advisable."

He’d witnessed Jiang Xun’s earlier thrashing firsthand. If the Emperor were exposed to the cold all night, the imperial physicians would convene in panic tomorrow, the capital would be draped in white mourning the day after, and by the third day, all the officials would be kneeling in the Qianqing Palace, wailing at his bier.

"..."

Jiang Xun found it amusing. He’d meant to spare Shen Que discomfort, yet Shen Que refused. What did Shen Que stand to gain, clinging to him? He averted his gaze and said flatly, "Xue Jin’s case is settled. He was wrongly accused. The Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review still have some evidence to process, but at the latest, he’ll be released from prison next month—unscathed, his standing intact, still the heir of the Marquis of Zhenbei. I won’t trouble him further."

Not only would he not trouble him, but Jiang Xun would also continue, as Mr. Xun, to impart knowledge from the future, informing Xue Jin of the calamities awaiting the fallen dynasty, to forge him into a worthy Emperor.

Lord Shen froze for a second. "Your Majesty, Prince Xue..."

He wanted to ask, *What does Prince Xue have to do with this?* He hadn’t even thought of Xue Jin just now.

Jiang Xun’s word was final. Shen Que had already received a letter from Shen Xiu, knowing his nephew got off easy—twenty strokes that didn’t even break the skin, just for appearances. As for Xue Jin, this was a case Shen Que had been doggedly pursuing. Ever since that night at the hot springs, the Emperor had relented, and the current progress was clear to him.

But Jiang Xun had already lain down, pulling the quilt over his head, covering his ears, and even blocking them with his hands, shutting himself off entirely.

The Emperor pressed the quilt down, thinking, "I won’t listen."

Shen Que was about to bring up Xue Jin again, and he didn’t want to hear it.

Sick people tire easily. This time, Jiang Xun fell asleep not long after lying down.

Leaving Shen Que perched on the bedside, with Wang An waiting by the door.

The eunuch shot Shen Que an uneasy look. "Lord Shen? Well, His Majesty just ordered you to return to your own palace to sleep."

Shen Que looked at him. "Given His Majesty’s current state, do you think he can be left alone?"

"..."

Wang An wore a troubled expression. "But His Majesty gave the order. If he wakes tomorrow and sees you still here, he might take offense. We’d be in deep trouble. Best hurry back."

Shen Que, however, said, "He won’t mind."

The Emperor wouldn’t blame them.

After the matter with Shen Xiu was settled, Shen Que was almost certain that Jiang Xun was all bark and no bite—especially toward him. He didn’t know why, but the Emperor was indeed lenient with him.

He dismissed Wang An with a wave and lay down on the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers over the Emperor’s shoulder.

Still too cold.

And the Emperor, half-asleep, shifted closer.

—and found himself pulled close.