Chapter 2: In This Life, She Will Fight to the End…

Chapter 2: Then in this life, she would fight to the end...

At the horizon, morning light shimmered, casting a golden glow as the rising sun poured its radiance downward. Verdant peaks were bathed in dawn's embrace, while the opulent palace nestled at the mountain's base was gently roused by dawn.

Outside Upper Splendor Palace, maids dressed in matching emerald-green silk robes stood in the outer hall, waiting in silence.

Not far away, palace attendants swept the grounds with silent movements, clearing away the leaves and branches that had fallen overnight.

In the courtyard stood a man clad in the official robes of an imperial physician, accompanied by two attendants carrying medicine chests. The trio waited respectfully, as if anticipating something.

At last, the palace doors opened, and a graceful maidservant appeared silently.

Approaching the physician, she curtsied gracefully and said, "Imperial Physician Cao, my apologies for the wait. The Prince of Yongning has awakened. Please come inside."

"You are too kind," replied Imperial Physician Cao courteously, though she was merely a maid, showing no arrogance.

As the group entered the hall, they were met with a faint, elusive fragrance—initially subtle but lingering with a refreshing clarity. Being a frequent visitor to the inner palace, Imperial Physician Cao recognized it at once as the rare and priceless Tuwu incense, coveted throughout Chang’an in recent years.

This incense was a tribute from distant lands. Though its scent was delicate, it saturated the air, leaving even stone fragrant.

Thus, it bore the nickname "A Thousand Gold Gone"—once lit, wealth scattered like dust.

The entire hall was now suffused with this incense, a testament to the nobility of its resident.

Following the maidservant, Imperial Physician Cao approached the bedchamber. Though the outer heavy drapes had been drawn aside, a layer of sheer gauze still veiled the interior, offering only a hazy silhouette of a reclining figure.

"This humble official pays respects to Your Highness," said Imperial Physician Cao, mindful of decorum. He bowed deeply, refraining from any undue gaze.

From behind the gauze came a voice, soft yet slightly hoarse: "You may sit."

A maid brought forth a low stool. Once seated, Imperial Physician Cao watched as a porcelain-white wrist extended outward. The maid draped a prepared silk handkerchief over the wrist joint, though even its pristine whiteness paled in comparison to the translucent, jade-like purity of the skin beneath.

Imperial Physician Cao dared not entertain any untoward thoughts and instead focused earnestly on taking the pulse.

Yet the moment his fingers touched the wrist, his heart stirred with astonishment.

Three days prior, word had arrived at Upper Splendor Palace that the Prince of Yongning had fallen critically ill. Both the Emperor and the Empress Dowager were deeply concerned, dispatching the Imperial Guards to escort Imperial Physician Cao overnight for diagnosis.

Though Upper Splendor Palace had its own accompanying Medical Officer, none could compare to the Imperial Physician.

Imperial Physician Cao, who routinely checked the Emperor’s pulse, was undoubtedly skilled.

Yet that day, upon feeling the Prince’s pulse, he was alarmed—the pulse indicated mortal danger.

He had intended to report to the Emperor immediately, but everyone knew how uniquely esteemed this prince was in His Majesty’s heart.

Thus, Imperial Physician Cao had no choice but to prescribe treatment cautiously. Unexpectedly, by the next day, the prince’s pulse had stabilized.

And now, upon examination, it had almost fully stabilized.

For His Highness to recover so swiftly in just three days was nothing short of astonishing.

"Imperial Physician Cao, how is my pulse?" The voice from behind the gauze spoke again.

Imperial Physician Cao rose at once, his face alight with relief. "Your Highness, your pulse shows significant improvement compared to the past two days. It seems your naturally strong constitution and heavenly blessings have prevailed, and you are now no longer in danger. However, healing takes time—this illness struck suddenly, so you must still take care to rest and recuperate. Take no risks."

Reclining on the bed, Xie Lingyu listened to the physician’s words and suddenly laughed.

"Heavenly blessings," she murmured under her breath, repeating the words with wry amusement.

Just when all hope seemed lost, she suddenly found herself alive again.

She could indeed be considered heavenly fortunate.

Three days ago, when Xie Lingyu awoke in a daze, everything around her was utterly different from the dilapidated courtyard where she had drunk the poisoned wine. Instead, she found herself in a magnificent and towering palace, surrounded by exquisite and opulent furnishings, and familiar faces.

At first, she thought her soul had lingered, clinging too fiercely to the past, reliving memories of bygone days.

But after these three days, however shocking or unbelievable it seemed, Xie Lingyu had finally confirmed one thing.

She had truly been reborn into the past.

No longer was she the desperate woman confined to a ruined courtyard, awaiting death.

She was once again the exalted Prince Yongning.

*

After Imperial Physician Cao finished taking her pulse, he excused himself and withdrew.

Not long after, the maids waiting outside the hall filed in, carrying various toiletries—gold-washed bronze basins, fragrant mouth-rinsing cups, cloud-silk handkerchiefs, tortoiseshell combs inlaid with gold, and carved lacquer incense cases.

Eight maids arranged themselves in two orderly rows, entering the hall and standing ready.

"Your Highness, shall you rise now?" A soft voice outside the bed curtains called Xie Lingyu back from her reverie.

Xie Lingyu looked at the figure beyond the curtains. Her chambermaid at this time was not Yinghua, but Chun Xi.

She had also served Xie Lingyu since childhood, though later she married and became a house steward.

"Rise," Xie Lingyu said calmly.

The gauze curtains were drawn aside simultaneously, and Xie Lingyu stepped down from the bed. After days of recuperation, her health had indeed improved greatly—no longer the frail state where even sitting left her unsteady.

After washing, Xie Lingyu seated herself before the dressing table in the chamber.

The rhombus-patterned mirror adorned with mythical beasts and grapevines reflected her image with crystalline clarity.

Though the girl in the mirror had been ill for days, she showed no signs of weariness. Her jade-like cheeks, untouched by powder, still couldn't conceal her peerless beauty. When her lashes lifted slightly, her gaze shimmered like lotus on water, exuding an air of noble grace.

The maid combing her hair behind her froze for a moment at the sight.

Clearly, she was momentarily transfixed.

The maids serving His Highness often reacted this way. Even after seeing that celestial face countless times, they would still occasionally be left speechless by her radiance.

Even Xie Lingyu herself was examining this once-familiar face.

The last time she had seen it in the bronze mirror, she had been gaunt and bearing death's pallor.

"Your Highness, yesterday the Emperor sent over many medicinal herbs and tonics, including two wild ginseng roots," Chun Xi said from the side. "The moment you fell ill, the Emperor grew so concerned—even imperial princesses likely don’t receive such attention."

Xie Lingyu did not reply, merely lifting a hand to catch a stray lock of hair.

The maid combing her hair immediately paused, careful not to tug on the strands.

The lock of hair coiled around her fingers was raven-black, gleaming like silk—proof of the meticulous care it usually received.

"Princess?" Xie Lingyu said quietly.

Chun Xi froze and quickly begged for forgiveness. "Your Highness, pardon your servant’s careless words."

The corners of Xie Lingyu’s lips lifted slightly—it was her first truly carefree smile in days.

She did not reprimand Chun Xi but instead suddenly realized something.

In her previous life, she couldn’t fathom why Princess Zhaoyang had been so vicious toward her. After all, they were cousins, not sworn enemies.

Yet over just one man—Pei Jingan—Zhaoyang had sought to ruin her completely.

How ridiculous.

Now it seemed clear that this bitterness didn’t develop overnight.

Her father had died saving the Emperor, and her imperial uncle had spoiled her rotten ever since, even breaking with tradition by bestowing upon her the title of prince—a status reserved for men.

Therefore, whether in royal favor or privileges, she far surpassed the Emperor’s other daughters.

The other princesses could tolerate it, but Princess Zhaoyang was around the same age as her.

People inevitably compared them.

Zhaoyang must have been seething with jealousy all this time.

Yet in her previous life, Xie Lingyu had always been cautious. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lived alone at Shanghua Palace outside Chang’an until her fifteenth birthday.

It was a summer retreat granted to her late father by the Emperor.

By distancing herself from palace intrigues and living in solitude, she avoided giving meddling officials any reason to accuse her.

Even now, voices in court still protested the appointment of a woman as a prince, calling it a violation of tradition and an insult to tradition.

To her, the princely title was both honor and burden.

And yet someone hated her enough to cast her into the deepest pits of hell.

When she was under house arrest, someone once sent her a bronze mirror—an object so lavish it looked completely out of place in that humble courtyard. At first, she hadn’t understood its purpose.

Not until she watched herself become gaunt and faded in its clear reflection, like a carefully cultivated flower wilting away slowly.

That process was as excruciating as mental torture—slow, visible, and merciless.

Only later did she learn that the mirror had been sent by Princess Zhaoyang.

Indeed, when it came to tormenting women, some always found especially cruel ways.

“Bring me writing supplies,” Xie Lingyu suddenly said, raising her eyebrows.

Chun Xi looked puzzled. “Your Highness, now?”

But wasn’t she getting her hair styled?

“Now,” Xie Lingyu replied calmly.

Though confused, Chun Xi immediately turned to give instructions.

When she looked back, she saw the maid continue styling Xie Lingyu’s hair, while her mistress wore a faint smile on her face. Though bewildered, she kept quiet.

By the time the writing supplies were ready, the maid had just finished putting up Xie Lingyu’s hair.

"Your Highness, perhaps you should have breakfast first. Imperial Physician Cao just said that your health requires careful nurturing," Chun Xi advised again.

Xie Lingyu walked to the table and sat down, picking up her brush and writing as she replied, "There's no hurry."

Only after she had covered a full page with elegant handwriting did she finally look up. Chun Xi was curious but didn’t dare ask.

"Have someone deliver this letter to the palace later and present it to His Majesty," Xie Lingyu instructed.

Chun Xi was surprised. "Your Highness, is this letter for His Majesty?"

Xie Lingyu lightly rested her chin on her hand and said calmly, "After falling ill, the Emperor has been so concerned. It’s only proper that I personally write a letter to express my gratitude to him."

Hearing this, Chun Xi’s face immediately lit up with joy. "Your Highness, what’s changed your mind now? Previously, you said we shouldn’t trouble His Majesty and the Empress Dowager too often. Others would kill for the Emperor’s favor and care, yet you shoved it away."

In truth, Chun Xi was being rather tactful. Anyone else might have privately called Xie Lingyu a fool.

Her entire position and privilege relied on imperial favor, yet she had been shoving it away.

Wasn’t that completely foolish?

In her past life, she had been cautious and meticulous, yet she still met such a terrible end.

Very well. If not fighting for position in her past life was a mistake, then in this life, she would fight to the very end—if only for complete triumph!