Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The room was thick with the scent of incense, stale and oppressive. Grand Eunuch Zhao Dehai pushed the door open, his footsteps light on the floor, careful not to make the slightest sound.

By the bed, a figure in white robes knelt. Through the sheer curtains, a gaunt hand extended, its pulse being checked by the white-robed physician. Further up, within the layers of curtains, lay a shadowy form on the bed.

Zhao Dehai approached, lowering his voice to ask, "Imperial Physician Wei, how is His Majesty?" Only when he drew near did he notice the physician’s hands trembling like a sieve.

Wei An, trembling, withdrew his hand after taking the pulse, not even daring to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead.

He was newly appointed to the Imperial Medical Bureau this year and had never even seen the Emperor before. This trip to the detached palace should have been assigned to more experienced physicians, but those in the bureau lived in constant fear for their heads—one wrong move meant losing them. The seasoned physicians had all shirked the responsibility, passing it around until it landed on him.

Yet Wei An could only regret inwardly. Had he known, he would never have taken the Imperial Medical Bureau exams—setting up a small practice outside would have been far better.

If he survived this trip, he swore he’d curse out every physician who had pushed this duty onto him. Their lives mattered more than his?

"His Majesty is suffering from a headache. I shall perform acupuncture at once."

The words had barely left his mouth than the figure on the bed stirred.

Zhao Dehai hurried over to attend. "Your Majesty."

Wei An immediately lowered his head. Before this assignment, the head of the Imperial Medical Bureau had repeatedly warned him to be extremely cautious in the Emperor’s presence—not the slightest mistake was permissible. Any misstep would be playing with his life.

A voice, cool and detached, came from above. "Look up."

Wei An froze in fright but mechanically raised his head, though he dared not meet the Emperor’s gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. It was said that when the Emperor’s headaches grew severe, he couldn't tell man from beast. Several physicians had reportedly been scared to death after encountering him in such a state.

He could only pray the Emperor had his wits about him now.

"Acupuncture again?" Pei Xingjian levered himself up on an elbow, his dark hair falling over the corners of his eyes. He let out a derisive snort before lying back down, his brows furrowed tightly as if tormented by the pain. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them. "Go."

Zhao Dehai’s heart ached to see the Emperor in such agony. Having served him since childhood, he wished he could bear the suffering in his stead.

"Your Majesty, allow this old servant to stay with you." While Imperial Physician Wei was still unsure of the Emperor’s temperament, Zhao Dehai understood perfectly—that single word had been directed at him. The Emperor’s headaches followed a progression from mild to severe. If the physician failed to control it at the initial stage, he'd likely forfeit his life.

No further sound came from the bed. Zhao Dehai could only sigh inwardly. The Emperor’s silence meant there was no changing his mind. Seeing His Majesty’s eyes closed, Zhao Dehai quietly withdrew, leaving Wei An alone, kneeling in terror before the bed.

Once outside, Zhao Dehai shut the door without a sound and turned to see the leader of the Tianxuan Guard waiting. Raising a finger to his lips, he gestured for silence and led the man a few steps away. "Leader Zhuo, any results?"

Zhuo nodded. "Eunuch Zhao, we’ve found a few more."

Zhao Dehai cautioned in a low voice, "Leader Zhuo, there must be no mistakes this time. His Majesty’s patience is limited."

"Understood," Zhuo replied. Previously, they had captured a ragtag bunch of social climbers, but bringing them in had only worsened the Emperor’s condition. He had no idea where that Taoist had come from, spouting that nonsense about people with unique fragrances from the southwest curing ailments. If a mere scent could heal, what good were physicians?

The Emperor didn’t believe in occult remedies, but perhaps the pain had driven him to desperation, leading them to the southwest.

Zhuo suspected they’d been deceived by the Taoist, but he dared not voice it. "Please take a look first, Eunuch Zhao."

Zhao Dehai nodded. "Lead the way."

-

"Brother, what’s your name?"

"Brother, I’m just a beggar—you’ve got the wrong guy!"

Lin Ting had been dragged by the collar the entire way, his neck aching from the strain.

No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn’t figure out how they’d found him after just one accidental collision. These men were tall and strong, their faces unremarkable, yet they had marched him for a good half-hour without breaking a sweat. Lin Ting couldn’t help but admire their stamina.

"Brother, aren’t you tired from carrying me all this way? How about you put me down? I’ll walk on my own—no running, I swear. Deal?"

The man gripping him remained stone-faced, eyes fixed ahead, utterly unresponsive to Lin Ting’s pleas, like an emotionless machine. After pleading until he was blue in the face to no avail, Lin Ting gave up.

"Fine, I’ll rest for now." He had managed to scrounge up a meat bun earlier, but hunger had sapped his strength. Escape seemed impossible, so he might as well conserve energy and think about how to face the tyrant later.

After a long trek, an imposing manor suddenly came into view. The guards at the gate immediately opened it upon seeing them.

Lin Ting wondered why they didn’t blindfold him. Weren’t they afraid he’d run? So confident?

As soon as they entered, a figure dropped down from nowhere, startling Lin Ting. "What the—you can fly?!"

The man glanced at him with disdain before addressing Lin Ting’s captors. "Where did you pick up this beggar?"

Lin Ting: "..."

We're all human here—just 'cause my clothes are rough didn’t make him a beggar! If they looked down on him, why not just let him go?!

"Reporting to the commander, we found him running in the streets. He collided with us, and we caught a strange scent, so we brought him in."

The man waved dismissively. "Dump him in the storeroom. I’ll inform the eunuch."

"Yes."

Lin Ting was hauled through the sprawling estate, twisting through corridors until he was disoriented.

Just as he was about to pass out, they stopped. Straining his neck, he faced massive wooden doors, still damp from recent rain.

One of the men stepped forward and opened the door, revealing utter blackness inside, with only a sliver of light near the entrance.

Lin Ting, afraid of the dark, tried to bargain. "Brother, I’m scared of the dark—can’t you put me somewhere else?" Before he could finish, he was flung inside, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Ouch!" Lin Ting groaned, aching all over—face, hands, rear. Couldn’t they have been gentler? What if he got hurt?

Sitting up, he found the darkness complete—not a speck of light penetrated. The air was chilly, and in the silence, the faint sound of breathing could be heard.

"You also carry a unique fragrance?" A voice suddenly spoke.

"The hell? Someone's here?!" Lin Ting hugged his knees tightly, resting his head on them.

"Obviously. Who else talks besides people?" came the reply from the corner.

Lin Ting thought to himself: Ever heard of ghosts?

Rustling sounds followed, and then the dry grass beside him shifted.

"Hmph, you barely smell of anything. Can’t even smell it unless I’m close. Doubt you'll be any use."

Lin Ting pressed his lips together and ignored the speaker. Who knew if this was a person or a ghost? Besides, he was too hungry to bother.

The other man, undeterred by the silence, rambled on, "I’ve been locked here for two days. No idea when I’ll get to see the Emperor. If I can stay by His Majesty’s side, my family will strike it rich."

Just then, the door flew open with a bang. Figures crowded the doorway—a eunuch at the front, flanked by uniformed men Lin Ting recognized. They had been the ones holding him earlier.

Zhao Dehai scanned them with a critical eye. "Bring them forward."

The Tianxuan Guard moved swiftly, hauling each captive to their knees before Zhao Dehai. Only after leaving the warehouse did Lin Ting realize two others had been locked up with him. A nauseating cocktail of scents emanated from them. Likely, these were others rounded up from all over, all bearing so-called "special fragrances."

Zhao Dehai's gaze swept over them, pausing when it reached Lin Ting. "Who brought this one back? Dressed like this—get him cleaned up at once."

The guard holding Lin Ting immediately dragged him away. But before they had taken more than a few steps, a figure burst out from a path obscured by low shrubs, shouting, "Eunuch Zhao, it's terrible! His Majesty—His Majesty's migraine has become uncontrollable!"

At this, Zhao Dehai immediately pointed at them and ordered, "Quick, take them all there. You all claim to carry rare fragrances—if you can cure His Majesty, untold wealth and honors await you."

The Tianxuan Guard restraining Lin Ting hesitated. "Eunuch, what about this one—"

Zhao Dehai gritted his teeth. "Bring him too."

-

Outside the Celestial Pavilion, Zhao Dehai rushed over in a panic, first questioning the disciples guarding the entrance. "How is His Majesty?"

Qingzi and Huanzi, serving before His Majesty for the first time, were utterly terrified, stammering, "H-His Majesty is inside, smashing things."

"And Imperial Physician Wei's screams..."

Zhao Dehai's heart sank. Imperial Physician Wei might not leave this room alive. He waved urgently behind him. "Bring them in, quickly!"

Lin Ting was led with the others to the grand doors. The Tianxuan Guards released them, standing five paces away, clearly expecting them to enter on their own.

As the doors opened, a round object came flying at them in a blur, landing with a *crack* at Lin Ting's feet—a shattered porcelain bottle.

The others, never having witnessed such a scene, flinched back in terror, only to be blocked by the Tianxuan Guards pressing against their backs, leaving them no retreat.

"Go in," the guards urged.

Zhao Dehai frowned, thinking these men far too timid. Then his gaze shifted to the rag-clad man in the middle, who hadn't flinched despite the porcelain landing right beside him. Impressed, Zhao Dehai gave him an appraising look.

Leading them inside, Zhao Dehai shut the doors behind them. The group kept their heads bowed, unable to see the scene clearly, only catching glimpses of the wreckage littered across the floor. The room was thick with incense—pungent yet oppressive, like a snow-capped mountain wrapped in stifling black cloth, unbearable after prolonged exposure.

Lin Ting's gaze trailed upward from his feet. Directly ahead, a figure in white knelt, forehead pressed to the ground, hands flat, trembling violently. Beside him, the gleaming tip of a sword pointed ominously, its blade reflecting light—except for a streak of red, something's blood, trickling down the steel.

Lin Ting blinked. If he wasn't mistaken—that *was* blood!!!

*Dear gods, what kind of feudal society is this? Killing without batting an eye—I absolutely do not want to die here.*

The room hung in heavy silence. Zhao Dehai, reading the Emperor's temper from a safer distance than usual, ventured, "Your Majesty, these are all individuals with rare fragrances. Let them try."

The shadowed figure gave no reply—only the sword moved, shifting its aim from the man in white to them instead.

A hoarse, low voice commanded, "Look up."

Zhao Dehai hastily gestured. "Raise your heads!"

Lin Ting took a deep breath, his gaze following the blood-smeared blade upward. The flow of blood seemed heavier now. When his eyes reached the hilt, he jolted—the blood might not belong to the man in white after all. The tyrant had gripped the lower edge of the blade in his palm, the steel slicing into flesh, blood seeping down the weapon. *He's this brutal even to himself? Just looking at it hurts.*

Beyond the hilt, loose black robes draped over broad shoulders. Further up, veins bulged along a strained neck, leading to tightly pressed, pallid lips—dry and lifeless, radiating a deathly pallor. The man looked utterly tormented.

Lin Ting thought—*if this tyrant spares me, I wouldn’t mind staying by his side as a living remedy.* But the moment he lifted his head, he met a pair of blood-red eyes.

Blood vessels webbed across the whites, dark circles bruising the lower lids as if sleep had been absent for days. Heavy eyelids cast a ruthless shadow, while strands of hair veiled the outer corners, intensifying the predatory stare—like a starved beast.

Those eyes had initially fixed on the entire group, but in an instant, they locked onto Lin Ting alone, pinning him with a gaze like ice.

Lin Ting's heart plummeted. *This is the end—this is a homicidal madman.*