Chapter 44: What Do You Really Want?

Chapter 44: What on Earth Do You Truly Want?

Xiao Chen felt a warm gush beneath him and immediately clutched his abdomen, not daring to move another inch. A rare flicker of panic crossed his face.

As Zhang Fu’s frantic cries for the imperial physician echoed, Ling Yehan felt as if doused with a bucket of cold water. His mind, previously clouded by drink, was now forcibly sobered. He turned to rush back inside but was restrained by several imperial guards. Xing Fang pressed down on his shoulder:

“Lord Marquis, please, no more trouble.”

Ling Yehan’s strength suddenly drained, and he was pressed onto the flogging bench. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught only a glimpse of the imperial physician’s robes as they hurried inside.

Xiao Chen had already been helped onto the bed in the inner chamber, his face deathly pale and beaded with cold sweat. The cramping in his lower abdomen filled him with dread. The curtains were drawn, and he lifted his robe. Xu Yuanli immediately saw the bloodstains beneath him. Xiao Chen looked up, and despite his discomfort, the commanding presence in his eyes remained undiminished:

“Save my child.”

“Yes, yes, Your Majesty, I will do everything in my power.”

The sound of the flogging staffs resonated from outside. The executioners, personally chosen by Xing Fang, were skilled. The severity of the punishment depended entirely on the emperor’s will. Though it was only ten strikes, these ten could either flay skin and draw blood or be merely symbolic. After all, the man before them was a first-rank marquis. The emperor must have been in a fit of rage to order such a punishment. How could Xing Fang dare to strike with full force? Yet, the emperor’s decree could not be defied. Each strike was raised high and landed with a loud thud, but in reality, they only caused superficial wounds, not damaging muscle or bone.

Even so, these were still solid blows. Ling Yehan gritted his teeth, not uttering a sound. The wound on his neck began to bleed again with each strike. Xing Fang watched, a headache forming—just how had this man offended His Majesty?

Inside the chamber, several imperial physicians gathered around the dragon bed. Xu Yuanli dissolved a pre-prepared miscarriage-preventing medicine for Xiao Chen to take, then immediately performed acupuncture and prescribed further treatments.

Xiao Chen was covered in a cold sweat. The sound of the flogging outside only intensified the suffocating anger in his chest. Xu Yuanli checked his pulse:

“Your Majesty, your reckless use of internal energy earlier has destabilized the fetal qi. It is imperative now to remain calm and composed.”

Xiao Chen closed his eyes, pushing away thoughts of that infuriating man. He gently stroked his abdomen, his lips pressed together.

It took a full half-hour for his pulse to stabilize, and the bleeding finally stopped. By then, Xiao Chen was utterly exhausted, too weak to exert any strength. He merely looked up at Xu Yuanli, who immediately spoke:

“Your Majesty, the bleeding has stopped. The imperial heir should be safe for now. However, you must remain in bed for the next few days. I will prescribe some medicines to calm the fetus and soothe your nerves, supplemented with mugwort for fetal protection. You must avoid any further agitation. Rest and maintain peace of mind. Any further bleeding would be dangerous.”

Xiao Chen slowly closed his eyes and waved his hand slightly. Xu Yuanli immediately bowed and withdrew.

The sounds of punishment outside had long ceased. Ling Yehan looked utterly disheveled. Enduring the pain in his backside, he stood like a statue at the entrance of the chamber. Xing Fang had no idea what to do with him. After all, the emperor had only ordered ten strikes and had not commanded the marquis to be expelled afterward. Yet, he dared not let him back inside.

It was only when Xu Yuanli emerged that the statue finally stirred. Ling Yehan immediately stepped forward:

“Physician Xu, how is His Majesty?”

Xu Yuanli was startled by Ling Yehan’s appearance—blood streaming from his neck, disheveled hair, and reeking of wine. How had someone in such a state appeared in the Purple Forbidden Palace?

Naturally, Xu Yuanli could not disclose the emperor’s condition here:

“I cannot reveal that. His Majesty needs rest. Lord Marquis, what happened to your neck? Let me bandage it for you.”

Ling Yehan rubbed his face with his hand and shook his head. The effects of the alcohol had mostly worn off, and the resentment and bitterness he had felt upon entering the palace seemed to have faded along with the intoxication. What had he been doing? Forcing Xiao Chen to accept him by threatening to die? And now he had made him ill.

He did not dare to rush inside again and instead turned to Zhang Chunlai, who was guarding the door, asking him to prepare water and clothes for washing. Zhang Chunlai hurriedly complied.

Ling Yehan went to the side chamber. The flogged area burned with pain, making it impossible to sit. Soon, Zhang Fu personally came over. Ling Yehan immediately looked up, his bloodshot eyes locked intently on Zhang Fu. Suppressing a choked voice, he asked:

“Is His Majesty alright?”

Zhang Fu sighed and stepped inside:

“Lord Marquis, what exactly are you arguing with His Majesty about? Earlier, His Majesty had bleeding and felt suffocated by chest tightness. You grew up by His Majesty’s side since childhood. You know how much he cares for you. Pushing things this far—are you deliberately trying to make His Majesty suffer?”

Seeing the wound on Ling Yehan’s neck, Zhang Fu could only imagine how much distress and anger it had caused the emperor. He placed a bottle of premium wound ointment on the table:

“This is a high-quality wound powder I just obtained from the imperial physician. If you prefer, you may apply it yourself to the areas struck by the rod, but the wound on your neck should be properly examined by a physician. If it worsens due to neglect, wouldn’t that just break His Majesty’s heart?”

Ling Yehan hung his head, his eyes reddening. Zhang Fu saw there was nothing more to say and turned to leave.

Ling Yehan bathed and changed out of his clothes stained with blood and wine, then tied up his hair again. He applied the wound powder to his injuries himself; the cool sensation provided some relief from the swelling and pain. Once fully dressed, he summoned a junior medic to bandage the wound on his neck. The attendant was startled by the severity of the gash but dared not ask questions, instead using the finest medicinal powder to dress it.

When Ling Yehan emerged, he looked fresh and composed, with only his bloodshot eyes hinting at his earlier disarray. He lifted the hem of his robe and knelt directly in the courtyard of the Purple Palace Hall, addressing Zhang Fu:

“Zhang Gonggong, please inform His Majesty that I know I was wrong and will never dare again. May I please see him?”

Zhang Fu observed that the Marquis had gotten over his stubbornness and sighed before going inside. In truth, there was no need for him to relay the message—His Majesty had likely already heard.

“Your Majesty, the Marquis has cleaned up, applied medicine to his wounds, and bandaged them. He is now kneeling outside the hall to beg for forgiveness. Shall I allow him to enter?”

There was no response from behind the screen for a long while. Xiao Chen knew the man outside wasn’t truly admitting fault—he was only yielding because he saw that His Majesty had fallen ill. Whether in conquering the realm or governing the empire, Xiao Chen had always been effortlessly capable, yet he found himself helpless against this stubborn man who had been by his side since childhood. It would be easy to banish him from the palace now, but this matter needed resolution—it couldn’t remain a festering wound between them. After what felt like an eternity, a tired voice came from behind the screen:

“Let him in. Everyone else, withdraw.”

“Yes.”

Ling Yehan looked up only when he saw Zhang Fu emerge.

“Lord Marquis, His Majesty summons you inside. His Majesty cannot endure any agitation now—please keep that in mind.”

Ling Yehan nodded immediately.

Upon entering the Purple Palace Hall, the familiar scent of incense was replaced by the pungent odor of mugwort, which hit him when he first entered. All the attendants had withdrawn. Ling Yehan walked slowly into the inner chamber and saw the curtains drawn, faintly revealing the silhouette of someone lying within. He knelt two steps away from the imperial bed:

“Brother, I acted like a fool today. I was ungrateful and made you angry. I will never dare again.”

Xiao Chen slowly opened his eyes, gazing through the sheer curtain at the kneeling figure outside. A sense of powerlessness washed over him. He opened his mouth slightly but found himself at a loss for words, instead breaking into a fit of coughing that he struggled to suppress. Remembering that Xiao Chen had earlier coughed up blood, Ling Yehan immediately rose, parted the curtain, and saw him coughing so violently that his disheveled hair trembled:

“I—I’ll get the doctor.”

“Stop.”

Xiao Chen called out to halt him, barely suppressing his cough. He lifted his eyes to meet Ling Yehan’s gaze. Those eyes were now red, swollen, and bloodshot—even during the most grueling battles of the past, he had never seen Ling Yehan in such a state. Propping himself up slightly, he said:

“You always apologize like this, Ling Yehan. Having lived two lifetimes, you are no longer a child. Threatening to kill yourself whenever things don’t go your way—today’s matter cannot be resolved with just an apology. Tell me, what is it you truly want?”

Xiao Chen looked pale and exhausted. The discomfort of pregnancy combined with the recent epidemic had drained much of his energy. The baggage from their past life and the complexities of their current relationship left him emotionally drained. He didn’t even have the strength to remain angry at Ling Yehan. That lifetime was over; he had already died once. Clinging to the past seemed unnecessarily burdensome.

Ling Yehan sensed the weariness in Xiao Chen’s voice. This exhaustion unsettled him more than any scolding or punishment could. The feeling of drifting further apart filled him with panic, and he spoke incoherently:

“Brother, in both my past life and this one, I only ever wanted to stay by your side. I don’t know what else to do to make you want me...”

He couldn’t hold back the choke in his voice. Xiao Chen let out a bitter laugh upon hearing this:

“Stay by my side? You fled to Yongzhou and stayed there for five years. Three imperial decrees couldn’t summon you back. If I hadn’t fallen gravely ill, you probably still wouldn’t have returned to the capital. Is this what you call staying by my side?”

Ling Yehan sniffed. Memories of his past life flooded back—the yellow sands of Yongzhou, blood-soaked battlefields, and grueling fights against the Western Barbarians. The humiliation of being driven from the capital and the fear that kept him from returning coiled around his heart like vines. He wiped his face, his voice hoarse and self-mocking:

“I knew you didn’t want to see me. You told me to find my own place. I chose Yongzhou. When I received those three decrees, I was overjoyed—because even then, you didn’t want me to die on the battlefield. But I don’t know how to do anything else except fight. Only by repelling the Western Barbarians in Yongzhou and guarding the border did I feel I was still useful to you in some way.”