Chapter 433 Antidote

Chapter 433: The Antidote

His knuckles went white, veins popping on the backs of his hands.

He clutched the medicine bottles so hard they creaked, like they might shatter any second.

He stood there frozen, staring blankly at him, not blinking at all.

His lips moved as if to speak, but no words came out.

He just stood there, clutching the armful of medicine bottles, his whole body stiff, as if nailed to the floor.

Mu Yu...

Is it Mu Yu?

Is it really Mu Yu?

What's he doing here?

When did he get back?

He—

But then, a mournful sob came from behind.

The sound was very soft, as if something was stuck in his throat, squeezed out painfully.

But the emotion in that sound was too heavy, too heavy—so heavy it made your heart clench at the very first note.

Zhou Yinyun spun around, and he saw Prince Jing.

He stood not far away, in the doorway between the side hall and the inner hall, on the edge of the shadows, just beyond the candlelight.

He just stood there, motionless. Yet his shoulders were trembling.

His hands were shaking.

His whole body was shaking.

Zhou Yinyun's nose suddenly burned.

All those days and nights of longing, of panic, surged up in that instant, as if they'd finally found a way to spill out.

He spoke instinctively, his voice soft, like he was in a dream, trembling with disbelief: "Father..."

His legs moved, wanting to rush toward him.

Prince Jing rushed toward him.

Zhou Yinyun opened his arms a little.

His eyes stung, tears already welling up.

"Father..."

He spread his arms, waiting for the embrace.

But—

Prince Jing ran right past him.

He didn't even look at him.

He just ran past him without stopping, the air stirred by his robes brushing against Zhou Yinyun's cheek, cold as ice.

Zhou Yinyun froze on the spot.

His arms were still outstretched, still posed as if waiting for a hug.

He turned his head slowly, very slowly, and he saw Prince Jing throw himself onto the side of the dragon bed.

Flinging himself beside the person lying there, at Zhou Mingqi's side.

"Imperial brother—" That cry held a grief suppressed for so long.

It held all the fear and worry of these past days—a brother's deepest concern and pain for his younger brother.

Prince Jing knelt by the dragon bed, looking at that face pale as paper, at those tightly closed eyes, at those lips with an unnatural purple tinge—

His hand trembled as he reached out, wanting to touch that face, yet stopping just before touching, as if afraid of hurting him, or scared it might all be a dream.

"Imperial brother... your elder brother is here..."

His voice trembled violently, every word forced out from his throat as if he had to fight for each one.

"Your elder brother has come to see you... look at me... open your eyes and look at me..."

He couldn't go on.

He just knelt there, bent over the dragon bed, his shoulders shaking violently.

Zhou Yinyun still stood where he was, still standing there with his arms out.

Zhou "The Clown" Yinyun: "..."

The hall went silent.

The eunuchs standing nearby lowered their heads, not daring to make a sound.

Cheng Ge stood on the other side of the dragon bed, his eyes lowered, his expression unreadable.

Everyone's gaze fell upon the figure hunched over the bed.

Prince Jing knelt there, his voice hoarse, almost broken:

"Imperial brother... imperial brother, you must not let anything happen to you..."

His voice echoed through the silent hall, carrying a grief suppressed for so long, threatening to spill over.

"If something happens to you, how can I go on living..."

A young eunuch nearby lowered his head, and hearing this voice, his shoulders trembled slightly.

He had been sold to the palace by his family as a child, so young that he could not even remember his parents' faces.

All these years in the palace, he had seen every sort of intrigue and callousness, and had long thought he would never be touched by anything again.

But hearing Prince Jing's voice at this moment, he suddenly felt his eyes sting a little.

He quietly lifted his sleeve and pressed it against the corner of his eye, almost imperceptibly.

It was well known that affection among the royal family was scarce. Yet this Prince Jing before him seemed so devoted to His Majesty...

As he pondered this, he suddenly heard Prince Jing speak again.

His voice was still hoarse, still grieving, still trembling—

"Royal brother, if anything happens to you, who will safeguard my wealth and comfort in the future..."

Everyone: "......"

The young eunuch's hand froze in mid-air.

He held that pose, wiping his eye, his entire body as if under a spell.

The corner of Cheng Ge's mouth twitched despite himself.

He gave a soft cough, swallowing back the emotion he could barely contain, then averted his gaze, no longer looking at the figure prostrate beside the imperial bed in such deep grief.

He turned toward Zhou Yinyun.

Zhou Yinyun was still standing where he was, his arms now hanging at his sides.

In his arms, he still clutched the bundle of medicine bottles, clutching them tightly, his knuckles white.

His gaze lingered on Cheng Ge.

Without blinking.

As if afraid that if he blinked, the person before him would disappear.

Cheng Ge walked over to him.

His steps were steady, unhurried, each step firm and solid.

Zhou Yinyun's gaze followed his steps, from a distance to up close, from blurry to clear.

He looked at that face, at those eyes, at that familiar figure—

His eyes grew hot again.

But he held it in.

Cheng Ge stopped three steps in front of him.

He stood straight with proper posture, eyes slightly lowered, not meeting Zhou Yinyun's gaze.

Then he raised his hands, clasped them together in a fist, and gave a bow.

It was the bow a subject should give to a young lord.

Neither humble nor overbearing, correct and precise.

"Is the young lord well?"

His voice was not loud, even somewhat low, revealing no emotion.

Zhou Yinyun was caught off guard.

He looked at Cheng Ge—the man bowing, his face lowered, his eyes avoiding his—

He instinctively took a step forward.

He wanted to get closer.

He wanted to stand before him, to make him look up.

To look into those eyes, to ask him where he had been during those days he went missing.

And to ask him why he hadn't returned to the capital, if he knew how much he had missed him—

But he had only taken half a step when he stopped.

Remembering how Cheng Ge had avoided him last time, all the words he wanted to say caught in his throat.

Zhou Yinyun's feet were rooted to the spot. He didn't step forward again.

He just stood there, holding the medicine bottles, looking at Cheng Ge, for a long while.

Cheng Ge didn't lift his head.

He stayed in his bow, waiting for his response.

Zhou Yinyun's lips parted slightly.

He wanted to say, I'm not well.

I missed you.

Why are you ignoring me?

But he didn't say anything.

He just took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, but it still trembled a little: "I'm well. Are you?"

Cheng Ge paused for a moment.

He still kept his eyes lowered, not lifting his head, but at the words "are you," his bowing posture stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment.

"Thank you for your concern, young lord," his voice remained steady, with no change in tone. "All is well."

Cheng Ge didn't think much of it—at a moment like this, there was no room for being sentimental.

He stepped forward, took the bundle of bottles from Zhou Yinyun's arms, and examined them one at a time.

He looked carefully, opening each bottle to smell it, pouring some out to inspect, then capping them again and returning them to Zhou Yinyun's hands.

They were all common medicines.

For clearing heat and detoxifying, for calming the mind, for nourishing qi and blood—none of them targeted the illness.

Cheng Ge picked up one of the bottles, held it up and examined it.

The bottle had no label. He opened it, smelled it, poured out a pill to examine, then put it back.

He was silent for a moment, then pressed all the bottles back into Zhou Yinyun's arms.

Zhou Yinyun was startled, looked down at the bottles in his arms, his lips moved as if to speak, then he swallowed his words back.

Cheng Ge did not look at him again. He turned and walked back to the imperial bed.

Zhou Mingqi still lay there, his face pale as paper, the dark purple on his lips seeming to have deepened further.

His breathing was shallow, faint, his chest barely moving with each breath.

Cheng Ge stood by the bed, staring at that face for a long while.

Then he reached into his robes and pulled out a porcelain bottle from an inner pocket.

The bottle was small, pure white, and still warm from his body heat—warm, comforting.

He looked down at it, his fingertips brushing lightly over its surface.

Yun Xunyu had given it to him, saying it could neutralize most poisons.

Cheng Ge uncorked the bottle and poured the pills into his palm.

Three of them.

Black, small, round, with a faint medicinal smell.

He stared at the three pills, his fingers twitching slightly as he got lost in thought.

Yun Xunyu...

He wondered how Yun Xunyu was doing now. The journey back north must have been rough, and who knew what dangers he'd faced along the way.

Cheng Ge let out a soft sigh.

He put one pill back in the bottle and stashed it in his robes, kept the other two in his palm, and walked to the bedside.

He turned and quietly gave a few instructions to the attendant nearby.

Soon, an attendant brought warm water, head down, holding the tray with both hands, not daring to look at anyone.

Cheng Ge dropped the two pills into the cup of water, watching them dissolve slowly, turning the water a faint brown.

He picked up the cup and gave it a gentle swirl to mix the medicine more evenly.

Then he raised his head and glanced over at the bed.

Prince Jing was still hunched there, sobbing his heart out, shoulders shaking with sobs.

Zhou Zhan stood not far away, a bright red handprint still on his face, still shaken from what had just happened.

Cheng Ge handed the cup to the attendant beside him.

"This is an antidote," he said. "Give it to His Majesty first."

The attendant froze, looked up, glanced at Cheng Ge, then at the others. He didn't dare reach for it.

Hearing this, Prince Jing whipped his head around.

His eyes were still red, tears still on his face, but a glimmer suddenly flashed in them—the light of a drowning man spotting driftwood.

He snatched the cup from Cheng Ge's hand before anyone could react.

"Give it to me!" he said. "Let me do it!"

Before Cheng Ge could say anything, Prince Jing had already carried the cup to the bed and crouched down.

But he didn't feed it right away.

He turned his head and looked at the attendant nearby.

"You try it first."

The attendant froze, then caught on quickly, stepping forward to take a tiny sip from the cup.

He smacked his lips, waited a moment, then nodded.

Seeing he was fine, Prince Jing finally relaxed.

He propped up Zhou Mingqi with one hand and brought the cup to his lips with the other.

"Brother, come on, open up and drink—"

His voice was still thick with tears, but his hand was shaking badly.

He was too worked up. His hand was shaking too much.

The cup had just touched Zhou Mingqi's lips when his wrist tilted—

Half the medicine splashed all over Zhou Mingqi's chest.

The brown liquid trickled down the bright yellow nightclothes, soaking a big patch, seeping into the fabric and vanishing in a blink.

Prince Jing stood frozen.

He looked down at the wet stain, then at the half cup left in his hand, as if under a spell.

Cheng Ge was speechless.

Cheng Ge's eye twitched.

He looked at the medicine-soaked nightclothes, the brown liquid dripping down the fabric, the half cup of wasted medicine—

It hurt. It hurt like hell.

Those were two life-saving pills! And half of them just went to waste.

Cheng Ge took a deep breath and swallowed the words that almost slipped out.

He stepped forward, took the half cup from Prince Jing, and said in a low, firm voice: "Your Highness, let me do it."

Prince Jing opened his mouth as if to speak, then swallowed the words.

He just looked at Cheng Ge with red eyes, like a kid who'd messed up.

Cheng Ge didn't look at him again.

He set the cup on the small table, bent down, and reached to help Zhou Mingqi up.

Zhou Mingqi's body was light, soft, almost weightless.

His head hung limply, resting against Cheng Ge's shoulder, his forehead pressed into the hollow of Cheng Ge's neck—cold and devoid of warmth.

Cheng Ge pulled him into his arms, letting him lean against his chest.

One hand supported his back, while the other lifted the cup to his lips.

He looked down at that pale face, at those closed eyes, at those lips tinged with dark purple—

His fingers gently pinched Zhou Mingqi's jaw, applying slight pressure to part his lips just a crack.

Then he tilted the cup, letting the medicinal liquid trickle in bit by bit.

Slow.

Steady.

Not a single drop spilled, the medicinal liquid flowing down his throat.

Cheng Ge maintained this position, letting Zhou Mingqi lean against him, feeding him the remaining half cup of medicine drop by drop.

The last drop went down his throat.

Cheng Ge set the cup aside, took the handkerchief handed over by the attendant, and gently pressed it to the corner of Zhou Mingqi's lips, wiping away the residual medicine stains.

Cheng Ge laid him down, gently settling Zhou Mingqi's head back onto the pillow, then reached out to tuck the blanket up a little.

His movements were gentle as he pressed the corner of the quilt down, yet his hand did not withdraw immediately.

It just stopped in midair, hovering beside Zhou Mingqi's face, pausing for a moment.

The candle flame flickered behind him, casting shadows on Zhou Mingqi's pale face, swaying, now bright, now dim.

Cheng Ge's gaze fell on that face.

His brow and eyes were deeply sunken, his cheekbones higher than he remembered, the line of his jaw sharp enough to feel bony.

Those eyes were closed, with dark circles beneath them—whether from the poison or from lack of rest, he couldn't tell.

He had grown far too thin since leaving the capital.

"Here, Cheng Ge and all the male leads wish you all a happy New Year's Eve, may all your wishes come true...

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