Chapter Eighty-Two: Confession

Between heaven and earth, all was a vast, indistinct expanse—nothing could be seen, only a boundless whiteness so glaring it stung the eyes. When Ling Zetian awoke, he found himself in just such a place. He took a few steps forward and vaguely saw a dark figure ahead, seemingly approaching him.

As the figure drew near, he realized it was Feng Qiuji.

His mind flashed again with the scene of her body being pierced by a blade, blood pouring ceaselessly. Ling Zetian rushed forward and held her tightly in his arms. He felt it—the Feng Qiuji in his embrace was so tangibly present.

"I miss you so much," he whispered tenderly, unwilling to recall that bloody moment.

"I miss you too," Feng Qiuji replied with a silly giggle, echoing his words.

"You won't leave me, will you?" He tightened his hold, loath to let go.

"I won't." Her voice was so firm it made one believe her instinctively.

He wished time could stop at this moment, for he knew this was only his fantasy, his dream. The real Feng Qiuji was already dead; her body had grown cold. Yet he only wanted to hold her like this, to feel her warmth, her heartbeat, her life still lingering. He would rather never wake, not wanting to face the truth of Feng Qiuji's death.

"In truth, it hasn't been me accompanying you these past few days." Feng Qiuji wrapped her arms around him too, nestling her head into his chest, her voice muffled.

"I know." Though he didn't understand how, he could sense it. The Feng Qiuji from before was not her.

"The me standing here now is nothing more than a solitary soul. I've always been drifting by your side, but you couldn't see me," Feng Qiuji clutched at his clothes, "I'm so afraid it will always be like this, that you'll never see me again."

"What exactly happened?"

"That body wasn't truly mine, nor do I belong to Lingchao. I merely occupied Feng Qiuji's body for a while. Now she's returned, so I can no longer stay in her body." Feng Qiuji told him everything, fearing he might not accept it all at once.

Unexpectedly, Ling Zetian was calm and readily accepted it. "So, you and Anuo come from the same world?"

"Yes."

"Actually, when Anuo was a child, I always felt he wasn't like ordinary people. He knew too much, understood so much, his intellect far surpassed his age, and he often spoke in ways no one could comprehend. Hearing you now, I finally understand why."

"Would you like to see the world I come from?" Feng Qiuji, seeing he believed her, was delighted.

"Hmm?" Before Ling Zetian could react, Feng Qiuji took his hand and led him forward.

Breaking through that layer of white confinement, Ling Zetian realized they had been inside a massive cloud. Now, he and Feng Qiuji floated in the sky together, looking down upon a world he had never seen—towering buildings, streams of vehicles on the roads, people in clothing wholly unfamiliar to him.

"This is the world I live in. Let me take you to see my parents," Feng Qiuji said, leading him away.

**

Ling Zetian's coma lasted a full day and night. Before he awoke, Ling Zexin and the others had already carried him and Feng Qiuji back to Lingchao.

Wei Long and Yu Fan, upon learning of Feng Qiuji's death, felt deeply grieved. After all, a gentle and approachable empress like her was rare. Now, once Ling Zetian woke, they feared he would hold a funeral for her.

By the time Ling Zetian and the others returned, Lingchao's internal affairs were in utter chaos. The court officials had not seen the emperor for some time and began speculating that something must have happened. Moreover, with Ling Zexin's residence burned and him missing, the simultaneous disappearance of both the emperor and the prince from Lingchao was remarkable enough to provoke wild conjecture.

On the Empress Dowager's side, all preparations were ready. She waited only for a signal from Kimura Xinghen to coordinate with him. Unexpectedly, after waiting so long, there was no word from Kimura Xinghen, but instead, Ling Zetian and his companions returned to the palace.

Upon returning, Ling Shunuo went straight to the Imperial Medical Bureau to search through countless texts, yet after most of the afternoon, he found nothing regarding the concoction or antidote for the poison known as "Flower Burial." He had only ever seen mention of it in his master's notes. Such a poison, belonging to the realm of dark arts, was never recorded in standard medical texts.

After much thought, he decided he must leave the palace to seek his master. Ling Zetian was only a few years his senior; when he was a child, Ling Zetian was still a youth, but Ling Zetian's kindness always remained in his heart. Though he called him "Father Emperor," he regarded him more as an elder brother, with both respect and gratitude. Now that Ling Zetian was in trouble, how could he stand by?

It was Ling Zetian who found his master for him. Ling Shunuo had always loved medicine since childhood and originally aspired to medical school. After arriving in Lingchao, Ling Zetian noticed his passion and sought out the most renowned physician in the land for him. However, such masters often preferred seclusion in the mountains or wandering the world, helping the weak and healing the sick. Ling Shunuo's master was no exception. He had studied under his master for half a year, then returned to practice and consolidate his learning, with the promise to return for further instruction and an examination of his progress. Judging by his master's temperament, he was likely roaming the world even now.

Though the chances of finding him were slim, Ling Shunuo decided to try his luck—perhaps his master was in the mountains after all.

Upon hearing Ling Shunuo's plan, Ling Zexin had no alternative and agreed, dispatching dozens of imperial guards to ensure his safety.

Shortly after Anuo departed, Ling Zetian awoke. The scenes of meeting Feng Qiuji replayed in his mind—a dream, yet too vivid to be mere illusion.

Despite Ling Zexin and the others insisting he stay in bed, Ling Zetian was determined to see Feng Qiuji.

To prevent her body from decaying, Ling Zexin had it placed in the ice cellar.

When Ling Zetian went to see her, she looked just as before, her eyes now closed. She still wore the same clothes, now stained with dark, dried blood at the waist where a blade had pierced her. Though no longer bleeding, the wound remained shockingly vivid.

Ling Zetian dismissed everyone else; he wished to be alone with Feng Qiuji.

He sat by her side, gently gathered her into his arms, hoping to feel her warmth as he had in his dream. But Feng Qiuji's body was cold—so cold she no longer seemed like a living being, her form already stiffening.

He cradled her face, stroked her closed eyelids, unable to suppress the sorrow that welled up inside.

Though the true Feng Qiuji was not yet dead, she could never return to this body. How he wished she could appear lively before him as she once did. Though he knew the truth, he could not fathom how Feng Qiuji might return. Now, the soul that once inhabited this vessel had vanished, leaving only a cold, lifeless shell. Feng Qiuji could not return to it.

As he thought this, he suddenly felt an unbearable itching all over his body, nearly impossible to endure. He knew the poison called "Flower Burial" was taking effect, but there was nothing he could do. He scratched himself fiercely, drawing blood, but felt no pain—only a perverse satisfaction.

He knew that with such a poison, once the itching began, it was crucial not to scratch. But the itch burrowed into his very soul, making it impossible to control himself.

"Brother Emperor, why have you come out so soon?" Ling Zexin, seeing him emerge from the ice cellar, was puzzled. Noticing his pallor and the blood on his hands, he was shocked. "Brother Emperor, what happened? Are you feeling unwell?"

"Quick," Ling Zetian grabbed him, "the poison is taking effect—tie me up with a rope, now!"

"Oh." Realizing how much he was suffering, Ling Zexin immediately summoned attendants to bind Ling Zetian to the bed, fastening his hands and feet to the four corners.

As Ling Zetian's body broke out in red spots, Ling Zexin was alarmed and hastily summoned all the imperial physicians to Chao Yun Palace for consultation and treatment.

Yet after much deliberation, the physicians were all at a loss, their faces clouded with worry, unable to find a solution.

"Prince, I beg your forgiveness for our incompetence. We have no means to save His Majesty."

Hearing this, Ling Zexin grew angry, slamming the table. "How dare you! If you so-called doctors can do nothing for a mere poison, what use are you in the palace?"

"Please, Prince, calm your anger," the appointed representative stepped forward, bowing hastily. "Your Highness, we have all studied orthodox medicine, trained to treat common ailments. The toxin afflicting His Majesty belongs to the realm of dark arts, and we truly lack the ability to cure it."

"Are we just to watch my brother emperor die, then?" Ling Zexin watched Ling Zetian lying on the bed, eyes shut, face contorted in pain. Though he could no longer scratch with his hands, his whole body—especially his back—kept writhing against the bed, unable to find a moment's peace.

——End of Volume Two——

The second volume is now complete. The novel will conclude at around three hundred thousand words. Thank you all for your support.