The imperial tent suddenly lit up with candlelight. Kangxi felt his entire body devoid of strength as he struggled awake from deep slumber, gripping the edge of the bed as he retched dryly before coughing violently enough to tear his lungs apart. The next moment, a familiar coppery sweetness filled his mouth—his expression instantly darkened. Trembling, he touched his lips, then spread his palm open, staring fixedly at the smear of crimson on his fingertips.
Blood.
The Emperor had actually coughed up blood.
Not only was Imperial Physician Yang’s heart sinking into despair, but Liang Jiugong was so terrified his soul nearly fled his body. His legs gave way as he cried out in a trembling voice, "Your Majesty!"
"Water..."
The commotion was so great that those keeping watch outside the imperial tent immediately stirred, their hearts sinking with dread.
Imperial Physician An, who had been resting nearby while awaiting his turn on duty, scrambled to his feet in horror at the sight of the bloodstain on the carpet. "How could this... how could this...?"
He had already sensed something amiss when Imperial Physician Yang answered too hastily—and now, his worst fears had come true.
A single thought arose simultaneously in the minds of the imperial physicians: This illness was no mere fever.
A sharp, high-pitched voice announced from outside, "Your Majesty, Prince Yu, Prince Gong, and the Eldest Prince request an audience!"
Kangxi finally stopped coughing. Gasping for breath, he struggled to prop himself up, rinsing his mouth with warm water to wash away the lingering taste of blood. The symptoms of dizziness, alternating chills and fever, surged through him once more.
"Clean this up," he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, his gaze icy. Only after Liang Jiugong had shakily wiped away the blood did he force out a weak command: "Let them in."
To Prince Yu and Prince Gong, the Emperor appeared with veins bulging at his temples, his lips purplish, his face flushed an unnatural red, his body trembling faintly.
This was no ordinary fever.
The Eldest Prince, Yinti, unsheathed his sword with a darkened expression, startling the two princes. Before they could stop him, he strode forward in three swift steps and pressed the blade against Imperial Physician Yang’s throat, hissing through clenched teeth, "You quack—you deserve death!"
Imperial Physician Yang trembled violently, tears and snot streaming down his face, too terrified to even beg for mercy coherently.
Yinti was so enraged he nearly beheaded the physician on the spot—until Kangxi spoke in a deep, weak voice, "Yinti, sheathe your sword. Do not act rashly."
The Eldest Prince’s eyes reddened, but he reluctantly obeyed.
Prince Yu, acutely aware of the severity of the situation, exchanged a glance with the hot-tempered Prince Gong, who barked, "What illness has stricken His Majesty?"
Imperial Physician Yang was too paralyzed with fear to respond, leaving only Imperial Physician An in the corner to deliver the verdict.
Under the crushing weight of their gazes, Imperial Physician An dragged his feet forward, each step feeling like an eternity.
The moment he took the Emperor’s pulse, he had already steeled himself, prepared to face death.
Yet even so, when he discerned the symptoms—the pulse, the tongue, the overall condition—his heart plummeted as if plunged into an icy abyss. Despair wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud, cold sweat drenching his back.
His voice shook as he uttered, "His Majesty... His Majesty does not have a fever. It is malaria."
Malaria—a disease that could only be delayed, never cured.
At best, the Emperor might last a few days; at worst, two months. Since ancient times, no medicine could save him.
A deathly silence fell over the imperial tent. Kangxi’s chest rose and fell once before he closed his eyes, as if resigning himself, then opened them again.
Scanning the room, he clenched his weak fingers and spoke slowly, "Fuquan, I entrust Galdan’s matter entirely to you. This place is unsafe—suppress the news and return immediately to the summer palace in Rehe. Summon the imperial physicians from the capital at once."
"The Third Prince shall accompany me to the retreat for recuperation. As for Fulu’s arrangements..." The Emperor’s voice grew quieter. "Yinti, you will handle it. Remember—protect him well."
If he failed, Xiuxiu would surely come demanding answers.
An urgent dispatch raced eight hundred li toward the capital, carried by a fast horse through the night.
Meanwhile, in the small prayer hall of Chuxiu Palace, Consort Rong tightened her grip on her palms, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Are you certain of this?"
"My lady, it is absolutely true," her chief maid whispered. "Suo Etu has been sentenced to immediate execution, and Suoni’s lineage has collapsed. Consort Ping is no different from a madwoman now. As you instructed us to monitor them closely, yesterday, someone from Chuxiu Palace sought me out, claiming their mistress has obtained damning evidence against Noble Consort Yi..."
"Evidence? Against Noble Consort Yi?" Consort Rong’s expression turned peculiar before she smiled gently. "Suo Etu truly was a devoted uncle, thinking of his ailing niece even in death. Though when did he develop such hatred for Mrs. Guoluoluo?"
That woman from the Yi Palace had no shortage of enemies.
Not that it was surprising—her arrogance had reached such heights that her downfall was inevitable.
Unbidden, Consort Rong recalled the incident from days prior. She had yet to devise a countermeasure when Noble Consort Yi inexplicably struck first.
That maid Ruizhu had instructed the imperial kitchens that Consort Rong, in her devout prayers, was a living bodhisattva of mercy—and thus, no meat was to be served to the main hall of Chuxiu Palace. Such absurdity, yet the spineless kitchen staff had obeyed!
With the Emperor absent, appealing to the two Empress Dowagers was futile. That vile Mrs. Guoluoru had even made a show of it during morning greetings, smiling sweetly as she declared, "Sister Rong confided in me that she wishes to pray for the soldiers fighting on the battlefield. If she consumes meat, her heart will not be sincere. I tried to dissuade her, but she wouldn’t listen."
To make matters worse, the Grand Empress Dowager had praised her for it!
Now, she had no choice but to comply.
The memory made Consort Rong’s smile turn icy. How many years had it been since she last suffered such a humiliation?
"I do not know, but the evidence is irrefutable. Consort Ping told me..." The maid leaned in, whispering into Consort Rong’s ear. "The letters to His Majesty were written by the Ninth Prince in secret. Zhang Youde personally overheard the Ninth Prince speaking of it."
She stepped back and continued softly, "That instructing nanny in the princes’ quarters? She was a connection from Suoni’s days as regent—Suo Etu’s final trump card."
Consort Rong was silent for a long moment. "The Ninth Prince is but a child. How could he write them?"
"My lady, I suspect the Ninth Prince is merely a cover. Someone else must be aiding them in secret."
"You’re right." A thought struck Consort Rong, and she murmured, "If the helper is a man—one of those talented scholars or officials—this isn’t just deception against the Emperor..."
She could see it clearly—the Emperor had long harbored genuine affection for Mrs. Guoluoru. But what monarch could tolerate the woman he loved hiding a viper’s heart? Did he not know what kind of person Noble Consort Yi truly was?
Calculating, ruthless, her flamboyant arrogance merely a mask. How laughable that the Emperor doted on her as if she were a treasure, blind to all but her beauty.
All it took was planting a seed of doubt in the Emperor’s heart. Given time, it would sprout.
Consorting with an outsider man? Not even the gods could save her then. Even if there was no affair, the crime of deceiving the Emperor was undeniable—and as for other charges, falsehoods could be made real.
Once Mrs. Guoluoru lost the Emperor’s favor, how could she protect those princes of hers?
The humiliation from days ago—she would repay it tenfold.
Her thoughts raced, but only a second passed before Consort Rong smiled faintly, toying with her prayer beads. "Did that nanny manage to steal any proof?"
"The scrap of paper in Consort Ping’s hand was indeed a discarded draft from the Ninth Prince," the senior palace maid recalled carefully. "It bore the number 'three,' scribbled messily with corrections all over—likely the origin of the third letter."
To think she had left evidence behind—this was a case of digging one’s own grave, and no one could save her now.
Consort Rong smiled faintly, her expression almost pitying. "Go quietly to Chuxiu Palace and deliver a message: tell Consort Ping that I will avenge her."
News of the Third Prince being struck by a stray arrow and the Emperor falling ill with malaria reached the Forbidden City one after the other.
Though it was said to have reached the Forbidden City, in truth, it reached the ears of the two Empresses Dowager first.
The Grand Empress Dowager’s vision darkened, and she collapsed on the spot. The Empress Dowager was frantic, and in her panic, she followed Nanny Qian’s advice and immediately summoned Grand Imperial Physician Chen for treatment.
When the Grand Empress Dowager finally stirred awake, her first words were: "Keep four of the junior physicians here. The rest must depart for Rehe at once—not a moment’s delay."
All traces of warmth and gentleness vanished from her aged eyes, replaced by a sharp, commanding presence that recalled her days of guiding a young emperor.
The Third Prince was still young, and the thought of a scar near his eye pained the Grand Empress Dowager deeply. After much deliberation, she decided not to hide the truth from Consort Rong.
"She is his birth mother—keeping it from her would be wrong," the Grand Empress Dowager murmured a prayer before whispering to Sumalagu, "The scar is tiny, barely noticeable. Just tell her the truth."
When Sumalagu arrived at Zhongcui Palace, the scent of sandalwood incense greeted her. She sighed softly, weighed down by the heavy news she carried, and could only spare a fleeting thought: Consort Rong truly had a bond with the Buddha.
That the Third Prince had been saved by Young Master Fulu was nothing short of a miracle—perhaps the result of Consort Rong’s devout prayers.
As the palace attendants led her inside, Sumalagu straightened her expression. Without waiting for Consort Rong to speak, she bowed swiftly and said in a slightly hurried tone, "Consort Rong, urgent news from beyond the Great Wall. The Third Prince’s party was ambushed, and he was struck by a stray arrow. Fortunately, Young Master Fulu risked his life to shield him. The prince is unharmed save for a small scar, no larger than a peanut, near the corner of his eye."
After a pause, she added reassuringly, "His Majesty has ordered the Third Prince to return to the Rehe Palace to recuperate. He should recover within a month, so there is no need for excessive worry."
The gentle smile on Consort Rong’s face faded, then disappeared entirely.
She shot up from her prayer mat, unable to believe what she had just heard.
Yin Zhi—injured, with a scar on his face?
For a moment, the world spun around her. Consort Rong barely managed to stay upright, her mind blank and buzzing, unable to process anything.
Her son—now barred from the throne.
And she—cut off from ever becoming Empress Dowager.
What had been the point of all her scheming, all her relentless efforts? She had even exploited Rongxian’s marriage prospects just to secure Yin Zhi’s place in the campaign. And for what?
"A scar no larger than a peanut"—what a cruel phrase.
Nothing else mattered now. Only the name "Fulu" burned into her mind. If not for his meddling, Yin Zhi would never have been forced onto the battlefield, never have had his future ruined.
Consort Rong trembled as she clutched the altar table, her eyes bloodshot. The foundation of all her hopes had shattered in an instant, leaving behind only searing grief and fury—yet, strangely, an eerie calm settled over her.
Like aunt, like nephew—both masters of deception. This so-called "life-risking rescue" was likely another one of their schemes.
The thought split her soul in two: one half raged wildly, floating above, while the other half remained icily composed.
"Sumalagu," she heard herself say, her voice choked with feigned distress, "Yin Zhi must be terrified after such an ordeal. He needs his mother. I beg the Grand Empress Dowager to grant me permission to go to Rehe and care for him—please, I implore her!"
