Gu Zhao had faced life-threatening situations before—as a youth in the palace, he had endured numerous assassination attempts. The clash of blades beneath the golden throne, the schemes and power struggles, were almost routine for him.
But never had he been so terrified, so paralyzed with fear, as he was today.
Gu Zhao didn’t even spare a thought for the emperor lying in the bed. He fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he cradled the unconscious Zhu Qingyu in his arms, urgently calling out:
"Qingyu! Qingyu!"
The eunuch who had attempted the assassination was flung aside by Gu Zhao, crashing onto the golden bricks of the bedchamber with a deafening thud. The commotion of Gu Zhao charging into the room finally alerted the guards outside, who drew their swords and rushed in.
Since Shen Xu was not in the palace, his subordinate officer was leading the watch that day.
The moment the Brocade Guard officer saw the scene inside the chamber, his mind went blank. He felt as though the heads of his entire extended family—all nine generations—had already been severed from their bodies. He dashed to the emperor’s bedside, shouting:
"An assassin! Protect His Majesty! Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
Close behind came Eunuch Qiu, looking no less panic-stricken. His expression suggested the sky had fallen. Crawling on all fours to the emperor’s bed, he wailed:
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
Eunuch Qiu was nearly beside himself. A young eunuch in the rear hall had collapsed with symptoms similar to the emperor’s, so he had gone to check and make arrangements to have the boy moved.
But who could have imagined—despite the heavy guard outside the bedchamber, and his absence of barely two quarters of an hour—that something would happen to the emperor?
"Damn it all! I’ve been tricked—a ruse to lure me away!"
The emperor had already woken up when the eunuch tried to smother him with a pillow. Long ill and weak, he could neither cry out nor break free. Just when his breath failed, stars swam before his eyes, and he felt his end had come, the eunuch pressing him down suddenly left.
The emperor gasped for air, barely managing to brace himself and look toward the floor—just in time to see Zhu Qingyu locked in a desperate struggle with the assassin eunuch.
Surrounded by a crowd of frantic attendants, the emperor seethed but lacked the strength to vent his fury.
"A bunch of useless fools! Where were you all just now!"
If not for this woman—frail and unarmed—coming to his rescue, I would have already perished!
The emperor shoved away Eunuch Qiu’s outstretched hand, pointed at Gu Zhao, and with his last vestiges of strength, gasped:
"Summon the imperial physician!"
Before Eunuch Qiu could act, Gu Zhao had already scooped up Zhu Qingyu and dashed out like a whirlwind.
The Imperial Medical Bureau served the inner court—or, to put it bluntly, it served primarily the emperor alone. Everyone else was secondary.
Thus, the Bureau was not far from the Qianqing Palace. Over these days, as Zhu Qingyu treated the emperor, Gu Zhao often accompanied her there to fetch medicine.
That walk, just the two of them, was something Gu Zhao cherished each time. He always felt the road was too short—as if he had barely walked beside her before they arrived.
But not today. Today, as Gu Zhao carried Zhu Qingyu out of the Qianqing Palace and rushed toward the Imperial Medical Bureau, that road stretched endlessly, as if it had no end. Every second of that desperate journey felt to Gu Zhao like being immersed in the flames of hell.
Zhu Qingyu, weren’t you a celestial maiden who descended from the heavens?
Where is your magic now?
You won’t die, right?
Just days ago, Gu Zhao had been lost in self-deception, unwilling to face, even less to accept, this absurd possibility.
But now, Gu Zhao desperately wished—prayed—that this possibility might be the truth.
Zhu Qingyu and Gu Zhao had made several trips to the Imperial Medical Bureau every day, so the physicians on duty had come to recognize them.
The moment Gu Zhao burst in with Zhu Qingyu in his arms, the physician on duty rushed out. Seeing her soaked in blood, he didn’t wait for Gu Zhao to speak.
"Hurry! Lay her on the examination bed! How did she get so much blood? Where is the wound?"
Imperial physicians wouldn’t even inspect a concubine without a cloth barrier, let alone touch Zhu Qingyu directly.
"Lord Gu, wait—I’ll fetch a palace maid!"
Gu Zhao laid Zhu Qingyu on the bed and pulled the curtain around the examination area.
"Don’t bother. I’ll do it."
Back in the Qianqing Palace, the moment Gu Zhao had picked up Zhu Qingyu, he had checked her in a glance. Her clothes had no cuts, so most of the blood on her likely belonged to the eunuch.
But when he lifted her clothes to examine her waist and abdomen, he still found it hard to breathe, his fingertips cold with dread, afraid of finding wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
Thankfully, after quickly scanning her body, there were no injuries. He sighed in relief, straightened her clothes, and called the physician in.
Hearing there were no wounds, the physician also relaxed. The waist and abdomen held all the vital organs—an injury there would have been fatal beyond even divine intervention.
Yet when the physician checked her breath, his face turned ashen.
"No—no pulse! No breath!"
The moment those words left the physician’s mouth, Gu Zhao felt his heart shatter. His body and soul seemed to buckle, unable to stand.
He felt as though a version of himself floated outside, watching from above, and heard a voice—as if from beyond this world—demand:
"Impossible! Impossible!"
The physician pulled back the curtain, shouting aloud. Within moments, a roomful of physicians rushed in, surrounding her.
They clamored and bickered—some examined her eyes, others applied needles.
Gu Zhao held Zhu Qingyu’s hand, kneeling beside the examination bed, his heart aching so fiercely he could barely breathe. Regret gnawed at him until he wanted to slap himself.
What have you been escaping from? Your cowardice left her alone in the palace, trapped in this deadly snare.
She is who she is. What does it matter where she came from?
Gu Zhao pressed his face into her palm, silently praying:
Zhu Qingyu, if you return to your world, will you live?
Tell me. How can I send you back to where you came from?
Even if we can never see each other again in this life—
—as long as you are still alive.
Tears fell on their clasped hands. Suddenly, the fingers clutching his gave a faint twitch.
Then came a physician’s cry:
"She’s awake! She’s awake!"
Gu Zhao raised his head, his face streaked with tears, and met the eyes of Zhu Qingyu, who had just regained consciousness on the examination bed.
She seemed to want to say something, but the injury to her throat trapped her voice, barely audible.
Gu Zhao leaned in, pressing his ear to her lips, and asked:
"Qingyu, what do you want to say?"
Her faint whisper reached him:
"Shouming... did I... kill someone?"
