"Back from the dead" was how the Crown Prince described his condition. He could now clearly hear the voices of Zong Zhao and Zong Jincheng, knew the situation outside was improving, and understood that Zong Zhao had followed his wishes by keeping the truth from the Crown Princess.
Yet Wei Qingrong, unaware of the reality, continued to talk to him tirelessly every day—the only difference being that he could now hear her.
"Your Highness, it’s been so long since you last saw Jincheng. You wouldn’t believe how much he’s grown. If only you could hear him—that child has always known just the right words to charm people."
"That Luo Jingfeng is a strange one. He once petitioned to have you deposed as Crown Prince, but then suddenly changed his mind for some reason."
"I can’t shake this unease in my heart. I don’t know what agreement Zong Zhao and Luo Jingfeng have reached, but thinking of your trust in Zong Zhao, I handed him the patrol commander’s token… Your Highness, did I make the right choice?"
"Today is Rong Yue’s second birthday. When I asked what she wanted as a gift, she said she wished her father would talk to her. I’m afraid that wish won’t come true this year. Will she be able to hear you by her third birthday?"
...
Day after day of such companionship warmed Chu Heng’s heart. Even lying motionless in bed was far better than when he had collapsed in his chambers at seventeen, unnoticed by anyone.
Now, he had so many people who wished for him to live.
On the night the late emperor passed away, the Crown Prince awoke—and learned the full truth.
After Zong Zhao left, Chu Heng sat on the bed, dazed, as if trapped in a dream.
"How could it have been Father?" he murmured in despair.
It was his father who had poisoned him for ten years.
It was his father who had feared him, who had wanted him dead forever.
The one who gave him life had sought to take everything back.
The Crown Prince couldn’t help but think of Prince Fusu—now he understood how the prince must have felt upon receiving his father’s edict ordering his death.
Despair. Heartbreak.
Yet still willing to obey and die.
The Crown Princess knelt by the bed, tears in her eyes. "Your Highness, power corrupts. The emperor was no longer the devoted father who once guided you with care."
Chu Heng lowered his gaze, his voice heavy. "It shouldn’t have been this way..."
He had always known of his younger brothers’ schemes and the underhanded tactics of the court factions—but he had never once suspected his father.
Because his father had truly been good to him once.
The Crown Princess held him tightly, her voice tender. "It’s over now. Once the new emperor ascends the throne tomorrow, we’ll leave this palace behind and live our own quiet lives."
"I’m sorry," Chu Heng suddenly said. "For keeping Jincheng’s truth from you for so long."
From the moment he decided to have Jincheng succeed him, he had concealed more and more from his wife—all to shield her and the Duke of Wei’s household from entanglement.
Wei Qingrong’s voice trembled with hurt. "Your Highness, I do blame you. I blame you for keeping secrets from me despite our years as husband and wife. I blame you for writing a letter of divorce in your will—what kind of Crown Princess returns home divorced? Why not just write a letter of repudiation instead?"
Chu Heng’s heart ached. "I couldn’t bear to."
After all she had done to protect him, how could he humiliate her?
If given the choice, he would rather she be the one to cast him aside.
Wei Qingrong scolded him a little longer before softening. She wrapped her arms around him. "But more than anything, I’m just grateful you’re alive. That matters more than anything else in this world."
After Zong Jincheng ascended the throne, he often visited the Eastern Palace to see Chu Heng.
He never stopped calling him "Your Highness," his voice so affectionate it melted hearts.
One day, as Wei Qingrong entered with a plate of lychees, she heard Chu Heng ask the young emperor, "Jincheng, why do you always call me ‘Your Highness’?"
Though both a former Crown Prince and the Prince of Ruining could be addressed as "Your Highness," Chu Heng longed for a more brotherly bond—for Jincheng to call him "brother" like in an ordinary family.
Instead, the young emperor deflected with a mischievous grin. "It’s not just me! Father and the Princess Consort of Ruining call you that too!"
Chu Heng turned to Wei Qingrong.
Now that he thought about it… she had never once called him by his name. Always "Your Highness."
Caught off guard, Wei Qingrong nearly fumbled the plate of lychees. "Your Highness is Your Highness," she replied, flustered.
Chu Heng: "..."
That explained nothing.
Zong Jincheng beamed. "Your Highness, I know why! Let me explain!"
Chu Heng tore his gaze from his wife and smiled. "Very well. Enlighten me."
The young emperor’s eyes crinkled with joy as he gazed at his revered Prince of Ruining.
"Because ‘Your Highness’ isn’t just a title—you’re an untouchable deity, an undying faith. To me, you are brother, father, teacher, and friend. You are the moon in the sky, the guiding light. I will always bow before you, ready to serve at your command."
"Your Highness" was more than an address—it was his devotion.
His faith.
The boy’s passionate words left both Chu Heng and Wei Qingrong stunned.
The Crown Princess nodded in agreement. "The Young Emperor speaks the truth."
Chu Heng could only laugh.
As summer approached, Chu Heng moved into the Prince of Ruining’s estate with his princess consort and their little daughter.
As Jincheng had promised, it was the grandest, most splendid estate in the capital—far larger than the Eastern Palace. Servants bustled about in orderly fashion, and for the first time in years, Chu Heng had the leisure to read.
On one particularly sunny day, Wei Qingrong strode in with a red-tasseled spear.
"Your Highness," she said, grinning. "Shall we train?"
After over a decade of poisoning, Chu Heng—once hailed as one of the capital’s two greatest warriors alongside Zong Zhao—had nearly forgotten he could still wield a weapon.
Now, with the toxins purged from his body…
He could fight again.
Setting his book aside, Chu Heng rose from the desk and ran a hand over the spear Zong Zhao had returned to him. For a moment, he saw his younger, radiant self reflected in its gleam.
Lowering his head, he smiled softly.
"Let’s."
