The twenty-first day of the first month, in the fifth year of Zhenguan.
Just after the morning court had adjourned, several high ministers were left behind.
In the side hall of the Two Rituals Palace, the charcoal fire burned brightly.
Emperor Taizong of Tang sat on the couch, while in front of him stood Qin Qiong, Cheng Yaojin, Fang Xuanling, Zhangsun Wuji, and Wei Zheng.
Li Shimin’s gaze swept across their faces.
“Sun Simiao has been found.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Cheng Yaojin’s eyes lit up slightly.
Li Shimin continued, “He is already on the way. In about ten days, he will reach Chang’an.”
He finished speaking and looked at the men below him.
“Say whatever you have to say.”
No one responded immediately.
Fang Xuanling lowered his head, lost in thought. Zhangsun Wuji stared at his own toes, expressionless. Wei Zheng stood by the window, unmoving.
Qin Qiong spoke first.
“Your Majesty.”
Li Shimin looked at him.
Qin Qiong said, “Allow me to speak frankly.”
Li Shimin nodded.
Qin Qiong paused.
“Don’t be too optimistic.”
Li Shimin froze slightly.
Qin Qiong continued, “Sun Simiao is a divine physician, yes. He has saved many people. I know that. But Zhou Xiong’s illness… is it really the kind of illness that can be cured?”
Li Shimin said nothing.
Qin Qiong looked at him steadily.
“How he came to be like this, Your Majesty understands better than I do. Fourteen years of something buried in his heart—can it just disappear because we wish it so? A divine physician can treat external injuries, internal ailments, but can he treat something like… a heart illness?”
The room fell silent.
Li Shimin sat there, motionless.
He once again thought of what Li Chunfeng had said that day:
“This man’s fate was already severed nearly twenty years ago.”
And he thought of Zhou Xiong’s eyes.
Clouded. Scattered. Impossible to focus.
He had thought that finding Sun Simiao meant finding the medicine.
But medicine must match the illness.
Did Zhou Xiong even have a cure?
He didn’t know.
He realized he had indeed been too optimistic.
From the beginning, he had simply assumed, “Once Sun Simiao arrives, everything will be solved,” without ever considering: what if it couldn’t be cured? What if it wasn’t the kind of illness that could be cured at all?
He sat there, gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, Cheng Yaojin burst out.
“Qin Second Brother!”
His voice was so loud it shook the room.
“That’s not what you should be saying! That’s too pessimistic!”
Qin Qiong looked at him.
Cheng Yaojin continued, “Sun Simiao is a divine physician. What does a divine physician do? He cures the illnesses no one else can cure! If he hasn’t even taken a look yet and we’re already scaring ourselves, saying this can’t be cured and that can’t be cured, then why even invite him?”
He stepped forward.
“We brought him here. We’ll talk about whether it’s hopeless after he’s seen the patient. What’s the point of talking ourselves into despair right now?”
Qin Qiong said nothing.
Cheng Yaojin turned to Li Shimin.
“Your Majesty, what do you think?”
Li Shimin looked at him for three breaths.
Then he suddenly let out a soft laugh.
Very light.
“Cheng Yaojin is right.”
He stood up.
“Let’s wait until he arrives. Whether it can be cured or not—only after seeing the patient will we know. Thinking too much now is useless.”
He waved his hand.
“Dismissed.”
Cheng Yaojin grinned.
Qin Qiong glanced at Li Shimin but said nothing more.
Fang Xuanling lifted his head and nodded slightly.
Zhangsun Wuji still kept his head lowered.
Wei Zheng walked away from the window and followed the others out.
At the doorway, Cheng Yaojin suddenly stopped.
He turned back.
“Your Majesty.”
Li Shimin looked at him.
Cheng Yaojin said, “In these ten days, I’ll keep an eye on the Marquis’s estate. Just in case Zhou Xiong goes mad again and doesn’t recognize anyone when the physician arrives.”
Li Shimin nodded.
“Go.”
Cheng Yaojin strode out.
Footsteps faded into the distance.
The hall fell silent.
Li Shimin stood in place, staring at the door.
He stood there for a long time.
Then he turned and walked to the window.
Outside, the sky was a dull gray, heavy clouds pressing low.
He looked at that gray sky.
And softly said a sentence.
So softly it was almost a breath.
“Ten days…”
No one answered.
Only the wind, occasionally passing through, howling faintly.
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