IDWBE -Chapter 135 Illness

Hearing that, Fang Pi was so frightened he immediately stepped back—not away from Lin Yi, but away from Chief Steward Hong.

Everyone knew that Steward Hong often misunderstood the prince’s meaning.

Even a casual joke could turn into something real.

“Your Highness, what about fruit wine?” Fang Pi asked gloomily, looking utterly despairing.

Hadn’t they just agreed to be gentle earlier?

Did that not count anymore?

Lin Yi smiled. “Does that even count as alcohol?”

“Thank you, Your Highness!”

Fang Pi beamed.

As soon as they returned to the residence, Lin Yi learned from Qi Peng that Prince Yong had been summoned back to the capital by the Emperor.

After pondering for a while, Lin Yi said, “So my old man no longer trusts him?”

Shan Qi replied thoughtfully, “Prince Yong’s association with Jizhao Nunnery has naturally invited criticism in court.”

Lin Yi asked, “And how is Yongzhou? Isn’t Yang Changchun supposed to be capable?”

Qi Peng answered, “Governor Yang currently has only thirty thousand troops at his disposal and is waiting for reinforcements from various regions. However, he is no ordinary man. He has already taken Jinshan City, forcing the Wadan commander to flee in panic.”

Lin Yi sighed. “By the time the main forces assemble, it’ll be too late.”

This was the flaw of their military system—whenever a major war arose, troops were evenly transferred from across the Liang realm. Nearby forces took one or two months to arrive; distant ones, like those from Chuanzhou, could take a year. That easily affected the outcome of war.

Wang Qingbang smiled. “Jinshan City is strategically sound for both offense and defense. Governor Yang’s move was brilliant. Once reinforcements arrive, things will be manageable.”

“I hope so,” Lin Yi said lightly.

Spring warmed the land.

The Provincial Administration had set up porridge stations along roads to Yuezhou, Hongzhou, and Nanzhou. With deliberate publicity, within half a month over twenty thousand refugees arrived in Baiyun City.

From their accounts, Lin Yi learned that Yuezhou and Hongzhou were utterly ruined.

He estimated his father the Emperor must now be losing sleep nightly.

Still, Lin Yi himself could not be happy—too many places required money.

“Relief through labor” meant frantically building roads so the refugees would not sit idle and cause trouble.

The elderly who could not build roads were hired by local families—spring plowing season had begun.

Spring farming was the biggest event of the year in Sanhe. This time Shan Qi personally oversaw it, following Lin Yi’s instruction: not a single household should miss spring planting due to lack of seed grain.

Standing on the Xijiang Bridge, Lin Yi gazed out. What had once been barren was now fertile farmland.

The refugees were more industrious than he had imagined. If not for acreage limits per household, they might even have cultivated the slopes of Baiyun Mountain.

Still, some ignored regulations. Certain refugee families had migrated southward, where vast tracts of unclaimed land remained.

The Provincial Office might govern heaven and earth—but could it control deep forests?

Lin Yi chose not to interfere.

The more grain produced, the better.

Current policies—“land cannot be freely traded,” “no unauthorized reclamation,” “land deeds required”—were merely to prevent future land monopolization.

A problem as old as time.

As the weather grew hotter, Lin Yi awoke one morning with severe back pain.

Looking into a mirror sideways, he saw a large abscess on his back.

He wasn’t surprised.

In such humid heat, it would be strange not to develop one.

To prevent illness, he bathed daily—and required everyone else to do the same.

Yet he still hadn’t escaped it.

Hu Shilu applied medicine, but there was no improvement.

Three days later, his entire back was ulcerated. The slightest touch to the bed sent pain shooting through him.

He could no longer lie on his back—only face down.

That night, his fever surged uncontrollably. Hulu prescribed medicine.

“Damn, that’s bitter.”

After drinking it, he flung the bowl to the ground. It shattered.

“Your Highness…” Mingyue looked at his sallow face and burst into tears, at a complete loss.

“I’m not dead yet. Don’t cry—it’s bad luck.”

Lin Yi lay face down, shoulders level with the bed’s edge, head and arms dangling weakly.

“Your Highness, shall I bathe you again?” Zixia’s eyes were swollen red from crying.

“No need. My skin’s practically washed off. Water just hurts.”

He coughed violently; his lungs ached. Mingyue handed him a handkerchief to wipe his nose.

Hong Ying left the bedroom grim-faced and looked at Hulu, who sat in a daze.

Hu Shilu sighed. “Even if you kill me, I can only say this—I’ve done my utmost.”

“You call this all you’ve got?” Hong Ying said coldly.

“You think I feel any better?” Hu Shilu replied bitterly. “I brought my whole family here. If something happens to the prince, I’ll suffer most.”

“Divine Doctor, please do your best,” Shan Qi said with a heavy sigh.

Prince He’s residence was steeped in gloom.

Lin Yi looked at the blazing sun outside the window and forced a smile. “I don’t want to lie face down anymore. It’s uncomfortable.”

Mingyue and Zixia exchanged glances.

Mingyue helped him sit up; Zixia carried him out into the courtyard.

The gate was crowded. Upon seeing him, everyone dropped to their knees.

Lin Yi pointed lazily to a chair. Hong Ying quickly padded it with silk. He reclined against it.

“You’re making this hard for me…” he coughed. “I knew there were miasmas here… but didn’t expect them this fierce. Give me some tea…”

“Your Highness, Hulu said you can’t drink tea,” Mingyue cried. “Please drink boiled water.”

Lin Yi coughed again and sighed. “Can’t even have tea—what’s the point of living?”

The crowd below sobbed.

“Stop crying, it’s unlucky,” Lin Yi waved weakly. “If I really kick the bucket, divide the money and run far away…”

His coughing intensified; his head grew heavier.

Hu Shilu rushed forward to administer acupuncture.

Everyone held their breath.

After a long while, Hu Shilu checked Lin Yi’s breathing and finally exhaled in relief.

When Lin Yi awoke, he stared at the ceiling, saying nothing.

“Your Highness,” Hong Ying whispered, waking Mingyue.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked.

He shook his head and closed his eyes again.

That night he awoke to find Mingyue holding his hand and crying.

“Why cry?”

She wiped her tears and fed him water.

“I dreamed I went home,” Lin Yi smiled faintly. “I was typing on my computer.”

Mingyue thought the fever had muddled his mind.

“There are many sights in this world you can only see with your eyes closed,” he murmured, patting her head. “Don’t cry. In the future, marry good men.”

“If Your Highness is gone, I won’t go on living.”

“Nonsense. In this world, no one can’t live without someone else.”

After drinking water, he drifted back into sleep.

Baiyun City gradually sensed something wrong.

The constables no longer patrolled diligently. Fights were merely scolded, not punished with labor reform.

Filth accumulated in the streets.

Wasn’t this how it had been before Prince He arrived?

Yet now they couldn’t tolerate the dirt and stench.

Sharp-eyed citizens realized—they hadn’t seen the carefree Prince He in half a month.

Rumors spread that he was gravely ill, near death.

Hu Shilu’s clinic remained closed, confirming suspicions.

A tense atmosphere enveloped the city.

Hadn’t Baiyun City’s prosperity been his doing?

If he were gone, would it revert to stagnation?

Wang Qingbang sighed. “Doctor Hu, think of something.”

Without Prince He as the pillar, Baiyun City seemed rudderless.

Hu Shilu forced a smile. “I have done all I can. But rest assured—the fever has subsided. There is no immediate danger.”

Three days later, Lin Yi was conscious more often.

“I never imagined I’d lose weight like this.”

He was still sore but clear-headed.

For days he had eaten almost nothing.

“Congratulations, Your Highness!” Hu Shilu exclaimed, lifting his robe to inspect. “It’s all scabbed over!”

“Good. Illness comes like a landslide and leaves like silk unraveling,” Lin Yi smiled. “I can smell myself—damn disgusting. Prepare water. I need a bath.”

“Yes!”

Mingyue ran out joyfully.

Three days later, he could walk again—and drank two full bowls of porridge.

“Damn, I really escaped death.”

He hadn’t expected to be ill so long.

That night, fireworks lit up Baiyun City.

“Looks like people have money to burn,” Lin Yi smiled at the brilliant sky. “Perhaps taxes are too low.”