MCSCPM -Chapter 106 Hidden Emotions

Seeing the physician rise, Prince Jing asked, “Doctor, how is she?”

“Report to Your Highness, she is not in serious danger. It’s just that prolonged fasting has left her body severely malnourished, causing her to faint. Once I prescribe a few remedies and she takes some nourishing food—not heavy meats, which are harmful rather than restorative—she will recover,” the elderly doctor said in a trembling voice. Yet he couldn’t help feeling puzzled: why would Miss Yin treat herself so harshly? As a divine physician, she should have known that fasting and overexertion would harm her body. Why risk herself like this?

But the doctor dared not voice his thoughts, for even ten heads wouldn’t suffice to pay the price if Prince Jing overheard. Luckily, the Prince’s attention was fully on Yin Qingyue.

Thank heavens you’re alright. Otherwise, I really wouldn’t know what to do…

During the time Yin Qingyue lay unconscious, Prince Jing had stayed by her side, watching as her face gradually regained color and her lips, once pale, became soft shades of apricot.

Her household staff had never seen Prince Jing so gentle. During her unconsciousness, he had been unflagging in his care—feeding her porridge and medicine spoon by spoon, carefully wiping away any dribbled liquid. Even the maids peeking from the doorway couldn’t help but feel envious that their lady was blessed with such concern from Prince Jing.

After about three days, Yin Qingyue finally awoke. She was surprised to find herself in her bedroom rather than her pharmacy. Her newly developed antidote—gripped tightly in her hands—was gone. Panic set in: this antidote was crucial to saving the Empress, and if it were lost, all her hard work over the past days would have been in vain.

Ignoring her weak body, she clutched walls and anything she could for support, searching her room frantically. Failing to find it, she attempted to go outside.

The guards at her door, hearing movement, hurried in. Seeing her awake, they were both relieved and anxious.

A shorter attendant asked anxiously, “Miss, you’ve finally awakened! You had us worried sick.”

But Yin Qingyue, preoccupied, interrupted him, asking urgently, “Where is my medicine? My newly developed antidote? Where has it gone?”

Hearing her concern for the antidote, the two attendants felt a pang in their hearts. They knew their lady’s devotion to patients outweighed all else. Now that Prince Jing had taken the antidote, they weren’t sure how to explain it.

“Do you even understand? Why aren’t you saying anything? If you don’t, I’ll go find it myself!” Ignoring their pleas, Yin Qingyue attempted to push past them. But her body was too weak to resist two strong attendants and she was bounced back to the floor.

“Miss, are you alright?” the attendants cried, rushing to help her up. But Yin Qingyue had feigned the stumble; as they leaned in to support her, she rolled and leapt upright, startling them.

“Where is it? Where is it?” she buzzed around like a headless fly, desperately searching for the tiny bottle.

So intent was she on the antidote that she didn’t notice the shadow suddenly approaching—Prince Jing, cold and imposing, stepped in her path. She collided headfirst into him.

“Ow… why does my forehead hurt?” Even in pain, she fussed with her appearance, rubbing her forehead. Looking up, she saw Prince Jing’s expression—dark and deadpan. Good thing it was him, not a stone, or I’d be dead.

“Why are you here?” she asked, not noticing her disheveled clothes, bare feet cut and scraped, or the throbbing pain. Prince Jing, noting her injuries and torn attire, frowned but didn’t answer. Instead, he scooped her up effortlessly.

“What are you doing?!” flustered, Yin Qingyue’s cheeks flushed as her heart pounded inexplicably.

Prince Jing carried her back into the room. The attendants, intimidated by his gaze, silently moved aside, allowing him to lay her on the bed.

Since ancient times, a maiden’s chamber was off-limits to men. But none dared resist Prince Jing’s authority.

He gently bandaged her wounded feet. For Yin Qingyue—who usually maintained a cold, icy demeanor—the gesture brought a deep warmth to her heart. Prince Jing, who rarely touched a woman’s feet due to traditional taboos, was now tending to hers without hesitation.

Once done, he spoke coldly, ignoring her expression: “Running out without knowing the facts is reckless. No wonder you got hurt. I don’t even know what to say to you.”

Though his tone was icy, it carried a faint warmth—enough for her to feel her suffering had meaning. But she still hadn’t found the antidote.

As Prince Jing turned to leave, Yin Qingyue grabbed his sleeve. “Prince Jing… I don’t know if I should ask this…”

“You may,” he said, sitting by her bed.

“I worked so hard to develop the Empress’s antidote, but during my unconsciousness, it vanished. You know how important it is—without it, we cannot save the Empress, and all the answers will remain hidden,” she said, eyes filled with worry and anxiety.

Prince Jing silently reached into his sleeve and produced a small, exquisite vial, placing it in her palm. “Do not sacrifice yourself to protect others. If you cannot even protect your own life, how can you claim to safeguard and heal others?”

“Surely, Prince Jing, this is not something you need to worry about. I can handle my own affairs,” she said, cool on the surface but warmed inside. Now was not the time for sentiments; she had to deliver the antidote to the palace.

Ignoring her recently bandaged feet, she tried to get up to leave. Prince Jing stopped her. “Where are you going?”

Meanwhile, Nangong Xiao remained overwhelmed—tracking Nangong Mei and searching for the missing imperial physician. Days had passed with no results.

The court was in chaos: the Empress poisoned, Nangong Mei fainting mysteriously, and investigations ongoing. Thankfully, as Crown Prince, Nangong Xiao still found time to manage court affairs; otherwise, the realm might already have plunged into disorder.

After five days and nights of tireless research, Yin Qingyue had collapsed while testing herbs for the antidote, dizzy and fainting before she could even taste them.

The yellow glow of the oil lamp cast over her weary face, mourning silently for this hardworking girl. She had labored tirelessly for days without rest, and though the antidote was finally complete, she had collapsed from exhaustion. No one had noticed. The lamp, powerless to cry for help, could only emit its light to give her some warmth.

The cold floor drained her body heat. Her soft frame grew colder, cheeks once rosy turned pale, and lips as white as death. She lay there unmoved, as if lifeless. If no one checked her breathing, she could easily have been mistaken for dead. Without rescue, the Empress might yet survive, but Yin Qingyue herself would have perished first.

Fortune intervened: though she had labored in vain for five days without producing the antidote, she was spared from death—Prince Jing happened to pass by her room.

It was deep autumn, the wind bleak, leaves drifting, vegetation withered—a desolate scene. Perhaps moved by the melancholy, Prince Jing was out for a late-night walk.

“Where is there not moonlight? Where is there not bamboo and cypress? But refined people are so rare, like me,” he murmured, reciting poetry, lifting his gaze to the bright moon hanging high above—a moment of elegance and ease.