MCSCPM -Chapter 130 Neither Humble nor Arrogant

As dawn faintly broke, Yin Qingyue slowly opened her eyes. Last night had been restless, plagued with nightmares.

“Divine Physician, you’re here! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” a palace maid arrived, sweating profusely.

“What’s the matter? Why are you in such a hurry?” Yin Qingyue asked, frowning slightly, her tone lazy.

“The Emperor’s condition has worsened. Eunuch Zhang has been waiting outside for some time,” the maid said anxiously.

“What happened?” Yin Qingyue’s expression remained calm, but a flicker of alarm crossed her mind. Clearly, this was deliberate—likely related to the events of today’s performance.

Thinking this through, she said to Mei’er calmly, “Mei’er, take the medicine box and follow me.”

Mei’er quickly grabbed the medicine box and followed closely.

At this moment, Prince Jing, clad in a black python robe, was waiting at the Dragon-Patterned Hall entrance.

When they arrived, Yin Qingyue glanced at him briefly, nodded slightly, and entered, with Mei’er right behind.

Inside the bedchamber, Emperor Nangong Lin lay on the bed, his lips completely pale. On the floor, crimson flowers were scattered.

“Your Highness, we pay our respects,” several palace maids said in unison.

Prince Jing remained silent, his gaze fixed on the streak of green in front of him.

“When did the Emperor fall ill? What symptoms appeared at onset?” Yin Qingyue asked the eunuch attending Emperor Nangong Lin as she stood by the window.

“About half an hour ago. He began coughing and wheezing. The other imperial physicians gave him medicine, but just now he vomited blood uncontrollably, so we hurried to fetch the Divine Physician,” the eunuch said, pale and anxious.

“I’ll first take his pulse.”

Yin Qingyue’s fair fingers lightly touched the Emperor’s pulse. It was weak, almost imperceptible. Her heart tightened—this pulse was far different from a few days ago; logically, it shouldn’t be this serious.

She released his hand and scanned the room. The air was stagnant, which was terrible for an Emperor with a cough.

“Everyone, step back. Don’t crowd the bed—let the air circulate,” she said. Her few words left those present somewhat astonished.

At this moment, Consort De, having heard of the situation, glanced at Yin Qingyue at the bedside. “Divine Physician, you’ve been treating the Emperor’s illness. Now both the Emperor and Empress are in danger. Do you have anything to say?”

Her tone was calm and even, not confrontational, almost casual as if checking on someone’s health.

Yin Qingyue’s eyes were cold. “I have nothing to say. I only focus on treating the patient.”

Neither humble nor arrogant; neither haughty nor coy.

Prince Jing watched the exchange, a faint smile forming on his lips—unaware of how many hearts this scene had captivated.

Yin Qingyue then began to examine the room. Consort De made no obstacles; after all, Emperor Nangong Lin could not be endangered now, and her son remained in Jiangnan.

At this moment, a plant caught her eye. Her gaze sharpened.

“Cough! Cough!” Emperor Nangong Lin coughed violently, spitting blood onto a handkerchief, his face even paler.

Seeing this, Yin Qingyue drew several silver needles from her waist and quickly inserted them into his acupuncture points, alleviating his cough.

Her movements were swift, and the Emperor’s condition slightly improved. He weakly waved his hand. “I’m fine.”

Then he asked Yin Qingyue, “Divine Physician, what exactly is wrong with me?”

Even pale and weak, his words carried authority.

Prince Jing’s gaze turned cold, silently observing.

“Your Majesty, may I ask—where did this plant in the room come from?” Yin Qingyue pointed toward the original-leaf plant behind the screen.

“It was sent by an old acquaintance. What’s wrong with that?” the Emperor replied sharply but weakly.

He understood—some unsavory truth might be unfolding, yet he could say nothing.

Yin Qingyue seemed to grasp something but said firmly, “Your Majesty, I advise you to stay away from this plant.”

She did not elaborate, yet her words carried their full meaning.

Yin Qingyue knew well that the Emperor’s persistent cough was closely linked to this plant, but she also understood that some words could not be spoken openly in the palace.

Emperor Nangong Lin was clever enough to understand her subtle warning.

“You have courage, Divine Physician. But I wonder—who gave you this courage?” he said, glancing briefly at Prince Jing’s calm face.

Yin Qingyue remained composed. “Your Majesty, I only know how to diagnose, prescribe, and heal.”

Her words were blunt but clear: her duty was medicine, nothing else.

Prince Jing observed her composure, so unusual for someone her age and position, growing ever more intrigued.

Consort De’s gaze deepened but she said nothing, gently stroking the Emperor’s back, her demeanor tender and graceful.

“In that case, you should understand—if you fail to heal me, the consequences will be severe!” Emperor Nangong Lin said calmly, yet the weight behind his words was undeniable.

Everyone present understood: if Yin Qingyue failed, her life could be forfeit.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Yin Qingyue replied, looking up at him calmly, fearless.

The Emperor suddenly smiled. “Good! Very good! Then I await your prescription. As for the plant, since it was sent by an old acquaintance…”

He paused, then said, “I gift it to you, Divine Physician. I trust you will care for it well.”

Yin Qingyue’s smile deepened, her gaze cold. He understood, yet he chose to protect through her hands.

Her eyes sharpened. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will take good care of it.”

A silent, wordless battle ended, but she realized his gaze had not left her—bold, invasive, like a predator studying its prey.

Yin Qingyue met his stare calmly, focusing to discern his thoughts. The unguarded intensity of his gaze made her withdraw swiftly, fingers clenched behind her. Like before—dark, bloody, like a vortex.

“Cough, cough!” The Emperor’s violent cough interrupted their silent duel of wills.

Yin Qingyue regained her composure. Prince Jing remained still, seemingly unfazed.

Some palace maids looked on with contempt: “Divine Physician, what audacity—staring at Prince Jing so boldly!”

Consort De’s gaze was meaningful; she did not believe this was an intimate exchange. To her, it was two skilled opponents testing each other—a sharp and discerning observation.

Yin Qingyue ignored all others. She said to Emperor Nangong Lin: “Your Majesty, your cough has reached the lungs. You must rest, combining medicinal herbs with acupuncture.”

“Order it. Whatever herbs or imperial physicians the Divine Physician requires, follow her command,” the Emperor said, though skeptical about the Empress’s treatment, he trusted her skill.

“Your Majesty’s command is obeyed,” Yin Qingyue smiled. The Emperor’s decree granted her free access to the imperial medical offices. Yet her priority remained the plant.

“Your Majesty, I have one request,” Yin Qingyue said firmly.

The Emperor looked puzzled. “Speak.”

“Although Your Majesty has gifted me the plant, I hope to use it freely,” she said decisively.

She understood that imperial gifts should not be misused.

“Since it has been gifted, you may use it as you wish. But it was sent by an old acquaintance—please preserve its life,” the Emperor said. Though not naturally compassionate, he recognized the plant’s significance; it had accompanied him for a long time.

“I will not harm it. My interest is purely scientific, and studying it may help cure Your Majesty,” Yin Qingyue said resolutely.

The Emperor studied this bold and determined woman, momentarily distracted.

At that moment, Crown Prince Nangong Xiao and the Grand Minister entered.

Yin Qingyue’s gaze flickered with curiosity—why were these two together?

“Your Majesty, I apologize for my delay. I bring a divine herb sent from heaven,” the Grand Minister said, handing a small white porcelain bottle to the Emperor.

The Emperor accepted it reverently.

Yin Qingyue smiled faintly. “Your Majesty, may I examine this divine gift?”

“Bold! This is heaven-sent. How could anyone but the True Dragon Emperor touch it?” the Grand Minister exclaimed.

Crown Prince Nangong Xiao’s face was serene. “Minister, though heaven-sent, the Divine Physician’s skill is exceptional. Letting her examine it could only benefit Your Majesty’s health.”

His words were sincere, tactfully addressing the Grand Minister and easing Yin Qingyue’s dilemma.

“West Ze Emperor, I see no harm in letting her inspect it,” Prince Jing said, his voice magnetic, carrying authority.

Emperor Nangong Lin waved his hand. “Then let her see.”

The Grand Minister’s expression darkened. He glanced at Consort De, who remained calm, finally reassured.

Yin Qingyue opened the white porcelain bottle. A fresh fragrance rose—refreshing, with nothing unusual.

“Divine Physician, can you tell anything?” the Grand Minister pressed.

She smirked coldly. “Minister, with the Emperor, Crown Prince, and Prince here, is it your place to question me?”

“YOU!” The Grand Minister was furious. Since taking office, he had been second to none. No one had dared to humiliate him openly.

Prince Jing’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze softening slightly on her.