TRBDM -Chapter 120 Astonishing Willpower

That night, the candlelight in the Flower Hall of the Princess’s Mansion never went out.

The imperial physician stayed on guard the entire night, repeatedly administering acupuncture to the Tenth Prince to pull him out of unconsciousness.

Zhao Jingheng convulsed almost every half hour, and twice he coughed up blood.

The physician was so terrified that he felt his soul might leave his body.

Fortunately, the night passed without any serious mishaps.

The imperial physician looked even paler than Zhao Jingheng, who had endured a night of torment at the hands of the Hehuan Poison.

Zhao Lingchen had slept well the previous night; her insomnia seemed to have completely failed her. The moment her head touched the pillow, she fell asleep.

Ever since obtaining that portrait, she hadn’t slept for several days and nights.

This sleep, however, was deep and uninterrupted.

By mid-morning, she stretched lazily. A good sleep left her refreshed and clear-headed.

Her maid helped her rise.

Zhao Lingchen’s voice was still drowsy, her eyes half-closed as she looked at the lotus flowers in the courtyard and asked,

“Last night… did any maid go near the Tenth Prince’s bed?”

“Reporting to the Princess, no one did.”

“Oh?”

Zhao Lingchen raised an eyebrow. So he really endured it?

After taking her time finishing breakfast, Zhao Lingchen went to the Flower Hall.

“Your Highness, Princess,” the imperial physician greeted with a bow.

“How is the Tenth Prince?”

The physician, having been in a state of fear all night, finally relaxed a little.

He replied, “The Tenth Prince has astonishing willpower. He overcame the effects of the Hehuan Poison. However, the medicine has not completely worn off yet. He will need another half day to fully awaken.”

Zhao Lingchen approached the window, her slender fingers parting the curtains.

Under the embroidered coverlet, Zhao Jingheng curled up, his face twisted in pain, sweat soaking the hair at his temples.

His jaw was firm and unyielding—truly, his willpower was extraordinary.

Zhao Lingchen couldn’t help but think of the soldiers at the frontier: facing overwhelming enemies, wounded by countless blows, yet remaining silent, pressing forward even when a spear pierced their shoulder.

Such qualities were not uncommon at the borders.

But she never expected to see such resolve in a prince who had lived in comfort all his life.

Truly remarkable.

Zhao Lingchen bent down, brushing away the strands of hair stuck to Zhao Jingheng’s face, and instructed,

“Take good care of him. Use the most expensive medicinal ingredients to restore him. As soon as he wakes, bring him straight to me.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Ming Tai Temple.

Wei Zhaorong, Lin Juehui, and Madam Dong had stayed inside for three full days.

By day, they ate vegetarian meals and listened to Buddhist sutras; by night, they stayed at the temple.

From Lin Juehui, Wei Zhaorong received bad news.

“His Majesty’s health has been failing. He hasn’t eaten a proper meal in over half a month,” Lin Juehui said, frowning and letting out a long sigh.

Wei Zhaorong understood: the emperor’s health was not merely fragile—his time was drawing near.

The last time she had visited the palace to see His Majesty, she could already see signs of decline in his appearance.

At some point, she had heard rumors that the emperor might have been poisoned with an exotic toxin from the Western Regions.

The court physicians had been helpless.

Later, experts from the martial world and other realms were secretly recruited. They disguised themselves as performers and entered the palace frequently.

The exotic poison was temporarily suppressed, and the court remained stable.

The emperor’s life had been prolonged for several years, but it seemed he could no longer hold on.

Now, with the crown prince weak, and the Noble Consort and Third Prince holding great power, once the emperor’s condition worsened, control over the entire Dachong Dynasty would slip from his hands.

Ever since the emperor ordered the Ministry of Justice to conduct a thorough investigation into the Lei Lieshan case, the situation at court had grown increasingly tense.

Although Wei Zhaorong already knew the outcome of the succession in advance, she could not be certain until the last moment whether the course of history would unfold exactly as it had in her previous life.

“A-Rong, if the Third Prince ascends the throne, he will surely punish all those who were involved in the Lei Lieshan case,” Lin Juehui said.

The Nanyang General was loyal to the emperor, and the emperor intended to support the Crown Prince. Naturally, the General’s household and the Third Prince were never aligned.

Lin Juehui’s concerns were far from unfounded.

Madam Dong was also worried. Although Mr. Dong had long retired from political affairs, he had once been the Crown Prince’s teacher and might well be on the Third Prince’s list of those to be purged.

After all, the Third Prince admired tyranny and would tolerate no obstruction.

Even retired officials would likely be unable to escape his purge.

The combined involvement of Marquis Mingde’s household and Jiang Yuelin, the Deputy Minister of the Ministry of Justice, in convicting Lei Lieshan made them especially vulnerable to the Third Prince’s vengeance.

If that were the case, it wouldn’t just be the gates of the Guangyao Marquis’s mansion at risk—the entire household could face confiscation and exile.

Absolutely not!

The Third Prince cannot ascend!

Wei Zhaorong decided to lend her support to the Tenth Prince.

She furrowed her brows; she had to find a way.

The court’s affairs changed by the hour, and once the emperor passed away, the situation would be uncontrollable. She needed to act early, gain the Tenth Prince’s trust, and then do everything in her power to help him ascend.

After returning from the Ministry of Rites to the mansion, Wei Zhaorong called everyone together in the Anhe Courtyard for a meal.

Xie Lan and Xie Yu had been happily playing for three days, delighting in all sorts of quirky little amusements, and still hadn’t settled down to study properly.

Xie Yu shyly shared amusing stories with Wei Zhaorong, expecting her to be uninterested—but she listened with rapt attention.

Her reaction gave Xie Yu confidence.

He went on, telling even more stories. Wei Zhaorong listened to every word carefully and would occasionally pause to ask, “Was it interesting? Tasty? Fun?”

Each time, Xie Yu’s answer was always “Yes.”

“And Lan’er, how was your playtime?”

“Mother, it was wonderful. I’m so happy,” Xie Lan said with a smile.

Wei Zhaorong nodded. “As long as you’re happy.”

Xie Lan had suffered so much in her previous life; she had hardly had any joyful days.

Xie Yu even more so.

In the previous life, little Shi Yi had been a mere servant his entire life—so insignificant that Wei Zhaorong hadn’t even known such a person existed in the mansion.

She didn’t know how Shi Yi’s previous life had ended.

They chatted for a long while. Just as Wei Zhaorong was about to bring up the Tenth Prince, Xie Yu suddenly said: “Mother, I’ve finished reading Qilue. Tomorrow, I want to go to the Imperial Academy and return it to the Tenth Prince.”

Returning the book was just an excuse; the real reason was that the Tenth Prince had agreed to exchange it for Records on Literature and Arts.

The mention of the Tenth Prince caused both Dou sisters to change expression simultaneously.

Dou Shuyao glanced at Dou Shuxin and noticed she was lost in thought.

In recent days, Dou Shuyao had been observing her closely. Shuxin had clearly grown melancholy, staring at a silver dagger for hours on end.

Dou Shuyao guessed that the dagger had been left by the Tenth Prince.

A young girl’s heart could never be hidden.

Dou Shuxin liked the Tenth Prince.

Dou Shuyao felt helpless. The Tenth Prince was not a suitable match, but she didn’t know how to advise her sister.

After Wei Zhaorong returned, Dou Shuyao decided to tell her about this matter, hoping her mother—the family’s guiding pillar—could help make a decision.

Meanwhile, Wei Zhaorong was still asking Xie Lan: “When do you plan to go to the Imperial Academy?”

“Tomorrow,” Xie Yu said, eager to see Records on Literature and Arts.

“Mm, understood.”

Tomorrow, she would write a letter and have Xie Yu deliver it personally.