LBLCPCB C3

by berry

Chapter 3

Zhu Song had intended to wait until Wen Fengxuan fell asleep before sneaking off to wander around the Eastern Palace. Yet before the Crown Prince even drifted into slumber, Zhu Song realized he was burning up—his whole body hot to the touch. Only then did Zhu Song understand: the flush on Wen Fengxuan’s face hadn’t come from wine, but from fever.

Alarmed, Zhu Song asked urgently,

“Where is the palace physician? I’ll go call him.”

Wen Fengxuan lifted his eyes toward him, voice weak.

“It’s nothing. I’m like this often. By morning, it will fade. Don’t worry.”

How could Zhu Song possibly not worry? He himself had always been hardy, the sort who could leap into the moat and catch fish at midnight without falling ill. But he remembered when Gu Huaiyu once came down with fever—every physician in the capital had been summoned, yet none could cure him. Finally, a court physician arrived, warning gravely that had help been delayed any longer, Gu Huaiyu might have turned into a fool. The stern face of that physician still haunted Zhu Song. Since then, he never dared to take a fever lightly.

“Where does the physician live?”

Wen Fengxuan doubled over in another fit of coughing. Zhu Song instinctively wished to pat his back, but as Wen lay down flat, he couldn’t reach. He could only stand there, frustrated, clenching his fists.

“I’ll ask the servants.”

He turned to go—but a frail hand seized his. Though the grip held no strength, Zhu Song stopped, curious what the Crown Prince wished to say.

Between rattling coughs, Wen Fengxuan forced out two difficult syllables:

“…None.”

“What?” Zhu Song faltered, whipping around.

The hand in his own scalded like flame. Wen Fengxuan pressed his coughs down, whispering hoarsely,

“No physician… in residence.”

“How can that be?” Zhu Song blurted out. He had no reason to lie. Yet the thought was inconceivable: the Crown Prince’s frail body was common knowledge, and yet he had no personal doctor?

So all this time… he had simply endured alone? No wonder he had said he would be “better by morning.”

Wen Fengxuan’s coughing subsided, but his condition worsened, eyes heavy, voice fading:

“I want to sleep now… little celestial envoy… will you still come next year?”

Exactly as Gu Huaiyu had been back then. Zhu Song dared not delay another moment. He scooped the Crown Prince into his arms, running outside as he babbled feverishly just to keep him conscious.

“Don’t sleep, don’t sleep! I’ll take you to a physician. If you fall asleep now, I won’t come next year!”

The Eastern Palace sprawling and unfamiliar, Zhu Song had no idea where its gates lay. He had no choice but to retrace his earlier path and scale the wall once more, carrying Wen Fengxuan out with him.

It was already past midnight²; the medical halls were closed. Zhu Song resolved to bring him back to the Zhu residence and call their family physician.

The Zhu estate wasn’t far by daylight—the walk had taken him but a quarter of an hour³—but tonight, burdened with the unconscious Crown Prince, distance felt endless. Zhu Song quickened his steps desperately.

The city was under curfew; the streets deserted. No lanterns glowed along the avenues, only icy moonlight silvering the way. Luckily, the moon was bright, enough to guide his path.

Just as the Zhu estate neared, a sound rose—dong, dong, dong. Slow, rhythmic: like the thumping of heavy footsteps, someone leaping.

Zhu Song realized instantly. This was the very same “strange figure” that had appeared days ago on Changxi Street. Any other night he would have pursued without hesitation. But with the Crown Prince clinging to life in his arms, he had no strength to spare.

A cloud drifted across the sky, swallowing the moonlight. Darkness smothered the street, and Zhu Song cursed under his breath, stumbling forward on memory alone.

Then, weight pressed suddenly against his shoulder—and a heady fragrance wafted over him. Butterfly‑orchid⁴.

The moon burst forth again. Out of the shadows loomed a face: sunken and pitted, with green‑tinted flesh, fanged mouth, crimson eyes, and white hair. Arms stiff, the figure vaulted several times in eerie silence, then vanished.

Zhu Song steadied himself, heart taut, and redoubled his pace for the family manor.

“Open the door! Quickly, open!”

Moments later, a servant rushed out, startled at the sight of Zhu Song carrying someone.

“Master, why is Lord Gu unconscious?”

“It’s none of your concern. Be off,” Zhu Song ordered curtly.

“Yes, sir.”

The boy withdrew. Zhu Song carried Wen Fengxuan directly to Mingyue Courtyard, where Zhu Jingchen resided, and shouted as he entered:

“Father, work’s here!”

There was no reply. Irritated, Zhu Song kicked the door open. “Father, look who I brought!”

Grumbling came from within. Ever since the incident of stolen treasures had been exposed, Madam Meng Xiaohé’s heart remained unsettled. Just yesterday she had departed for Xiangguo Temple to pray for blessings, vowing to stay a full month before returning.

Zhu Jingchen stumbled out half‑dressed, muttering angrily. Seeing his son cradling an unconscious man, his first thought was also Gu Huaiyu. “What now? Did you drag Huaiyu into more trouble?”

Zhu Song sighed, exasperated. “Look closely—quicker!”

The moonlight failed to fully penetrate the eaves, leaving the figure’s features in shadow. Zhu Jingchen leaned forward, grumbling, but once the face came fully into view, he went rigid as though struck by lightning. His voice lowered to a fearful whisper.

“You—you—you’ve got a death wish! You dare steal away the Crown Prince?”

Zhu Song thrust Wen Fengxuan closer. “He’s fevered. I’m off to find Old Qu⁵.”

But Zhu Jingchen refused to take him, gripping his son’s arm in terror. “What d’you want Qu Xiaobai for?”

Seeing his father so jumpy, Zhu Song realized the misunderstanding, and explained: “On the way back, I ran into the strange creature. I’m going to let Old Qu arrest the thing.”

Zhu Jingchen snapped irritably: “Whether he’s caught now or later makes no difference. The Crown Prince matters most! Besides… your mother had a chill when she left for Xiangguo Temple. She took the household physician with her.”

“What?” Zhu Song froze. “Then only the city clinics remain.”

He made to leave again, but Zhu Jingchen seized him once more.

“This is the Crown Prince. Even the Emperor doesn’t care for him—yet you do? Isn’t that setting yourself against the throne? Think! If you parade him half‑conscious to a public clinic, what will people say of you two?”

Zhu Song understood the implications, but grit his teeth. “And what then? Am I to stand idle while he dies?”

Zhu Jingchen’s eyes flicked about, scheming. Dragging his son inside, he pointed toward the bed. Zhu Song obeyed, laying Wen Fengxuan down gently.

“What, do you mean to treat him yourself?” Zhu Song challenged.

“No,” Jingchen muttered, then, after a confirming glance at the unconscious Crown Prince, whispered low. “Remember when you were seven? You coughed half a year, no remedy worked—until Zhu Fu cured you.”

Ah, yes. Zhu Song remembered. Sickly with chronic cough, his mother had taken him time after time to Xiangguo Temple for prayers. Restless, he had sneaked to the back mountain, where a little yellow dog had once tugged leaves from a bush to him. The child had swallowed them recklessly, and miraculously the cough vanished. His mother, astonished, begged the monastery’s abbot to give them the dog itself. Thus the pup, named Zhu Fu (“Blessing”), had since been raised in their household.

Zhu Song understood his father’s meaning. “But Zhu Fu is already more than ten years old. Can he still heal?”

“Never doubt Zhu Fu,” retorted Jingchen. “When your second brother was twenty‑seven, his back broke out in terrible heat rashes. Every physician in the city failed him. In the end, he ate the leaves Zhu Fu pulled, and was cured.”

Zhu Song still wavered. “But the Crown Prince is not like us. If we die, so be it. If he dies, the whole family might be executed! Isn’t it safer to take him outside to a clinic?”

But Jingchen patted his shoulder, determination firm. “Didn’t you plan to drag Old Qu here anyway? Go! I’ll handle things.”

That much faith unsettled Zhu Song. “Compared to the Crown Prince’s life, rumors don’t matter to me.”

Jingchen caved. “Fine. But instead of hauling him around, just invite a physician here.”

Suspicious, Zhu Song demanded: “Why insist on sending me out alone then, when so many are here?”

“Every pair of ears is added risk,” Jingchen said. “And Zhu Fu is old—it’s risky to wake him at midnight. Enough! I’m not as unreliable as you think. Go!”

Zhu Song still distrusted him. “I’ll call Lingye over to watch.”

“Fine, fine,” Jingchen agreed.

Thus, Zhu Song fetched Lingye and explained hurriedly before rushing out to find a doctor.

Two quarters⁶ later, Zhu Song returned with a physician, but at the gate a servant greeted him:

“Master, the lord said the physician’s not needed. The patient has already taken medicine.”

Zhu Song’s eyes narrowed. Abandoning the doctor, he hurried into Mingyue Courtyard. Zhu Fu the dog lay curled asleep upon a table while Zhu Jingchen and Zhu Lingye picked leaf fragments from its fur. When Zhu Song entered, the dog opened one eye, gave a token wag of the tail, then shut it again.

Zhu Song felt utterly speechless, anger searching vainly for release. “You’ve tricked me again!”

Jingchen looked up serenely, hands never pausing. His voice gentle, careful not to disturb the dog’s slumber. “The fever’s gone down. Soon it will break completely. Hurry and return him now.”

Zhu Song’s suspicious eyes fell at last on Lingye. “Tell me truthfully—did anything go wrong?”

Lingye shook his head. “Nothing. I tested the leaves first for poison. When I didn’t die, I gave him the rest.”

Zhu Song gaped. “Then why demand his prompt return?”

That silenced Lingye briefly, though he added: “He… shouldn’t be here.”

Jingchen chuckled. “Exactly. Your courage outstrips even mine.”

Zhu Song left them. Entering the unlit bedchamber, he hastened to the bedside. By moon’s cold light, he touched Wen Fengxuan’s brow—indeed, the heat had lessened.

Time to send him back.

He lifted the quilt, maneuvering to carry him. To draw him close, he bent low, supporting head, shoulders, knees—when suddenly, their eyes met.

Zhu Song froze. At such proximity, he could feel Wen Fengxuan’s breath, still warm upon his cheek.

The Crown Prince had awakened. The alcohol haze gone, fever receded—eyes bright, gaze sharp. He frowned faintly.

“You are…?”

Zhu Song quickly released him, stepping back two paces. Reciting his pre‑planned excuse:

“Your servant is Zhu Song, Assistant Minister at the Judicial Review Court. Tonight, while hunting the strange figure troubling the capital, I ventured near the Eastern Palace and heard suspicious noises. Fearing for Your Highness’s safety, I entered without notice. By fortune I found you fevered and drunk; seeing no physician available, I rashly bore you here for treatment.

Now finding you much improved, I thought this place unworthy of your honored self, and sought only to return you. I intended no harm.”

Wen Fengxuan nodded once, solemn. “My thanks. Forgive the disturbance. The hour is late, and you’ve toiled much for me. I shall return alone—you should rest early.”

He rose, yet his body swayed nearly back onto the bed. Zhu Song rushed to support him.

“With strange creatures haunting the city, might Your Highness not remain the night? Leave at dawn instead.”

Unexpectedly, Wen Fengxuan shook his head. “No need.”

Zhu Song didn’t insist, only offered: “At least let me escort you.”

“Unnecessary. I am well enough.”

Nothing more could be said. At the threshold Zhu Song ceased, watching that frail silhouette swallow into the shadows. Uneasy, he slipped silently after.

Footnote

Palace physician (府醫) — a doctor officially attached to an imperial residence. Even concubines had such; the fact that the Crown Prince had none reveals deliberate neglect.
Zi‑shi (子時) — traditional Chinese time unit: between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m.
One quarter of an hour (一刻鐘) in classical reckoning is about 15 minutes.
Butterfly orchid fragrance (蝴蝶蘭香) — often used in texts to evoke a delicate, heady floral scent. Its sudden presence here adds to the otherworldly aura of the “strange figure.”
Old Qu / Qu Xiaobai (瞿洲白, 小白) — capital magistrate prefect; his nickname “Xiaobai” is affectionate familiarity used by Zhu’s father.
Two quarters (兩刻鐘) — in traditional reckoning, roughly half an hour.