Chapter 43: The Human Heart

Previously, because of the poisoning incident, the entire atmosphere in the prince’s residence had become chaotic and uneasy. Everyone harbored their own plans. As for seeking a renowned physician, the servants could never afford one, and later, upon learning that the Prince of Pingyi was poisoned as well, just like themselves, many began to silently observe, hoping that when the prince received an antidote, they too might have a chance at survival.

It was only after Eunuch Mingde brought Zheng Tianlan to the residence that much of the hope in their hearts was extinguished. Everyone knew who Zheng Tianlan was—the imperial physician, no less. As the matter had already drawn the emperor’s attention, it was clear that the poison afflicting both themselves and the prince was far from simple. The Prince of Pingyi, being royalty, would naturally be saved by the imperial physician, but what were they, after all? Merely servants—who would truly care whether they lived or died?

Just as they clung to a final thread of hope, Zheng Tianlan’s words unexpectedly gave them reason to hope again—and stirred a yearning for their distant homes. Away from home, they had only ever sought to make a living here at the prince’s residence. Now, poisoned and facing the prospect of dying in a foreign land, all they could wish was that after their passing, perhaps the prince’s household might send some support to their families far away. Yet now, hope had reappeared, and it lay in their homeland.

The Prince of Pingyi, too, felt the gazes of the servants behind him. Evidently, Feng Yewu’s plan had succeeded—at the very least, it had made remaining in the capital a difficult choice. Pushing open the study door, the Prince of Pingyi strode in, furious.

With a loud smack, he swept the brushes, ink, and paper from the desk onto the floor, unable to contain his resentment. “Hmph! To think that girl’s methods have become so ruthless!”

“Your Highness, please calm yourself. With poison in your system, letting your rage boil will only harm you further,” Zhao Xiyan hastened forward to counsel the prince. She had clearly overheard the earlier conversation in the main hall between the prince and Zheng Tianlan, and she understood well that Zheng Tianlan was merely a pawn, sent by Feng Yewu to sow chaos.

“By the way, did you get a good look at that physician surnamed Zheng?” the prince asked, as if something had occurred to him, turning to Zhao Xiyan.

“Though I did not get close, I saw his face and build well enough. Do you wish to have him removed, Your Highness?” Zhao Xiyan asked, somewhat stunned by the question, thinking perhaps the prince wanted to vent his anger by having the man killed.

“Hmph. Such an ant is not worthy of my attention,” the prince replied with a cold laugh. A clown like Zheng Tianlan was hardly worth the notice of a prince. The pressure Feng Yewu exerted upon him grew by the day, and he had no time to waste on such minor players. He knew well enough what truly mattered.

“Then why did you ask about him, Your Highness?” Zhao Xiyan inquired, puzzled.

“You once said you saw someone conducting an autopsy at the Prime Minister’s residence late at night. Do you think the figure you saw bears any resemblance to this Dr. Zheng?” After all, the prince had not encountered Lu Jue that night; Zhao Xiyan was the only one who had briefly crossed paths with him. Seeing Zheng Tianlan today, the prince could not help but recall the mysterious figure in black Zhao Xiyan had mentioned. It could be deduced that the person was from the palace, but as far as the prince knew, aside from Lu Jue, there were no other young men. And now, having seen Zheng Tianlan, who turned out to be an imperial physician, the whereabouts of the silver needles seemed to have a lead.

Though Zheng Tianlan’s status was that of an imperial physician, his skills and bearing marked him clearly as a martial artist. If it could be confirmed that Zheng Tianlan was the man in black from that night, the matter might take a new turn.

Though Zhao Xiyan did not understand the prince’s reasoning, she carefully recalled the details. “The mysterious figure in black from that night did resemble Dr. Zheng in build, but I am certain they are not the same person.”

“Oh? Why are you so certain?” the prince pressed.

“Your Highness, though both were young and skilled, I can tell from their steps that they are not the same man.”

“Their steps?” the prince mused, sitting down and fixing Zhao Xiyan with a questioning gaze. “Is it possible to change one’s gait?”

Zhao Xiyan, being well versed in lightness skills, understood such matters better than the prince. From her observation, the so-called Dr. Zheng, impersonating an imperial physician, moved with light and agile steps, the tips of his toes always touching down—a habit of those long practiced in stealth and assassination.

The man she had encountered that night, Lu Jue, also possessed decent lightness skills, but his footwork was different. Lu Jue’s strength was centered on the balls of his feet, a clear mark of orthodox family training. Every step was designed to generate power through the upper body, not characteristic of someone accustomed to moving under cover of darkness. The way the two men walked was altogether different.

“Your Highness, for ordinary people, changing one’s gait would require years of dedicated effort—how much more so for martial artists like us,” Zhao Xiyan explained. “For those who practice martial arts, the movements are ingrained through years of training and become second nature, even in daily walking. It is far more difficult to change, and doing so recklessly could even disrupt one’s martial foundation.”

Hearing this, the Prince of Pingyi understood. It seemed he still underestimated Feng Yewu’s reach; he had not expected her to have such people at her disposal.

“Your Highness, what do you intend to do now?” Zhao Xiyan asked, seeing the prince lost in thought. The poison could not be left untreated, yet the capital was a place rife with trouble.

“My intentions?” The prince laughed coldly, standing and gazing at the ink and brushes on the desk with resignation. “Someone does not wish me to remain. Before I leave, I must bid her farewell.”

Clearly, the Prince of Pingyi had resolved to leave the capital.

Meanwhile, within the palace, Feng Yewu had pushed aside all her affairs for the day. Alone in her study, she leisurely perused poetry and prose—a picture of ease and contentment.