Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 10: Terminal Illness
The tea had long since grown cold.
The maids finished tidying up, and Old Zhong instructed them to leave.
Once more, only the two of them remained in the great hall.
“I once heard a story,” Wang Chuan began.
“A merchant guild went out to dig for gold. They excavated for ages but never found any gold dust. Despairing, they gave up and sold all their equipment at a low price to someone else.”
“The person who took over first hired a specialist to survey the site, only to discover that the gold vein was just one foot away.”
The story was blunt and straightforward.
It was a metaphor: Wang Chuan himself as the gold mine, the Zhao family guild, and Yang Hao.
Old Zhong understood quickly this time.
Originally, joining the Crown Prince’s camp was a long-term investment—over ten years of support and aid, yet they failed to persist to the end.
Moreover, it seemed that after Yang Hao’s visit, His Highness had become much livelier, speaking more than before.
“Yang Hao is the kind who’s certain there’s a gold vein below,” Wang Chuan continued. “His thinking is a bit extreme—he doesn’t need to know what I’m plotting, just needs to give his unwavering support. When the time comes, the rewards will be tremendous…”
“That’s why I feel safe and tolerant with him. If someone guessed my next move, I might really lose everything. As for those who wait for the best offer, I’ve always looked down on them—they don’t even understand what I truly want; it’s just self-indulgence.”
Compared to them, Yang Hao is different—a breath of fresh air…
Well, I’d like to see if he can persevere to the end.
It’s time for me to make my next move.
“Your Highness, Crown Prince…”
Suddenly, a servant burst in, wild-eyed, unable to perform the proper courtesies, and cried out in grief, “The Empress Dowager of Wei has passed away!”
Wang Chuan sprang to his feet as if struck by lightning.
He spat blood and collapsed, unconscious.
…
Later, Wang Chuan coughed up blood several more times. Old Zhong quietly disposed of the bloodstained handkerchiefs and undergarments, believing he’d done so with great discretion, yet the maids in the residence noticed. Somehow the news spread.
Especially since someone saw him buying medicine personally, repeatedly claiming he’d been gravely wounded resisting assassins that night.
But the next day, Old Zhong was as frantic as if possessed, rushing out in panic.
He soon returned with Yang Hao, who had paid dearly for the best physician.
After a few glances and a careful pulse reading, the physician shook his head.
He sighed.
“There’s no saving him.”
Yang Hao sat by the sickbed, holding Wang Chuan’s hand. Wang Chuan was exceedingly weak, unconscious, burning with fever, muttering feverish dreams.
Yang Hao leaned in to listen, tears streaming down his face.
He left the Princess Royal’s mansion soon after, and once aboard his carriage, could not restrain his wailing.
“Send someone at once to Jin Capital, spread the word at the fastest speed—say the Crown Prince is fading fast…” Yang Hao remembered to give orders.
Old Zhong, too, tended Wang Chuan at the bedside for a while, then gritted his teeth and rushed to the palace. Outside the gates, he knelt and wept bitterly. “Your Majesty of Wei! Save my Crown Prince, I beg you, he’s your own nephew…”
His voice was so heartbroken it moved all who heard it.
Qi Hao was in the government residence, handling affairs.
Negotiations with the ruler of Wei were nearly done. There was no way Yan Prefecture would be returned; a token compensation was all that would be offered, which was the main point.
The two nations would sign a new alliance, continuing their cordial relations.
Only one matter remained.
At that moment, hurried, anxious footsteps sounded outside.
Qi Hao knew his close attendants well—even the sound of their steps conveyed meaning.
“What’s happened?” Qi Hao went out to meet them.
“My lord, the Crown Prince is not going to make it—he’s dying!” the attendant reported.
Qi Hao’s eyes widened in shock. “I saw him last night, he was fine…” His voice suddenly cut off, and when he spoke again, it was cold as ice. “Is it true, or just an act?”
This was a matter of great importance.
The attendant replied, “It’s absolutely true, he’s dying, not much time left, probably within these two days…”
Qi Hao gritted his teeth. “Was he poisoned?”
As a subject of Jin, if their Crown Prince died in the capital of Wei…
The people of Wei could hardly pretend to be uninvolved.
If he’d truly been murdered, it would be a different matter entirely.
And he’d have to guess how much involvement there was from the ruler of Wei.
“No,” the attendant said. “He’s suffering from a terminal illness—acute intestinal abscess.”
Qi Hao’s gaze narrowed.
An intestinal abscess!
An incurable disease.
And it was acute…
The illness wasn’t common, but not unheard of.
“Prepare the horses!”
Qi Hao shouted, swiftly heading out.
“They’re already ready,” the attendant replied.
The guards rushed after him, galloping to the Princess Royal’s mansion.
Qi Hao knew something of this disease. He’d had a distant relative, a royal concubine, who, due to certain circumstances, was banished to the cold palace, became despondent, and died of an intestinal abscess.
He could not imagine the agony and despair.
He heard that the last days and nights were especially dreadful.
Racing toward the Princess Royal’s mansion, Qi Hao suddenly regretted his previous indifference toward the Crown Prince. He should have gone to pay his respects as soon as he arrived in Wei’s capital, fulfilling his duty as a subject.
He’d held back out of caution—afraid of getting caught up in factional strife.
If he showed too much “concern” for the Crown Prince, how would the princes back in Jin Capital view him?
If not for the Jin ruler’s command, he would have ignored it all, attended to his own business, and returned.
This world—no one has it easy.
If people could only empathize with one another, if he and the Crown Prince could only understand each other’s difficulties.
He only wished to lead troops to pacify the frontier, devote the rest of his life to that cause.
What is it that His Highness desires?
Does he wish to return home?
An intestinal abscess,
An ulcer in the bowels.
Qi Hao could hardly believe it. He himself summoned doctors, and imperial physicians from the palace came as well. All shook their heads in unison.
They advised preparations for the funeral.
But Old Zhong sat by the bedside, dazed, as if he’d lost all response.
He slowly approached the bed, seeing Wang Chuan once more, barely daring to recognize him.
Wang Chuan had always been tall and slender, upright and vigorous. Just last night in the great hall, he’d made a deep impression—elegant and extraordinary.
Now, he was almost nothing but skin and bone, hair white as snow.
When the nations were at odds, Wang Chuan had been bullied and insulted in Wei’s capital, pressured by the ruler of Wei in the palace, yet his back had always been straight, embodying the pride of Jin.
But now, he was curled up, seemingly shrunken by a whole head—what suffering and torment had he endured to become like this overnight?
Old Zhong said that since the news of the Empress Dowager’s death yesterday, Wang Chuan had spat blood and fainted, never waking.
He’d suddenly taken ill in the second half of the night, worsening rapidly, fever unbroken to this day.
Qi Hao was moved. After paying his respects, he gently held Wang Chuan’s hand.
“Your Highness, I’m here, ordered to bring you home. Wake up…”
If his youngest son were still alive, he’d be about this age.
His eldest son had been the same, riding spiritedly before him, steady and filial.
Alas, none remained.
And now, this man seemed about to be lost forever as well.
Qi Hao wept tears of grief.
…
“Has the imperial physician seen him?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen him personally?”
“Yes.”
“The imperial physician has seen him?”
“…”
The ruler of Wei asked again and again, as if unwilling to accept the truth.
The palace physicians were dutiful and loyal.
Before him stood the most devoted eunuch, highly skilled—a grandmaster.
They could not be mistaken, nor could they deceive him, so…
Perhaps having endured the pain of losing his mother, he was much calmer now in the face of this event.
But the loss of his mother was pure sorrow—the greatest grief of his life.
For Wang Chuan, his feelings were complex, bewilderingly so.
He could not sort them out.
After the Empress Dowager’s passing, the ruler of Wei knelt long at her shrine, neglecting the mountain of state affairs.
Only the news of Wang Chuan’s grave illness—a matter that could change the world—finally moved him to send imperial physicians, and have his loyal servants confirm the facts.
Thus, he had to prepare himself—the Crown Prince of Jin was truly failing.
For once, he left the great hall, walked beneath the eaves, to the railings, gazing toward the Princess Royal’s mansion.
He looked out from afar.
“Mother loved him most when she was alive,” the ruler of Wei sighed. “Partly because of my elder sister—she left home for twenty years and never returned, so Mother cared for her son as her own, never letting him suffer. The boy was endearing—so gentle and obedient then, never arrogant or extravagant. But somewhere along the line, he began feigning madness, became known as the ‘Meat-Eating Crown Prince.’ Was he afraid I’d do something to him?”
“At that time, he was very good at winning my mother’s affection—she truly loved him. He’d tell her stories—a river in the north called Hulan River, a young maiden…speaking always of its customs, its childish delight. When finished, he’d start again, over and over, and Mother never tired of it…”
The ruler of Wei sighed again, his sorrow gradually showing.
His chief eunuch spoke softly, “Crown Prince Wang Chuan was deeply filial to the Empress Dowager—I heard that upon receiving word of her death, he spat blood and collapsed.”
“Filial, perhaps even more so than me,” the ruler of Wei said, a tinge of jealousy in his voice, his emotions tangled and hard to express. “When Mother was alive, I visited her every day, but she never seemed to see me—always in a haze. Until Wang Chuan came for the last time, that day she suddenly woke up and spoke at length. Wang Chuan even fabricated a letter from my sister, skillfully written, though Mother never lived to see her return.”
“It was my fault. I truly wanted to make amends—too busy with affairs of state, never able to be by Mother’s side, fulfill my filial duty. I know Mother never blamed me—how could parents blame their children? But now, thinking back, I am wracked with guilt! Trying to make amends after she was ill, I realized it was too late, far too late—Mother, why couldn’t you live to a hundred, enjoy more happiness?”
“All these years, it was Wang Chuan who kept her company. From childhood to adulthood, that boy was hopeless in the academy—always sleeping or skipping classes. Yet he’d run to see the Empress Dowager every day, and in her presence, he was gentle and obedient, able to cheer her up. She worried about his studies, but before her, he could recite the Four Books and Five Classics fluently, no matter which passage she tested him on. That made her happy, and I knew it too, so I let him be—not because he was the Crown Prince of Jin or my nephew.”
…