Just then, the palace doors opened a crack, and Lan Xi slipped out quietly.
Looking up, he saw the crown prince and Su Yan standing face-to-face, hands clasped, both wearing worried expressions. Having studied poetry in the palace school, Lan Gonggong suddenly recalled a line: “Hand in hand, gazing through tearful eyes, yet unable to utter a word.”
Uncomfortable with the thought, he shook his dust whisk to clear his mind, then greeted them with a bow. “Young master, braving the cold outside—such filial devotion! Oh my, Lord Su has returned to the capital? Wonderful, wonderful! With the New Year approaching, what better time to come home?”
Listening to Lan Xi’s words, Su Yan found them warm and polite but ultimately meaningless—yet he still admired the old eunuch’s skill in saying much while saying nothing at all.
Still, to learn more about the emperor’s condition, he had to ask this “honorary uncle” for details. He returned the greeting and said, “It has been some time, Lan Gonggong. May I ask how His Majesty’s health is?”
Lan Xi sighed. “His Majesty’s headaches have always flared up from time to time, especially when he’s overworked. In the past, I would give him a massage, and the pain would subside significantly. After a good night’s sleep, he’d be refreshed, not even needing medicine. That’s why he rarely summons imperial physicians—he finds them overly cautious. But this time, for some reason, the pain is much worse than usual. He’s had decoctions, massages, acupuncture—everything—but instead of relief, it’s only gotten worse.”
Su Yan tensed. “He’s still in pain? How bad is it?”
“The pain is severe—he can’t tolerate light, noise, or even the slightest touch. That’s why he dismissed the physicians and ordered all attendants to leave. Even I am at a loss.”
Hearing these symptoms, Su Yan was struck by a sense of familiarity, as if he had encountered this condition before. A memory surfaced—his old university professor, Liu Rao.
Professor Liu was a lifelong bachelor, brilliant in his field but utterly incapable of taking care of himself. He wasn’t exactly the most approachable person, but he had a soft spot for Su Yan, even letting him jokingly call him “Granny Liu.” Whenever Su Yan had time, he would help out—bringing him meals, cleaning up his apartment, and doing his laundry. Not because he needed favors for his thesis, but simply out of a sense of duty to keep Granny Liu from drowning in his own filth.
Professor Liu suffered from chronic headaches, sometimes going months without an episode, but when it struck, it was debilitating—sensitivity to light and sound, severe dizziness, and relentless vomiting. Su Yan had once dragged him to a top hospital for a full check-up—CT scans, MRIs, angiograms—the whole package. Yet, in the end, the doctors found nothing seriously wrong.
The doctor diagnosed it as vascular neuropathic headache, caused by certain naturally narrow blood vessels in the brain. When these vessels constrict, they trigger neurological pain. There are many potential triggers—excessive fatigue, high mental stress, lack of sleep, irregular routines—all of which can lead to an episode. The prescribed treatment mainly focuses on physical and mental conditioning rather than a cure, aiming only to reduce the frequency of attacks.
The doctor also noted that the brain is the most intricate and least understood organ in the human body. Some deep-seated conditions remain unsolvable, and even with modern medical advancements, the brain remains a “forbidden zone” beyond human mastery.
Su Yan regained his focus and said to Lan Xi, “I would like to enter the hall and check on His Majesty. May I—?”
Lan Xi hesitated.
On the one hand, he knew that Emperor Jinglong had a special regard for Su Yan. If not for this untimely episode, the emperor would have surely summoned him as soon as he returned to the capital. Bringing Su Yan before His Majesty would certainly please the emperor. But on the other hand, the emperor had been suffering from intense headaches for hours, making him irritable and prone to outbursts. He had dismissed all attendants, likely not wanting to show weakness before his subordinates. Bringing Su Yan in now could backfire and make things worse.
Su Yan added, “I have a method that might help alleviate His Majesty’s headache.”
That settled Lan Xi’s indecision. He said, “I will go in and report to His Majesty. Please wait here, Lord Su.” With that, he slipped through the door.
Zhu Helin asked, “Even the imperial physicians are helpless. Do you really have a way?”
Su Yan smiled apologetically. “It’s not exactly a formal remedy, just a small technique that might help ease the symptoms.”
Zhu Helin nodded and reached for Su Yan’s hand. “Give it a try. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s worth the effort. If Royal Father gets upset, I’ll take the blame for you. Come, let’s go in together.”
Without waiting for Lan Xi’s response, he pulled Su Yan inside.
The imperial sleeping chamber was dimly lit, with heavy curtains covering the lattice windows. Few attendants were present, and those who moved did so with silent, careful steps.
Lan Xi had just finished making his report and was about to leave when he saw the crown prince and Su Yan slip inside. He was momentarily stunned before lowering his voice. “His Majesty hasn’t given permission. Why did you come in?”
The crown prince waved him off, signaling him to remain quiet and follow Su Yan’s instructions.
Su Yan spoke softly, “Prepare a basin of hot water, a thick absorbent cotton towel, and have boiling water ready to add as needed.”
Lan Xi hesitated but eventually instructed the attendants to bring the requested items. They quickly returned with them.
Emperor Jinglong was not on the heavily curtained dragon bed but lay on a wide Luohan couch, likely for ease of care.
As Su Yan approached, he saw that the emperor was dressed in a deep red cross-collar inner robe, presumably the underlayer of his usual ochre court attire. It seemed that the headache had struck suddenly after court, leaving him no time to change into sleepwear. A brocade blanket covered him from the chest down, and his head rested on thick, soft cushions.
He wore no crown, only a fine black mesh cap that kept his dark hair neatly bound. This look, compared to his usual regal presence, made him appear less imposing and more scholarly. But now, his brows were tightly furrowed, his face pallid, and sweat beaded at his temples—evidence of the excruciating pain he was enduring. Yet he clenched his teeth, refusing to make a sound.
Su Yan’s heart ached at the sight. He called out softly, “Your Majesty.”
The emperor opened his eyes and glanced at him but did not respond, his expression unchanged.
At that moment, he was using all his willpower to endure the hammering pain inside his skull. The relentless pounding gave him no reprieve. He knew who had come but had no desire or energy to engage. Finally, he forced out two words through gritted teeth: “Leave now.”
Su Yan disobeyed the order. Stepping forward, he knelt beside the Luohan couch and motioned for an attendant to bring the water basin to his side.
He dipped his hand into the water and murmured, “Not hot enough.”
The attendant poured in half a kettle of boiling water. Su Yan tested it again. “Still not hot enough.”
Lan Xi bent down to touch the copper basin but immediately recoiled from the heat. He couldn’t help but warn, “This is too hot! If Lord Su intends to use heat therapy, he must be cautious of His Majesty’s health. We cannot risk a burn!”
Su Yan reassured him, “I know what I’m doing.” He paused before adding, “Don’t worry. The heat will pass through my hands first—if anything gets burned, it’ll be me, not His Majesty.”
Lan Xi glanced at the crown prince, who remained silent but signaled for him to comply. With no other choice, Lan Xi ordered another half-kettle of boiling water to be added.
Su Yan soaked the thick cotton towel in the scalding water. The temperature hovered between “stinging like a bee sting” and “painfully unbearable.” He gritted his teeth, folded the towel into a thick strip, wrung it out until it was damp but not dripping, and quickly fanned it in the air three times to cool it slightly. Then, without hesitation, he placed it on the emperor’s forehead.
The sudden, intense heat made the emperor’s eyes snap open. He grabbed Su Yan’s wrist with alarming strength, his gaze sharp as a blade.
Lan Xi shuddered as if he had been branded by a hot iron, sucking in a breath.
“Trust me, Your Majesty,” Su Yan said gently. “Relax. Close your eyes. It won’t burn you.”
The emperor stared at him for a long moment, his gaze clouded, as if shrouded in thick mist. But somewhere deep in that mist, a faint light flickered—like a distant temple’s thousand-lamp pagoda glowing through the night.
At last, he slowly closed his eyes and released Su Yan’s wrist, allowing him to proceed.
Lan Xi exhaled in relief. If it had been anyone else, their head would have already rolled.
The crown prince, however, noticed the faint red marks left on Su Yan’s wrist by the emperor’s grip. He felt a pang of guilt and thought, Qinghe’s skin is delicate. That grip will definitely leave a bruise. Can’t Royal Father be a little gentler?
The emperor gradually acclimated to the heat on his forehead. Each time the outer layer of the towel cooled slightly, Su Yan would flip it to bring the hotter inner layer in contact with his skin. When the towel lost its heat completely, he reheated it in the basin, repeating the process several times.
He had to maintain the precise temperature threshold—one that was intense but bearable—to quickly warm the bloodstream, ensuring the heated blood reached the affected deep-brain regions. This would help dilate the capillaries and relieve neurological pain.
Since the forehead towel was at the maximum tolerable heat, the water in the basin needed to be even hotter.
Even though it wouldn’t cause immediate burns like boiling water or oil, prolonged exposure to high temperatures would inevitably result in low-temperature burns on the operator’s hands.
Low-temperature burns are not easily noticed. The skin may only appear slightly red, swollen, or pale on the surface, without obvious pain, but over time, they can damage the underlying tissue. In severe cases, they can lead to deep tissue necrosis, and if not properly treated, the wounds may ulcerate and take a long time to heal.
Su Yan was aware of the risks of low-temperature burns, but to relieve Emperor Jinglong’s pain, he endured it for nearly half an hour, refreshing the basin with boiling water seven or eight times.
It wasn’t until his hands became visibly swollen and red that the two anxious onlookers finally noticed something was wrong.
The Crown Prince had assumed that the water temperature was still bearable, given Su Yan’s calm and focused demeanor. But now, alarmed, he reached into the basin and immediately recoiled, exclaiming, “It’s this hot?!”
He reached out to pull Su Yan away. “Move aside, I’ll do it.”
Su Yan brushed his hand away. “It’s not hot. Don’t mess around. Do you even know how to control the ideal temperature?” Then he turned to Lan Xi and said, “Lan Gonggong, please get this young master to step aside. If you delay me, the towel will cool too much, and I’ll have to soak it again.”
The emperor’s entire brain felt as if it had been steeped in hot water—dazed, feverish, and sluggish—burning yet soothing at the same time. The hammering, throbbing, and twisting pain in his skull gradually eased until it almost disappeared.
Hearing their conversation, he opened his eyes, removed the towel from his forehead, and exhaled a long breath. “I feel much better. No need to continue.”
Lan Xi saw the emperor trying to sit up and quickly fetched another brocade blanket to cushion his back.
The emperor, in turn, pulled Su Yan up and had him sit by the edge of the couch. He took Su Yan’s hands into his own, inspecting them.
Both hands were red as rouge, with fingers swollen like ten small radishes. Without looking up, the emperor commanded, “Lan Xi, bring some Sanhuang ointment.”
Lan Xi obeyed and fetched the medicinal paste.
The Crown Prince immediately reached for it, intending to apply it to Su Yan’s hands. But the emperor intercepted it and ordered, “Light a lamp, but not too bright. All of you, leave.”
The Crown Prince hesitated, unwilling to go. The emperor’s brows knitted slightly. “What? Do you intend to defy my orders?”
Lan Xi, sensing the tension, quickly mediated and coaxed the reluctant prince out of the room. The palace attendants lit a lamp before withdrawing, closing the hall doors tightly behind them.
Once outside, Lan Xi signaled the other servants to keep their distance, choosing to stand guard alone by the hall entrance.
The emperor’s headache was gone. As for Su Yan’s impending pain—where and how much—it wasn’t Lan Xi’s concern. In fact, he felt a mix of schadenfreude and satisfaction, his smile curling at the corners of his lips as he flicked his horsetail whisk with amusement.
In the Eastern Palace courtyard, the attendants were growing anxious. Seeing the Crown Prince exit the hall, Fu Bao hurried up to him. “Your Highness, it’s already dark… You’ve been here since morning court—it’s been four hours. No matter how filial you are, you still need to eat and drink.”
The Crown Prince, filled with unspoken frustration, muttered sourly, “I’m not hungry.”
A light snow had begun to fall, and cold winds whistled over the palace walls, rustling the bare branches and adding to the chill in the air.
The crown prince looked around and suddenly raised his voice. “Where’s my chair? Bring me a solid wooden chair! I’ll sit outside Royal Father’s sleeping quarters tonight. I won’t leave! You know what this is called? This is called ‘filial devotion, keeping vigil for a sick parent!’”
His last words were practically shouted.
Inside the hall, Emperor Jinglong faintly heard the declaration. His face darkened slightly.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Su Yan quickly smoothed things over. “His Highness is truly devoted and sincere. Even I am deeply moved.” Meanwhile, he subtly tried to withdraw his hands.
The emperor gently but firmly held them in place, opened the ointment box, and applied the Sanhuang ointment—made from phellodendron, coptis, and scutellaria—to Su Yan’s hands, coating them in a thin layer.
The imperial formula of Sanhuang ointment contained additional gardenia and pearl powder, emitting a faint, delicate fragrance.
The emperor meticulously applied it to every part of Su Yan’s hands, from fingertips to knuckles to the base of the palm. The thin layer of balm, combined with the pearl powder, made his skin glisten under the candlelight, soft and smooth.
Su Yan felt momentarily dazed. It didn’t feel like the emperor was applying medicine but rather as if he were touching the delicate petals of an early spring peach blossom, plucking the tender green shoots of new reeds, or stroking the downy feathers of a fledgling bird.
Under such gentle and lingering touches, a peach blossom would blush, a reed shoot would bend under its own freshness, and a young bird’s feathers would tremble in the warmth.
The air in the hall grew thick, almost stifling. Su Yan instinctively parted his lips, breathing lightly, like a fish out of water.
The emperor’s touch, slow and filled with an unspoken tenderness, gave him the illusion that each of his fingers had just been thoroughly… seduced.
The emperor softly blew on Su Yan’s hands. “Once the ointment dries, they’ll feel slightly tight. Keep it on for six hours. Don’t get them wet.”
Su Yan numbly nodded, momentarily at a loss for words.
The emperor studied him under the candlelight for a moment before he couldn’t resist lifting a hand to caress Su Yan’s face, his body leaning in.
Su Yan’s breath hitched, his thoughts in disarray, his mind a tangled mess—like a ball of yarn that had been toyed with by seven or eight mischievous kittens. He instinctively closed his eyes, his long lashes trembling slightly in nervous anticipation, his body subtly retreating.
The emperor pressed a steady hand against his back, effortlessly preventing his escape.
Su Yan stammered, “Your Majesty, no—”
The emperor’s voice was low, murmuring near his ear, “Qinghe, toward me—”
Just then, a loud, clear voice rang out from the courtyard, cutting him off. It was the Crown Prince, sitting in the snow, dramatically reciting from The Classic of Filial Piety with Commentary:
“To be in a position of power, how can one not show reverence? If a ruler does not treat others with arrogance, cultivates himself to bring peace to the people, then tens of thousands will be pleased—this is the true way. When those in power demonstrate moral teachings, the people will live in harmony, and division will have no place to take root…”
—That little brat!
The emperor let out a quiet sigh of exasperation, lifting the blanket off himself. He reached down for the water basin and towel at the bedside, washing the remaining ointment from his hands.
“Qinghe, dress me,” the emperor corrected himself.
