In the seventeenth year of Jinglong, winter of the yiwei year, the emperor passed away in Yangxin Hall, at the age of thirty-eight.
The whole nation mourned. Thousands of miles were draped in white. The imperial edict of his death spread across every province and county; officials and commoners alike donned mourning garb, weeping in the direction of the imperial palace.
The mourning was to last three days, not merely by ritual decree, but as the truest expression of grief for a ruler who had governed so wisely.
Su Yan, dressed in white mourning robes and a gauze cap, walked past the wailing officials. His porcelain-pale face was so white it seemed cold and bloodless.
One official, pausing in his crying, looked after Su Yan’s back with displeasure and said loudly, “The Emperor has ascended to Heaven, and the whole nation grieves, yet Su Qinghe hasn’t shed a single tear! How disrespectful!”
“Don’t say that!” another official hastily stopped him. “You don’t know about the deathbed wine, do you?”
“What wine?”
The man explained in detail, how the dying emperor had entrusted his heir to his ministers, and had, in front of everyone, offered Su Yan a cup of poison to test his loyalty. And how Su Yan had drunk it willingly, ready to follow his sovereign in death.
The complaining official froze, then shook his head with a sigh. “Such loyalty and courage… I could never match that.”
Su Yan heard the words drifting in the wind, but it was as if he hadn’t heard anything at all.
He could still see that cup of dark, jade-colored wine on the floor before the dragon bed. He had looked up from it, meeting the emperor’s gaze, and in that instant, he understood everything.
The wine could not have been poisoned. The emperor would never truly have him die with him. It was another act, staged to show the ministers, and the generations who would hear of it, that Su Yan was a man of utmost loyalty, a minister so devoted he would even give up his life.
Such a man would never exploit his closeness with the young heir to seize power or manipulate the throne’s will.
By performing this deathbed test in front of all, the emperor made Su Yan the trusted regent, and even had the young heir bow to him as teacher, clearing the last obstacle for Su Yan to stand among the highest ranks of court despite his youth.
Such foresight and care, though Su Yan minded that he had been used in the plan, still, he drank the cup gladly and acted out the righteousness between ruler and subject.
But what use was righteousness, when his emperor was gone?
That day, sitting together atop the tower, watching the land beneath the morning sun, the emperor had rested his head on his shoulder, motionless, as if asleep.
Su Yan remembered the words “final radiance before death.” But now, even that brief light had fallen into the abyss.
Palace attendants rushed up in panic, Chen Shiyu following behind them.
Ever since the Empress Dowager had forbidden him from suggesting the craniotomy again, Chen Shiyu had been waiting anxiously in his quarters near the palace, afraid to leave while the emperor’s condition hung by a thread. When he heard the emperor had suddenly awoken and summoned ministers, he had paced nervously in the side hall, hoping for a chance to take the emperor’s pulse.
He never got the chance, then heard that the emperor had gone upstairs with Lord Su. Alarmed, he cried out, It must be the final flare of life! and rushed up with attendants carrying a stretcher. “Quickly! Lay him flat, gently, on the stretcher!”
Su Yan stood there dazed, watching them lift the emperor away. Then, as if waking from a dream, he called out, “Master Yingxu!”
Chen Shiyu waved him back. “Saving a life is like fighting a fire, no time for talk!”
There was still hope. He could still be saved!
The sudden swing from despair to desperate hope drained Su Yan of all strength.
He froze for a few seconds, then stumbled after them down the stairs.
In the side hall of Yangxin Hall was a treatment chamber prepared especially for Chen Shiyu. After Su Yan’s departure from the capital the previous autumn, Chen Shiyu had followed his earlier advice, boiling all instruments before use, fumigating the floor and walls with hot vinegar, keeping everything as clean as possible.
Now, that room was finally being put to use.
Su Yan reached the doorway just as the stretcher was carried inside.
In the courtyard, Zhu Helin, who had earlier been dragged out after losing control, was pacing anxiously. Hearing the commotion, he was the first to rush in. Seeing Chen Shiyu, his eyes lit up. “Doctor Chen! My Royal Father, he’s all right, isn’t he? Please, save him!”
Chen Shiyu’s expression was grim. After the briefest hesitation, he bowed to the Crown Prince and said solemnly, “Your Highness, this old man dares to beg, grant me permission to perform a craniotomy on His Majesty!”
Zhu Helin was utterly shocked: “W-what?! A craniotomy?! How can he even survive?”
Su Yan tugged at his sleeve and asked Chen Shiyu, “Master Yingxu, what’s the chance of success?”
Chen Shiyu gave a bitter smile. “Earlier, in front of His Majesty, I boldly claimed less than thirty percent. Later, I tried craniotomies on several patients beyond cure… not one of them survived. I only mean to say, we try what seems impossible, is that defying authority?”
Zhu Helin doubted the old man’s reliability. How could someone attempt his Royal Father’s craniotomy with no prior successful cases?
His face darkened. Just as he was about to speak, Su Yan suddenly dashed out of the hall, shouting loudly toward the roof and courtyard: “Ah Zhui! Ah Zhui—”
The calls echoed across the empty courtyard. Before the echo faded, Jinghong Zhui appeared seemingly from nowhere, standing before him: “At your service, Lord. What are your orders?”
Su Yan had suspected that after being sent out by Lan Xi, Ah Zhui had never actually left the palace. Likely, after Yu Wang departed, he had sneaked back, hiding somewhere to silently protect him.
“There’s no time to explain! Ah Zhui, I heard you can use true qi to locate His Majesty’s brain lesion?” Su Yan asked urgently.
Jinghong Zhui nodded. “I can only locate the position and size, not remove the lesion.”
“That’s enough. And we have Master Yingxu’s surgical knife!”
When Su Yan was recovering from his shoulder injury last year, he had drawn a few patterns for Chen Shiyu, explaining that knives of this shape were easy to handle, allowed precise force, and the blade should be thin and sharp, perfect for a surgeon.
This was the second grand gift Su Yan had given him after the sheep intestine suture. Chen Shiyu had treated it with great importance, immediately sending it to a blacksmith. But poor craftsmanship ruined the first attempts, the blades were either unusable or too thick.
Finally, Yu Wang helped, having the craftsman at the Heavenly Works Institute forge it from fine steel. After three failed attempts, they finally produced the surgical knife, then made a complete set according to the pattern.
Chen Shiyu treasured it, always carrying it on visits, handling it with utmost care.
Su Yan pulled Jinghong Zhui in front of the treatment room and pushed him toward Chen Shiyu. “Here, contrast agent!”
“…What?”
“Never mind, it’s just something that lets you precisely locate the lesion.”
Chen Shiyu’s face lit up with surprise and joy. “Truly? Excellent! Previously, when performing craniotomies, I often struggled to locate the lesion. Dig too deep, and I risk healthy tissue; too shallow, and it’s ineffective. This is a timely aid!”
“What chance of success?” Su Yan asked again.
Chen Shiyu said, “First, it depends on how accurately this young man positions it. Second, on whether my eyes are sharp enough, hands steady enough, and knife swift enough… I’d say one to two percent.”
“One to two percent? That’s too low!” Zhu Helin frowned deeply.
“His Majesty is critically ill, his heartbeat has stopped. Using the method Lord Su taught, compression and artificial respiration, he regained breath. Without surgery, it would be zero.”
Hearing this, Zhu Helin decided immediately: “One to two percent is better than nothing! Doctor Chen, since Royal Father trusts you and has appointed you Imperial Physician, do whatever is necessary today. Success or failure, you are blameless.”
Reassured by the Crown Prince’s words, Chen Shiyu instructed Jinghong Zhui: “Wash your hands and change. Inside, prepare shaving and the anesthesia powder. Follow my instructions exactly.”
Jinghong Zhui looked at Su Yan for confirmation. Su Yan nodded. “Go, Ah Zhui. Do your best, I’m counting on you.”
The two entered the treatment room, taking several trained medical attendants with them, and closed the door tightly.
Zhu Helin fretted at the sight of saws and other instruments, fearing the eccentric old doctor would brutally tear his Royal Father apart.
Su Yan was equally anxious. A craniotomy is major even by modern standards. One was an aged surgeon, albeit a traditional Chinese medicine surgeon, and the other only slightly knowledgeable in medicine, a swordsman at best. Could they succeed?
All they could do was gamble everything.
They hoped the herniated brain was caused by a benign tumor with a complete capsule, easy to remove, unlikely to damage healthy tissue. It also needed to be shallow enough for clean excision and low recurrence.
Su Yan and Zhu Helin waited outside the treatment room, from sunrise to near sunset, with no sign of them emerging.
Zhu Helin grew uneasy, barely drinking water, repeatedly asking Su Yan: “How is it? It’s been so long, are they done yet? When will they come out?”
Su Yan, anxious himself, drew in a calming breath. “It’s been four hours. They should be done soon, just a little longer.”
Midway, Chen Shiyu stepped out to use the latrine and drink some ginseng soup, he couldn’t sustain without it at his age.
The soup went down quickly, but the latrine visit took a while, making Su Yan suspect the old doctor had severe constipation at the worst possible moment.
Finally, Chen Shiyu returned. Su Yan and Zhu Helin hurriedly asked, “How is it?”
Chen Shiyu rewashed and changed, speaking hurriedly: “Lesion removed, dura sutured with sheep intestine thread, skull fixed with small iron pins, scalp can be stitched layer by layer.”
Su Yan, unfamiliar with surgery, only vaguely recalled the procedure from past conversations in hospital waiting rooms with a talkative, optimistic brain tumor patient. He reminded, “There’s also drainage.” But he had no knowledge of the materials or method.
Chen Shiyu was clearer: “Postoperative gauze drains fluid? Don’t worry, I use it often. But for a craniotomy, gauze isn’t practical. A special thin tube is placed while suturing the dura.”
Before Su Yan could ask about the tube’s material, Chen Shiyu hurried back into the treatment room.
Su Yan and Zhu Helin could only continue anxiously waiting by the door.
Suddenly, a voice called from behind: “Greetings, Young Master. Greetings, Lord Su.”
It was Shen Qi. Su Yan looked back, noting his complexion was better than the day before at the city gate, suggesting some recovery. Despite his worry, seeing Shen Qi brought a spark of relief. He said gently, “Qilang, why are you here? Weren’t you handling follow-ups with the Jinwu and Yulin Guards?”
Shen Qi said, “Commander Long has taken over. I heard His Majesty summoned the senior ministers to Yangxin Hall, and you were among them, so I came to take a look.”
Take a look at what? Even if you looked, you’d never be one of my Royal Father’s favored courtiers. Zhu Helin still found Shen Qi displeasing to the eye, but after three days and nights of sharing the same boat, the hostility between them had faded somewhat. There was at least a trace of camaraderie born from shared hardship, so he refrained from making any barbed remarks.
Su Yan said, “Mr. Yingxu and Ah Zhui are inside treating His Majesty. I don’t know when they’ll be done… this is taking far too long, isn’t it?”
Shen Qi thought for a moment and said, “I’ll go in and have a look. If needed, I can lend a hand.”
“You’re not a physician. Don’t make things worse,” Zhu Helin said. Just then, Chen Shiyu came out again.
Chen Shiyu’s face carried a look of helplessness. Upon seeing Shen Qi, he immediately said, “Lord Shen, this old man is clumsy of tongue, better that you come in.”
Clumsy of tongue? What does talking have to do with performing surgery? Su Yan was baffled. Even if Shen Qi had a silver tongue, what use was that? Could a surgery be assisted through conversation?
And another thing, how did Mr. Yingxu know Shen Qi was outside the moment he came out to speak?
Shen Qi, however, did not hesitate. He washed his hands and face, changed clothes, and followed Chen Shiyu into the treatment chamber.
Another meal’s time passed before the three of them came out one after another. At the sight of their faces, Su Yan’s heart instantly sank halfway into despair.
Zhu Helin’s expression changed, and he quickly asked, “How is it?”
Chen Shiyu bowed his head, speaking in a low, guilt-ridden voice. “This old man has done his utmost, but… but… alas!”
Su Yan’s body swayed. He clutched the Crown Prince’s arm tightly. The two supported each other, barely managing not to collapse. His eyes widened as he looked toward the closed door, gazing into the empty air beyond it, then turned toward Jinghong Zhui in disbelief. “—Ah Zhui?”
Jinghong Zhui’s face was expressionless, even his eyes cold. After a long silence, he finally spoke, each word bitten out through clenched teeth, carrying the weight of bitter unwillingness. “It was this subordinate’s lack of strength.”
Chen Shiyu quickly said, “Guard Jinghong also did his utmost. He is not to blame.”
Then who was to blame? The heavens, that treated all beings like straw dogs? Or himself, who had tried so hard to be a butterfly, fanning away the deadly poison from the young lord, yet could not fan away the Emperor’s brain tumor? Su Yan looked at Shen Qi, dazed and stricken, mouth opening but no sound emerging.
Shen Qi’s gaze flickered. He looked aside slightly, his voice low and heavy. “Qinghe, sit down first, catch your breath before speaking.”
Su Yan suddenly released the Crown Prince’s arm and lunged toward the door, but Jinghong Zhui reached out, brushing his fingertips lightly across the back of Su Yan’s neck.
Su Yan immediately fainted.
“The lord has not slept all night, nor eaten all day. His sudden grief could harm his body,” Jinghong Zhui explained.
Zhu Helin stood frozen, his face ashen. He kept shaking his head. “Impossible! I don’t believe it! Royal Father will be fine, he’s the Son of Heaven! Heaven’s Mandate protects him, the gods will not, ”
He shoved Shen Qi aside, trying to rush into the chamber. Jinghong Zhui, taking advantage of his confusion, easily rendered him unconscious as well.
Palace attendants hurried forward to support the Crown Prince and carried both him and the unconscious Su Yan to the side hall to rest.
Chen Shiyu stroked his beard, face full of sorrow, sighing again and again.
Only Shen Qi soon regained composure. He turned to the attendants and said, “Summon the imperial physicians to take His Majesty’s pulse.”
The heads of the Imperial Medical Institute came at once. Physician Wang entered the treatment room with Shen Qi, and after a short while, emerged again, tears trembling in his eyes as he choked out, “His Majesty… has ascended to the heavens.”
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