AEOGA CH15

Lu Xuechao was in an unstable mental state, his hands and feet freezing cold, his body weak and completely lacking strength. Xie Chongjin carried him onto the bed, patiently shedding him of the clothes stained by the food.

Clad only in his inner garments, the youth curled beneath the quilt, sitting at the head of the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees. His eyelashes drooped, his lips were tightly bitten, and his face was so deathly pale it held no trace of life. Clearly a celestial figure who belonged in the immortal realm, he had been tortured into looking like a malevolent specter.

Xie Chongjin’s heart twisted like a knife. Lowering his head, he took Lu Xuechao’s hand into his own, meticulously bandaging his wounds and applying the burn ointment bit by bit.

Lu Xuechao’s hands were remarkably beautiful—slender like bamboo, fair as jade, and with cleanly defined joints. Xie Chongjin had seen these hands lift a brush to write, composing extraordinary, breathtaking articles. He had seen these hands hold a ladle in the kitchen, preparing delicacies that left an unforgettable aftertaste. He had also intertwined his fingers tightly with these hands behind bed curtains, a warmth spreading from wrists to fingertips.

Now, these hands were riddled with wounds, the backs scalded red and blistered, while the palms were slashed with multiple trails of bloody gashes.

Every finger connects to the heart; Lu Xuechao’s heart was likely riddled with just as many gaping wounds.

Seeing the hand trembling slightly, Xie Chongjin offered comforting words: “It will stop hurting very soon. Let me blow on it for you.”

In his memories, Lu Xuechao had always been highly sensitive to pain. As a child, a single stumble that scraped his hand would make him weep from the pain. Whenever his wounds were touched during the application of medicine, his hand would tremble slightly, and Xie Chongjin would always blow on it for him.

Yet Lu Xuechao said, “I am not afraid. It is your hand that is shaking.”

He had suffered pain far more agonizing than this; he no longer registered any reaction to this level of physical pain.

Xie Chongjin froze.

Lowering his gaze, he indeed saw his own hand trembling. It was because his hand was tightly holding Qingshu’s that he had mistakenly believed it was the other party who was shaking.

After a long silence, Xie Chongjin forced a smile. “Alright. You aren’t afraid of pain, but I am afraid of you being in pain.”

He could not bear to see Lu Xuechao meet with even the slightest mishap or suffer any further injury.

The moment that palace servant barged into Cuiwei Palace and uttered the words “something happened to the Empress,” Xie Chongjin had been frightened out of his wits, a wave of profound terror piercing straight into his soul.

…In those previous worlds, he had frequently heard that exact sentence, after which he would rush to the Zhongxue Palace with a pounding heart, only to behold a lifeless Lu Xuechao who had perished from a curse, his breath entirely gone.

Though a hundred flowers bloomed in splendid profusion within the harem, Xie Chongjin loved only this single bloom.

The flower he loved most was originally a flawless, unmelting snowflake standing proud and solitary atop a lofty mountain peak. Yet, amidst the dazzling display of countless competing blossoms, it had slowly withered and waned, ultimately melting away silently within his embrace.

That was a sight Xie Chongjin could never bring himself to face.

He, too… could not bear it even once more.

Pretending as if nothing was amiss, Xie Chongjin quickly finished treating Lu Xuechao’s wounds.

Outside the room, the palace servants had already swept away the ruined meal and prepared a fresh, steaming bowl of lotus root porridge.

Since Lu Xuechao’s hands were incapacitated, Xie Chongjin used a spoon to scoop a mouthful, brought it to his lips to blow on it, and fed it to him only after ensuring the temperature was just right.

He was already quite proficient at this task. During the blissful days of their early marriage, the two of them were completely inseparable no matter what they did, and feeding each other or placing food in one another’s bowls during meals was a routine occurrence.

Lu Xuechao ate slowly, mouthful by mouthful. After consuming barely half a small bowl, he refused to open his mouth any further, his eyelids half-drooping. “……Tired.”

Abruptly receiving a massive influx of memories was inherently taxing on one’s mental energy. Having exerted his physical strength after meeting Xie Chongjin last night, spent the entire night studying the heavenly book, reminisced with his parents all day today, and then experienced such a frantic episode in the evening—even the most robust individual would be thoroughly exhausted. Moreover, Lu Xuechao’s physique was far from robust; it could even be described as frail.

In every single world, Lu Xuechao’s mind had been suppressed and tightly wound as he struggled desperately to survive. Upon suddenly encountering the one person who could make him feel completely secure, the sudden release of tension brought an overwhelming wave of exhaustion, making him wish nothing more than to sleep for three days and three nights continuous.

Xie Chongjin set down the bowl. “If you are tired, go to sleep. You do not need to wake up early tomorrow.”

Lu Xuechao gazed at him, refusing to close his eyes. “Will I fail to see you when I wake up?”

By all accounts, he wouldn’t be able to. Xie Chongjin had to attend the morning court normally, and the hour for the morning court was exceptionally early.

But if Lu Xuechao woke up and couldn’t see him, what if he thought he was dreaming again and had another episode like tonight…

Without waiting for Xie Chongjin’s reply, Lu Xuechao thought of something else. Lowering his eyes, he said, “Then again, you must attend court. The morning court must not be delayed.”

“Go attend the court.” Lu Xuechao closed his eyes and lay back beneath the quilt. “I am fine, do not worry.”

Even he did not know whether he would be fine; having an episode was not something he could prevent simply by wishing it away. In his heart, he knew that they were free in this lifetime, yet the moment he encountered anything vaguely familiar, he would uncontrollably recall the unpleasant past and plunge into an inescapable abyss of terror and agony.

He had studied medicine and knew this was an illness, but unfortunately, a physician cannot heal himself.

The trauma was etched too deeply into his bones; healing would be a long, arduous process that could not be accomplished overnight.

Yet he could not allow Xie Chongjin’s official duties to be disrupted on his account.

With Lu Xuechao in such a state, how could Xie Chongjin possibly feel at ease? He said, “I shall push the morning court back by an hour. That way, you will be able to see me every single day when you wake up.”

Lu Xuechao opened his eyes. “That is the behavior of a fatuous monarch.”

“It is merely a delay, not a cancellation of the court. I have long felt that there is no need for the morning court to be held so early. Wouldn’t discussing state affairs during the day offer better focus and energy? Insisting on waking up before dawn hasn’t shown any increase in efficiency anyway.” Xie Chongjin reasoned soundly, “Those ministers are used to sleeping in; they likely won’t be able to wake up early anytime soon either. If We issue such an order, they might even thank Us and support it with both hands.”

Upon hearing this, Lu Xuechao surprisingly found it highly reasonable.

As a child, he had never imagined becoming an empress; instead, he had thought of becoming a court official just like his father. Yet back then, the thing that troubled him most was not how difficult the imperial examinations were or how treacherous officialdom could be, but rather how on earth he was supposed to wake up for the daily morning court.

Lu Xuechao possessed a weak constitution and a lazy disposition. Frequently confined to his sickbed, he genuinely disliked leaving the house—especially during the winter, when he would practically glue himself to his bed, unwilling to stir. Every time he accepted the Crown Prince’s invitations and reluctantly dragged himself out of his warm covers in freezing weather to keep the appointment, he felt that he and Huaiyun were truly friends bound by life and death, given that he could actually wake up on a winter morning for his sake.

Meanwhile, his father, Chancellor Lu, woke up every single day at the hour of Yin (3:00 AM–5:00 AM) to rush to court, three hundred and sixty days a year, completely unfazed by wind or rain.

Just thinking about it made Lu Xuechao feel miserable.

Now that Xie Chongjin put it this way, Lu Xuechao immediately changed his tune: “This is the behavior of an enlightened monarch.”

Xie Chongjin was amused. Ruffling Lu Xuechao’s hair, he said, “Go to sleep quickly. Aren’t you tired? I will be right here beside you, serving as your night watchman.”

Lu Xuechao stared at him for another long while before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep with a peaceful mind.

Adhering to the principle that every single grain of rice comes from hard labor, Xie Chongjin finished the remaining half bowl of porridge left over by Lu Xuechao, making do with that for his evening meal.

The players had been far too extravagant and wasteful, leaving the treasury of the Changli Kingdom entirely depleted, and the commoners across various regions were struggling to survive. Xie Chongjin chose to lead by example, shifting from luxury to frugality. His desire to disband the Common Consorts aside from the Plot Consorts was, firstly, because there was no need to keep them around to offend Lu Xuechao’s eyes, and secondly, to save on their stipends.

The heavenly book stated that the Common Consorts were all randomly generated and essentially one-time entities with zero impact on the storyline. Even if they were all disbanded, the official system wouldn’t bother to fix them.

Since it wouldn’t harm any innocent parties, Xie Chongjin felt absolutely no psychological burden regarding their dismissal.

By the time he finished the half bowl of porridge, Lu Xuechao had already fallen into a deep sleep. Even in his dreams, his brow remained furrowed, wearing a look of anxious melancholy.

Was he dreaming of unpleasant memories once again?

Xie Chongjin reached out his hand to gently smooth away the frown from his brow, softly humming a childhood nursery rhyme he used to soothe Lu Xuechao to sleep with during their youth.

Lu Xuechao’s brow gradually smoothed over, and his expression turned peaceful.

Just as Xie Chongjin went to pull his hand back, Lu Xuechao suddenly rolled over, tightly wrapping his arms around his arm to press it under his head like a pillow, while resting one leg over the quilt.

Xie Chongjin let out a soft laugh and pulled the blanket back over him.

“You have changed so much, yet this habit of kicking off the blankets remains exactly the same.”

Not knowing what he was dreaming about, Lu Xuechao’s brow furrowed once more.

Xie Chongjin felt helpless. “It hasn’t changed, it hasn’t changed; you are still just as lovely. I will continue singing to you, just don’t be angry with me in your dreams.”

It was a mystery whether Lu Xuechao could actually hear him, but the moment Xie Chongjin started singing, Lu Xuechao’s sleep grew peaceful.

After a long while, Xie Chongjin ceased his singing and summoned in a low voice: “Imperial physician.”

The imperial physician, who had already been waiting outside for an eternity, stepped inside immediately. Just as he was about to kneel and exclaim loudly, “Greetings to—”

Xie Chongjin’s brow furrowed, and he pressed his index finger to his lips, gesturing for silence.

The imperial physician fell instantly silent, not daring to make a sound.

If you’re so afraid of waking Her Highness the Empress, couldn’t you just step outside? Why bother summoning me inside… the imperial physician grumbled inwardly.

However, the moment his eyes fell upon Xie Chongjin’s arm being pinned beneath Lu Xuechao, the imperial physician achieved enlightenment.

In ancient times there was the tale of the cut sleeve; today, if His Majesty wishes to free himself, he can only cut his own arm.

“Why is the Empress in such a state?” Xie Chongjin’s eyes betrayed deep worry.

Shuangjiang had summoned the imperial physician and simultaneously informed the Emperor. Cuiwei Palace and the former Cold Palace were worlds apart, so by the time Xie Chongjin rushed over, the physician from the Imperial Academy of Medicine had long since arrived.

It was merely that Lu Xuechao had been having an episode at that moment, tightly clutching the broken porcelain shard and refusing to let anyone approach. Terrified of harming the Empress, the others could only remain kneeling until Xie Chongjin graced them with his presence.

The imperial physician spoke in a booming tone: “The Empress—”

“Keep your voice down,” Xie Chongjin warned immediately.

The imperial physician: “……”

Lowering his volume, he explained, “Her Highness the Empress’s symptoms resemble a trauma triggered by an immensely painful shock, which has manifested as a psychological illness. He will recall the past upon encountering similar situations during his dreams or daily life, causing him to continuously relive the scenario and re-experience the agony. This results in excessive terror and can even lead him to inflict self-harm…”

The imperial physician turned it over in his mind and felt that the only thing capable of shocking the Empress to such an extent must have been being cast into the Cold Palace on the very day of his investiture. An ordinary person simply wouldn’t be able to withstand such a blow.

As Xie Chongjin listened, his gaze remained fixed upon Lu Xuechao’s rare, tranquil sleeping face. Remembering how the other had been frowning even in his dreams earlier, his heart sank lower and lower.

He and Qingshu suffered from the exact same illness.

In every single lifetime, he was either controlled until his death—forced to harm his true love and ultimately lose them in agony—or he willingly allowed himself to be killed by Qingshu. In every single lifetime, Qingshu watched him fall under control, either dying in vain or personally slaying his beloved to perish alongside him.

They clearly loved one another, yet they were forever destined to slaughter each other. After enduring so many lifetimes, how could a person not lose their mind?

“How can it be cured?” Xie Chongjin spoke.

“This minister shall prescribe a formula to help recuperate Her Highness’s constitution. However, the knot must be untied by the one who bound it, and an ailment of the heart requires medicine for the heart. Perhaps… if you show more care and accompany Her Highness the Empress frequently, allowing him to accumulate more joyful memories to overwrite the unpleasant ones, it may help Her Highness break free from this affliction sooner. After all—” The imperial physician cleared his throat, looking thoroughly serious.

“Love is the ultimate remedy.”