SBMT Chapter 13

Shen Ziqin’s sleep that night was full of contradictions.

 

The first half was comfortable; the second half was filled with strange, vivid dreams.

 

He felt himself floating and sinking, waking up several times, half in and half out of dreams, never fully conscious.

 

When his awareness finally returned and he tried to open his eyes, his eyelids felt especially heavy. He tried several times, but it was as if they were glued shut-shadows and light flickered, but he couldn’t lift them.

 

A wave of alarm hit him-something was wrong. But his mind felt like mush, signals slow to transmit, and the sharp sense of disconnect made Shen Ziqin panic and struggle in the fog.

 

“Mm…”

 

It took all his strength, but eventually, groggy and exhausted, Shen Ziqin managed to open his eyes-it felt as long as an eight-thousand-mile journey. At last, he could see his surroundings.

 

There were several people in his room, all gathered around him. An elderly man sat at the bedside, taking his pulse.

 

Chu Zhao stood nearby.

 

Not understanding what was happening, Shen Ziqin instinctively looked at the one person he knew best: Chu Zhao. “What…”

 

But as soon as he spoke, the pain in his throat cut him off; it felt like swallowing needles, every swallow excruciating.

 

Chu Zhao immediately explained, to spare him the effort: “You have a fever. The doctor is checking your pulse. The prince’s old doctor used to be an imperial physician-he’s very skilled.”

 

Chu Zhao had woken in the middle of the night at the sound of someone’s voice-a habit from years of military campaigns. Even half-asleep, he was alert. He opened his eyes to find Shen Ziqin beside him, groaning in discomfort.

 

At first, he thought it was just a nightmare, but calling out didn’t wake him.

 

Chu Zhao lit a lamp and saw Shen Ziqin’s brows tightly furrowed, his face flushed an abnormal red. He reached out and touched his forehead-good grief, the heir was burning up like a furnace.

 

So before dawn, Mingyue Pavilion was full of people, even waking the birds sleeping in the trees outside.

 

It was only after the fact that Shen Ziqin realized his whole body ached, not just his throat-his limbs and bones were sore, he was weak, and his body alternated between chills and fever.

 

Although his soul had been slowly repairing his sickly body since transmigrating, he’d overestimated his own health. Yesterday he’d been busy with the wedding all day, then stayed up half the night-how could he expect to get up as if nothing had happened?

 

The “sickly” debuff wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Shen Ziqin was dazed, his vision unfocused. In Chu Zhao’s eyes, the sickly heir looked lost and helpless, his cheeks flushed with fever, unnaturally bright-a striking, fragile sight, heartbreakingly pitiful.

 

People are often more emotional when ill, and for someone like Shen Ziqin, new to this world and already struck down by illness before even settling in, it sounded even more tragic.

 

Chu Zhao felt a pang of guilt and regret. He’d underestimated just how frail Shen Ziqin was-he should have taken better care of him. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have let him stand to greet guests all evening, even if Shen Ziqin said he was fine.

 

That damn protective instinct flared up again. He added, “Don’t be afraid.”

 

Shen Ziqin: “…”

 

Did Chu Zhao realize he sounded like he was coaxing a child?

 

He wasn’t afraid-being sick was miserable, but not scary.

 

He was twenty-one, not three.

 

In fact, he was a year older than Chu Zhao-who was he trying to comfort here?

 

Shen Ziqin’s mind spun with wild thoughts, a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but he said nothing-his throat hurt too much.

 

Chu Zhao, intuitively, asked, “Do you want some water?”

 

Shen Ziqin nodded eagerly, but the effort made him dizzy, so he quickly switched to a small, careful nod.

 

But after that first nod, Chu Zhao was already pouring a cup of warm water and bringing it over-quick and efficient.

 

With one arm around Shen Ziqin’s shoulders,

 

Chu Zhao easily helped him sit up and brought the cup to his lips.

 

It looked like he expected Shen Ziqin to drink from his hand.

 

Shen Ziqin couldn’t take it anymore-his throat hurt like a saw, but….he still stubbornly insisted on speaking: “…Your Highness, let me do it myself.”

 

He was having his pulse taken by the doctor, but his other hand was free-holding a cup of water was no problem.

 

Mainly, he just wasn’t used to being cared for like this when sick. Chu Zhao’s attentive care only made him feel even more at a loss.

 

Chu Zhao had wanted to say it was no trouble and that he could just hold the cup, but when he accidentally met Shen Ziqin’s gaze, he caught a trace of helplessness in those pretty eyes-a mix of weakness from the fever and a vague, hard-to-describe discomfort.

 

…Discomfort?

 

Chu Zhao thought for a moment, then silently handed the cup over, keeping his hand hovering nearby in case Shen Ziqin’s grip failed, so the cup wouldn’t spill.

 

After handing over the cup, Chu Zhao noticed Shen Ziqin’s shoulders relaxed a little.

 

He realized there was definitely something wrong, but couldn’t quite figure out what.

 

Even though they’d been so in sync since meeting, they hadn’t known each other long. Chu Zhao wasn’t a mind reader-he couldn’t immediately guess that Shen Ziqin simply wasn’t used to being this close to others.

 

Shen Ziqin was burning with fever, his hands trembling, but he still did his best to steady himself and finish the water.

 

A brave heir-not afraid of hardship.

 

The doctor finished his diagnosis.

 

Though elderly, the doctor was well-kept, his eyes bright and sharp with capability. He stroked his beard and said, “The heir’s constitution is weak, and this high fever is fierce-it can’t be allowed to drag on. Let’s see if the new medicine can bring the fever down quickly.”

 

After speaking, the doctor took a syringe and medicine from his kit. Shen Ziqin, in his feverish haze, thought that if everyone weren’t dressed in ancient clothes, he’d almost believe he was back in the modern world.

 

The doctor disinfected Shen Ziqin’s wrist, pricked a small spot of skin, and injected a little medicine.

 

So professional-he even performed a skin test for antibiotics to check for allergies.

 

While waiting for the results, the doctor asked, “May I see the prescription you usually use, Shizi?”

 

This wasn’t Shen Ziqin’s job; his personal attendant from the Marquis’s house immediately replied, “I’ll fetch it right away.”

 

He quickly brought the prescription. The doctor looked it over, then said directly, “The medicine the heir used before probably wasn’t exactly this formula, was it?”

 

Shen Ziqin had thought the doctor just wanted to avoid conflicting medications, but now he sensed something was wrong.

 

Chu Zhao, used to all kinds of schemes, was even more alert. His expression darkened, and his presence shifted. “What do you mean?”

 

The doctor bowed. “Your Highness, the heir has damp-cold in his lungs and an imbalance of yin and yang-he needs long-term nourishing and warming treatment. The medicines listed here shouldn’t be harmful, but when I checked his pulse, I detected a hidden dryness clashing within.”

 

He spread out the prescription. “This formula contains Terminalia chebula from the Western Regions. If you add just one qian, it’s a good prescription for these symptoms. But if you use two qian, that’s too much for the heir-over time, it would make his health fluctuate, leave him weak, and prevent real recovery.”

 

The prescription clearly called for one qian, but the doctor said, “Your Highness, I dare say the medicine the heir has been taking for years contained two qian of Terminalia chebula.”

 

Shen Ziqin drew a sharp breath, feeling pain in his chest again.

 

From anger.

 

The Marquis’s household didn’t dare kill him outright, so they used another method-keeping him sick and frail, never letting him recover.

 

…No wonder, ever since the imperial marriage was arranged, his medicine hadn’t tasted as bitter-clearly, they’d switched it back to the normal formula to avoid suspicion.

 

The Marquis’s attendant looked terrified and immediately fell to his knees, begging for mercy: “Your Highness, Shizi, I don’t know medicine-I just followed the prescription the house gave me, always prepared and brewed the medicine as instructed. I never meant any harm to the heir!”

 

He was sobbing so loudly that Shen Ziqin’s head buzzed with pain, so he closed his eyes.

 

Chu Zhao’s face was dark as he raised a hand. “Someone, take him to the woodshed. When the heir is better, he can decide his punishment.”

 

The household guards, all personally selected by Chu Zhao, moved efficiently. They picked up the attendant, ignoring his struggles and pleas, and carried him out like a chick.

 

Finally, the room was quiet again. The doctor checked the skin test-no allergy-then nodded, “We can use the medicine.”

 

He rolled up Shen Ziqin’s sleeve and injected the medicine into his upper arm. Shen Ziqin wasn’t sure what kind of drug it was, but it hurt quite a bit afterward-so much that even the lightest touch of the quilt stung when Chu Zhao tucked him in.

 

When he was asleep, Shen Ziqin would moan from discomfort, but when awake, no matter how much it hurt, he didn’t make a sound.

 

Chu Zhao, facing Shen Ziqin, softened his tone: “Rest for now. We’ll deal with the Marquis’s household after you’re better.”

 

Shen Ziqin answered softly. After drinking water, his throat felt much better, and he rasped, “Isn’t today the day we’re supposed to enter the palace to pay respects…”

 

In Great Qi, the day after a prince or princess opened their own household and married, they were supposed to bring their spouse to the palace to greet the emperor and other elders-a custom Shen Ziqin had learned before the wedding.

 

Today, there was no way he could make it to the palace. Would the emperor hold it against him and Chu Zhao?

 

“I’ve already had the eunuch send word to the palace. Given the circumstances, we’ll go another day.”

 

Chu Zhao sounded casual, but in reality, a eunuch’s message wasn’t enough-he’d have to go in person later to explain. The emperor didn’t care about filial piety, but he did care about appearances.

 

Shen Ziqin had forced himself to stay alert, but now he was out of energy. His hands and feet were icy, his face burned, and his eyelids drooped. He felt like a frying pan over a fire-if someone cracked an egg on him, it would sizzle.

 

He heard someone say, “Don’t worry, just sleep.”

 

The voice was so gentle, almost magical. Shen Ziqin snuggled deeper under the covers and quickly drifted off.

 

Chu Zhao got up, left the room with the others, and left two young attendants to look after Shen Ziqin.

 

The doctor wrote a new prescription, instructing them to give the medicine as soon as Shen Ziqin woke, three times a day. Once the fever broke, his regular medicine would also need to be changed.

 

As the doctor walked out with Chu Zhao, the prince finally relaxed after confirming Shen Ziqin was out of danger, and casually asked about something else: “How’s the culture dish from before?”

 

The doctor’s face lit up. “It’s doing very well, just as Your Highness expected. The new medicine should be ready soon.”

 

He bowed deeply. “Your Highness, your merit is immeasurable. With you here, Great Qi is truly blessed!”

 

Chu Zhao waved it off. “No need to exaggerate. Just take good care of the heir.”

 

The doctor was utterly loyal and admired Chu Zhao. Since the prince cared for Shen Ziqin, he would do his utmost as well.

 

That’s right-all the new medicines circulating in Great Qi weren’t some miracle formula from an old divine doctor, but knowledge Chu Zhao had brought himself.

 

Rubber, soap, and so on-these were all things Chu Zhao had quietly introduced over the years.

 

But with the emperor watching, Chu Zhao couldn’t take credit openly. He had to make up stories and let others take the credit. Only his closest confidants knew the truth, and they guarded the secret tightly.

 

If Shen Ziqin was a top student who skipped grades, then Chu Zhao was a true prodigy, raised as a genius from childhood.

 

A one-in-ten-thousand real child prodigy.

 

He earned his master’s degree at thirteen, and his favorite hobby was surfing the internet in his spare time. He was supposed to go on for a PhD, but one morning he woke up and found himself transmigrated.

 

After coming to this world, he realized that, compared to his well-memorized science knowledge, what he needed most was how to navigate people and situations wisely.

 

Because the emperor was completely deranged.

 

Chu Zhao wasn’t just a genius-he was also mature for his age. But no matter how mature, back then he was still just a kid, and surviving under the emperor’s hand was no easy feat.

 

At first, he never considered using his modern knowledge to benefit Great Qi. For one, he was too busy just trying to survive; for another, with the emperor being so inhuman, Chu Zhao developed a deep resentment toward this era as well.

 

Later on… too much happened-things he saw, heard, and experienced himself.

 

Seven years was enough to turn a precocious child into a true adult.

 

Chu Zhao returned to his own quarters to change clothes.

 

“Saddle my horse. I’m going to the palace.”

 

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(advanced chapters available on kofi)