chapter 12

After enduring the lingering chill of spring, late spring arrived, but Emperor Yan’s appetite was poor; he could only manage to drink ginseng soup.

Many new medicinal ingredients were brought into the palace to treat his stubborn illness. Yan Ci was kept extremely busy, breaking three pairs of tongs in his hands.

As summer came, Emperor Yan’s condition worsened. The Imperial Physician performed bloodletting to expel toxins, claiming that like cures like, and imperial blood was needed as a remedy.

Emperor Yan had many children, but few dared to offer their blood to save their father. Coincidentally, the Crown Prince, Yan Zhan, was away managing the floods and could not return to the palace.

In the end, it was Yan Ci who knelt before the couch and cut his own wrist. He respectfully raised his arm, letting Emperor Yan drink his blood.

During that time, I often stole duck’s blood from the imperial kitchen, hoping to cure by similarity. Yan Ci told me, not everything can be cured that way.

When we met, he showed me the wound on his wrist. On his fair skin was a hideous scar.

Yan Ci asked me, “Is it ugly?” I gestured, “A little.” He said, “Look more closely.” I gestured, “I have looked carefully.”

He actually got angry over this, stubbornly ordering me to gesture many times: “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.”

A flying squirrel scurried past our feet. Yan Ci pinched it to death and lifted it by the tail. “Guanqi, do you know what Wulingzhi is made from?”

“Wulingzhi is flying squirrel feces, dried and ground into powder for medicine,” Yan Ci said. “It is directly opposed to ginseng.”