Chapter 457 Beyond Cure

Chapter 457: Incurable

Lightning tore across the sky, engulfing the entire imperial palace, like some great beast crouched in the darkness.

Thunder exploded by their ears, one crash after another, making their eardrums ring.

Rain lashed the eaves in sheets, streaming down to form curtain after curtain of water beneath the corridor.

"Bang—!" The palace doors burst open, and Yun Xunyu rushed in, carrying Cheng Ge in his arms.

He was soaked in blood, couldn't tell if it was his own or Cheng Ge's.

Cheng Ge's arms hung limp, swinging with each step. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face so pale it was nearly transparent.

Blood still dripped from his feet, leaving a long crimson trail across the floor.

"Qingqing... Qingqing..." Yun Xunyu's voice was shaking.

He laid Cheng Ge on the edge of the bed, frantically patting him down, his hands shaking so badly he could barely control them.

The medicine?

Where was the medicine?

His fingers touched the familiar porcelain bottle, tucked in the inner pocket of Cheng Ge's robe.

He yanked it out, his fingers shaking as he uncorked it and tipped it into his palm—

Empty.

Nothing inside.

He tipped it again.

Still nothing.

He held the bottle up to his eyes and peered inside—completely empty, not a single pill left.

Yun Xunyu froze.

The porcelain bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor with a sharp crack.

He looked like his soul had been ripped out, standing there in a daze, staring at the pale face on the bed.

The medicine?

Where did it go?

His mind was completely blank.

And then, at that very moment—

Cheng Ge suddenly turned his head away.

"Hrk—" Cheng Ge's head snapped to the side.

His mouth flew open, and a torrent of foul blood gushed out, instantly soaking the bedding beneath him.

Like a volcano that had been building for so long, finally finding its vent and erupting all at once.

"Cough, cough, cough—!" Violent coughing exploded through the hall, blood-flecked spittle spraying with each cough, splattering back onto his own face.

"Qingqing—!"

Yun Xunyu clumsily pulled him half into his arms, desperately wiping his face with his soaked sleeve.

But he didn't care about anything else—he just wiped with all his might, trying to scrub the blood off Cheng Ge's face.

But the more he wiped, the more blood appeared. He'd barely cleaned the corner of his mouth before fresh blood welled up again.

He'd barely wiped the corner of his eye before more bloody spittle splattered across it.

"Qingqing... Qingqing..." His voice was shaking, his whole body trembling.

He held Cheng Ge in his arms, lowering his head in helpless desperation, pressing kiss after kiss to his forehead.

Just then—the palace doors were thrown open again, and Zhou Zhan and Zhou Yinyun burst in with a group of imperial physicians.

The physicians stumbled as they ran; one tripped on the threshold and nearly fell, but no one stopped.

They carried medicine chests and needle cases, gasping for breath as they charged toward the bed.

"Hurry!! Move it!!!"

Zhou Zhan rushed to the bedside, and the moment he saw the blood-soaked figure in Yun Xunyu's arms, his pupils shrank.

"Muyu..." His voice trembled.

The physicians crowded around. One checked his pulse, another lifted his eyelid, another examined his wounds.

One physician stepped forward, and after a moment, stood up and stepped back.

Another stepped forward, and after a brief pause, also stood up and stepped back.

One by one, the physicians stepped forward, and one by one, they stepped back.

In the end, all the physicians stood in a row, exchanging uneasy glances, their faces grim.

That grimness said one thing—they dared not speak, could not speak, yet had no choice but to speak.

Zhou Yinyun stood to the side, watching them, and fury surged up in his chest.

"What are you all just standing there for?" His voice thundered through the hall. "Use your needles! Use your medicine—now!"

The moment he spoke, the physicians flinched and dropped to their knees in unison. "Forgive us, Your Highness—!"

Zhou Yinyun was stunned.

So was Zhou Zhan.

"What are you kneeling for?" Zhou Yinyun's voice cracked. "I told you to save him!"

The physicians prostrated themselves, bodies trembling, foreheads nearly touching the floor.

No one dared raise their head. No one dared make a sound.

Only the muffled sound of breathing lingered, barely audible over the thunder.

Zhou Yinyun's hand tightened around his saber hilt. He took a step forward, his voice cold as midwinter ice.

"I'll say it one more time—save him."

The imperial physicians flinched again, but still no one dared to move.

Finally, the physician kneeling at the very front raised his head—the head of the Imperial Medical Institute.

He looked at Zhou Yinyun, then at Zhou Zhan, and finally his eyes landed on the man on the couch.

"Your Highness, there's... nothing we can do."

Zhou Yinyun's fist clenched hard, and Zhou Zhan's face went ashen in an instant.

It felt like something slammed into both their heads—a deafening crash, then total blankness.

"What do you mean, you can't do anything?!"

Zhou Yinyun's voice broke as he lunged forward, grabbing the physician by the collar and hauling him up off the floor.

"You haven't even treated him! You haven't even tried! How dare you say there's nothing you can do?!"

The physician was lifted off the ground by his collar, feet dangling, face turning red, but he didn't struggle—just shook his head desperately.

"Your Highness... Your Highness... I truly... truly..."

Zhou Yinyun shoved him off, and the man stumbled to the floor, scrambling back to his knees.

Zhou Zhan stood nearby, trembling all over.

He looked at the physicians kneeling all over the floor, then at the blood-soaked, pale-faced figure on the couch.

His breathing was faint—one breath, then another—so shallow it was barely visible.

"You..."

His voice shook, his whole body shaking.

"You're just being lazy! You just don't want to treat him!"

He lunged forward, grabbed one of them by the collar, and dragged him toward the couch.

"You treat him! You!"

The physician's face went white with terror, his legs giving out, barely able to stand.

He stumbled a few steps as Zhou Zhan dragged him, then dropped to his knees with a thud in front of the couch.

"Your Highness... Your Highness... I'm not skilled enough; I really want to help, but I can't!"

His voice shook as he banged his forehead on the floor with heavy thuds.

Zhou Zhan didn't let go—he kept a death grip on the physician's collar, eyes locked on him.

"You have to! I'm ordering you to treat him!"

The physician threw himself to the floor, shaking, his voice thick with tears.

"Your Highness... Lord Cheng's poison has already reached his bone marrow... I... I really can't..."

Zhou Zhan's hand clenched suddenly, then he yanked the man up and shoved him away violently.

"You're useless—get me someone else!"

He lunged at another physician, who scrambled backward in terror but couldn't get away.

Zhou Zhan grabbed him and hauled him to the couch. "You do it!"

The physician looked at the man on the couch, his face as pale as paper. He reached out a shaking hand and pressed it to Cheng Ge's wrist.

Just for a moment.

His hand snapped back as if burned.

"Your Highness... I..."

He couldn't finish the sentence.

He just threw himself down, desperately banging his head on the floor.

Zhou Zhan stood there, staring at the kneeling crowd, the physicians kowtowing frantically, and the motionless figure on the couch.

His hands were shaking, his lips were trembling, his whole body was quaking.

Slowly, he turned his gaze to Cheng Ge on the couch.

His face was so pale it was almost translucent, with traces of blood still smeared at the corner of his mouth.

His chest rose and fell weakly—one breath, then another, each slower and shallower than the last.

Zhou Zhan's eyes went red in an instant.

"Muyu..."

His voice was so quiet, like he was talking to himself.

"Didn't you tell me to wait for you... You lied to me... You lied to me again..."

He crumpled beside the couch, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently.

His muffled sobs were barely audible over the thunder.

Outside, the rain suddenly grew heavier, like a wail, hammering against the eaves in relentless waves.

Rapid footsteps approached from the distance, and the hall doors were shoved open again.

Cui Ji, still in his armor, bloodstains on his face, had clearly just come straight from the battlefield.

Lin Nanshu and Zhou Mingqi followed right behind him.

And on his back, he was carrying an old man.

The old man, white-haired and bleary-eyed, frowned from the jostling—it was the veteran actor Wu Cangji.

Everyone in the hall turned to look.

Cui Ji strode over to the couch and carefully set the man down beside it.

Wu Cangji had barely set foot on the ground before his body swayed. Clearly, he'd been sound asleep and dragged out from under his covers—hardly a gentle way to wake an old man.

Zhou Mingqi stepped forward. His face was still pale, his voice somewhat weak, but he still carried himself like an emperor.

"Grand Physician Wu, please examine him. Ask for whatever you need—don't hold back."

Wu Cangji rubbed his eyes, yawned, and only then looked down at the person on the bed.

He reached out, fumbling along the edge of the bed. Noticing this, Lin Nanshu quickly guided his hand onto Cheng Ge's wrist.

Wu Cangji closed his eyes and felt for the pulse carefully. With his free hand, he stroked his beard—once, then again.

Everyone held their breath, not daring to breathe a word.

Only the rain outside kept falling, beat after beat, as if hammering at something.

Wu Cangji let out an "mm," smacked his lips a couple of times, then switched to his other hand.

The others instinctively leaned in, their held breath nearly choking them.

The physicians kneeling on the ground quietly raised their heads to look at this elder of the Imperial Medical Academy.

Wu Cangji opened his eyes and spoke slowly, "No medicine or treatment can save him—"

He paused. "You can start preparing the funeral arrangements."

The physicians: "..."

The hall went completely silent.

Only the rain outside kept falling, beat after beat, as if it would pound a hole through the sky.

The physicians knelt there, not daring to make a sound.

No one had yet recovered from the shock of "prepare the funeral arrangements."

Zhou Zhan swayed, nearly collapsing. Zhou Yinyun quickly steadied him, but his own hands were trembling as well.

Lin Nanshu half-knelt by the bed, holding Cheng Ge's hand. That hand was ice-cold, so cold it made his heart shudder.

"However..."

Wu Cangji spoke again.

Those two words were barely a whisper, yet they exploded through the hall like thunder.

Everyone's head snapped up at once.

Their eyes held a hope that bordered on prayer.

Wu Cangji stroked his beard and continued unhurriedly, "My family has a secret remedy passed down through generations that can suppress the poison for half an hour."

"Once he takes it, he'll wake up." Their eyes brightened.

But then, Wu Cangji's next words doused them like a bucket of ice water.

"But half an hour later—" He pointed upward. "He'll be reporting to the Jade Emperor above."

The hall fell into silence once more, so heavy it was suffocating.

Half an hour. Just half an hour.

They could talk to him, hear his voice, see his eyes open—

And then watch him go. Gone forever.

No one spoke. No one dared.

Wu Cangji waited, letting his gaze sweep over the room.

"So what do you say..." he asked slowly, "do we use it or not?"

Lin Nanshu kept his head down, holding Cheng Ge's hand, his knuckles white, fingers trembling.

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came out.

Zhou Zhan slumped by the bed, burying his face in his hands, his muffled sobs barely audible over the thunder.

Zhou Yinyun stood off to the side, lips pressed tight, eyes red-rimmed.

Yun Xunyu held Cheng Ge, face buried in his hair, expression unreadable.

Cui Ji turned his head away, throat working, but he stayed silent.

When no one answered, Wu Cangji added.

"Even without the medicine..." His voice was soft, but brutally blunt. "He won't hold out much longer either."

Those words cut like a knife, sinking deep into every heart.

Zhou Mingqi looked at Cheng Ge on the bed.

His face was pale to the point of being translucent, with traces of dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

His chest rose and fell slower and slower, fainter and fainter.

"Use the medicine."

Two words. No hesitation. No struggle. They simply fell.

Zhou Zhan's head snapped up, tears streaming down his face.

"Father—"

Zhou Mingqi didn't even look at him.

"Use the medicine." He repeated, his voice even softer now. "Let him... wake."

Wu Cangji nodded. He pulled a small bottle from his robe, containing a single black pill.

A palace attendant stepped forward to take it, but Wu Cangji snatched it back.

"Oh, not this one." He tucked the bottle back into his robe. "This is my laxative pill. Almost grabbed the wrong one."

The physicians: "..."

Wu Cangji paid no heed to the stares of the others and rummaged around in his robes again.

He pulled out a cloth bundle, unwrapped it, gave it a look, then tied it back up.

"Nope, not this one either."

He rummaged again.

This time he brought out a small wooden box, opened it, sniffed it, and frowned.

"This one's damp. Can't use it."

All the imperial physicians were speechless.

Wu Cangji dug around once more.

This time he pulled out a small blue-and-white porcelain bottle, held it up to the light, and nodded in satisfaction.

"This is it."

He pulled out the stopper, shook out a dark red pill, and handed it to the attendant beside him.

"Give it to him with warm water."

The attendant took it with both hands, carefully carrying the bowl, and walked to the bedside.

Lin Nanshu at last raised his head. He looked at the pill, then reached out and took the bowl from him.

He lowered his head, placed the pill into the bowl, and gently swirled the bowl.

The pill slowly dissolved in the water, turning the clear liquid a faint red.

Yun Xunyu was still holding Cheng Ge, cradling him in his arms.

He looked up at Lin Nanshu, his eyes red-rimmed but tearless.

Lin Nanshu was silent for a moment, his grip on the bowl's rim loosening and then tightening again.

Then he scooped up some of the medicinal broth with a spoon, gently parted Cheng Ge's lips, and fed it into his mouth.

Some of the broth trickled out of the corner of his mouth, running down his chin.

Yun Xunyu wiped it away with his thumb, and Lin Nanshu fed him another spoonful.

One spoonful.

Then another.

He fed him very slowly, but his hands wouldn't stop trembling.

The trembling spread from his wrist up his arm, and from his arm through his whole body.

Yet he never paused, spoonful after spoonful, until the bowl was empty.

Once the broth was gone, Lin Nanshu set down the bowl, his hand still hovering in midair.

Yun Xunyu gently laid Cheng Ge back on the bed and tucked the covers around him.

Then he knelt there by the bedside, holding that ice-cold hand, without moving.

Nobody moved.

The only sound was the rain outside the window, falling drop by drop, as time slowly passed.

After what seemed like a long while, the man on the bed suddenly stirred.

The movement was so slight it was almost imperceptible—just the fingertips curling inward a fraction.

But Yun Xunyu felt it. He snapped his head up.

Cheng Ge's eyelids twitched. Slowly, heavily, as if something heavy were pressing them down, struggling to open.

Everyone in the hall instinctively held their breath. Wu Cangji stroked his beard, saying nothing.

After a few more breaths, his eyes finally opened just a crack.

His gaze was unfocused, as if veiled by mist.

He blinked, then blinked again, and the mist slowly began to clear.

He saw the rafters overhead, the flickering candlelight, the people gathered around the bed.

He thought to himself: So many men, so many gays...