Onset of Illness, Publicly Seducing Another Man

Inside the grand hall, it was so quiet that even the sound of a falling leaf could be heard. Every eye was fixed on the three figures at the center, mouths agape, yet unable to utter a word...

No one could help it—the situation had shifted too rapidly, so fast that they couldn't process it. Hearts pounded wildly; the Crown Prince clutched his chest, showing signs of a heart episode.

Tonight's banquet was simply too intense!

After Serena Feng slapped Damien of Southlyn, Damien immediately flew into a rage and reached out, intent on strangling her.

Serena Feng had committed lèse-majesté, a crime worthy of death. Even if Damien killed her in front of everyone, no one would blame him—such is imperial power.

If Serena's death could quell tonight's chaos, everyone from the Emperor to the ministers of Eastlyn would rejoice. But at the critical moment, something unexpected happened.

Just as Damien reached out—before he could touch Serena—Nolan Dongling rushed forward, pulled Serena into his arms, and kicked Damien clear across the floor.

With a thud, Damien crashed nearly five meters away. Nolan had held back from killing him, but even so, Damien was in bad shape—the crack of breaking ribs was audible, even to the Crown Prince.

It's over! Now, sacrificing Serena alone won't solve anything. Most importantly, with Nolan's attitude, there's no way he'll hand Serena over.

The Emperor rubbed his forehead. Tonight's events had gone far beyond his expectations. He knew Damien wanted to use the occasion to openly kill Serena, and he'd planned to watch and see—but he never imagined things would turn out like this.

Getting physical—especially when the one acting is Eastlyn’s own Ninth Royal Uncle—is a huge problem. For the sake of royal dignity, Eastlyn would never push Nolan out as a scapegoat. Now, they’ll have to solve this another way.

The Emperor decided to hold back and watch how Nolan handled things. If this sparks war between the two kingdoms, then publicly, Nolan will be the sinner.

Some people worried, but others were secretly delighted. Quentin Northlyn and Terrence Valen were thrilled—they wished Eastlyn and Southern Lyn would fight, the longer the better, so both kingdoms would weaken and give their own states a chance to rise.

As for Serena’s life or death, it had nothing to do with them.

Quentin Northlyn had never liked her, and lately, after spending time with Princess Serenity and hearing her hints and complaints, Quentin had come to openly detest Serena.

Terrence Valen did appreciate Serena’s abilities, but compared to national interests, she was nothing. He admired Nolan’s courage for tearing his face with Southern Lyn over a woman, but also looked down on him for ignoring the bigger picture.

Of course, he also despised Nolan—risking everything for a woman, heedless of the consequences.

Just look at Prince Chase, who’d been fighting Damien to take Serena as a side-consort—under the Emperor’s fierce glare, he obediently sat back down.

Being a hero isn’t easy. Saving a beauty always comes at a price. No one knows yet what price Nolan will pay tonight.

Terrence Valen was eager to see how this drama would unfold.

The most humiliating moments of Damien’s life had all been caused by Serena and Nolan. Lying sprawled on the floor, Damien never imagined Nolan would step out so forcefully for Serena—it didn’t fit his image of Nolan at all.

Damien shoved away the eunuchs trying to help him, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, ignored the stares of the crowd, and, enduring the pain of broken ribs and his swollen cheek, strode straight toward Serena and Nolan.

He had to reclaim his dignity! He couldn’t bear the shame!

Nolan held Serena protectively, staring coldly at Damien, his killing intent undisguised. Damien felt a chill in his heart, but as a prince, his pride kept him moving forward, refusing to bow his head, walking straight under immense pressure.

Lose face but not composure—Southern Lyn’s princes couldn’t afford to show weakness. Standing before Nolan, Damien tried to project royal authority: "Ninth Royal Uncle, you must give me an explanation for this."

Unfortunately, with half his face swollen like a pig, his attempt at majesty looked ridiculous.

"Explanation? I have no time. If you think Serena’s slap was too light, I’ve no objection to letting her give you another."

Just then, palace maids arrived with ice. Damien assumed it was for him and waited to be treated, only to see the maid step past him, bow to Nolan, and report, "Ninth Royal Uncle, the ice Miss Feng requested has arrived."

"Thank you." Only then did Serena raise her head from Nolan’s embrace, take the ice, and press it to her injured cheek. With the ice covering her face, the crowd couldn’t see how bad her injury was, just a hint of swelling.

With a maid’s help, Serena retreated to the seat where Nolan had originally been and rinsed the blood from her mouth.

At this moment, everyone's attention was focused on Nolan and Damien at the center of the hall. The few who glanced at Serena did so only with blame in their eyes.

If Eastlyn and Southern Lyn really went to war, it would all be because of Serena. Right now, in their eyes, she was the classic 'beauty who brings disaster.'

Beauty who brings disaster?

Serena couldn’t help but mock them inwardly. These people really had no insight—obviously, Damien’s real target was Nolan. She was just the unlucky one dragged in.

Women were just a convenient excuse to start wars. In this world, men truly capable of launching wars between nations never get lost in romance, and men lost in romance never have the ruthlessness to conquer the world.

"Miss Feng, are you all right?" The Crown Prince, sitting closest to Serena, saw how lifeless she looked and asked with concern.

As an outsider, the Crown Prince could clearly see how innocent Serena was in all this.

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I’m fine," Serena replied, turning to see his friendly gaze—and his furrowed brow and paper-white face. "What’s wrong, Your Highness?"

Serena didn’t especially like or dislike the Crown Prince. Overall, he was the one member of Eastlyn’s royal family she found relatively agreeable.

Because of Nolan’s connection and the Crown Prince’s gentle, approachable nature—and because he had no grudge against her—Serena felt less fear and more ease around him than with the others.

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"It's nothing, just an old problem," the Crown Prince said, his face frighteningly pale and breathing rapid. Even if Serena weren’t a specialist in cardiology and neurosurgery, anyone could see he was unwell.

As a doctor, her first instinct with a patient was to check: "Your Highness, if you trust me, may I take a look?"

"Serena, your injury—?" The Crown Prince actually wanted her help; his chest pain was severe. But Serena was Nolan’s protected person—how could he dare trouble her?

"Just a minor wound, it’s nothing." Serena stopped icing her face, not caring that her swollen cheek was exposed to the crowd. She wasn’t doing this for sympathy—if she’d wanted that, she wouldn’t have hidden in Nolan’s arms earlier.

She’d concealed her injury before because it looked terrible—she knew how ghastly a slapped face, smeared with rouge and blood, could appear. She was a beauty, after all; there was no need to parade such an ugly side. Besides, letting the crowd see her like that would only earn her a few useless words of pity.

When Serena stood up, she wanted to activate her Smart Med-Pack, but her dress was too bulky to operate it discreetly. Luckily, she’d been learning traditional Chinese medicine—observation, listening, questioning, and pulse-taking—from Simon Sun, and her pulse reading was now very accurate.

"Your Highness, your condition is very bad." A normal heart rate is sixty to one hundred beats per minute, but the Crown Prince’s was over one hundred eighty—he could faint at any moment.

"It hurts a lot." This time, the Crown Prince didn’t try to act tough, clutching his chest as cold sweat poured down.

"Your Highness, do you have medicine from the imperial physicians?" Serena remained calm; she knew someone with his condition would never be without medicine.

"I do." Seeing Serena’s calm demeanor, the Crown Prince relaxed a little. He took out the medicine from his robe and, following a doctor’s habit, let Serena smell it first. Once she confirmed it was safe, he took the medicine.

"Your Highness, your collar is buttoned too tightly. That makes it harder for you to breathe—I suggest you loosen it a bit." Judging from his pulse and complexion, Serena could tell his heart disease was already very serious. Without timely treatment, he probably had only two or three years left. Serena frowned, caught in a dilemma.

If the Crown Prince’s illness were treated in modern times, with surgery, she’d have an eighty percent chance of curing him. But here, even with her Med-Pack, she only had about a fifty percent chance.

If it were an ordinary patient, she’d explain everything and let them decide whether to risk it. But the Crown Prince?

Could she even say it?

There was a fifty percent chance the Crown Prince would die on the operating table. If he really died from surgery, the consequences would be more than she could bear.

"Miss Feng, have you discovered something?" The Crown Prince’s face was still pale, but his eyes lit up. Remembering Serena’s medical skills, he felt a glimmer of hope.

He’d thought about asking Serena for help before, but his research showed she specialized in trauma, eye injuries, and gynecology. As for heart disease, he hadn’t found any evidence—yet now it seemed she understood it too.

"Your Highness, what did the imperial physicians say about your illness?" Based on her knowledge, they’d almost certainly warned him his life would be short.

The palace physicians were experts in self-preservation. With a case like the Crown Prince’s, they’d warn him early, so when he eventually died, they wouldn’t be blamed. After all, his illness truly was incurable.

The Crown Prince looked despondent and nodded: "I’ve been having frequent attacks lately. The imperial physicians have already warned me—I don’t have much time left."

That was his tragedy: a Crown Prince, closest to the throne, yet with no life left to enjoy it or compete for it. As he spoke, he studied Serena’s face and saw the struggle in her eyes. Hope flickered in his heart, and he cautiously asked, "Miss Feng, do you have a way to treat me?"

Yes, but I can’t say.

Serena answered silently in her heart...