Courage and the Emperor’s Crushing Pressure

"How is the Eighth Prince?"

Serena was busy with emergency care for the Eighth Prince. If anyone else had asked, she wouldn't have bothered to answer, but when Dr. Marcus Guile spoke, Serena looked up in the midst of her rush and replied, "He's fine."

Those two words were like a magic spell—everyone instantly breathed a sigh of relief, and several who'd been overly tense wiped their sweat, their faces finally relaxing.

It really was a close call just now. When that blade came down, everyone thought the Eighth Prince was done for. Who could've imagined...

Divine Doctor Guile really is incredible. Just that one cut alone is enough to prove his legendary status.

It looked like a simple cut, but both the timing and the force had to be perfectly controlled. If there was even the slightest mistake, all previous efforts would be wasted—or worse, it could cost someone's life.

Even if Divine Doctor Guile taught them the Gu-extraction method step by step, they still wouldn't dare do it themselves. That final cut—they could understand it, but never replicate it.

That last cut was a true test of a healer's eye, hand, and heart. None of them had the confidence to guarantee that, with a single stroke, the Gu would be expelled without killing the patient.

"Amazing!"

"Respect!"

The imperial physicians all turned to Dr. Marcus Guile, their eyes shining with admiration. Some looked so awestruck they seemed ready to kneel at his feet and shout, "Master, please accept us as your disciples!"

The Emperor's chest heaved violently as he glanced at Dr. Marcus Guile and the Valley Master, his gaze clouded and unreadable. In his mind, the blade Dr. Guile had drawn across the Crown Prince's throat felt as if it had sliced his own; he could almost feel a faint pain at his neck.

All the agonies he'd endured before hadn't fazed him, but this last cut—this was the one that truly terrified the Emperor. The Crown Prince survived, but that didn't mean he would. If Dr. Guile's blade slipped even slightly, his own life would be forfeit.

Yet the thought of anyone but Dr. Marcus Guile wielding that knife made the Emperor even more uneasy.

Handing his life over to someone else—this feeling was truly unbearable.

He rubbed his own neck, at a loss for what to do.

The Valley Master and Dr. Marcus Guile exchanged a sly glance, both lowering their heads to stifle a mischievous grin: If we don't scare him half to death, we're not living up to our reputations.

"You, come here." The Valley Master, supporting Dr. Marcus Guile, walked over to Serena's side and called out to several young imperial physicians nearby.

The ones he singled out snapped to attention and hurried over, bowing respectfully. "Divine Doctor," they greeted Dr. Marcus Guile with reverence.

"Throw that pig into the water," the Valley Master ordered, as naturally as if he were asking for tea.

It couldn't be helped—he was just used to bossing around his apprentices and juniors.

"Yes, sir." The piglet was so small that one person could have easily lifted it, but four young physicians crowded forward. As soon as they picked it up, they realized something was off. "Huh? Why is it so light?"

"The insides have been eaten out, of course it's light." The Valley Master explained kindly, but the four young imperial physicians went weak in the knees. "Gu—Gu-worms were inside?"

Startled, the four loosened their grip and with a splash, the piglet fell into the water, sending droplets everywhere. Only then did everyone see clearly—what was floating in the water wasn't medicine, it was worms...

"Ugh..." Someone with a phobia of creepy-crawlies immediately ran to the side and threw up.

Tiny, squirming worms packed together—it was truly revolting.

"Useless." The Valley Master sneered. The ones who'd been retching quickly shut their mouths, faces flushed with embarrassment, not daring to look up for fear of being despised by the Valley Master and Dr. Marcus Guile. Losing face in front of legends like them was the worst shame.

After tidying up, the Valley Master turned to the Emperor. "The rest can be left to Serena. We're exhausted and need to rest."

He didn't bother to wait for imperial permission—supporting Dr. Marcus Guile, he simply strode out.

At that moment, Serena had already completed emergency stabilization for the Crown Prince. She formally reported to the Emperor, "Your Majesty, the Crown Prince's condition has stabilized. I request permission to take him to Radiant Hall for further treatment."

"Quick, go. Help Her Grace over as well," the Emperor commanded with a wave of his hand.

At that moment, his mind was consumed by thoughts of Dr. Marcus Guile's blade. He kept replaying that cut—if it were drawn across his own throat, would he survive?

The Crown Prince was young and didn't understand fear; faced with a sharp knife, he didn't flinch or try to escape. But could the Emperor do the same—lift his chin and remain perfectly still, letting someone cut his throat?

No... His body's instincts would make him dodge danger automatically.

The Emperor regretted his decision. If he'd known, he wouldn't have let the Crown Prince be treated first. Watching the process only made him more afraid, and made the next treatment even riskier.

What should he do now? Treat it, or not?

The Emperor was trapped in a painful dilemma...

An hour later, Helena Hsieh awoke. Serena had finished her work; thanks to her meticulous care, the Crown Prince still looked frail, but his breathing was steady and his face showed no sign of pain. He looked much better than before the procedure.

When Helena Hsieh first woke up, she was stunned, lying motionless in bed. Only when her maids kept repeating, 'The Crown Prince is safe, he's fine,' did Helena finally leap out of bed and rush toward the inner chamber.

"Little Eight..." Just thinking of her son brought a flood of grief—Helena Hsieh's tears fell like rain.

Everyone envied her noble birth, envied the imperial favor she enjoyed after entering the palace—but who truly understood Helena Hsieh's suffering? As a daughter of the Hsieh Clan, she entered the palace to win favor for her family, yet received no protection from them. As the Emperor's consort, she held the rank of Imperial Noble Consort, but couldn't even keep her own son safe.

"Little Eight, my Little Eight is safe!" Helena Hsieh, wild with joy, rushed into the room. Until she saw him with her own eyes, she couldn't rest easy.

"Your Grace, please be quiet." Serena gestured for silence as Helena Hsieh burst into the inner chamber. Helena stopped in her tracks, unconsciously clutching her robe, her voice trembling: "Qing—Qingchen, Little Eight, is he..."

"Don't worry, Your Grace. His Highness is fine." The Crown Prince was no longer just the Eighth Prince; Serena made sure to use his proper title.

Helena Hsieh's face lit up with joy. She nodded again and again, hurriedly wiping away her tears. "Qingchen, thank you, thank you!"

"This is simply my duty as a court physician." Serena replied with respectful formality, but her tone was noticeably distant. Helena noticed the coldness, but could only bite her lip and accept it.

Now, both the Hsieh Clan and her son were sources of trouble. Anyone who got involved with them would be dragged down—Serena's distance was for the best.

Serena could tell Helena had misunderstood, but didn't bother to explain. Instead, she carefully instructed the attendants on how to care for the Crown Prince over the next few days, told Helena when she would return tomorrow, and then requested permission to leave the palace.

Helena Hsieh desperately wanted to keep Serena by her son's side in case something happened overnight, but she knew her current position gave her no right to make such demands. All she could do was send palace maids to escort Serena out and call for an imperial physician to stand by.

Once Serena left, Helena Hsieh tiptoed to the little bed. Seeing her son alive and breathing, she broke down, crying and laughing at once. She reached out to touch his face, but when she saw her bloodstained hand, she pulled back, afraid to dirty him.

"Little Eight, don't be afraid... From now on, Mother will protect you. No one will ever hurt you again." Standing by the bed, Helena Hsieh spoke softly, her words as gentle as a lullaby. But she knew she wasn't just soothing a child—she meant every word.

Her son had suffered enough. From now on, anyone who dared harm him would have to kill her first.

"Your Grace, the little prince is blessed. Now that he's survived the worst, everything will get better." The attendants of Radiant Hall stepped forward to comfort Helena Hsieh, and the other palace staff joined in.

Helena Hsieh managed a faint smile but said nothing. She knew the road ahead for her and her son would only get harder, not easier...

The Emperor would not let her or Little Eight go. She had lost her family's protection, but would still be dragged down by their sins...