Serena Feng could see the doubt in Prince Terrence Valen’s eyes. She understood it well, and quietly grew more guarded. She was certain this man knew far more about her than he let on.
Feigning ignorance, Serena kept her composure and calmly picked up a vial of anesthetic from the surgical tray.
"What is that?" Prince Terrence Valen eyed it warily.
If his injuries weren’t so severe, he would never have come to Serena Feng for help.
"Ma Fei San—an anesthetic." Serena’s tone was strictly professional, her whole demeanor radiating a competence rarely seen in women of this era.
"Sir, I don’t know who you are, nor do I care to know. Whatever grudges you have with others are none of my concern. I am just a doctor—a very ordinary doctor.
Since you’ve chosen to come to me, please trust me—trust in my ethics and principles as a physician. Even if we were enemies, as long as you’re lying here, I’ll do my utmost to save you. That is my principle as a doctor."
As she spoke under Prince Terrence Valen’s watchful gaze, Serena injected the anesthetic into his body.
Terrence struggled for a moment, but seeing the clarity and calm in Serena’s eyes, he relaxed.
"Serena Feng, I trust you. Don’t let me down."
"You’re not worth it yet," Serena replied, unimpressed.
Once the anesthesia took effect, Serena activated her Smart Med‑Pack and began examining Terrence.
The injury had reached his lung lobe, and he’d lost far too much blood. This was a major surgery—the patient urgently needed a transfusion.
After checking Terrence, Serena found his blood type was B. She took out the leftover O-type blood from last time and started the transfusion, then pulled over the surgical table and laid out her instruments one by one.
Seeing Terrence lying flat on the operating table, Serena’s mind flashed to Lance Quinn in the secret chamber—her crouching on the ground, treating his wounds.
She shook her head and slapped away the random thoughts, forcing herself to focus. Once the anesthesia fully set in, Serena gathered her concentration and began treating Terrence’s wound.
Terrence’s lung injury, though serious, wasn’t as bad as Lance Quinn’s last time. Terrence had only been slashed by a sword; otherwise, he wouldn’t have lasted this long.
Serena focused on cleaning Terrence’s wound, applying medicine, and stitching it up—so absorbed she didn’t notice when he woke up midway through.
Royal heirs are all but raised on poison. Forget anesthetics—even most poisons barely affect them.
The moment Terrence woke, his whole body went cold. His first instinct was to kill Serena—but he found he couldn’t move.
What Serena did next nearly made Prince Terrence Valen afraid to even blink.
Serena wielded different knives, cutting and stitching him, yet for some reason, he never once thought she was trying to kill him.
Because when Serena held a knife, there was a faint, almost sacred light about her.
In her hands, the blade didn’t seem like a weapon for killing.
And it turned out, Terrence was right...
Unfortunately, Terrence didn’t last until the end. His weak body, combined with his trust in Serena, meant that even though the anesthetic hadn’t fully worked, he gradually slipped into unconsciousness.
He missed Serena’s follow-up: the IV, the medicine, and the bag of fresh blood being transfused into his body from his left side.
So for a long time afterward, Terrence believed Serena’s way of healing was simply to cut people up, then sew their wounds closed like mending clothes.
Once Serena finished treating Terrence’s wound, dawn had broken. She yawned, exhausted, and took off her surgical gown.
It seemed her body was getting weaker—just one night’s work and she was already spent. Clearly, she needed to start training again.
After tidying up the operating room, Serena picked up the anti-inflammatory and painkillers, then wheeled Terrence out.
The wound was handled; from here on, it was just a matter of recovery. For deeper healing, traditional medicine would be best.
As expected, Princess Yara Valen had been waiting outside the operating room the whole time.
Serena was too tired to play games with this girl. After wheeling Terrence out, she ignored Yara’s cold glare and handed her the medicine: "He’s fine now. The white box—three times a day, two pills each time. The other—once a day, one pill each. That’s it. You can take him away now."
Serena never intended to keep Terrence here.
"Serena Feng, what happened to my brother?" Yara’s face was dark, like a goddess of war.
"He fainted from the pain. He’ll wake up soon. Best get two strong men to carry him—don’t let his wound split open." Serena yawned again, her exhaustion obvious.
"Impossible! My brother would never faint from pain." Yara didn’t believe a word. If Terrence hadn’t warned her not to touch Serena, she’d have attacked her already.
"Why not? Just check if he’s still breathing. Enough nonsense—take him away. He’ll wake up in two hours." Serena replied impatiently.
Yara, furious, could only grit her teeth and bear it. She took out a leaf and blew on it; from the darkness, two burly men emerged, saluted her, and carried Terrence away.
Before leaving, Princess Yara Valen threw out a final threat: "Serena Feng, we'll meet again soon. Next time, I want you kneeling at my feet."
"Is that so?" Serena replied, unfazed, not taking it to heart.
Once they were gone, Serena locked the operating room, took a freezing shower until she was shivering, then collapsed into bed and fell straight asleep.
While Serena slept soundly, the imperial physicians in the Eastlyn palace endured a sleepless night. Adrian Dongling had an arrow lodged deep in his thigh, right at the artery.
The imperial doctors were helpless. If they pulled the arrow, they doubted they could stop the bleeding—Adrian Dongling had a sixty percent chance of dying.
Unless they crushed the entire thigh, Adrian Dongling wouldn’t die, but he’d be crippled for life.
But if they left the arrow in, he had no hope of recovery—the longer they delayed, the worse the damage.
A pool of blood stained the white marble floor, glaringly red.
"Mercy? If you can't heal Prince Rowan, what's the point of keeping you? Guards, drag him out and behead him." The golden hairpin atop the Empress's head trembled as her eyes sank deep into her face, exhaustion etched in every line.
Adrian Eastlyn was her last hope—he must not die, and he must not be crippled.
"Imperial Physician Zhang, heal His Highness Prince Rowan and you will be handsomely rewarded." The Empress casually pointed to an elderly physician kneeling in the corner.
As for failing... no need to say more. His fate would be the same as Physician Lin.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Physician Zhang replied weakly, his voice barely audible.
The bed was surrounded by people—five or six imperial physicians had tried everything, but the wound kept bleeding, and Adrian Eastlyn's face was ghostly pale.
The Empress was so anxious she nearly broke her own fingernails.
The tension inside the hall was suffocating, but outside, Nolan Dongling sat completely unfazed, calm and aloof.
The Crown Prince stayed by his side, a look of concern on his face—but in truth, he was indifferent. Whether Adrian died or was crippled, it was all to his advantage.
"His Majesty has arrived!"
The sharp voice of the eunuch shattered the heavy atmosphere. Everyone except Nolan Dongling knelt to greet the Emperor.
"Your Majesty..." After a night of worry, the Empress burst into tears the moment she saw the Emperor. From a distance, she looked heartbreakingly fragile, tears streaming down her face like petals in the rain.
"How is Rowan?"
Clad in imperial yellow, the Emperor radiated authority—yet seemed almost inhuman, cold and distant. Even when asking about his favorite son, there was little warmth in his voice.
"Your Majesty, the physicians say that if Rowan doesn't wake soon, he may never wake again." The Empress nearly collapsed into the Emperor's arms, sobbing.
The Emperor, moved, patted the Empress comfortingly, then summoned the physicians for questioning. Their verdict: either cripple Rowan's leg or let him die.
"Useless! The Eastlyn Dynasty has no use for the useless. Guards, drag these fools out and behead them!"
Such is the power of an emperor—one command, and lives are lost without hesitation.
The physicians' faces turned ashen, but none dared beg for mercy.
Everyone knew how much the Emperor favored Rowan. The Crown Prince's face flickered with sorrow, quickly hidden away.
After so many years, he'd grown used to his father's indifference.
The Imperial Guards dragged the physicians out. Palace maids and eunuchs trembled in fear, heads bowed, eyes fixed on their feet, terrified they'd be next.
"Your Majesty."
Nolan Dongling rose to his feet, and everyone in the hall froze at his movement.
"Ninth Brother?"
"Ninth Royal Uncle?"
The physicians, already dragged to the door, heard the voice and felt a surge of hope—only for it to die instantly.
Ninth Royal Uncle was infamous for his coldness. There was no way he'd save them.
Nolan Dongling remained indifferent, his expression unreadable. Though he spoke to the Emperor, his eyes held no one at all.
"Your Majesty, Rowan's injury cannot be delayed any longer. I respectfully ask you to summon Serena Feng to the palace and let her try." Nolan Dongling spoke with unhurried calm, showing no sign of anxiety.
Before the Emperor could answer, the Empress snapped, "Ninth Royal Uncle, enough! I will never allow it."
Earlier, Nolan Dongling had made the same suggestion, only to be shot down by the Empress. Now he brought it up again...
In stark contrast to the Empress's agitation, Nolan Dongling was perfectly composed, as if the proposal had nothing to do with him. Yet he stood his ground, unmoving, making his position clear.
"Serena Feng? Is she really up to it?" The Emperor pondered a moment before asking.
"I don't know. But there's no harm in trying." Nolan Dongling's reply was almost irresponsibly casual.
He was clearly trying to provoke the Empress.
In this world, only Ninth Royal Uncle would dare speak to the Emperor like that.
The Emperor fell silent, and the hall once again sank into tense quiet...