Chapter Eighty-Seven: I Do

Yang Yaozong did not know how long he had slept. When he awoke, his throat parched and dry, he found that the one keeping vigil by his side was none other than Jing Yijun.

He felt much improved, and with a hoarse voice, he managed, “Water...”

Jing Yijun helped him drink a little, and Yang Yaozong noticed she seemed to have something on her mind, words hovering on her lips yet withheld. He asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Jing Yijun looked at him, her elegant brows furrowed, shook her head gently, and replied, “I just came to check on you. Since you’re alright, I will take my leave.” As she spoke, it seemed she realized her abruptness, her cheeks flushed, and she turned to go.

Yang Yaozong watched her, brows knit. “Does the Emperor need something of me?”

Jing Yijun froze in place, her back to Yang Yaozong.

He tried to sit up, struggling, and Jing Yijun, hearing the stir, quickly turned back and helped him sit. “You must take care and recover. The Emperor is fine.”

Yang Yaozong gazed into her beautiful eyes, seeing exhaustion deeper than in previous days, and noticed she avoided his gaze. He said gravely, “You are not good at lying. The Emperor must have summoned me—you are here to bring me to the palace, aren’t you?”

He had spoken the truth. Jing Yijun, thinking of her father’s illness, nodded silently, eyes misted.

Yang Yaozong continued, “I’m a bit hungry. Ask Ruxin to bring me a bowl of porridge. After I eat, I’ll regain some strength. The internal bruising is cleared, I am no longer in danger. I will follow you to the palace, and I am now certain Prince Qin is plotting rebellion. This must be reported to the Crown Prince.”

Jing Yijun was shaken by his certainty of Prince Qin’s treason; her fists clenched, veins bulging. She studied Yang Yaozong’s resolute expression, knowing the matter was grave. Her mind went to her father, now so often unconscious, who had asked to see Yang Yaozong while lucid. She hesitated no longer and nodded, heading outside.

Soon, Yin Ruxin arrived with a bowl of hot porridge, feeding Yang Yaozong, concern in her voice, “The Princess is waiting downstairs. She must have business with you?”

Yang Yaozong nodded, “Yes. I’ll accompany her to the palace. The Emperor has summoned me.”

Yin Ruxin’s brows drew tight, her voice urgent, “What! You can’t move yet! Are you so careless about your life? If you won’t say it, surely the Princess knows your condition. I’ll tell her!”

Yang Yaozong quickly caught her hand, “Don’t worry, I feel much better. The Princess knows my situation; she won’t let me exhaust myself. Besides, I must report Prince Qin’s rebellion to the Emperor personally. The matter has been delayed too long. Our contest with Prince Qin is one of time—advance our preparations, and our chances increase. Prince Qin has not yet learned of Prince Jing Min’s failed escape, so he shouldn’t act for now. Tomorrow, visit the Prince’s manor and observe Jing Min’s state, see what he says. He did not recognize Ru Yun that day, and even if your master’s body has disappeared, he will only suspect me. He should not know you are aware of the truth. Even if he does, our people are everywhere in the manor; he wouldn’t dare harm you.”

Yin Ruxin nodded, mist in her eyes, her voice choking, “I understand. I’m just worried about you.”

Yang Yaozong smiled, raised her delicate hand, and kissed it gently, “Rest assured. I’ll return once my duty is done.”

Jing Yijun arranged for Yang Yaozong to be carried directly to the hall outside the Emperor’s chamber.

Inside the palace, Jing Yijun did not dare support Yang Yaozong personally, instead walking ahead, ready to catch him should he falter.

Yang Yaozong summoned his strength and followed her inside, stopping a short distance from the imperial bed, preparing to kneel. Jing Yijun said, “No need. Stand here and wait.”

The Crown Prince sat by the Emperor’s bedside, saw Yang Yaozong enter, and exchanged a glance, forcing a smile.

Jing Yijun approached the Emperor, softly calling, “Father.”

After a long moment, the Emperor slowly opened his eyes, “Ah... It’s Jun’er.”

Jing Yijun nodded, “Yang Yaozong is here.”

“Let him come closer,” the Emperor replied weakly.

The eunuch called Xiao Shunzi, who had been attending the Emperor, hurried over to Yang Yaozong, whispering, “Lord Yang, His Majesty calls you forward.”

Yang Yaozong nodded, following Shunzi to the Emperor’s bedside, standing beside Jing Yijun.

Upon seeing Yang Yaozong, the Emperor seemed suddenly invigorated, his gaze commanding, “Yang Qing, I have kept myself alive for this moment—to see you!”

Jing Yijun and the Crown Prince both cried out, “Father!” “Grandfather!” Tears spilled from their eyes.

Shunzi, standing at the foot of the bed, raised his arm to wipe away his own tears.

Yang Yaozong was overwhelmed, and his weakened body gave way as he knelt, hands pressed to the bed, “I am unworthy, Your Majesty!”

The Emperor struggled for breath, “Jun’er, Sheng’er, do not grieve, and Shunzi—don’t cry. All men must face birth, aging, illness, and death. Though I am the Son of Heaven, I am still mortal, and mortals must die.”

Jing Yijun, the Crown Prince, and Shunzi all wept and called out again, “Father!” “Grandfather!” “Your Majesty!”

The Emperor, as if illuminated by a final burst of vitality, raised his voice, “Enough! No more tears! Yang Qing, what is unworthy? If I say you are worthy, you are!”

He fixed his gaze on Yang Yaozong, “Yang Qing, do you know why I have summoned you alone?”

Yang Yaozong met his eyes, “Because Your Majesty trusts and favors me.”

The Emperor smiled, “I trust and favor more than just you—Qin Zheng, Zuo Qiutang, and others. But they have been in officialdom too long; their edges are worn away, and they have become cautious and smooth, lacking the fierceness of youth. I know you have all hidden things from me lately, worrying I cannot bear the shock. Jun’er told me about the riot in the Ying Tian prison. You prepared for it in advance from a small clue—not fearing a million, but fearing the one in a thousand. Well done! And about Jing Min’s escape—you handled it perfectly.”

At this, both Yang Yaozong and Jing Yijun stiffened. Yang Yaozong looked at her in confusion; her brows were furrowed, eyes equally puzzled, and she shook her head.

The Emperor smiled at their expressions, “It was Sheng. Though he looks mature for his age, he is still a child—such matters show on his face. I pressed him, and he confessed.”

Sheng looked at Jing Yijun and Yang Yaozong with embarrassment, lowering his head.

The Emperor continued, “You are all loyal children. I am deeply gratified. Yang Qing, I summoned you not only because I trust you, but because you are both courageous and wise, moderate yet decisive. What do you think of Jing Min’s escape?”

Yang Yaozong noticed the Emperor did not avoid Shunzi, but hesitated, glancing at him.

The Emperor smiled, “No matter. Shunzi has served me since he was ten, over forty years now. He is family. Speak freely.”

Yang Yaozong recalled when he first met Shunzi, he thought the eunuch was only in his forties; in truth, he was over fifty, perhaps looking young for lack of a beard. He glanced at Jing Yijun, who nodded. Yang Yaozong spoke solemnly, “Based on Jing Min’s escape and intelligence from the Secret Inquiry Bureau, I am certain Prince Qin is plotting rebellion!”

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed, his gaze cold and his voice low, “I had guessed as much. He cannot restrain himself any longer. I have rarely attended court since the New Year; recently I could barely manage, but now I cannot even do that. I know there are informers in court; he has learned of my illness and is waiting for his chance. My heart was too soft—I have left this trouble for Sheng.” He looked at his grandson with loving eyes.

“Yang Yaozong!” The Emperor’s gaze burned.

Yang Yaozong met it seriously, unwavering.

The Emperor smiled in approval, then, with effort, reached for Jing Yijun, his eyes tender, “Jun’er.”

Jing Yijun’s eyes misted; she knelt at the bedside, her hands trembling as she grasped his, “Father.”

The Emperor turned to Yang Yaozong, “Give me your hand.”

Yang Yaozong, surprised, stretched out his hands.

The Emperor, with effort, placed Jing Yijun’s hands in one of Yang Yaozong’s, then withdrew his own, placing Yang Yaozong’s other hand over hers, “Today I entrust Jun’er to you. She is my only child; you must treat her well.”

Jing Yijun and Yang Yaozong watched the Emperor’s every move, understanding his intent. Hearing his words, they called out, “Father!” “Your Majesty!”

The Emperor smiled at Yang Yaozong, “My daughter left me young to learn from a great master. She is cold and proud, unwilling to vie with others. Do not bully her.”

The Emperor’s actions took Jing Yijun completely by surprise; even the Crown Prince, Sheng, widened his eyes, his expression rich as he observed Yang Yaozong and Jing Yijun. Shunzi looked at Yang Yaozong with deep meaning.

Jing Yijun’s heart raced; she herself could not say what she felt—there was joy, yet reluctance, confusion and blushes. She wished to speak, but no words came.

Yang Yaozong was stunned by the Emperor’s sudden gesture. His throat dry, he swallowed several times, feeling the Emperor’s hand pressing his own. He thought, marrying Nangong Qingyi meant he entered her family; he also wished to marry Yin Ruxin, and owed responsibility to Yin Ruyun—one the mysterious Saintess of the Demon Poison Valley, the other the Left Guardian, both prominent figures in the Miao stronghold. He would likely enter the Miao clan too. If he married the Princess, he would be a consort—always entering others’ families. Was he fated never to escape this destiny?

Yang Yaozong liked Jing Yijun; the longer they spent together, the more he felt an inexplicable affection and concern, enjoyed their ambiguous connection. He knew that not only was Jing Yijun noble, her temperament was proud. He never dared hope she would return his feelings, nor imagined becoming a royal consort. Consort... The word tightened his throat, and he stammered, “Your Majesty... this... this...”

The Emperor saw Yang Yaozong flustered for the first time, suppressed a smile, and answered sternly, “Are you afraid of that old fellow Nangong Zhan? He can marry his daughter to you—why can’t mine? Hmph! I entrust my daughter to you, but whether she wishes to marry you depends on your fortune and merit!”

He sighed, regret in his voice, “If you truly have that fortune, I won’t live to see it, but let Sheng give Jun’er to your house in my stead.” He cast Sheng a meaningful look.

With these words, though not explicit, he erased Yang Yaozong’s status as a son-in-law entering the Nangong family; it meant Yang Yaozong would marry Nangong Qingyi, not enter her family, and that being a son-in-law was not a problem.

Sheng understood his grandfather’s meaning; he remembered past teachings and nodded quietly.

Yang Yaozong’s heart was stirred, not because the Emperor had promised him the Princess, but because he remembered his own parents in his previous life, who never saw him wed. Establishing a family meant one’s children had truly grown. If bearing children was a parent’s first fulfillment, raising them to adulthood was the second. In the Emperor’s words, he sensed his own parents’ regret.

He released Jing Yijun’s hands, placed his hands to the floor, and respectfully knocked his head on the ground, gathering his strength, his eyes blazing as he declared, “Let the Crown Prince and Shunzi bear witness here today. I, Yang Yaozong, pledge my loyal heart as my betrothal gift to Your Majesty.” Then, holding Jing Yijun’s hands, facing her as they knelt, he looked into her clear, bright eyes and solemnly said, “Jing Yijun, will you be my wife? I promise you, from this day forth, whether in prosperity or adversity, wealth or poverty, health or illness, I will love you and cherish you until the end of time. I promise to protect you always, even at the cost of my own life.”

Jing Yijun felt the depth of Yang Yaozong’s confession and vow, her emotions surging. She had thought she would live a quiet life like her master, alone and serene. Yet since meeting Yang Yaozong, everything began to change. Jing Yijun admitted she had feelings for him—whether it was love she did not know, but the feeling drew her close and pushed her away, delight and fear mingled, often stirring her heart.

She recalled her father’s sigh and her own past. Her mother’s health was frail; after marrying the Emperor for over a decade, she had only been able to bear Jing Yijun, dying in childbirth from complications.

Born prematurely and frail, Jing Yijun suffered constant illness since birth. Yet she was exceptionally intelligent, her memory forming early. She remembered her childhood in the palace, always ill, bed-ridden, taking rare medicines, often saved only by timely intervention—had she been born to an ordinary family, she would not have survived a year. Each time, it was her father who stayed by her—comforting her, making her laugh, soothing her to sleep. She was sensible, never wanting to see her father cry, learning to endure and not to weep under the torment of illness.

Jing Yijun once overheard she wouldn’t live past eight. She didn’t understand death, but felt it must be more dreadful than pain. Her mother had passed, whom she had never seen, and so she feared death, feared never seeing her father again, longing to live and always be with him.

When she was three, during a harsh winter, her father brought a graceful, white-haired woman to her quarters. Because of the cold, her father always warmed himself before entering to chat with her; no matter how warm inside, she needed thick blankets. That day, her father stayed outside, but the woman came straight to her bed, and her father only frowned, not stopping her. The woman studied her, felt her pulse, then smiled and embraced her. Jing Yijun felt no cold, instead found warmth and comfort in her arms.

Her father told her, “This woman is your master now; you must leave me and live with her.” Jing Yijun cried and refused, not caring for the warmth, struggling to reach for her father, who did not take her, eyes full of sorrow and affection. He said she must learn from her master, so she could spend more years with him, not just a few years in pain. Understanding, she stopped crying, resolved to study well and someday return.

That day, carried by her master, she left her room for the first time, saw the snow-covered world, the drifting snowflakes, the plum blossoms blooming in winter, and for the first time saw her father smile through tears—and herself smile through tears.

Time passed; she grew into a woman of stunning beauty. At seventeen, her master passed away, telling her not to descend the mountain unless summoned by her father. She obeyed, never forgetting her father’s smiling tears.

At twenty, she finally received a letter from her father, calling her down. She went, only to find him aged, his hair white, but his smile through tears unchanged.

Jing Yijun had wished to stay clear of intrigue and strife, but seeing her father labor day and night, growing old and weary, and with her young cousin the only heir, she had to involve herself in the duties her father assigned.

Now, after less than a year together, her father lay dying. Though she possessed extraordinary martial skills, able to strengthen her own body, she could not prolong his life—her first taste of helplessness.

Yet hearing Yang Yaozong’s heartfelt vow, Jing Yijun felt her soul find support, solace, and home. Her feelings for him no longer wavered.

She understood her father’s intent in giving her to Yang Yaozong—not only for his abilities, not just for her happiness, but also for Sheng, so Yang Yaozong would devote himself to Sheng’s cause. Of course, no sovereign trusts anyone fully; her father had hinted that if Yang Yaozong ever betrayed them, she must eliminate him. Jing Yijun looked at the man she had chosen to love, to spend her life with; if she ever had to kill him, she would not live on herself. Having entered the mortal world, she resolved to love without hesitation, however passionate or devastating. She silently made her decision.

Her eyes misted; she nodded firmly. “I am willing!”