MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

The heavy doors of the secluded chamber shut with a final thud, sealing off the outside world.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs.

The only people allowed in this sacred space were the emperor and the royal physician.

Not even the empress had been granted entry.

Outside, a solemn silence blanketed the palace grounds.

Every official stood in perfect formation, their backs straight, their heads bowed low in deference.

They had all changed into their formal court robes, the weight of the situation pressing down on them like an invisible force.

No one dared to speak.

No one dared to move.

Inside, the flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows over the prince’s still form.

Zhao Yan lay unconscious on the large, ornately carved bed, his face devoid of color.

The golden mask that had always concealed half his face now lay abandoned on the side table, its gleaming surface dulled by the heavy air of despair.

His face—fully exposed—was breathtakingly handsome, yet alarmingly pale.

The emperor sat rigidly beside him, his fists clenched at his sides as he stared down at his only son.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, but his eyes betrayed a storm of emotions.

The physician, usually full of his sarcastic remarks and scolding words, was now the very picture of grave concentration.

With steady hands, he reached for Zhao Yan’s robes and carefully pulled them apart.

The moment the fabric slid off, the emperor inhaled sharply.

The room seemed to drop in temperature.

Zhao Yan’s chest and arms were marred with bruises and deep cuts—some old, some worryingly fresh.

One particularly deep wound on his arm had reopened, and fresh blood was oozing out, staining the white bandages in deep crimson.

The emperor’s face drained of color.

"What... happened to him?" His voice, usually so commanding, now wavered with barely concealed panic.

The royal physician did not immediately respond.

Instead, he reached for a clean cloth and began dabbing away the fresh blood, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

"These wounds," he finally said, his voice low but clear, "are from when the Crown Prince was ambushed during his honeymoon."

The emperor stiffened.

His grip on the edge of the bed tightened until his knuckles turned white.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then—

"Why was I not informed of this?" His voice was deadly quiet, yet it carried enough weight to send shivers down a lesser man’s spine.

The physician kept his gaze lowered as he carefully began reapplying medicine to the reopened wound.

"It is not that Your Majesty was not informed," he said, his tone cautious.

"It is that the prince himself did not wish to make it known."

The emperor’s eyes darkened.

A sharp exhale left his lips as he ran a hand down his face, as if trying to suppress the fury boiling beneath the surface.

"That foolish boy..." he muttered under his breath.

He turned his gaze back to Zhao Yan’s unmoving form, his fingers twitching slightly before he clenched them into a fist.

"He endured all of this... without telling anyone?"

The physician nodded.

"He forced himself to act normal," he explained. "But the wounds never had a chance to heal properly. His body has been in distress all this time, and with the stress of the banquet and the long journey back, his strength finally gave out."

The emperor closed his eyes for a brief moment.

He had always known his son to be strong.

But this...

This was beyond what he had ever imagined.

The sheer depth of injuries... the pain Zhao Yan must have endured without uttering a single word of complaint...

It made his heart clench painfully.

When he opened his eyes again, they burned with renewed determination.

"Save him," he commanded.

The physician bowed deeply.

"I will do everything in my power, Your Majesty," he assured.

Chapter 84: A Pulse Unlike Any Other

The royal physician pressed two fingers against Zhao Yan’s wrist, his touch featherlight yet precise.

He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the faint rhythm beneath his fingertips.

But—

His own heartbeat stuttered.

What is this?

His eyes snapped open, his brows furrowing deeply.

The pulse was... weak.

No—weak wasn’t the right word.

It was almost nonexistent.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

For a fleeting moment, his mind reeled back to a different time—

A different patient.

Hua Jing.

Back at the honeymoon palace, when he had taken her pulse...

It had been just like this.

Faint. Almost lifeless.

The same strange, inexplicable condition.

But how?

His fingers trembled slightly as he rechecked the prince’s pulse, pressing a little harder, as if that would make the rhythm stronger.

But no matter how many times he tried—

It remained the same.

The emperor, unaware of the physician’s internal panic, watched him closely.

"Well?" the emperor’s voice was sharp, impatient.

The physician’s hand twitched.

He dared not lift his head.

Dared not let the emperor see the confusion, the uncertainty in his expression.

What do I say?

He couldn’t explain this.

Not yet.

"My Lord," the physician finally spoke, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

"The prince’s body is in an extreme state of exhaustion. His pulse... it is weak, but it is still there. He needs immediate rest and treatment."

The emperor’s face darkened.

He did not like vague answers.

But this was not the time to press.

"Then do everything in your power," he commanded. "I want him awake as soon as possible."

The physician bowed deeply.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

But inside, his mind was in turmoil.

What is happening to the prince?

And...

Why is it the same as Hua Jing?

What sort of connection did these two have to be so alike like this. Nothing made any sense anymore

While he was trying hard to find the solution of the problem, Zhao Yan, who was weakly lying there suddenly entered a dream world.

Everything’s was white and black and his vision blurred millions of times yet in the end, his vision finally cleared...