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

"What is happening here?"

The deep, powerful voice cut through the air like a blade.

Instantly, the chamber fell into dead silence.

The guards who had been restraining Hua Jing froze. The consorts who had been watching with smug satisfaction stiffened. The officials who had been murmuring among themselves whipped their heads around in disbelief.

Standing at the entrance, tall, commanding, and furious, was Crown Prince Zhao Yan.

His ceremonial red and gold robes, once pristine, now looked disheveled, his shoulders slightly slumped as if he had rushed here without a second thought. His golden mask, always an unreadable shield, glowed ominously under the dim light.

But what chilled everyone to the bone—

Was the rage radiating from him.

It was thick, suffocating, all-consuming.

Like a storm, swirling wildly, uncontrollably.

The Emperor, who had been observing the scene from his seat, let out an audible gasp.

The physician, standing beside the throne, looked like he had just seen a ghost.

Even the First Consort, who had orchestrated everything, staggered back, her previously smug expression twisting into one of pure horror.

The Fourth and Sixth Consorts looked at each other, fear creeping into their gazes.

The guards immediately dropped their hands from Hua Jing, stepping away as if burned.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

It was as if the entire world had stopped breathing.

Zhao Yan’s eyes, dark and thunderous, swept over the room—searching, searching.

Then—

His gaze landed on her.

And for the first time, his breath staggered.

His entire body froze.

His grip, previously clenched into tight fists, slightly loosened.

Because what he saw—

Was something he would never forget.

Hua Jing.

Broken. Bruised. Bloodied.

She was barely recognizable.

Her once vibrant, proud figure was reduced to a ghost of itself.

Her wrist were swollen and raw, her lips split, her hair damp and clinging to her ashen face.

Her robes were soaked, clinging to her trembling frame—evidence of the water torture she had just endured.

Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling painfully, as if each breath was a battle.

And then, she stirred.

Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted slightly—

Trying to speak.

Trying to look at him.

A sharp, piercing pain shot through Zhao Yan’s chest.

Hua Jing...

Who did this to you?

His vision blurred with rage, his jaw tightening so hard it ached.

His hands shook, his nails digging into his palms, but no amount of pain could compare to what he was feeling now.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

Then, in a voice so gentle, so filled with undeniable emotion, he called her name.

"Hua Jing..."

His body moved on its own.

With a speed no one expected, Zhao Yan rushed forward.

The officials, the consorts, even the Emperor himself—none of them existed in that moment.

All that mattered—

Was her.

Kneeling down, he reached for her, his hands trembling as he cupped her bruised face.

The moment his warm fingers touched her icy skin, Hua Jing reacted.

Her eyes, hazy and unfocused, barely opened.

But she knew.

She felt him.

And suddenly, memories flooded her mind.

When she had her accident in her original world—she had felt this same presence.

When she had been at her lowest, struggling as an actress—she had felt him.

Had it always been him?

Why?

Why was he always there when she needed someone the most?

Why did it have to be him?

Her lips parted, a whisper of his name almost escaping—

But she couldn’t speak.

She was too weak.

Instead, she reached for him.

Her fingers, trembling, lifted weakly, trying to touch him.

But—

Her palm hit something cold.

Something hard.

His mask.

Of course.

There was always something between them.

There was always something blocking them.

Zhao Yan felt it too.

His body tensed, his throat tightening as he slowly removed one hand from her cheek—

And reached up.

For his mask.

He hesitated.

For the first time in years, he hesitated.

But then—

His name fell from her lips.

So soft. So weak.

But it shattered him completely.

With a sharp breath, Zhao Yan ripped off his mask.

The entire room gasped.

For the first time—

The Crown Prince revealed his face.

But Zhao Yan didn’t care.

His focus was only on her.

And the moment Hua Jing’s fingers finally touched his skin, her expression softened.

A small, almost invisible smile curved at the corner of her lips.

"You’re here," she whispered.

Then—

She collapsed.

Her body went limp in his arms.

The moment it happened—

Zhao Yan’s heart stopped.

"HUA JING!"

His voice shook the entire chamber.

The physician rushed forward, the guards stood frozen, the consorts looked terrified.

But Zhao Yan didn’t care about any of them.

All he knew was—

She was not breathing.

"Hua Jing!"

Zhao Yan’s voice rang through the chamber, sharp and filled with panic.

He shook her lightly, his hands trembling as they cradled her fragile body.

No response.

He shook her again, harder this time.

Still—

Nothing.

His heart slammed against his chest as a sharp, ice-cold fear crawled up his spine.

No.

No, no, no, no.

His fingers pressed against her pale neck, desperate to find a pulse.

But—

There was nothing.

For a brief second, his entire world blurred.

His ears rang, his breathing hitched, and something inside him—

Snapped.

"PHYSICIAN!" Zhao Yan’s roar shook the chamber. "COME HERE RIGHT NOW!"

The royal physician, already rushing forward, stumbled slightly at the sheer force of his voice.

"Y-Yes, Your Highness!" the old man hurried, kneeling beside them. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, pressing two fingers against Hua Jing’s wrist before lowering to her chest.

A long silence stretched.

Zhao Yan’s patience shattered.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?!" he barked.

The physician’s face had lost all color. His hands trembled slightly.

"Her—her breathing—" he stammered. "It has... stopped."

Silence.

The chamber, once filled with murmurs and whispers, plunged into eerie quiet.

Zhao Yan’s world collapsed.

Stopped?

What did he mean, stopped?

She was just speaking.

She was just looking at him.

She had smiled.

How could she—

"FIX IT!" Zhao Yan snarled, his entire body radiating pure wrath.