Xia Wuyang formed a Sealing Technique with his hands, and the Crane Pattern Furnace hummed to life.
The furnace fire ignited, glowing a faint, glassy color. This was a flame born from the Spiritual Power of his Enchanting Heart Scripture; its temperature was stable, its control was meticulous, and its effects were extraordinary.
Bolstered by his talent as an Alchemy Genius, every step was as smooth as flowing water, executed with pinpoint accuracy.
The medicinal ingredients were added in sequence: extraction, fusion, Pill Formation...
Time slipped by quietly. The Practice Room filled with the aroma of herbs. Xia Wuyang was completely focused, fine beads of sweat forming on his temples, yet he was oblivious, utterly immersed in his work.
After a full three hours, a strange, resonant hum suddenly came from within the furnace.
"Open!"
Xia Wuyang let out a low cry, and the furnace lid flew open.
Six Elixirs flew out. They were an earthy yellow color, like the vast, boundless land itself.
Every single one could be considered a masterpiece, with excellent effects.
Xia Wuyang carefully placed the Elixirs into a specially made Cold Jade Bottle and let out a long sigh of relief.
A great weight was finally lifted from his heart.
He walked to the window and pushed it open a crack.
Outside, the night was as black as ink. In the distance, the lights of the palaces flickered in the darkness like the eyes of lurking beasts.
There was no moon over White Jade City. Heavy, dark clouds, like cotton wool soaked in ink, pressed down on the upturned eaves of the Imperial City, threatening to burst at any moment.
The sweltering heat of the day had not yet dissipated. A humid, sticky warmth clung to every inch of the air. Even the wind was too listless to stir, as if afraid of the heat.
The lights in Wenhua Hall had long since been extinguished, leaving only a few ever-burning lamps deep within the Sleeping Palace, their hazy, yellow glow filtering through the gauze curtains.
The Palace Attendants on night duty dozed against the corridor pillars. Occasionally, the heavy footsteps of the patrolling Imperial Guard echoed from a distant Palace Lane, each thud seeming to land on one’s heart.
The stone door of the Practice Room slid open without a sound. Xia Wuyang had changed out of the loose silk shirt he wore during the day and was now dressed in a suit of black Night Clothes. The fabric was a fine, dark-patterned brocade that blended almost perfectly with the shadows.
His long hair was tied back with a black ribbon. His face was already altered with a Disguise, covered by a Human Skin Mask. His eyes shone startlingly bright in the darkness; an azure starlight and a faint golden illusion of a dragon and tiger swirled and alternated deep within his pupils, a truly bizarre sight.
Like a weightless leaf, he drifted out of Wenhua Hall and, with a few leaps, melted into the shadows of the palace walls.
He silently activated his Soul Enchantment Technique, testing its effects. Invisible Spiritual Threads spread out like a spider’s web. All the Palace Attendants, Guards, and even the Shadow Guards hiding in the dark along his path felt only a slight dizziness, a momentary trance, before everything returned to normal. They were completely unaware that someone had just slipped past them.
The Enchanting Heart Scripture, when combined with the Soul Enchantment Technique, was far more effective than ever before.
His destination was Lizheng Hall, the residence of Crown Prince Consort Yun Liyue. Now that he had created the Heart-Protecting Pill, he had to give it to Pan Mo as soon as possible.
Lizheng Hall was adjacent to a small lotus pond. Ever since Pan Mo had been afflicted with the Heart-devouring Poison and began to fall into frequent comas, Yun Liyue, for the sake of her safety and to provide better care, had brought the devoted Second Class Attendant Pan into her own palace. She was now recuperating in Qiuwu Pavilion, a secluded side hall on the west side.
Xia Wuyang moved like a phantom, weaving through the sprawling palace complexes without being detected by anyone.
His familiarity with this Imperial City far surpassed that of any Prince or Princess.
Every turn of every corridor, every hidden crevice in every rockery, even the course of every underground drainage channel, was deeply etched into his memory, never forgotten.
This was the place where he had grown up. It was also the place where, in his prime, he had held sway over half the empire. Now, it was also where countless small animals acted as his eyes and ears.
Before long, the silhouette of Lizheng Hall came into view.
The hall here was not as grand as the Empress’s Kunning Palace, but it possessed a certain refined and elegant air.
It had white walls, green tiles, and eaves that soared like wings. A row of delicate bamboo wind chimes—quite a number of them—hung under the corridor.
When the night breeze passed through, they made a soft, crisp tinkling sound, like raindrops falling on a Jade Disc. It was quite pleasant to the ear.
In the small lotus pond before the hall, a few late-blooming white lotuses stood silently in the night. Their petal edges glowed with a faint, moon-like luminescence. A cool, clear fragrance wafted through the air in delicate wisps, dispelling some of the oppressive heat.
Xia Wuyang didn’t go to the main entrance. Instead, he circled around to the base of the western wall.
Here stood a century-old osmanthus tree, its dense leaves and branches forming a canopy that perfectly concealed the rear window of Qiuwu Pavilion, making it difficult for an ordinary person to spot.
But to Xia Wuyang, everything was perfectly clear.
With a light tap of his toes, he leaped weightlessly onto a branch and peered into the room through a half-open, carved wooden window.
The candlelight was warm and soft. The room’s furnishings were simple yet elegant.
A deep-cyan Persian rug with a Twisted Lotus Pattern covered the floor. Against the wall stood a Treasure Pavilion, on which were arranged various porcelains, jade trinkets, and thread-bound books... They weren’t worth much, but they were very stylish.
Near the window was a Purple Sandalwood Writing Desk, with ink, brushes, paper, and an inkstone all neatly arranged. On the desk, a sky-blue-after-rain porcelain vase held a few freshly cut stems of Late Fragrant Jade. Their snow-white blossoms were half-open, releasing a sweet, subtle fragrance that filled the entire room.
The most eye-catching thing was the *huanghuali* canopy bed in the inner chamber, draped with misty gauze curtains. The canopy was a very pale lotus-root purple, giving it a refined look.
It was embroidered with a fine Twisted Lotus Pattern in Silver Thread. The curtains were currently drawn halfway back, held loosely by a pair of white jade hooks, looking as if they might slip free at any moment.
The person lying on the bed was covered with an apricot-red silk quilt. The quilt cover was embroidered with twin lotuses on a single stem, the stitches fine and the colors vibrant. It only served to accentuate the frail, delicate body beneath it, which seemed as if it might be swept away by the wind at any moment.
That was Pan Mo, his Second Class Attendant Pan.
Xia Wuyang held his breath, watching silently for a long time. A look of self-reproach flashed across his brow.
Even in her deep slumber, even after months of torment from the Heart-devouring Poison, she was still beautiful.
It was a beauty that was bone-deep, a refined and ethereal beauty like that of a lady in a classical painting. The so-called classic beauties and celebrities from his past life could not compare to her in the slightest.
Her jet-black hair cascaded like a cloud-like waterfall across the pillow. There were no hairpins or ornaments in it, only a small, jade-carved Jasmine flower pinned at her temple—her favorite flower.
The petals were as thin as a cicada’s wings, glowing with a gentle luster in the candlelight, yet they could not hold a candle to the Beauty’s own radiance.
Her forehead was smooth and full, her brows shaped like distant mountains of black ink—naturally elegant and exuding an ancient charm.
Right now, they were slightly furrowed, as if she were still suffering even in her dreams, which made Xia Wuyang’s heart ache all the more.
Her eyelashes were long and thick, casting a small, fan-shaped shadow beneath her eyes, trembling slightly with each breath.
Her face was no bigger than his palm, with a delicate, pointed chin. Her complexion was pale, the kind seen after a long illness, yet it was still as fine and flawless as the highest quality suet-fat jade.
Her nose was straight and elegant. Her lips were pale, a bloodless shade of pink, but their shape was as lovely as a flower petal—a shape he had tasted many times before.
The corners of her mouth curled up naturally, as if she wore a gentle smile even in her coma, warming the hearts of all who saw her.

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