Chapter Fifty-Four: The City in Turmoil

Ling Zetian tossed and turned alone in the Palace of Morning Clouds, unable to sleep. Qin Ruyan’s actions tonight had stirred up a flood of memories—so many things he thought he’d forgotten, yet they returned to haunt him. The past, it seemed, could never truly be erased.

At that moment, Eunuch Sun gently knocked at his door from outside the hall. “Your Majesty, have you retired for the night?”

“No, what is it?” Sun rarely disturbed him at such a late hour, so Ling Zetian suspected something had happened.

“News from Twilight Palace, Your Majesty. Consort Qin is burning with fever and cannot be calmed.”

At this, Ling Zetian immediately rose, dressed, and opened the door. “Have you summoned the imperial physicians?”

“They are already attending to her at Twilight Palace, Your Majesty. I merely came to inform you.”

Ling Zetian nodded and closed the door, intending to return to bed, but worry gnawed at his heart. Since he could not sleep, he decided to see Qin Ruyan himself.

When he arrived at Twilight Palace, a group of elderly physicians were still tending to her. Upon seeing him, they all knelt to pay their respects. Ling Zetian inquired after her condition and learned that Qin Ruyan had merely caught a chill—nothing serious, and she had already taken medicine. With a few days of rest, she would recover. Only then did he feel at ease.

After instructing the attendants to tidy up and withdraw, Ling Zetian resolved to stay with Qin Ruyan that night.

She had never known affection since childhood, and now, having lost her only remaining kin, she must be suffering deeply.

“Aye…” Hearing her murmur his name in her fevered sleep, Ling Zetian hesitated, then took her hand in his. Her palm was burning hot, so unlike the usual coolness. Even in illness, her thoughts were of him. Ling Zetian began to wonder if he had been too heartless toward her. He suddenly found himself uncertain about his own feelings for Qin Ruyan.

He had believed himself long past caring, that he had let go. Yet seeing her like this, he could not help but feel pity.

Did he still love her, then?

At dawn the next day, Qin Ruyan’s fever had broken. When she opened her eyes, she saw Ling Zetian sleeping at the head of the bed, his eyes closed, and she herself resting in his arms.

Had he stayed by her side all night in this position? A wave of sweetness washed over her heart. He still cared for her, didn’t he? Otherwise, why would he worry so much?

Yet at the same time, a trace of sorrow crept in. If that were so, why had he been so cold for nearly a month now, making her almost lose all hope?

She shifted her head slightly, only to feel Ling Zetian’s hand move as if he were waking. Quickly, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

A warm hand touched her forehead, just as before—steady and reassuring, filling her with peace.

“Good, the fever’s gone.” She then heard Ling Zetian’s soft murmur. He gently moved her head to the pillow, as though afraid to disturb her rest, then gave instructions to the young maid waiting outside before leaving Twilight Palace.

She guessed that Ling Zetian was heading back to the Palace of Morning Clouds to tidy himself before court. Being emperor was truly exhausting—three hundred sixty-five days a year, without weekends or rest days as others had. Every day, he must rise on time, begin anew the endless cycle of governance, meals, sleep, and rise again the next morning. It must be tedious, doing the same thing for so many years.

Lying cozily in her warm bed, Qin Ruyan felt her heart fill with warmth. Suddenly, another thought arose—perhaps she would not leave after all. In the end, she still loved Ling Zetian too much. There were so many things she had yet to do with him; she could not bear to let go.

As dawn broke, the streets were still quiet, though a few breakfast vendors and housewives out shopping could be seen. A small child in blue, carrying a little bundle on his back, caught the eye of passersby. People pointed and whispered, and some kindly women asked, “Child, are you lost?”

“No.” Young Ling Shunuo’s answer had shifted from initial delight to growing impatience. At first, the attention had pleased him, but now he felt these people were simply meddlesome, and he no longer wished to answer. Anyone would tire of repeating themselves so often, and he was no exception.

He was clear about his goal: to leave the city before Ling Zexin discovered his absence. Otherwise, the city would surely be sealed, and escape would become impossible.

Meanwhile, at Prince Xin’s residence, the servants had prepared breakfast and were about to wake the young prince. They knocked for a long time, but there was no response. Pushing open the door, they found the room empty—no sign of the little prince. The maid, terrified, rushed to find Ling Zexin.

“My lord, bad news! The little prince is gone!”

“What? Gone?” Ling Zexin was not immediately alarmed. After all, Ling Shunuo was only four—how far could he have gone? “Send people to search the residence.”

“Yes, sir.” The maid hurried away to pass on his orders, while Ling Zexin himself went to check Anuo’s room.

The room was a guest chamber, rarely used. Ling Zexin searched thoroughly and was suddenly aghast. It seemed the boy really had run away. Ling Shunuo, precocious as he was, could already discern valuables from junk; all the precious trinkets in the guest room were missing.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. He needed to send people to find Ling Shunuo quickly and keep a close watch on him. He wasn’t worried for the boy’s safety—escaping from the prince’s residence would be no easy feat for a four-year-old—but he did need to get him back soon.

This child was as mischievous as Sakura’s Fall. Last night, it had taken him half the night to comfort Sakura’s Fall and coax her to sleep. He’d even told the servants not to call her for breakfast. And now, with Sakura’s Fall finally calm, Ling Shunuo had disappeared instead—truly giving him no peace at all. He was a prince, after all; how had his life become so wretched?

Half an hour later, the servants reported that they had searched every corner of the residence, but there was no sign of Ling Shunuo.

Now, Ling Zexin was beginning to panic. Had the boy really managed to escape the residence?

Not long after, another report came that, in the backyard, traces were found of someone crawling out through a hole hidden in the undergrowth. Ling Zexin rushed over and discovered it was merely a dog’s tunnel. He couldn’t help but marvel at the boy’s ingenuity and sharp mind.

Now truly worried, Ling Zexin immediately sent someone with his command token to order the city gates closed, dispatched a messenger to inform Ling Zetian at the palace that Anuo was missing, and ordered every servant to scour the streets in plain clothes for any trace of young Ling Shunuo. Having done all this, he hurried personally to the city gate to keep watch, fearful that the guards might let Ling Shunuo slip through.

He was resigned to being scolded by Ling Zetian—being berated was a small matter, but if anything happened to that boy—if he were abducted, kidnapped, or worse—he would be utterly ruined. He cursed himself for not posting a guard on Ling Shunuo the previous night, too distracted by worries over Sakura’s Fall.

But by the time he had finished all this, Ling Shunuo was already out of the city, bundle on his back, riding a donkey cart away from the place he had always called home.

He had no idea where he was going, nor did he care. For now, he would simply take things one step at a time. If things became untenable, he’d find a way to contact his father and have someone fetch him.

With these thoughts, he felt much better. He had grown weary of the palace’s cage-like life—so many lessons, so much homework and such strict demands, leaving him no time to play. He felt that, prince though he was, his own childhood happiness paled in comparison to that of ordinary children.

And he was right. Most commoners’ children started school much later, and at his age, they were free to run wild in the streets. But for him, even a brief romp through the palace would earn a scolding—or worse, a beating—from his father.

He had grown up under constant protection, first in the summer palace, then in the imperial palace, and knew nothing of the world’s dangers. At first, he was thrilled by his escape, but as the donkey cart traveled farther and the morning wore on, he began to feel bored—and even a little regretful.

Meanwhile, upon receiving Ling Zexin’s urgent message, Ling Zetian flew into a rage and summoned Ling Zexin to the palace immediately.

Although Ling Shunuo was not his own son, he had promised Yan Wuying to care for his wife and child. Now that Qin Rushui was dead, his remorse for Yan Wuying and Qin Ruyan was channeled into even greater care for Ling Shunuo.

If anything happened to Ling Shunuo this time, how could he face Yan Wuying again? He would not allow such a thing to happen.

Thus, that morning, the entire capital was thrown into chaos. Ling Zetian, putting everything else aside, dispatched hundreds of imperial guards to search every house, hoping to find Ling Shunuo as quickly as possible.

Rumors quickly spread through the city—something must have gone wrong in the palace.

By midday, the guards reported back to Ling Zetian: they had found nothing.

Such a large-scale search failing to turn up any trace could mean only one thing—Ling Shunuo was no longer in the city, and no one knew how far he’d gone. Ling Zetian was frantic, fearing for the boy’s safety outside. He immediately dispatched Wei Long and Yu Fan, leading the Imperial Guards, to search beyond the city for any sign of Ling Shunuo.