BLPSG Chapter 87: Veil

Several ornate, double‑canopied carriages rolled slowly into Yongdu.

 

The bronze bells hanging from the carriage corners swayed with each bump, chiming in crisp, pleasant notes.

 

Hearing the sound from afar, the common folk scattered to either side of the street.

 

Late‑summer heat still clung to the air, the shrill cicadas and the clamor of the alleys dragged one relentlessly back into the mortal world.

 

The carriages passed through the palace gates without pause. By the time Wen Qingci realized it, the familiar entrance of the Imperial Medical Bureau was already before him.

 

What differed from his memory was the palace road outside—now lined with guards.

 

“His Majesty is currently residing here. Please, this way.”

 

A servant set down the footstool and bowed deeply toward the carriage.

 

A few breaths later, pale slender fingers lifted the curtain.

 

After a brief pause, Wen Qingci raised his gaze past the servant, looking toward the familiar buildings in the distance.

 

In the late‑summer season, the century‑old magnolia stood tall in the courtyard, lush and vividly green.

 

The red pillars and carved beams beneath the tree exuded delicate craftsmanship.

 

A breeze brushed past, stirring the bird‑fright bells, ringing with a sound long engraved in his heart.

 

Wen Qingci drifted into a momentary daze.

 

…Everything reminded him that he had, in the end, returned to Yongdu.

 

Though he had steeled himself long ago, the moment he stepped into the palace, Song Junran couldn’t help recalling his parents… and Wen Qingci drenched in blood last year.

 

This palace had been tied to every nightmare he ever had.

 

Before the carriage even stopped, Song Junran leapt down and strode quickly toward Wen Qingci.

 

But a servant raised a hand, blocking his path.

 

Looking troubled, the servant bowed apologetically. “Forgive us. His Majesty specifically requested the veiled physician. We will escort you to another residence shortly. We ask for your understanding.”

 

Song Junran frowned.

 

At that moment, Wen Qingci stepped down from the carriage.

 

He turned back and said gently to his worried senior brother, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”

 

His voice was soft yet steady—he had clearly made up his mind.

 

…His junior was easygoing most of the time, but once he decided on something, no one could stop him.

 

Just like when he insisted on entering the palace for revenge.

 

Song Junran let out a quiet sigh.

 

“…Fine. Then remember what I told you.” He gave Wen Qingci a few more reminders before finally following the servant away.

 

The carriage departed with the soft jingling of bells.

 

Without the carriage blocking his view, the palace road suddenly felt wide and open.

 

“Sir, this way—”

 

Seeing Song Junran leave, the waiting servant finally exhaled in relief and hurried forward to lead Wen Qingci inside.

 

“All right.”

 

The warm late‑summer breeze lifted the white veil of his hat, brushing softly past his cheek.

 

Like a gentle caress.

 

The moment he stepped through the gates of the Imperial Medical Bureau—

 

Wen Qingci instinctively looked up toward the plaque.

 

Where the wooden sign reading “Medicine Gives Life” once hung, there was now only emptiness.

 

Clearly, the place had indeed been repurposed, just as the rumors claimed.

 

Wen Qingci unconsciously held his breath.

 

For the first twenty years of his life, he lived solely for revenge.

 

Healing the sick and plotting his way into the palace had been his entire world.

 

After regaining his memories, he had thrown himself into fighting the plague, with no time to think of anything else.

 

The more mature he was in medicine,  

the more clueless he was in matters of the heart.

 

Only during the quiet days on the carriage back to Yongdu did he finally have time to calm down and think clearly—

 

His return to Yongdu was not merely to treat Xie Bufeng.

 

As a physician, Wen Qingci always sought the root of every illness.

 

Not only to save lives, but to honor every soul who had died, so none would perish without understanding.

 

To him, clarity was more important than anything.

 

Thus, the only thing he was certain of now was this: he refused to muddle through life in confusion.

 

At the thought, he clenched his jaw.

 

Avoidance solved nothing.

 

Wen Qingci had realized that Xie Bufeng… might be different to him.

 

But what exactly was this “difference”?

 

Twenty years of medical instinct urged him to stay clear‑headed and seek the truth.

 

Having died once, he understood deeply how fragile and unpredictable life was.

 

This time, Wen Qingci wanted to give himself a chance to understand—what exactly did he feel for Xie Bufeng?

 

* * *

 

“This palace complex used to be the Imperial Medical Bureau,” the servant explained as he led Wen Qingci inside. “So it’s divided into a front and rear courtyard… His Majesty handles state affairs in the front.”

 

“He’s been recuperating in the side hall recently.”

 

Wen Qingci nodded slowly.

 

Though not large, the Imperial Medical Bureau was intricately designed, unlike most of the symmetrical palace complexes.

 

As they walked, they reached a fork in the path.

 

The servant lifted his hand to point the way—

 

But Wen Qingci naturally turned toward the direction of the side hall.

 

The servant froze for a moment.

 

Why did it feel like this physician already knew the layout?

 

Before he could think further, they had reached the side hall.

 

The servant paused, then bowed again. “Sir, His Majesty is waiting inside. You may enter and take his pulse directly.”

 

“Directly upon entering?” Wen Qingci asked.

 

Was Xie Bufeng’s condition that serious?

 

The servant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

He placed his hand on the carved wooden door.

 

The moment his words fell, the door creaked open.

 

A faint incense scent mixed with heavy medicinal fragrance drifted out.

 

Don’t panic. It’s just a pulse check.

 

Wen Qingci hesitated, steadied himself, tightened his grip on the medicine box, and stepped inside.

 

The servant withdrew at some point, closing the carved door behind him.

 

Darkness swallowed the hall.

 

Though he had been here countless times, standing in it now, Wen Qingci felt strangely unfamiliar.

 

His steps faltered. Only after his eyes adjusted did he move forward again.

 

The empty hall echoed with his footsteps.

 

His heartbeat seemed to echo just as loudly.

 

Guided by memory, he walked deeper inside.

 

The dragon‑musk incense had grown stronger.

 

The side hall wasn’t large.

 

But with the doors and windows shut, each step forward dimmed his vision further.

 

With the veil blocking his sight, he was nearly walking blind.

 

He sensed a long platform ahead.

 

Remembering the servant’s instructions, Wen Qingci hesitated, then gathered his courage and stepped up.

 

Fear came from the unknown.

 

He had prepared himself mentally before coming.

 

But stripped of sight, swallowed by darkness, Wen Qingci couldn’t help tensing—fear creeping in despite himself.

 

At that moment, he felt something cold brush his forehead.

 

His nerves snapped.

 

“Ah—!”

 

He jerked violently, stumbling back down the steps.

 

A sharp rustling crackled beside his ears, like sudden rain.

 

His breath hitched uncontrollably.

 

Once he steadied himself, he realized he had bumped into a beaded curtain.

 

“…Your… Your Majesty?” he called, trying to steady his breathing.

 

His voice drifted through the hall, unanswered.

 

After a pause, he tried again. “Your Majesty, are you here?”

 

Silence.

 

Was Xie Bufeng truly unconscious?

 

What should he do?

 

With no response, Wen Qingci inhaled deeply, lifted the medicine box, and stepped forward again.

 

The wooden steps creaked beneath him.

 

The dragon‑musk grew heavier.

 

He climbed the steps once more, stopping near the beaded curtain. Setting the medicine box aside, he reached out to find the lamp stand.

 

But then—

 

A soft sound stirred beside his ear.

 

The beaded curtain was pushed aside.

 

Wen Qingci instinctively tried to retreat.

 

He bit down hard, swallowing the cry rising in his throat.

 

But it was too late.

 

The dragon‑musk surged toward him like a storm.

 

Before he could dodge, the supposedly bedridden emperor reached through the curtain.

 

Like a serpent lurking in the shadows, his fingers hooked the white veil of Wen Qingci’s hat.

 

Wen Qingci’s breath shattered.

 

His right hand clenched his sleeve.

 

He could only vaguely sense the cold, serpent‑like fingertips brushing the veil.

 

Wen Qingci shut his eyes.

 

After a few moments, the serpent reluctantly withdrew its caress.

 

Slowly, he lifted his hand and unwound the veil.

 

The white gauze brushed Wen Qingci’s cheek as it slid down, falling softly to the floor.

 

His face was completely exposed.

 

Long, dark lashes trembled with his uneven breaths.

 

His straight nose, his lightly flushed lips—

 

And the vermilion mark on his forehead, still as vivid as ever.

 

From behind the curtain, eyes accustomed to the darkness traced every line of his face with greedy precision.

 

The next moment, Wen Qingci’s powerless left hand was gently lifted.

 

Their fingers intertwined.

 

“—Let go, Xie Bufeng!”

 

Wen Qingci finally couldn’t hold back and called his name.

 

But before he could pull away, the man behind the curtain suddenly tugged.

 

Wen Qingci lost his balance and fell forward—

 

Straight into a cold embrace.

 

It happened in an instant.

 

A broad palm pressed firmly against his lower back, cutting off any retreat.

 

Their chests pressed together.

 

Wen Qingci not only smelled the dragon‑musk—  

through the thin layers of cloth, he could feel the rise and fall of the man’s chest, unmistakably close.

 

And the cold temperature of his body, paired with a heartbeat far too fast to be normal.

Everything was in disarray.

In Wen Qingci’s ears, only chaotic breathing remained.

For a moment, he couldn’t even tell whether the breaths belonged to himself or to Xie Bufeng.

Silence stretched on.

At last, as if answering him, Xie Bufeng murmured his name with unrestrained longing.

“Wen Qingci.”

“Qingci… Qingci…”

Wen Qingci’s long lashes trembled like butterfly wings.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Once his vision adjusted to the darkness, he finally saw—Xie Bufeng was seated just behind the beaded curtain.

Everything that had happened earlier… had taken place within the span of a single breath.

Xie Bufeng had watched him walk forward.

Watched him fall into his arms.

The next moment, Xie Bufeng released Wen Qingci’s left hand.

Before he could steady himself, Xie Bufeng’s arm slid beneath his knees and lifted him.

By the time Wen Qingci realized what was happening, he was already seated sideways on Xie Bufeng’s lap.

“…”

A ringing hum filled Wen Qingci’s ears.

His mind went blank.

All the plans he had made before coming here scattered instantly.

In a daze, he realized—he was nearly six years older than Xie Bufeng, yet was being held as effortlessly as a child.

Xie Bufeng’s arms were strong and steady.

…He was no longer the youth Wen Qingci had first met.

He was an adult now.

An adult with desires.

“Your Majesty, let me go!” Wen Qingci forced out through clenched teeth.

But because of the strange posture, even he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

As expected, Xie Bufeng didn’t obey.

No longer the boy he once was, he rested his chin lightly on Wen Qingci’s shoulder.

He shook his head, whispering near Wen Qingci’s ear, “No. If I let you go, you’ll leave.”

His low voice brushed through Wen Qingci’s chest like a strand of silk.

As he spoke, his forehead brushed past Wen Qingci’s ear.

Wen Qingci shivered.

Only then did he realize—unlike the coldness of his body, Xie Bufeng’s forehead was burning with heat.

He had a fever?

Wen Qingci’s voice softened despite himself. “Your Majesty, release me first.”

“…I returned to Yongdu to treat Your Majesty. If you don’t let go, how am I supposed to take your pulse?”

“Please rest assured—I will not… disappear without a word.” Wen Qingci said through gritted teeth.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Only after receiving the promise he wanted did Xie Bufeng reluctantly loosen his hold.

He leaned close to Wen Qingci’s ear and whispered, “All right.”

Wen Qingci exhaled in relief.

Once free, his eyes…now adjusted to the dark…glanced to the side.

He quickly moved to the candle stand and lit a flame.

The small, wavering glow wasn’t enough to illuminate the entire hall.

But it added a faint, ambiguous warmth to the room.

Even one’s thoughts seemed to sway with the candlelight.

Xie Bufeng sat on the couch and slowly lifted his wrist.

Wen Qingci hesitated, then placed his fingers on it, focusing entirely on the pulse.

He never once looked up at Xie Bufeng.

Twenty years of medical practice had carved the technique into his bones.

The moment his fingers touched the skin, his mind calmed.

Within seconds, Wen Qingci knew something was wrong.

But the pulse was so chaotic that it took him a long time to discern any pattern.

The pulse stopped and started, like a sparrow pecking grain…then shifted, restless like a shrimp darting through water.

It was a complete mess.

Wen Qingci’s brows drew together.

With his memory restored, he was not someone easily deceived.

Judging by experience, Xie Bufeng wasn’t ill…he was poisoned.

And judging from the wildly disordered pulse, it wasn’t just one poison.

Xie Bufeng had always been able to hear the darkest thoughts in people’s hearts.

Poisoning him was nearly impossible.

…Let alone poisoning him with so many different toxins.

A sudden, absurd thought flashed through Wen Qingci’s mind:

Xie Bufeng poisoned himself.

“Your Majesty is not sick. You’ve been poisoned.”

His cold voice echoed through the hall.

After a moment of silence, he finally lifted his gaze and looked directly at Xie Bufeng. “Where did the poison come from?”

His expression was grave.

He did not tolerate anyone treating their own life as a joke.

But now was not the time to dwell on that.

He forced the thought aside.

His dark eyes were like a still, icy lake.

Reflecting Xie Bufeng completely.

Faced with such eyes, Xie Bufeng could not lie.

And besides… he would never lie to Wen Qingci.

A faint smile curved his lips, and the cold amber of his eyes warmed.

“Didn’t Qingci already guess?” he said softly. “I took it myself.”

His tone was calm, as if it were nothing at all.

Wen Qingci gritted his teeth. “I’m asking where the poison came from.”

“This is not a trivial matter. To detoxify, I must know exactly what you took.”

He stood before the couch, hands hanging helplessly at his sides.

Xie Bufeng didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Wen Qingci’s waist.

Wen Qingci’s waist was slender, almost too easy to hold.

Now it was completely trapped in Xie Bufeng’s grasp.

With that motion, Xie Bufeng rested his cheek lightly against Wen Qingci’s abdomen.

He let out a quiet breath, then finally answered, “It came from what you left in the Imperial Medical Bureau.”

Wen Qingci: “…”

He froze, stunned. “Your Majesty, do you even know what those medicines are? Do you know the consequences? You are the ruler of a nation, how can you treat your own body like this!”

Xie Bufeng shook his head gently.

His dark hair brushed against Wen Qingci’s waist, sending a shiver through him—nearly making his knees weaken.

Wen Qingci braced a hand against Xie Bufeng’s shoulder, trying to push him away.

But Xie Bufeng clung to him as if rooted in place.

“Xuan Yue Pill, Red Flame Pill, Li Yun Pill…” Xie Bufeng murmured, as if answering his question. “I know. If I hadn’t once tasted your blood, I would have died countless times.”

His voice vibrated softly against Wen Qingci’s abdomen.

Wen Qingci suddenly recalled the medical text Xie Bufeng had brought to Lianhe, The Physician’s Guide to Calamity.

…During the year he was gone, Xie Bufeng had apparently read through everything he left behind.

He wasn’t ignorant.

He had done it knowingly.

Wen Qingci’s voice turned colder than ever. “Your Majesty, have you lost your mind?”

Unlike the poison “Heaven’s Mercy,” the other toxins from the Valley of Divine Medicine were not incurable.

But mixing so many together, did he not fear something irreversible?

In an instant, Wen Qingci’s mind raced through possible antidotes.

And the consequences of combining these poisons.

Xie Bufeng let out a low laugh.

From Wen Qingci’s expression, he saw worry—real, raw worry.

He knew he was unwell.

He knew something in his heart had twisted.

—And in this moment, he was asking Wen Qingci to save him.

The thick palace walls kept all sound sealed outside.

In the silence, it felt as if only the two of them existed in the world.

Seeing Xie Bufeng remain silent, Wen Qingci finally couldn’t hold back. “Your Majesty, you—”

But at that exact moment, Xie Bufeng lifted his head and pressed a finger gently to Wen Qingci’s lips, stopping his words.

“Qingci. Listen to me.”

“…My greatest regret is that before leaving for the north, and after returning to Yongdu, I didn’t tell you my heart the moment I should have.”

His gaze turned unbearably fragile.

Wen Qingci’s heart hollowed out.

The young emperor in black brocade slowly rose and pulled Wen Qingci tightly into his arms.

This embrace held no hint of desire.

“I fell for someone.”

“…For a man named Wen Qingci.”

He had said these words once as a youth.

But spoken now…by a man taller than him by more than a head, a man who could lift him effortlessly…the words carried a weight impossible to ignore.

Xie Bufeng spoke his name clearly.

Wen Qingci could no longer pretend not to understand.

After a long pause, Xie Bufeng lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Wen Qingci’s hair.

 

He finally stopped pretending.

 

He laid bare the heart that pulsed with tangled, turbulent emotions.

 

“I have desire for you. Greed. And even some… shameful thoughts.”

 

Cold fingers brushed along Wen Qingci’s slightly numb left arm.

 

He said, “I remembered that night in Changyuan.”

 

“…And afterward, I wanted to do even more excessive things to you.”

 

Wen Qingci’s body trembled. He instinctively turned away, trying to avoid him.

 

But Xie Bufeng didn’t give him the chance.

 

He was utterly unrestrained today. He leaned in again, his lips brushing Wen Qingci’s ear, whispering words he had never dared say before—words he once feared would frighten him, stain him.

 

His voice was soft as a murmur.

 

But the side hall was far too quiet. Every word landed clearly and heavily in Wen Qingci’s heart.

 

Wen Qingci tried to speak, desperate to change the subject.

 

But as if predicting him, Xie Bufeng covered his lips with his palm.

 

“Song Junran must not have told you why we were at each other’s throats that day in the courtyard.”

 

He let out a faint laugh, closed his eyes, and recounted everything that had happened.

 

In an instant, Wen Qingci’s left arm…already tingling…flared with heat, as if scorched.

 

Xie Bufeng… truly was a madman.

 

Wen Qingci’s eyes widened involuntarily.

 

His thoughts scattered into chaos.

 

When Xie Bufeng finally finished speaking, silence fell.

 

Only shallow breaths lingered in Wen Qingci’s ears.

 

After a long pause, Xie Bufeng lowered his hand.

 

He looked at Wen Qingci with a strange sense of relief, and at last revealed the true purpose of everything he had done today:

 

“So now… will you hate me?”

The faint candlelight flickered in his eyes. He looked cautious, tense.

 

Xie Bufeng slowly released him.

 

“What are you trying to achieve by telling me all this?” Wen Qingci asked, struggling to steady his breath.

 

Those dark eyes…usually unreadable…now clearly revealed their owner’s emotions.

 

Unease. Tension. Confusion.

 

…If Xie Bufeng wanted to force him to save him, he could have kept all of this hidden.

 

Why say it?

 

Why tell him everything?

 

“I only wanted you to know what kind of person you were trying to save… I’m dangerous. I have many unworthy thoughts. Unless I die, I can’t let go of my obsession.”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll do something you’ll despise.”

 

For example, marching to Songxiu Prefecture and sending troops into the mountains to find the Valley of Divine Medicine.

 

He feared he would truly lose control.

 

Feared that the cage of reason could no longer restrain the wild beast in his heart.

 

At that thought, a sharp pain struck Xie Bufeng’s chest.

 

Just imagining Wen Qingci despising him made him unbearably anxious—terrified.

 

Xie Bufeng met Wen Qingci’s gaze and spoke slowly, each word deliberate:

 

“If you hate me… if you never want to see me again… you may leave Yongdu today, even at this very moment. I won’t stop you. I won’t interfere. Once the poison takes its course and I suffer the consequences, no one will ever bind your freedom again.”

 

“As for everything today… just think of it as my selfishness.”

 

Wen Qingci’s voice was dry. “Why call it selfishness?”

 

Xie Bufeng’s gaze drifted northward.

 

“When I fought the northern tribes, I nearly died on the battlefield countless times.”

 

“I wasn’t afraid then. Only… regretful.”

 

Wen Qingci finally looked up at him.

 

He heard Xie Bufeng say, “Regretful that I might die without seeing you one last time. Without saying a proper farewell.”

 

As he spoke, the young emperor’s eyes were filled with longing.

 

“So if you truly despise me… if you never want to see me again…”

 

“Then don’t hide. And don’t disappear without a word.”

 

“Just today—say a proper goodbye.”

 

In that instant, Wen Qingci forgot how to breathe.

 

His body trembled uncontrollably, and his eyes reddened in an instant.

 

He had lived his life surrounded by death.

 

He had never feared it.

 

He thought he could face it calmly.

 

He thought he could accept the death of anyone—including himself.

 

But in this moment—

 

In the instant Xie Bufeng finished speaking—

 

Wen Qingci suddenly understood the first question of the day.

 

—He did not want Xie Bufeng to die.

 

Even after everything he said, he still did not want him to die.