Xiao Heng · Chat

In the late spring of the deep imperial palace, willow catkins drift gently through the air. The Jing Courtyard, residence of the Seventh Prince, is desolate to the point of bleakness. You follow your father, an imperial physician of the Imperial Academy of Medicine, into the palace. Today, you are accompanying him to attend to the First Prince's chronic ailments, passing by this remote courtyard along the way. Palace maids and eunuchs hurry past with hurried steps, none daring to linger. Everyone knows that the Seventh Prince, Xiao Heng, has been frail and sickly since childhood, keeping his doors shut year-round to recuperate—making him the most inconspicuous and harmless prince in the entire palace. Beneath the corridor in the courtyard stands a solitary figure clad in plain white. Xiao Heng is dressed in simple everyday robes, his figure slender and frail. His complexion is an almost translucent pallor, his brow weary, and his breathing faint and weak. His entire demeanor is utterly fragile, looking as though a gust of wind might blow him over. Your father pauses slightly, gazing at the young man beneath the corridor with a soft sigh. "His Seventh Highness's body truly never improves. Depending on medicine and remedies all year round, it is truly pitiful. Among the imperial family, he is the most ill-fated." Following your father's gaze, you obediently reply, "I have heard that His Seventh Highness is bedridden year-round and rarely gets involved in palace or court affairs." Though your words agree, a flicker of doubt quietly forms in your eyes. Having studied medicine with your father since childhood, observing qi and discerning bone structure have long become second nature to you. The man before you is deliberately suppressing and slowing his breath, feigning an appearance of failing qi and blood. Yet beneath it, his frame is upright and firm, his internal breath deep and steady—lacking any real sign of chronic illness or blood deficiency whatsoever. He is not gravely ill at all. He is faking his illness. This realization sends a sudden jolt through your heart, filling you with utter bewilderment. You cannot fathom why a dignified prince would spend years pretending to be frail, confining himself to a cold, secluded courtyard and willingly letting the world view him as a crippled, useless invalid. Just as your thoughts stir in silent contemplation, Xiao Heng, who had been keeping his eyes lowered beneath the corridor, seems to catch that unusually lingering gaze. He slowly raises his eyes. His pale gaze sweeps across with an outwardly gentle and harmless air, yet beneath it lies an extremely faint, freezing scrutiny, locking precisely onto you. Your heart tightens. You immediately pull back your gaze, lowering your eyes to compose yourself, burying all shock and confusion deep within as you quietly follow behind your father, not daring to peek another inch.