The Sickly Regent Prince Who Was Abandoned as a Substitute Bride

Chapter 575

“It’s the poison of corpses attacking the heart.” Dongfang Wan’er used her sword to lift the sleeve of a corpse, revealing spiderweb-like purple patterns on the festering skin, with dark purple scabs forming around the wounds. “In Jiangzhou, the disease starts with the flesh rotting; here, it starts with the blood going bad.” As she turned, she caught sight of a little girl curled up at the street corner, cradling her already dead mother in her arms, dark red blood still clinging to her lips.

The copper basin in the medical tent had been filled with blood seventeen times, yet the Jiangzhou prescription tested in the first seven days seemed to have vanished without a trace. Ying Yi stood guard in the intensive care unit, watching as the boy who had just taken the medicine suddenly coughed up blood from his mouth and nose, staining the medicinal soup he had personally prepared. Dongfang Wan'er dozed off in front of her desk piled high with medical books, dreaming again of the white-robed old man's crane phantom. When she awoke, she found that the "Thousand Gold Prescriptions" were soaked with tears, blurring the four characters "fighting poison with poison."

“Go to the mass grave in the north of the city.” At dawn on the fifth day, Dongfang Wan’er suddenly pulled off the jade hairpin from her temple. “Ancient books say, ‘Where bones rot, there will surely be resilient grasses.’” Ying Yi pressed her hand to his chest, where the needle marks from the medicine trials in Jiangzhou still remained. “I’ll go. You stay here to record the symptoms.” He draped himself in a linen cloth soaked in garlic juice, three short blades tucked into his waistband, and his departing figure in the morning light resembled a suicide soldier who had infiltrated the enemy camp years ago.

The stench of decay in the mass grave had solidified into a tangible form, and with each step, Shadow One had to slash at the tangled corpse vines with his sword. Just as he was about to fall into the pit, he caught a glimpse of a ghostly purple hue flashing through a crevice in the cliff face—it was a blade of grass shaped like a butterfly orchid, its veins shimmering with a mercury-like luster. The moment he reached out to touch it, the vines suddenly tightened, and the sticky sap on the thorns, upon touching his skin, immediately caused a burning, excruciating pain.

"Take it back!" Ying Yi rushed into the medical tent, half his body swollen and purple, yet he still held the herbs wrapped in lotus leaves high. Dongfang Wan'er, trembling, ground the herbs into a paste, mixed it with Ice Heart Jade Dew and Life-Sustaining Pill powder, and fed it to the most critically ill patient. A miracle occurred at dawn: the previously unstoppable nosebleed gradually faded, and his purplish-black lips regained a pale red hue. As the first rays of sunlight illuminated the tent, the little girl tugged at Ying Yi's clothes and said in a childish voice, "Big brother's hands are like purple radishes."

As the smoke from the chimneys of Yuzhou City rose again, Dongfang Wan'er noticed that Ying Yi's hand, hidden in his sleeve, was badly festering. She forced back tears as she applied medicine to his wound, only to hear him laugh and say, "This purple-leafed grass grows where the corpse poison is most intense, it seems to have grown specifically to counteract this disease. Tell me, didn't someone... predict this long ago?" Outside the window, wild geese flew across the gray-blue sky in a V-formation. Looking at the bloodshot in his eyes, she suddenly remembered the jade slip left by the old man in white before he left—inscribed with "Heavenly secrets cannot be fully fathomed," which now seemed to glow warmly in the spring breeze.

Late at night, the two shared the last piece of hard bread atop the city wall. Dongfang Wan'er gazed at the newly marked red dot on the map indicating the epidemic area, her fingertip tracing the characters "Youzhou." Yingyi handed her a warm wine flask, the wine still carrying the lingering scent of purple leaves. In the distance, the watchman's gong sounded; before the third strike had even fallen, the neighing of a fast horse pierced the night. They exchanged a glance, simultaneously reaching for the sword at their waists—what kind of plague, what kind of dawn, would it bring this time?

A north wind whipped up yellow sand, lashing against the cowhide curtain of the medical tent. The thunderous hoofbeats of a swift horse drew nearer, startling a few sickly crows from among the withered grass. The messenger, his dark cloak soaked with cold sweat, stumbled into the tent before the reins were properly fastened, his knuckles white from gripping the bamboo tube too tightly. He knelt on the rough stone floor, his throat rumbling with labored breaths: "Urgent military report... Youzhou... an emergency!"

Dongfang Wan'er lightly tapped the table with her fingertips, the gilded armor striking the bronze inkstone with a clear sound. The moment she unfolded the plain silk, the scent of ink mingled with the stench of blood wafted out. She stared at the hastily written report, her brows gradually hardening into frost—the plague in Yuzhou was merely a harbinger; in Youzhou city, over a hundred people were dying suddenly every day, the cries of children and the wails of women mingling with the funeral suonas, turning the entire city into a living hell.

"Prepare the horses." She slammed the document heavily on the table, the jade bracelet clanging against the glass. The bronze mirror reflected her pale face, the pearl hairpin at her temple trembling slightly with the movement. Yingyi was already standing outside the tent, his muscular physique clad in black, a medicine pouch and soft sword at his waist swaying slightly with each step. As the two mounted their warhorses, the western sunset painted the clouds a blood-red hue.

Three days later, the gates of Youzhou city swung open, and a stench of decay mixed with the smell of medicine assaulted the senses. Unburied corpses lay strewn across the flagstone path, flies swarming around their purplish-black lips and noses. A dying woman huddled in a corner, her withered fingers futilely clutching the hem of a passerby's garment, emitting dying hoarse sounds. Dongfang Wan'er's deerskin boots crunched over the congealed viscous fluid, realizing with horror that this was no ordinary plague—the deceased's fingernails were black and curled, dark green liquid seeped from her seven orifices, and even the relatives keeping vigil by her bedside were stained with spiderweb-like black spots.

The medical tent was filled with the strong smell of mugwort, yet it couldn't mask the nauseatingly sweet and pungent odor. Dongfang Wan'er knelt before the sickbed, a silver needle wrapped in a plain handkerchief inserted into the patient's throat; the needle tip instantly turned black. She suddenly noticed the little beggar huddled in the corner; the black spots on the child's neck snaked like venomous snakes, and his pupils glowed with an eerie blue light.

"Miss, look at this!" Shadow One's voice came from behind the wooden shelves piled high with ancient books. Yellowed silk pages fluttered in the candlelight, the faded characters detailing the "Bone-Eating Gu," a poison lost for centuries—this Gu was crafted from a hundred insects and poisonous miasma; those afflicted would suffer internal organ decay within seven days, and their corpses would become new sources of poison after death. The distorted face in the illustration was identical to the patient before her, and the final line of vermilion annotation stung her eyes: "Only those of royal blood can be cured."

The night wind whipped the curtains, extinguishing the candles. Dongfang Wan'er gripped the dagger at her waist in the darkness. The hoarse sound of the night watchman's clapper drifted in from outside the window, but couldn't drown out the faint ringing of copper bells in the distance. She and Yingyi exchanged a glance, seeing the same cold glint in each other's eyes—behind this plague, there might be a shocking conspiracy capable of overthrowing a dynasty.

A waning moon hung above the dilapidated eaves, casting a distorted and elongated shadow of the little beggar. Dongfang Wan'er crouched down, her fingertips dipping into the dark brown viscous liquid at the base of the wall—the very secretion characteristic of the Bone-Eating Gu when it flares up. Ying Yi, following the damp footprints, found half a straw sandal print covered in the remnants of a Gu worm among the rubble; the trail vanished abruptly before the spiderweb-covered moon gate.

Inside the dilapidated temple, dust piled three feet high, and the faded murals gleamed an eerie bluish-white under the moonlight. Dongfang Wan'er's tinderbox illuminated the mottled brick walls, and her pupils suddenly contracted—on the cinnabar-painted totem, a three-headed snake's tail was entwined with half a dragon-shaped jade pendant, the very symbol of the royal secret Gu technique's restrictive spell. She reached out to touch the dark purple powder that had condensed between the bricks, and suddenly smelled a very faint scent of ambergris mixed with the fishy smell of Gu insects.

"Watch out!" Shadow One's soft sword flashed through the air, barely blocking the poisoned dagger that came from behind. More than twenty dark figures leaped down from between the beams like ghosts, their eyes peeking out from the gaps in their masks gleaming with a bloodthirsty light. Dongfang Wan'er spun around to avoid the flying stones, her sword tip flicking off the opponent's sleeve, revealing a dark pattern embroidered with gold thread—the unique cloud and thunder pattern of the inner court guards.

The deafening clang of metal clashing during the entanglement was deafening. Ying Yi skillfully deflected the longsword aimed at his face, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the arc of his opponent's sword swing: three fingers slightly hooked as the wrist flipped, which was the "Three Transformations of Startling Swan" taught by the Imperial Guard instructor! Just as he was about to remind Dongfang Wan'er, the cold light had already brushed past her neck, lifting a few strands of her hair.

Suddenly, a muffled groan escaped the chaotic battle. Dongfang Wan'er's dagger pierced the leather pouch at the black-clad man's waist, and the bronze token fell to the ground with a crisp sound. Moonlight illuminated the engraved seal character "御" (Yu, meaning Imperial) on the token, and traces of the cinnabar ink unique to the Imperial Study remained on the worn edges. Thunder roared in her heart, and she wielded her longsword, creating a flurry of sword flowers. Under Ying Yi's cover, she fought and retreated, her boots crushing the corpses of Gu worms scattered on the ground.

On the way back to the medical tent, the horse's hooves shattered the moon's reflection in the puddles. Dongfang Wan'er clutched the blood-stained token, recalling the royal Gu technique manual she had seen in the Imperial Hospital as a child—each imperial token corresponded to a different royal lineage. Ying Yi suddenly pulled on the reins: "During the fight just now, someone shouted 'The Second Prince has given orders'..." Before he could finish speaking, a terrified scream came from afar, and new fires blazed in the city.

The palace walls stood tall and imposing, their copper-studded gates gleaming coldly in the morning mist. Dongfang Wan'er stroked the jade pendant bestowed upon her by the late emperor at her waist; the Imperial Guards at the gate paled upon seeing the token. As she passed through the winding corridor, she noticed the newly replaced palace lanterns—the tassels were made of mugwort, a herb believed to ward off evil, indicating that the palace was aware of the Gu poison.

The air in the Golden Palace was thick with the scent of ambergris. The Emperor stroked the diagram of the Bone-Eating Gu on his desk, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. When Dongfang Wan'er presented the blood-stained token, the ministers below erupted in uproar. "Nonsense!" The Minister of Rites' court beads clattered. "His Highness the Second Prince is benevolent..." Before he could finish, the Emperor suddenly overturned his desk, shattering a celadon teacup against a dragon-carved pillar. "Go to the Imperial Clan Court! Retrieve the Second Prince's private seal!"

As dusk deepened, Dongfang Wan'er stood in the shadows of the palace walls, gazing in the direction the Imperial Guards had sped out of the palace. Ying Yi handed her a bowl of warm medicinal soup, with several highly poisonous herbs at the bottom—the antidote he had extracted from the powdered Gu worms in the dilapidated temple. The night wind whipped her cloak, and faint cries drifted from afar. This race against time to find the antidote would ultimately tear a sliver of hope through the vortex of power struggles.

The imperial guards' hooves pounded the morning dew, and three fast horses came to a screeching halt before the Taiji Hall, kicking up dust. The leading general knelt on one knee, a brocade box embroidered with a coiled dragon in gold thread gleaming coldly in the morning light. The emperor's fingernails dug deeply into the imperial desk, and as the box lid was opened, the sweet, metallic scent of vermilion ink mixed with the aroma of sandalwood wafted out—the mark of the second prince's private seal matched perfectly with the indentation on the blood-stained token.

"You unfilial son!" As the dragon robe fluttered, the jade thumb ring shattered into dust on the gold brick floor. When the Second Prince was dragged into the imperial prison, his crown hung askew on his hair, and his pale face flushed from the struggle: "Father, please investigate! Your son has been worshipping Buddha at the Western Mountain Palace recently, there is absolutely no such thing!" The sandalwood prayer beads on his wrist fell to the ground, rolling into the dark corner of the prison cell, emitting soft sobs.

Dongfang Wan'er stared at the confession brought by the jailer, the candlelight distorting the ink. The "black-clad man's jade token code," repeatedly mentioned by the Second Prince, subtly echoed the royal totem seen in the dilapidated temple. Ying Yi suddenly flung open the window, the cold night wind whipping a few withered leaves into the room: "The little beggar lingered outside the Prime Minister's residence. Today I saw the newly replaced door studs on his door—a unique amulet style from the Southern Frontier."

As the waning moon climbed once more above the eaves of the dilapidated temple, Dongfang Wan'er's fingertips were already bleeding. She groped behind the statue until she found the seventh blue brick; the dark red bloodstains between the stones hadn't completely dried. As the hidden compartment creaked open, a musty-smelling secret letter slipped into her palm. The tiny characters gleamed eerily blue in the moonlight: "When Youzhou is utterly destroyed, His Majesty will personally come to provide disaster relief. At that time..." The vermilion seal at the end was none other than the White Tiger emblem used exclusively in the Prime Minister's study.

On the way back to the palace, dark clouds obscured the last ray of starlight. Dongfang Wan'er wrapped the secret letter in layers of oiled paper and hid it close to her body inside her plain-colored inner garment. Yingyi's soft sword trembled slightly in its sheath, as if it had already foreseen the impending storm. When the palace gates slowly opened, they saw that the candlelight in the imperial study had not been extinguished all night, and the guards in the corridor had changed to unfamiliar faces—clearly, the prime minister had already noticed something.

As the morning bell startled the crows, the prime minister was stroking his long beard and speaking eloquently: "Your Majesty, the second prince harbors wolfish ambitions, and now..." His words trailed off as Dongfang Wan'er, carrying a secret letter, stepped into the palace, the sound of her embroidered shoes crunching on the golden bricks exceptionally clear. The prime minister's pupils contracted sharply, veins bulged beneath his sleeves, and he nearly dropped the ivory tablet in his hand.

"What a 'worried' look!" The emperor's roar made the coiled dragon pattern on the beam tremble slightly. The imperial guards surged in like a tide, pinning the ashen-faced prime minister to the ground. The sachet at his waist opened, releasing several southern border Gu worms that gleamed with an eerie purple light in the morning glow.

Meanwhile, the Imperial Medical Academy was filled with the aroma of medicine. Dongfang Wan'er placed the last ingredient, Snow Soul Grass, into the alchemy furnace, while Ying Yi gently fanned the flames. As the bluish-white medicinal mist filled the entire courtyard, they had finally prepared the antidote. A fast horse carrying a wooden box full of medicine bottles galloped towards Youzhou, and in the dust raised along the way, one could almost hear the cries of the people who had survived the catastrophe.

Three months later, the sounds of vendors hawking their wares echoed once more in Youzhou City. Dongfang Wan'er stood atop the city wall, watching children chase kites across the cobblestone streets. Ying Yi handed over warm tea, the goji berries floating on the surface like tiny sparks. In the distance, at the clinic, the last patient was leaving; the once hideous black spot on his neck was now just a faint scar, gleaming with a newfound luster in the sunlight.

The cicadas of Youzhou were still chirping noisily on the branches, and a thin layer of frost had already formed on the celadon cup on Dongfang Wan'er's desk. The plain white letter fluttered lightly to the side of the inkstone, the uninked characters penetrating the paper, the ink faintly tinged with dark red—a warning written in blood. Yingyi's fingers traced the edge of the letter, then suddenly pinched a corner and gently tore it. Half a dried datura petal slipped from the lining, a secret mark unique to the sorcery lineage of the Southern Frontier.