After Breaking Free From The System's Control - Chapter 17

At some point, Wang Zhong had quietly replaced the candles in the hall with the softer glow of luminous pearls.

Their gentle light fell across Jin Tang’s sweat-dampened forehead, reflecting a cold, clammy sheen.

Xiao Li remained bent forward like a silent stone statue, his dark gaze fixed unwaveringly upon Jin Tang’s face.

Each faint, suppressed moan of pain was like the point of a sharpened needle, piercing Xiao Li’s tightly drawn nerves again and again.

He was no stranger to life and death. Even mountains of corpses and rivers of blood on the northern battlefield had never shaken him.

Yet the young emperor’s silent suffering before him left his chest constricted and filled him with a sharp sense of helplessness.

Time stretched endlessly beneath the monotonous dripping of the water clock.

No one knew how long had passed.

Perhaps only a quarter of an hour.

Perhaps a long half hour.

At last, Shen Jiren returned carrying the prepared concentrated ginseng decoction.

The heavy, bitter fragrance of ginseng immediately spread through the bedchamber, overpowering the original calming incense.

Xiao Li straightened and moved aside, though his gaze never left the bed for even a moment.

Shen Jiren knelt upon the footstool with the bowl in his hands. After testing the temperature, he took a small silver spoon and began feeding the thick, amber-colored medicine into Jin Tang’s mouth little by little.

The process was exceptionally difficult.

Jin Tang’s teeth were clenched tightly, and his swallowing reflex was weak. Most of the medicine spilled from the corners of his lips, soaking the collar of the clean sleeping robe that had only just been changed.

Sweat covered Shen Jiren’s forehead.

His hands trembled so badly that he could barely hold the bowl steady.

Xiao Li’s brows drew tightly together.

He stepped forward and took both the medicine bowl and silver spoon from Shen Jiren.

“I will do it.”

He sat at the edge of the bed and gathered Jin Tang into his arms.

The young man’s body felt almost weightless. Even through the fabric, Xiao Li could feel the terrifying heat of his fever and his faint trembling.

Xiao Li adjusted his position so that Jin Tang’s head rested in the crook of his arm.

Though his movements were unfamiliar, they were steady.

He scooped up a spoonful of medicine and brought it to those bloodless lips.

“Your Majesty,” he called quietly. “Drink the medicine.”

Perhaps the warmth of his embrace dispersed some of the chill.

Jin Tang’s tightly furrowed brows moved slightly, and his clenched teeth loosened by the narrowest gap.

Xiao Li’s gaze sharpened.

He immediately slipped the edge of the silver spoon between Jin Tang’s lips and carefully fed him the medicine.

This time, most of it was swallowed.

Xiao Li did not dare delay.

Spoonful after spoonful, he repeated the motion with extraordinary patience.

His movements gradually changed from awkward to smooth, his concentration resembling that of a commander fighting a battle of the utmost importance.

The bitter fragrance of the ginseng decoction lingered between them.

Occasionally, Jin Tang would cough faintly from the medicine’s irritation.

Whenever that happened, Xiao Li stopped at once, wiped the traces of medicine from the corner of his lips with the pad of his finger, and waited for him to settle before continuing.

Wang Zhong watched from the side, his eyes reddening once again.

He bit his lip hard, not daring to make even the slightest sound.

It took nearly a quarter of an hour to finish a single bowl.

By the time the last of the medicine had been fed to him, a fine layer of sweat had also appeared along Xiao Li’s forehead.

He gently lowered Jin Tang back onto the pillow and tucked the quilt around him with the care one might show a fragile piece of glass.

Shen Jiren stepped forward once more to examine his pulse.

After a long while, he released a deep breath.

His expression remained grave, but it was slightly less severe than before.

“Your Highness, the medicine appears to be taking effect. His Majesty’s pulse remains weak, but the dispersing vital energy has been temporarily held in place.”

The rigid line of Xiao Li’s jaw finally eased slightly.

“Thank you for your efforts, Director Shen. You must remain on duty here tonight.”

“It is this humble physician’s responsibility. I would not dare neglect it.”

Shen Jiren hurriedly bowed.

Xiao Li nodded and turned his gaze back toward Jin Tang.

Perhaps the medicine had begun working, or perhaps the wave of excruciating pain had finally passed.

Jin Tang’s breathing seemed steadier than before.

It remained weak, but it was no longer so broken and intermittent.

His tightly drawn brows had also relaxed a little, though his complexion was still frighteningly pale.

Xiao Li dismissed Shen Jiren and Wang Zhong, ordering them to wait in the outer chamber.

Once again, only the two of them remained inside the bedchamber.

Xiao Li sat upon the footstool beside the bed, his back resting against the cold bedpost while the hem of his purple robe pooled across the floor.

He did nothing.

He simply kept watch in silence, his gaze as deep as the night itself, completely enveloping the person upon the bed.

Weariness rose over him like a tide.

It was not only physical exhaustion but the crushing weight upon his mind.

Xiao Li closed his eyes and rubbed his aching brow.

The Late Emperor’s final instructions still echoed in his ears.

The almost weightless body he had held in his arms and the weak breathing from the bed pressed even more heavily upon his heart.

Amid that extreme exhaustion and tense vigil, Xiao Li’s consciousness blurred for an instant.

He slipped into a brief, strange, and disjointed sleep.

Or perhaps it was only a hallucination born from the excessive strain upon his mind.

He seemed to see two Jin Tangs.

…

The dream was like a scroll torn apart at random and carelessly pieced back together—bizarre, fragmented, and incoherent.

First, Xiao Li saw a young man dressed in ochre-yellow everyday robes, standing spiritedly beside the training grounds.

His brows were bright with excitement as he loudly cheered for the soldiers practicing mounted archery.

It was Jin Tang as Xiao Li had last seen him three years earlier, before leaving the capital.

A young man still possessing the sharp confidence of someone who had not yet experienced the cruelties of the world.

The youth turned and saw him.

His eyes brightened slightly, as though he wanted to say something.

His lips moved, but in the end, he merely gave a restrained nod and assumed the bearing of an emperor.

Deep within his eyes, there was unmistakable wariness toward the royal uncle who commanded a powerful army.

The scene suddenly overturned.

It was still that same young man, but now he was curled upon the cold dragon throne, cold sweat soaking his temples.

His face was deathly pale.

His fingers dug fiercely into the armrests, his knuckles turning bluish white.

Below him knelt an elderly censor, weeping bitterly as he pleaded for something.

The young emperor’s lips trembled.

He seemed to want to shout for him to stop.

He seemed to want someone to help the old minister to his feet.

But what came from his mouth instead was an order so vicious that even he could not believe it.

“Drag him away! Thirty strokes of the rod! Strip him of office and investigate him!”

He watched the despair in the old minister’s eyes as the man was dragged away.

He watched his own uncontrollable hand fall in dismissal.

His eyes were filled with terror and agony.

Xiao Li wanted to rush forward.

He wanted to seize the young emperor by the shoulders and demand to know what was happening.

But his body seemed nailed in place.

He could only watch helplessly as, after the officials withdrew, the young man bent over and retched violently, as though trying to vomit out the heart that had been forcibly stained with filth.

The scene changed again.

Jin Tang stood in the center of an empty palace hall, dressed only in a thin sleeping robe.

Memorials were piled around him like mountains.

A cold voice seemed to pierce through the dream itself and crash directly into Xiao Li’s consciousness.

【Begin massive construction. Build the Moon-Grasping Terrace. Divert the relief funds intended for Jiangbei.】

Jin Tang stood motionless, his lips pressed into a bloodless line.

【Execute the order immediately!】

The voice became sharper.

Jin Tang’s body began trembling faintly as though resisting some invisible pressure.

Cold sweat instantly covered his forehead.

Very slowly, he raised one hand toward the vermilion brush upon the imperial desk.

The brush seemed to weigh thousands of pounds.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch its shaft, he suddenly withdrew his hand.

He staggered backward two steps and only barely remained standing by catching himself against a pillar.

【Mission resisted. Level One punishment.】

An invisible force struck him.

Jin Tang let out a muffled groan and fell to one knee.

His body curled inward, the suppressed agony making him tremble violently.

The images flickered and changed more quickly.

At one moment, the young emperor was hunched over his desk late at night, his eyes bloodshot as he secretly wrote a decree intending to restore a dismissed loyal official.

By the following day, the decree had vanished without a trace.

In its place was an even harsher reprimand against that same official.

The light in the young emperor’s eyes gradually went out, leaving only bottomless exhaustion and bewilderment.

Then Jin Tang refused the System’s demand to frame an upright general, and punishment followed immediately.

He withered rapidly like a plant deprived of water.

Xiao Li saw him sitting beside a window.

Sunlight fell upon his nearly translucent face.

He stretched out one hand as though wanting to touch that warmth, but his fingers fell weakly before reaching it.

Jin Tang grew thinner with every passing day.

The dragon robes that had once fit him properly now hung loosely from his body, as though a gust of wind might carry him away.

Finally, every fragmented image converged into one point.

The young emperor Jin Tang stood beneath a length of hanging white silk, dressed in his most solemn dragon robes.

He looked back once at the magnificent golden cage around him.

There was no fear in his eyes.

Only deathly calm and a nearly liberated resolve.

Then he kicked away the stool beneath his feet.

And there was the Jin Tang of the present, lying upon the dragon bed and barely breathing.

After another fierce act of resistance and punishment, he turned his head with great difficulty and looked toward the brilliantly blooming crabapple tree outside the window.

The faintest curve appeared upon his lips.

It was refusal to submit.

It was unwillingness to accept his fate.

At the end of Xiao Li’s dream, the figures of the two Jin Tangs alternated and overlapped.

One had chosen resolute suicide to resist a control he could not escape.

The other struggled through endless punishment and weakness, trying desperately to seize the slightest hope of survival.

Their faces were both blurred and perfectly clear.

Their suffering felt unbearably real.

Xiao Li awoke with a violent start.

Fine beads of cold sweat covered his forehead.

His heart raced uncontrollably inside his chest, pounding against his ribs with heavy, muffled force.

The bedchamber was completely silent.

Only the steady dripping of the water clock could be heard.

Outside the window, the moon shone brightly.

Its cold light passed through the lattice and spread a pale silver patch across the floor.

Xiao Li immediately turned his head, his gaze flying anxiously toward the dragon bed.

The curtains hung low, obscuring the figure within.

But faint, even breathing could be heard, showing that the person inside remained asleep.

Xiao Li drew a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the lingering palpitations and inexplicable panic caused by the dream.

He rose carefully, moving as slowly as possible, approached the bed, and gently lifted one corner of the curtains.

Jin Tang slept quietly.

His long hair spread across the pillow, making his face appear even paler, almost blending into his plain white sleeping robes.

His sleep was not peaceful.

His brows were faintly drawn together, and his long eyelashes occasionally trembled, as though he were still enduring something within his dreams.

Even so, compared with his previous state—unconscious and drenched in cold sweat—this quietness was already precious.

Xiao Li watched him for a moment.

Then he reached out and lightly tested the temperature of Jin Tang’s forehead with his fingertips.

Fortunately, the high fever had subsided.

Only a faint trace of damp warmth remained from the illness.

Xiao Li carefully adjusted the quilt again, ensuring there was not the slightest gap through which the night wind might enter.

Only after finishing did he return to his seat.

Yet he felt no trace of sleepiness.

Moonlight flowed like water across his purple robes, reflecting a cold, hard gleam.

He thought back upon the chaotic yet vivid dream.

That was no ordinary dream.

Xiao Li was certain of it.

The details had been far too real—

The pain and struggle in the young emperor’s eyes as he was forced to issue orders.

The trembling of Jin Tang’s body as he endured punishment.

His increasingly emaciated figure.

And the despair of being controlled by an invisible force.

Every part of it had been terrifyingly real.

He remembered the grave words Jin Tang had spoken when appointing him Regent:

“If my words or actions become abnormal or unreasonable, then everything must place Great Zhao and the stability of the realm first.”

And there was the “strange illness.”

The Imperial Medical Office could do nothing against it.

It arrived suddenly and disappeared just as strangely.

Each episode seemed to consume another portion of Jin Tang’s life.

Everything appeared to point toward a possibility that was absurd, yet explained it all—

Something was controlling and tormenting the young emperor.

And Jin Tang could neither resist it nor speak of it.

The figures of the two Jin Tangs overlapped once more in Xiao Li’s mind.

The young emperor in the dream had taken his own life.

Then what of this Jin Tang?

He resisted again and again.

He endured punishment after punishment.

His body worsened with every passing day.

What ending awaited him in the end?

An icy chill quietly crept up Xiao Li’s spine.

His hand silently tightened around the armrest of the chair.

His profound gaze returned to the fragile figure upon the bed, complicated emotions surging within its depths.