King Yibo set down the empty cup just as Zhan collapsed weakly onto the soft carpet, as though all the breath had been stolen from him. His body shivered while he struggled to steady himself and rise.
King Yibo's eyes fixed on him. His lips twitched, as if he wanted to speak, but pride and authority kept the words trapped inside. He tried to turn away with indifference, but his control faltered. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand reached out and seized Zhan's.
Both closed their eyes for different reasons. For Yibo, the venom of the snakes already coursing through his veins made his grip tighten. For Zhan, it was the shock of being pulled toward him. Suddenly, Zhan felt himself against the king's body, which carried a faint, intoxicating scent that tugged at the heart. Yibo's breathing hitched sharply, as though his lungs refused air. Alarmed, Zhan's eyes flew open.
Zhan pushed himself up suddenly, his body trembling. He staggered back, dragging his feet across the carpet. Thin tears slid down his face, falling before he could even understand why.
Struggling to master the storm within his veins and nerves, King Yibo lifted his gaze. His eyes, their color shifting unnaturally, locked on Zhan. Just as Zhan stumbled dangerously close to the center table, he collapsed onto it, overwhelmed.
Sweat poured from every pore of Yibo's body. His vision swam, Zhan's figure blurring, fading as though retreating into the distance. Something is wrong, he admitted silently, forcing himself to rise with difficulty.

Zhan followed him with his eyes, his heart pounding wildly, as if it would burst from his chest. He saw the king leaving in haste. Driven by instinct, Zhan moved too, but before reaching the door, his gaze fell upon Yibo's computer. He tried to resist, tried to leave...but curiosity dragged him back.
Hesitating, trembling, he sat before the machine. His eyes widened as he recognized the last message he had sent to Mulan. His pulse thundered.
Without thinking, he searched further. Every message remained in the chat, untouched, their dates intact. Zhan's breath hitched. Desperate, he opened Yibo's profile settings. The display picture, the name, everything... unmistakably Mulan's.
A chill ran down his spine. He panicked, pressing the keys frantically, but his clumsy hands triggered the wrong command. In an instant, the screen flickered and vanished into the desk as though swallowed whole.
Stunned, his mind blank, Zhan leapt up and ran after the king.
Meanwhile, King Yibo had barely reached his private chamber, each step heavy, unsteady. He collapsed onto the carpet, his back leaning against the bedframe, drenched in sweat. His lips trembled, words catching in his throat, but no sound escaped.
At last, Zhan found the room. His eyes widened at the sight of the king's trembling form. Breathless, shaken, he fell to his knees a short distance away, his voice raw, his tongue heavy.
"Please… tell me… who are you? What is your connection to Mulan?!"
King Yibo gave no answer. His crimson-tinged eyes stared unblinking at Zhan. For long moments he closed them, only to reopen them with greater effort, biting down on his lip. He turned his face away with forced control, trying to steady his voice.
When he finally spoke, it was not an answer, but a command.
"Change the poison milk I drank… replace it with the one on the dining table. And the cup...don't leave it behind."
He clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes tight, shaking his head as if arguing with an unseen voice. He wiped the tears from his face and looked at Zhan with desperate defiance, as though shielding himself from a fatal blow.
Zhan's patience broke. His voice cracked with fury, echoing in the chamber.
"I did not ask about the milk! I asked...who is Mulan?!"
His clouded eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to endure noise...least of all in his current state. When he opened them again, his gaze landed on Zhan with such force that it made Zhan startle.
With sharp breath and a commanding tone, King Yibo said,
"There's nothing you'll gain from the answers you're demanding now. Do as I told you! Go! Now!"
Zhan froze, fear surging through him at King Yibo's intensity. Panicked, he stumbled toward the door without realizing how. Before reaching the lift, he suddenly turned back, snatched the jug of milk, and went to the dining room washing hand sinc. His trembling hands poured it out, rinsed the jug, and refilled it from the other pitcher on the table. He even switched the cups, rinsing the one King Yibo had used before returning it, carefully replacing everything as though erasing every trace.
By then, Zhan's courage had nearly dissolved. He wavered in place, torn between hiding what he had done or running.
Meanwhile, upstairs, King Yibo began to cough violently. He glanced down at his palm....blood. A strained, twisted smile crept across his lips as he collapsed against the bedframe, whispering under his breath,
"They've succeeded… they've won, through you… my fearless bunny..."

His cough shook him again, yet the faint smile lingered. His eyes blurred, opening only to meet the image of Zhan's tear-streaked face before him. Death itself no longer frightened him...what tore at him was the thought of leaving Zhan behind, unprotected, doomed to suffering he had never wished upon him.
Clinging to the last of his strength, King Yibo dragged himself toward the telephone. His voice was hoarse but firm when the line connected:
"Erase all CCTV footage of my wing from this morning until now. I forbid you to see it too. If I don't survive this, hand everything directly to my royal consort, Zhan."
He cut the call before any reply could come, forcing himself to dial again...this time to Dowager Taihou.
Dowager Taihou
The palace was already on edge. Protests demanding King Yibo's dethrone had swelled that day, louder than ever, shaking the city. Dowager Taihou had locked herself in her chamber, unable to step outside. Grief and worry carved deep lines into her once serene face; the last three days had aged her years.
She had tried everything to see her son, but every attempt had failed. She had cried until she could no longer count the tears.
The sudden shrill of her private landline made her flinch. Only one person ever called her there...Yibo himself. She scrambled for the receiver, hands trembling, her voice catching.
"…MOM…"
The single word, weak and trembling, broke her.
"My son!" she cried, clutching the phone with both hands, as though it could hold him with her.
Her younger sister Jasrah rushed in, alarmed by her state, grabbing her shoulders. "Sister! Calm yourself...what's wrong? Tell me!"
But the Dowager could only choke out Yibo's name, her chest tightening until her breath faltered. Jasrah, terrified, dragged her to sit down, tears filling her own eyes.
At last, the Dowager managed to whisper the truth, enough that Jasrah understood...and the weight of it made her knees weaken too.
Back in Yibo's chamber, the phone slipped from his hand just as Zhan burst in, disheveled and pale.
Zhan rushed to him, all composure gone, kneeling before him. Yibo's head leaned weakly against Zhan's shoulder, his trembling hand clutching at Zhan's as if he'd always known it would end this way.
"Zhan…" His voice was barely audible, lips cracked and crimson from blood. Yet a faint smile lingered, one that carved itself into Zhan's heart forever.
Before his eyes closed, his hand tightened around Zhan's, as though entrusting him with everything he could not say.
Zhan trembled violently, utterly undone by King Yibo's condition. He clung to Yibo as his body slackened, pressing his palm to Yibo's brow. Zhan's chest heaved as if his heart would burst from his ribs. In a raw, desperate voice Zhan kept shaking Yibo's shoulders and begging, "Don't do this to me. Please, wake up....tell me who you are. Tell me who Mulan is. What is your connection to him? If you die, I'll die too… oh, Mah, oh Babiy... I'm going to lose everyone…"
Zhan's sobs broke into something wild and overwrought; he buried his head against Yibo and kept repeating, "It's me...Zhan. I kill him… I...I kill him three times over!" His voice cracked as he clung to the king.
Prince Deng and Prince Langya, who had rushed in, crossed themselves with shocked faces. Dowager Taihou stood aghast; Zhan's words struck her like a blow. Daneen, standing behind her, gripped Zhan as his body shook uncontrollably.
Jasrah, beside them, reacted with a raw, animal panic....she tried to strangle Zhan, screaming that he must be killed, that he had to be cut off from breathing. Daneen acted fast: she pulled Dowager Taihou into a chair and forced herself between Jasrah and the desperate scene. Prince Langya helped restrain Jasrah while Prince Deng and others pried her away.
Zhan collapsed to the floor, gasping and still clawing at Yibo's side; only with great effort was he eased into another room. King Yibo's chamber was immediately cordoned off and flooded with specialists. The doctors' early examinations revealed he'd been poisoned...an infusion of venomous compounds and powerful toxins. They'd neutralized the most acute agents, but the poison had already begun to do damage. If they didn't act quickly, the prognosis was grim.
Dowager Taihou, who had been shaken nearly to collapse, now watched in numbed horror. Everyone feared the worst; the scene made it impossible to believe Yibo would survive. Yet Dowager Ruyan...old, strong-willed..kept her composure and pressed for action despite her own terror.
With Daneen's help, Zhan was guided and steadied. He kept clinging to Yibo's name, voice ragged: "Tell me it's not true...tell me what happened." Zhan's body trembled and tears began to trickle down his face. Then, exhausted, he went limp and fell silent.
***
Zhan woke with a start from the sedative the doctors had given him. Since the water pured had revived Zhan, and the way he'd been crying and muttering, Zhan had become almost uncontrollable. Daneen, watching the scene and worried by Zhan's agitation, urged the doctor to give him another sedative so his brain wouldn't be overwhelmed.
She grabbed him quickly and, voice trembling from tears, tried to calm him. "Son, try to settle down…"
"My peace is gone. What condition is my husband in? Has he lost his life? Take me to him....don't say no, please Mamy." Anyone who watched Zhan rattle off those questions could see how unhinged he still was; tears streaked his face in jagged lines.
Daneen held him tight and wept with him.
Suddenly Jasrah...who had rushed in unannounced...signaled the police at the doorway for permission to enter the room. Daneen sharply stopped her.
"Jasrah! Pull yourself together. If you've forgotten, let me remind you: that's the royal consort we're talking about...not a household servant. This is the king's chamber; the room and the place are off-limits…"
But Jasrah, eyes closed, answered in a strained voice: "If you've forgotten, let me remind you too, Daneen. The man you're protecting is a terrorist, an assassin...the man responsible for killing the king…"
"Do you have proof he did this?" Daneen snapped.
"Do you need more proof than what our ears heard and our eyes saw?" Jasrah retorted.
Their argument threatened to boil over. Each of them wanted to be the one to prove the truth about Zhan. The argument was unprecedented...there was usually respect between them, especially because Daneen was older than Jasrah...but anger and suspicion now unravelled the room. Zhan, overwhelmed and detached, crumpled against the bed.
- - - -
Across the Beiping Empire the protests continued, and the public's reactions split into two camps. Some believed the reports and had gone into mourning; others insisted the whole thing was a manipulation...King Yibo was merely trying to dodge calls to step down, not actually ill. Rumors swirled on social media and over news channels.
Doctors' statements were hard to get; meanwhile a short, edited video claiming the king was gravely ill circulated and rapidly spread across the country's media. That clip reframed public opinion: King Yibo went from being an obstinate ruler refusing to resign to a tragic figure who might be unwell...an image that softened many hearts.
Within a short time journalists and activists were dissecting the situation; ordinary citizens added their voices and opinions, and some groups even began praying openly for his recovery.
What had been a small issue now ballooned into a national crisis. Prince Deng and his allies had prepared carefully; from their perspective, Zhan has no option but to be the suspect. They used the moment to assert control, publicly stressing that, for now, Prince Deng would act as steward of the throne until the king recovered and could resume his duties.
With that authority, they moved to detain Zhan and transferred him to the royal custody facility.
- - - -
Everywhere the kingdom grew even hotter than during the protests demanding King Yibo's resignation. Everyone had an opinion: Zhan's supporters believed his rise would finally deliver the outcome they'd longed for; his detractors condemned him and celebrated his fall; and some blamed Dowager Ruyan and accused her of caring more about Zhan's plight than about the royal consort who had died.
By nightfall the unrest showed no sign of abating; rumors kept spreading and media outlets began whispering the story in hushed tones.
By morning the Beiping Empire was on edge and the news had reached every provincial court. The king's trusted Doctors...who had slept in King Yibo's chamber...spoke to the press to calm the public at Dowager Ruyan's direction.
They confirmed the king was alive and that the poisonous extract found in the milk had been neutralized. The doctors said Yibo would need further treatment over the coming days, and people breathed a little easier. Prayers and well-wishes were offered across the city as if to soothe the unrest and the demand for the king's resignation.
Still, some remained uneasy. This turn of events contradicted many expectations and inflamed suspicion: once Dowager Ruyan ordered the palace to disclose the king's condition, Prince Deng and Prince Langya were restless. They tried clandestine measures to control the narrative, but they failed. Dowager Ruyan stood firm... refusing to entertain conspiracy.... and focused on restoring the king's image with the populace.
"We need to act fast and change our approach," Prince Deng declared urgently. "If that brat is allowed to keep moving freely, we won't get a second chance."
Prince Langya agreed. "First we have to remove him from the scene. Letting him live is like ignoring a rattlesnake in our yard. I've been told the charmed Barbushi used to him won't linger long...so we have maybe eight hours before it fades. And the old woman is using this illness to attempt to recover her family's standing."
"That's true," Deng said. "But killing Zhan now would be a mistake. If we do, people will only take Dowager Ruyan's side and our enemies will gain sympathy. The public is already beginning to question our narrative because of that old woman's interference. Who would have thought that brat Yibo would be so dangerous? Even his father's has given us headaches."
Langya smiled tightly and bit his lip. With a glimpse of bitterness he added, "It's time to fight properly and erase anyone who stands in the way of our victory...no exceptions. Not just Yibo, but that old rival and anyone who defends her."
Deng shot him a look, then returned a forced grin. Inside he thought, I won't let anyone steal this crown from me...not even you, brother. Still, he clapped Langya on the shoulder with a show of affection. "That's exactly why I'll never stop being proud of you."
Langya returned the smile, equally calculating. In private he thought: A few days of careful maneuvering, and you'll have the throne you've always wanted...but not if I let you keep it for long. He gave the faintest respectful nod and let the conversation move on.
Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛