That night, in the Eastern Palace.
The towering palace used cloud-top sandalwood as beams, with jade tiles and golden roofs, jade steps, and vermilion pillars. Outside, it was pitch black, but inside, it was as bright as day, resplendent and magnificent.
A heavy medicine smell mingled with the incense burner's fragrance, a strange scent that made one drowsy after smelling it for too long.
The jeweled gauze curtains fluttered with the wind.
With a loud 'bang,' the medicine bowl was overturned.
"Your Highness, please calm your anger."
The attendants in the palace were so frightened that they fell to the ground, their heads knocked against the floor, their bodies trembling.
Ying Yi, plagued with a chronic illness on the couch, his cheeks a pale ash color, lay on his side, coughing incessantly.
He wiped away the bloodstains at the corner of his mouth.
"How did you only now tell me that Wei Zhao isn't dead?"
