Chapter 228: A Substitute

The wind on an early summer night was gentle, tenderly stirring the sleeves of his robe. From a distance, Li Zhang gazed at the woman and the crimson bridal veil. So, this was the gift Li Can had prepared for him.

After he, as the master of ceremonies, accompanied Li Ce through the ancestral rites, the imperial audience, the wedding ceremony, and the banquet;

After he witnessed Ye Jiao being carried out, her verdant bridal attire like the freshly awakened mountains of early spring;

After he saw Li Ce break protocol to personally lead her from the carriage into the Prince of Chu's manor;

After he heard that the groom, unwell, had retired early to the bridal chamber, while he remained behind to drown his sorrow in wine—

Was this his gift? A bride? A pacifier for the bitter gloom nesting in his heart?

Li Zhang staggered forward and yanked off the bridal veil.

Beneath it, the woman looked up in startled fright. Perhaps from fear, perhaps excitement, her expression was one of shock and bashful confusion. What kind of face was this?

Through the haze of wine, Li Zhang almost believed Ye Jiao stood before him.

Ye Jiao… Tonight, Li Ce must also be gazing upon a face like this.

The moment stretched on, unbearably long, as if frozen in time. Then, with a hollow sigh, he released the woman and stepped back.

This was not Ye Jiao.

Though the resemblance was faintly there, it was not her.

She lacked her vivacity, her mischievous charm, her fierce, unyielding spirit.

She lacked that unwavering, loyal heart.

A substitute, dull and lifeless, could never compare.

The desolate ache in his chest twisted into laughter. Shaking his head, he muttered,

"Get out."

His voice was low and hoarse, brooking no refusal.

"Your Highness?" The woman looked up, tears welling in her eyes, delicate as a trembling flower.

"I said get out," Li Zhang repeated coldly. "The way you came, go back the same."

He turned away, footsteps already unsteady from drink, now even more faltering. As he reached the threshold, he nearly stumbled over the step—had he not gripped the doorframe, he would have fallen.

Li Zhang fled in disarray, like a man desperately trying to escape the ruins of his heart.

He had such a good younger brother.

One took away the woman he loved.

Another gave him her replica—

And carved out one more piece of his soul.

The pain was enough to make one weep.

At that moment, the Crown Princess arrived.

She had heard that the Sixth Prince, Li Can, had sent a woman to him. She knew the Crown Prince had retreated to a side hall. Yet now the maid reported that he hadn't remained there, and was on his way to the main hall.

Dismissing her maids and attendants, the Crown Princess stepped out, only to meet the staggering form of Li Zhang.

"Your Highness," she called, stepping forward to steady him—

But his body collapsed downward, pulling her with him to the stone steps.

Kneeling on one knee, Li Zhang whispered hoarsely, "Cousin."

The Crown Princess—niece of the Empress—had once been addressed thus, before they were wed. That single word pulled them both back into memories of their youth.

"Cousin," she replied softly, her heart aching.

This was the Crown Prince of Great Tang—composed, cunning, master of all situations.

Yet never had she seen him so broken.

"My heart… aches," he murmured. "Cousin, my heart aches."

She held his head gently in her palm, and felt the hot tears dripping onto her skin.

"Why does Your Highness grieve?" she asked.

Though there had been a coup recently, it ended without major loss. The traitors, Li Chen and the Lu clan, had been eradicated.

What, then, could cause such sorrow?

Had the Emperor's return to power stripped the Crown Prince of influence?

But Li Zhang offered no explanation.

He only whispered, again and again, in a voice full of pain, grievance, and helplessness:

"My heart aches."

And then he collapsed on the cold stone steps, head pillowed on her arm, and fell into a heavy sleep.

A cautious palace attendant approached the Crown Princess and asked,

"Your Highness, what shall be done with the woman?"

Weariness flickered in her eyes.

"What can be done?" she said, cradling the sleeping prince gently.

"Since the Crown Prince doesn't want her, send her back.

Say, 'Thank the Sixth Prince for his kind gesture—but His Highness has no interest.'"

"I'm not interested either!" exclaimed the Sixth Prince, Li Can, utterly baffled when the woman was returned, sobbing like a weeping blossom.

"He saw your face?" he asked repeatedly.

"He did," the woman answered tearfully, still clad in her bridal dress.

And yet he refused her? Unless he had been too drunk to consummate the marriage—

Or perhaps… Li Can had underestimated the depth of his brother's obsession.

A substitute, it seemed, was far from enough.

Not even to soothe a night of longing.

Li Can inhaled sharply, sleep completely banished.

"Go home," he waved. "If anyone asks, just say you changed your mind about the marriage."

"How can that be?" she clung to his sleeve in desperation.

"My father already accepted the betrothal gifts. Whether it be the Crown Prince or the Sixth Prince, I am willing to marry."

Li Can felt a throbbing headache coming on.

He had no desire for wife or concubine. But to send her back outright might stir scandal.

Besides—

That face, so much like Ye Jiao's—might be useful one day.

With a sigh, he rubbed his brow and asked,

"If I provide for you in comfort, will you accept it?"

Bending slightly, he studied the woman before him, the sole one he had carefully chosen and retained.

He genuinely thought—it was a face worth keeping, even if only for a price.

In another corner of the capital, the candlelight still flickered in the An Guo Duke's manor.

A set of silver needles was withdrawn from the acupoints at Qingming, Yintang, and Sizhu.

A broad hand rested briefly on Ye Changgen's forehead, then pulled away.

"How is he?"

Lady Ye's eyes were bloodshot from fatigue and worry.

The wedding entourage had only just left when Ye Rou claimed her brother had taken ill with a high fever, scratching furiously at his eyes in sleep, frightening the imperial physician.

Lady Ye had been terrified. She rushed to her son's eastern quarters, only to find a figure already seated within.

Startled, her fury flared.

"Of all times to return—you choose now?"

"Why didn't you go to the Prince of Chu's wedding banquet for Jiao Jiao?"

"I thought even if we died, you would remain indifferent!"

Faced with her scolding, Ye Xi—dressed in a Daoist robe—only lifted his eyes slightly and said, with a trace of helplessness:

"Yanwei, let us save Changgen first."

Her tears flowed at once.

"The arm was reattached, the internal injuries are healing, and the antidote Jiao Jiao brought was given as prescribed. How did a fever arise again?"

"The medicinal catalyst was wrong," Ye Xi said calmly.

"We must administer another round of acupuncture to clear the meridians and circulate the qi and blood.

Once we use the correct catalyst I brought, the poison will pass in time."

Some of her fury ebbed away.

She sat close by her son, tending his wounds, changing his cold compresses—exhausted, anxious, fearful.

From time to time, she spoke a few words to Ye Xi.

A shared son, a shared sorrow—

These drew two once-distant hearts a little closer.

As dawn neared, Lady Ye noticed the fever had subsided. She shook Ye Xi, who sat upright in meditation.

"He's better!"

Ye Xi took Changgen's wrist and felt his pulse for a while, nodding with relief.

"He's mostly recovered."

He turned to retrieve the medicine when he felt a sudden tug—Changgen had grasped his sleeve.

"Father?"

Through a haze of light, the boy saw clearly: his father had returned.

Thirteen years they had been apart.

When Ye Changgen heard his father was returning from Jinzhou, his heart had been a storm of emotions.

He was only ten when Ye Xi left.

He still remembered being told to care for his mother and sister, remembered the lively street where he chased after his father—who never once looked back.

It was Feng Jie who found him, took his hand, and led him home.

—"Young master, from now on, the An Guo Duke's household will depend on you."

He bore that weight silently, stopped being a carefree child, stood watch over the household day and night—afraid one day the court would come to seize their lands, and his mother and sister would suffer.

But they had survived.

And now, his father had returned.

Ye Changgen, like a student who had poured his heart into an exam but feared he'd failed utterly, reached out—