The Emperor walks forward, every step echoing with regal power. He stops at the edge of Jiyin's bed, eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of his son: still as marble, chest barely moving with breath. The healers remain silent, as if even the rustle of their silk might break whatever fragile thing is here.

  The Empress stays further back, but her gaze is locked on her son's still form. The only sign of her worry is the soft twitch of her hand, as if she wants to reach out and touch Jiyin... but stops herself.

  The healers' eyes meet the Empress's—a quick, fearful look—before bowing deeply. One of them steps forward, his voice barely a whisper in the silence.

  "Your Excellencies... the prince hasn't stirred or eaten in two days..." he murmurs, his eyes downcast. "We've tried every method, every medicine we know... but his body remains unresponsive... it's as if he's trapped in a waking sleep."

  The Empress purses her lips—her gaze flickering back to Jiyin.

  The Empress's expression darkens, her eyes flashing with something unreadable—anger? Fear? The healers flinch as if struck when she speaks, her voice sharp as a blade:

  "You call yourselves masters of healing and this is the best you can do?" Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. "He was fine two nights ago. What changed?"

  One healer stammers out an answer: "T-The prophecy... Your Highness has always been strong against poison or magic, but now..." He trails off under the weight of that lethal stare

  .The Emperor's hand hovers over Jiyin's limp fingers—hesitant, as if afraid to touch. When he finally does, his grip is firm but gentle. "Jiyin..." His voice cracks on the single word, something raw beneath the regal tone.

  At that moment, one of the healers—a frail man with silver-streaked hair—suddenly steps forward. He bows so low his forehead nearly touches the floor before speaking:

  "Your Highness... I know a way." The room tenses at his words. The Empress whirls toward him; even her husband lifts an eyebrow in silent demand for more.

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  The healer pauses, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He looks at Jiyin lying still on the bed, then back to the Emperor and Empress—both watching him now with identical intensity.

  "But... it's risky, Highnesses..." he murmurs. The tension in the room sharpens, as if everyone is holding their breath.

  The Emperor tightens his jaw, eyes narrowing. "Go on."

  The healer nods, swallowing back nervousness. His next words come out in a quick, shaky flood: "There's a ritual... it's mentioned in our texts, though it is banned. It's said it can pull a lost soul back from the edge of death—but it's forbidden for a reason..."

  The Emperor's gaze sharpens, as if he can see the words before they're spoken. "What reason." His voice is low, almost a growl.

  The healer's voice is thin, trembling with a mix of fear and reverence as he bows so low his forehead nearly brushes the floor. His next words come out in a hushed rush—each syllable weighted like an admission of heresy:

  "Your Highness... I swear on my life, only the Xian Tian Kingdom's Blood Awakening Ritual can stir His Highness's spirit now."

  A ripple passes through the room. One guard snarls under his breath; another whirls to face him. "That's treasonous talk!"

  The Emperor's entire body goes rigid—his knuckles whitening around the armrests of his chair. The Empress's lips curl into a sneer, her voice dripping with venom:

  "Those rats betrayed us at Huayun Pass." Her eyes flash with memory—the battlefield drenched in blood, Kai Fu's banners lowered to Xian Tian's treachery. "We let them walk away alive that day. Now you ask me to beg for their mercy?"

  A muscle jumps in the Emperor's jaw as he stares down at Jiyin—still pale, still untouched by life or death. "...And if we refuse? What then?"

  The healer glances nervously between the two, sweat beading on his wrinkled forehead. "If you refuse... the prince's chances of waking are too low to predict, Highnesses. He will linger in this limbo of sleeping and waking... until his body fades."

  For a moment, the air seems to thicken in the room. The Emperor's gaze drops back to his son, something like pain flaring in his eyes.

  "And there is no other way?" His words are quiet, barely a whisper.

  The healer hesitates for a moment before nodding. "As far as I know, no, Your Highness... this is the only way to stir his heart awake."

  A tense silence fills the Imperial Study. Even the guards are silent, as if holding their breath. Jiyin remains still—an alabaster statue surrounded by a storm of politics.

  The Empress is the first to speak. Her voice is ice. "Better him dead than let them come anywhere near him again. We will not beg."

  The Emperor's gaze rises, locking on his wife's. There's a moment of understanding between them—the knowledge of battles won and lost; of a dynasty's rise and fall.

  But when he looks back to Jiyin's pale form, his expression softens—as only a father's can. All the coldness in his face melts away. "If it is our only choice... then so be it..." The Empress stiffens, outrage flashing in her eyes but the Emperor raises a hand to stop any protest.

  The Emperor's voice drops to a whisper, thick with something dangerously close to pleading: "Xiuhua... he is our son."

  A beat of silence. The Empress exhales sharply through her nose—her nails digging into the silk of her sleeves. But then she lifts her chin, eyes glinting like sharpened jade. "Fine." She flicks a dismissive glance at the trembling healer. "But if they so much as breathe on him wrong..."

  Her husband doesn't need the threat finished; his jaw clenches in grim agreement as guards snap fo

  rward for orders already forming behind his teeth:

  "Prepare for envoys from Xian Tian Kingdom. Now."