A Concubine's Competitive Life in the Prince's Household-Chapter 97

In modern society, a male doctor treating a female patient wouldn’t raise much controversy. But this was feudal ancient times, and for Mo the Divine Physician—an unrelated man—to ask the princess to disrobe would undoubtedly spark scandal.

Yun’er gasped, her eyes reddening. “Absolutely not! Her Highness is of noble birth—how could she... how could she be seen undressed by an unrelated man? It would ruin her reputation!”

Mo the Divine Physician shrugged helplessly. “There’s stagnant blood in her body, likely from a heavy blow to her back. I need to apply acupuncture to clear the congestion. If the blood remains near her heart, she’ll perish within days.”

Yun’er’s tears fell like rain.

Torn between the princess’s purity and her life, she was at a loss.

“Ah, little beauty, don’t cry.” Mo the Divine Physician couldn’t bear the sight of Yun’er’s tear-streaked face.

He had always been weak to a woman’s tears.

His gaze swept the room before he swiftly locked the door and shut the windows tightly, leaving only Shen Wei and Yun’er inside.

Rubbing his temples, Mo the Divine Physician pinched his collar with slender fingers. “Once, a certain fool said I was too soft-hearted, that such people could never achieve greatness. Honestly... he wasn’t wrong.”

He was, indeed, a tender-hearted physician.

Seeming to reach a decision, he abruptly tugged open his robe.

The parted fabric revealed delicate, pale collarbones—and beneath them, the faint outline of bound cloth, its gentle curves unmistakable.

Shen Wei was stunned.

Yun’er gaped.

Mo the Divine Physician refastened his robe with a wry smile. “Now, may we undress the princess?”

Yun’er hurriedly helped the unconscious princess sit up and removed her outer garments, exposing the dark purple bruising on her back.

Mo the Divine Physician retrieved his silver needles, focusing intently as he cleared Zhao Yang’s congested blood.

Shen Wei sat silently nearby, sipping cold tea to steady herself, her gaze occasionally drifting to the focused physician.

Who would have guessed that the legendary, world-renowned Divine Physician was actually a woman in disguise?

After half an hour of acupuncture, Mo the Divine Physician finally settled the unconscious Zhao Yang back into bed. Yun’er brought over the prepared medicinal brew and carefully fed it to her.

Nose tingling with emotion, Yun’er hesitated before mustering the courage to ask, “Mo the Divine Physician... my princess, her... her disheveled state—was she... violated?”

Zhao Yang had vanished last night, only returning at dawn, her clothes torn and body battered—it was impossible not to suspect the worst.

Mo the Divine Physician reassured her, “Don’t worry. The princess is unharmed.”

Yun’er exhaled in relief.

“What happened today must never leave this room,” Mo the Divine Physician warned.

Shen Wei and Yun’er nodded in unison. The physician’s secret was safe with them.

With a polite bow, Mo the Divine Physician said, “I’ll take my leave now. The world is vast—if fate allows, we’ll meet again.”

Adjusting his robe, he stepped out of the princess’s chambers with heavy footsteps. Dawn had broken, and after last night’s storm, the lotus flowers and leaves of Luoyue Lake lay scattered and broken.

A chilly breeze ruffled the two loose strands of hair at his temples as he murmured, “I can’t stay in Yanjing any longer... I must flee.”

Having lingered too long, his cover was wearing thin. That man had surely already sent spies into the city—lurking like a beast in the shadows, watching.

Mo the Divine Physician slipped away quietly.

At the lakeside dock, he tossed a silver coin to a boatman. “Head south along the lake, toward Nanshan Pier.”

He planned to follow the river out of Qing State. Rumor had it that Southern Chu was picturesque—if he hid there, that man would never find him.

The boatman accepted the payment without a word.

Exhausted from last night’s drinking and this morning’s treatment, Mo the Divine Physician yawned, her weariness overwhelming. She plucked a lotus leaf, draped it over her face, and collapsed onto a wooden bench, asleep almost instantly.

The boat rocked gently as it glided across the lake.

Sometime later, she stirred as the vessel halted. Stretching, she lazily pushed aside the tattered cabin curtain, her voice thick with sleep. “Boatman, why have we stopped?”

The boat floated in the middle of the lake, surrounded only by mirror-like water and distant green mountains.

The cloaked boatman stood at the bow. A gust of wind sent his bamboo hat tumbling into the water.

Beneath it was a face as cold and striking as mountain snow, his eyes like bottomless pits.

Mo the Divine Physician’s mind went blank.

The man—a predator lying in wait—locked onto his prey with a deceptively gentle tone. “Xun, you’ve wandered too far this time.”

Her face froze, a bone-deep chill creeping up her spine.

...

...

Back at the lakeside villa, Princess Zhao Yang remained unconscious, her fever unbroken.

By afternoon, Yan Yunting arrived belatedly to apologize. The night before, he had been tending to the ill Tantai Rou when the storm hit, forcing him to miss his appointment.

He knew he was at fault.

Carrying gifts of repentance, he approached the villa. He was well-acquainted with Zhao Yang’s temper—she was undoubtedly furious.

But it didn’t matter. A few sweet words, and she’d forgive him, as always.

Yet he was barred at the gate.

Yun’er suppressed her anger, her voice icy. “Vice Minister Yan, Her Highness has taken ill and will not receive visitors. Please leave.”

Yan Yunting blinked. Ill?

Another excuse, no doubt.

He offered the gifts. “Please deliver these to Her Highness.”

Yun’er’s disdain for him was palpable. Of all the noble sons in Yanjing, the princess had fixated on this one—a man who neither accepted nor rejected her affections, stringing her along endlessly.

“Her Highness will not accept your gifts,” Yun’er stated coldly. “Leave.”

With that, she ordered the guards to shut the gates. Yan Yunting lingered outside, sighing.

Clearly, the princess was still angry.

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After some thought, he resolved to return the next day.

...

Zhao Yang’s fever broke by nightfall, but she remained trapped in a nightmare.

In her dream, she was back in the storm—rain lashing her face as she fled in terror. A leering man chased after her.

“Running won’t help, fairy.”

“Heaven pities this lonely man, sending me a bride!”

“Why resist? Once I catch you, we’ll consummate right here!”

She stumbled, falling into muddy water. The rest was a blur—only the icy rain mixing with her tears.

When she awoke, she was clutching the hairpin Yan Yunting had given her.

The man lay in a pool of blood, his eyes wide open—bulging pupils fixed unblinkingly on Zhao Yang, streaks of crimson seeping from their corners.

"Ah—!"

Zhao Yang jolted awake from the nightmare.

For a disoriented moment, she believed herself still trapped in the dream, her panicked scream tearing through the air. Then a pair of warm hands clasped hers, and Shen Wei's soothing voice murmured by her ear: "Your Highness, do not fear. You are safe now."