Chapter 38 Wang Yi Saves Lives
The news of Li Yuan's critical illness spread like wildfire across a calm lake, its ripples reaching Qixia Garden with astonishing speed. After all, Li Shimin had never ordered a cover-up of Li Yuan's illness, nor was it necessary. Usually, when an emperor fell ill, the crown prince would suppress the news to prevent upheaval in the court and among the people. But now that Li Yuan was the retired emperor and Li Shimin had been on the throne for many years, whether or not the news was suppressed was meaningless. She was checking a record of recent health monitoring data when she received this definitive information.
Without the slightest hesitation, she immediately stood up and walked to the most hidden safe compartment in the inner room. Her fingertips quickly pressed on the complex mechanisms, and the compartment silently slid open, revealing various "supplies" neatly categorized and securely packaged. With a clear objective, she directly took out a flat metal box labeled "Li Yuan's Plan."
Opening the box revealed the fruits of her labor, painstakingly prepared in modern times. Based on historians' analysis of Li Yuan's later symptoms (primarily "wind disease," possibly accompanied by hypertension, cardiovascular disease, and somatic symptoms caused by long-term depression), and after discussions among experts in both traditional Chinese and Western medicine, she formulated emergency medications. These included potent antihypertensive drugs, medications to relieve cerebral vasospasm, anticoagulants, and emergency remedies for potential acute heart failure or respiratory failure. All medications underwent special processing to remove modern packaging and obvious labels, disguising them as various "overseas secret pills" or "concentrated powders," accompanied by extremely detailed antique-style instructions specifying usage, dosage, and possible "healing reactions" (to explain the potential side effects of modern medications). A thick stack of silk paper, meticulously written in tiny characters, contained optimized long-term conditioning prescriptions, dietary restrictions, rehabilitation exercises (adapted from modern rehabilitation medicine and traditional health preservation methods), and even psychological counseling suggestions, all tailored to Li Yuan's constitution and available medicinal materials in the Tang Dynasty. The goal of this plan was not to cure him (which was almost impossible under the conditions at the time), but to stabilize Li Yuan's life in a state of "weakness but controllable, requiring long-term meticulous care." There were also several simple instruments that were disguised, with principles that were ahead of their time but with an ancient appearance, such as a modified stethoscope (shaped like a copper bell), a simple device based on the principle of blood pressure measurement (requiring experience and calculation), and a set of specially made silver needles for emergency use (with special materials and craftsmanship, making them more effective).
Wang Yi quickly checked the items, and after confirming that everything was in order, she put them into a seemingly ordinary medical kit. She changed into a simple and neat Taoist robe, her long hair was tied up in a simple bun, and she did not wear any makeup. She told the mute maid, "I'm going to Da'an Palace," then picked up the medical kit and hurriedly walked out.
Her anxiety stemmed not from sympathy for Li Yuan or empathy for Li Shimin's grief, but from a cold and meticulous analysis of pros and cons: the most acute and superficial knot in the hearts of Li Yuan and Li Shimin was her, Wang Yi. Li Yuan's hatred and accusations against her were a major trigger for the ongoing conflict between father and son. If Li Yuan were to die now, carrying with him overwhelming resentment towards her and a curse upon Li Shimin, then in Li Shimin's heart, the final image of this father-son relationship would forever be inextricably linked to her, filled with negativity. This was like a thorn, not enough to cause Li Shimin to sever ties with her (as she analyzed, Li Shimin had now "come to terms with it"), but it would inevitably become an emotional barrier or a hidden burden. Whenever Li Shimin thought of his father, the guilt, regret, and pain of unresolved conflict would more or less become entangled with the perception that it was "caused by Wang Yi." This was detrimental to her maintaining the relatively pure (for him) and deep dependence she currently had on Li Shimin. The dead are easily romanticized, especially someone like Li Yuan, whose status is unique and whose relationship with Li Shimin is complex—a "father figure." If he were dead, Li Shimin might gradually forget his stubbornness and curses, recalling their early father-son bond, and even feeling a deeper sense of guilt for failing to fulfill his filial duties and reconcile. This idealized "father figure" would create a subtle emotional competition and psychological pressure between Li Yuan, who is alive and continues to be affectionate with Li Shimin (and has saved the Empress's life). Wang Yi doesn't want to face a perpetually idealized "white moonlight" father-in-law. Conversely, if Li Yuan survives, even if only with ailing health, the father-son conflict might be resolved (or at least superficially eased): time can dilute intense resentment. With Li Yuan stripped of power and his life dependent on medication, his hostility towards Wang Yi might gradually soften (or be forced to hide) in the face of the long-term reality of being "treated." This would directly alleviate the pressure on Li Shimin caught in the middle. Saving Li Yuan could also become Wang Yi's "achievement" and "bargaining chip": Saving the retired emperor was a more illustrious and significant contribution to "filial piety" and "royal harmony" than saving the empress! It would render any accusations of her "bewitching the emperor" pale in comparison to the merit of "saving the emperor (the retired emperor)." This would greatly solidify her superior position and give Li Shimin a more "legitimate" reason to protect and treat her well. Wang Yi was confident that through her medicine and treatment plan, she could keep Li Yuan in a state where he needed careful care, could no longer cause trouble, but was not about to die immediately. A living, quiet retired emperor who needed to be "followed" was far more advantageous to her than a dead retired emperor who evoked guilt.
Her unwavering confidence in saving Li Yuan was not blind self-assurance. During her year and a half in the modern era, besides recuperating, spending time with her daughter, and managing her business, her most important task was preparing for potential pivotal historical moments (such as the critical illness of an important figure). Li Yuan's death occurred in the ninth year of the Zhenguan era, giving her ample time to research.
She hired top Tang Dynasty history experts and medical historians to conduct a detailed analysis of all records concerning Li Yuan's health in his later years. Combining the social environment, medical standards, and imperial lifestyle at the time, they speculated on the most likely combination of causes of death (cerebrovascular accident, heart failure, and multiple organ failure caused by long-term depression, etc.).
Then, armed with these speculations, she secretly consulted several top domestic and international experts in cardiovascular and cerebrovascular diseases, geriatrics, and those proficient in integrated traditional Chinese and Western medicine. She provided substantial research funding, requesting them to simulate how to optimize emergency treatment plans and long-term management strategies using modern medical knowledge, given only "basic Tang Dynasty medicinal materials and rudimentary diagnostic methods." Those disguised drugs were the "lower-dimensional attack" solutions these expert teams devised after repeated deliberation and even animal experiments to verify some combinations, based on the "list of usable Tang Dynasty medicinal materials" provided by Wang Yi and the patient's condition simulation.
With her advanced medical knowledge and meticulous nursing skills, she assessed that she was 80% confident that she could pull Li Yuan back from this crisis and put him back on the track of "long-term survival with illness" that she had set out for.
Therefore, how could she not be anxious? Time was the survival time of Li Yuan's brain cells and heart cells, and also the countdown to the success of her plan. She had to intervene before irreversible damage occurred.
Wang Yi walked briskly through the palace alleys, the hem of her Taoist robe fluttering in the wind as she went. The palace servants, astonished by the unusual haste of this usually serene "Guardian of the Nation," quickly made way for her.
Her mind raced through contingency plans: how to persuade the guards who might be wary or hesitant, how to deal with Li Shimin's grief or doubt, how to perform first aid without arousing excessive suspicion, and how to explain her medication and techniques...
This is not a compassionate act of a healer rushing to help, but rather a precise strategic intervention by a time traveler to maintain her optimal interests, consolidate her position, and further deepen her emotional bond with her target (Li Shimin). She wants to dismantle Li Yuan, this "time bomb," before he explodes in the most unfavorable way (death), and transform him into a "safety device" that benefits her.
The heavy gates of the Da'an Palace were now in sight. Wang Yi took a deep breath, adjusting her slightly rapid breathing from her hurried pace. Her face regained its characteristic calm tinged with compassion. Carrying her medicine chest, she walked forward resolutely. She knew that inside lay not only a critically ill retired emperor, but also her own situation and plans for the Tang Dynasty for the next few years, and perhaps even longer. She had to win this round.
Fortunately, he was not stopped. After all, everyone knew that this Protector of the Nation was now equivalent to the Empress. When he arrived, the guards quickly sent someone to report to Li Shimin. After Li Shimin's approval, the young eunuch respectfully led him into the inner palace.
When Wang Yi stepped into the inner hall, he was greeted by an even stronger smell of medicine and an almost frozen silence. Li Shimin sat with his back to the door on an embroidered stool in front of the couch, his back straight, yet exuding an indescribable loneliness and... detachment. It was as if he were merely a shell sitting there, his true soul having drifted to some distant, untouchable void.
Hearing footsteps, Li Shimin slowly turned his head. His face showed no tear stains, no rage, not even obvious grief, only a deep, still calm. But beneath this calm was an almost deathly emptiness; his usually sharp, hawk-like eyes now seemed veiled in a thin mist, and his focus was somewhat sluggish as he looked at Wang Yi.
"You've come." His voice was soft and flat, as if he were stating something that had nothing to do with him.
Wang Yi's heart skipped a beat. Li Shimin in this state was far more troublesome than any reaction she had anticipated. This wasn't emotional resistance or sentimental dependence, but a detachment bordering on utter despair. She quickly adjusted her strategy, put down her medicine box, and without further pleasantries, cut straight to the point, her voice clear and firm:
"Your Majesty, I heard that the Emperor Emeritus is critically ill, so I came to try my luck. My sect may have a secret method that can temporarily alleviate the Emperor Emeritus's acute illness."
Li Shimin's gaze fell on her face, and the thin mist seemed to dissipate slightly, revealing a cold scrutiny beneath. He didn't respond immediately, nor did he ask her what her method was. Instead, he spoke slowly in an unusually calm, almost cold tone, as if analyzing a political matter unrelated to him:
"You want to save him. That's good. But there are some consequences you need to think about."
“If Father were to depart this world,” he said calmly, as if speaking of a stranger, “all the grudges, curses, and estrangement between him and me would be buried with him. In time, I might only remember the few good things he did for me in his early years, and that he was my father. The discussions in court and among the people would subside gradually. Between you and me, this sharpest thorn would be gone. Perhaps… it would be a kind of peace for both of us.”
Wang Yi's heart skipped a beat; this was precisely the "death sublimation" effect she had feared most! Li Shimin had seen this so clearly.
“If you save him,” Li Shimin continued, his gaze shifting to the dying Li Yuan on the bed, his eyes filled with complex emotions, “he will still be the retired emperor, and he will still hate you, perhaps… even more so me. If he lives, those curses and resentments will have a tangible form, reminding me daily of what I have done. His very existence is an unhealed wound that may fester, and may lead to even more trouble. You will need to take care of him for a long time, guard against him, and may even… face more criticism and risks because of it.”
He paused, withdrew his gaze, and looked at Wang Yi again, his eyes sharpening as if trying to pierce her soul: "Wang Yi, think it through. Saving him might not be a good thing for you. It could even be endless trouble. If you choose to leave now, I won't blame you. This is my family matter, my... debt."
These words were completely unexpected by Wang Yi. He didn't plead with her emotionally to do everything he could to save her, nor did he arbitrarily order her to heal him. Instead, he laid out the pros and cons of both options, especially the potential negative consequences of saving Li Yuan, so clearly, even with a hint of dissuasion. This was both Li Shimin's rational analysis in his extremely calm (or perhaps numb) state, and perhaps... also concealed a subtle consideration for her situation that he himself was unaware of?
But Wang Yi's plan was unshakeable; she had already prepared her reasons.
Almost the instant Li Shimin finished speaking, she met his gaze without hesitation and said decisively, "I will save you!"
Her tone was urgent and sincere, carrying an undeniable resolve: "I have naturally considered the consequences. But compared to Your Majesty's wishes, those consequences are insignificant!"
She stepped forward, her gaze fixed intently on Li Shimin's empty eyes, as if trying to infuse them with warmth: "I know that Your Majesty, deep down, never truly wished for the Emperor Emeritus to depart. He was your father, a blood relative. Even with a thousand faults and ten thousand resentments, that filial affection... how could it be severed so easily? Your Majesty, sitting here just now, I may not fully know the thoughts and pain in your heart, but I can empathize with you!"
"His Majesty does not want him to die," she repeated, her tone absolutely certain. "So, even if saving him brings trouble, even if he continues to resent me, even if the road ahead is fraught with hardship... as long as His Majesty does not want him to die, I am willing to try! I am willing to gamble on a possibility for His Majesty's 'unwillingness'!"
She timely revealed a hint of anxiety and urged, "Your Majesty! Time is of the essence! Every moment of delay weakens the Emperor Emeritus's life force! Please make a swift decision and allow me to save him!"
This statement cleverly tied her motives entirely to "Li Shimin's wishes." She wasn't ungrateful, nor was she asking for trouble; rather, it was a declaration that "for you, I am willing to bear everything." This not only aligns with her consistent portrayal of deep affection and dependence on Li Shimin, but also elevates her act of saving him to the level of "loyalty"—sharing the emperor's burdens and understanding his heart—even imbuing it with a tragic air of "doing what is impossible."
Li Shimin listened quietly, and the emptiness and indifference that shrouded him seemed to crack open under Wang Yi's urgent and resolute gaze and words. Her words, "His Majesty does not want him to die," were like a needle, precisely piercing the softest, most unacknowledged corner of his heart. Yes, he did not want him to die. No matter how much resentment he harbored, he had never truly wished for his father's death, especially not in this way, filled with unresolved issues and eternal regret.
He looked at the undisguised urgency in Wang Yi's eyes (she was indeed anxious, but for reasons different from what he had imagined), at her slightly disheveled hair and the fine sweat on her forehead from rushing over (partly genuine anxiety, partly acting), and at her resolute willingness to take on trouble for his "heart's sake," like a faint yet persistent light, illuminating his cold and empty heart at this moment.
After a long while, just as Wang Yi was about to urge him again, Li Shimin nodded very slightly, almost imperceptibly. He didn't speak, but slowly and somewhat stiffly stood up from the embroidered stool and made way for the path to the bed.
This action itself is a silent, heavy permission.
Wang Yi felt reassured and, without saying another word, immediately picked up her medicine box and hurried to the bedside. She took a deep breath, clearing her mind of distractions, her eyes instantly becoming focused and sharp, like that of a highly skilled surgeon. She quickly checked Li Yuan's vital signs (pulse, respiration, pupils), rapidly assessing the stage of his illness, and then without hesitation opened the medicine box, taking out the prepared "emergency pills" and specially made silver needles…
Li Shimin stood silently to the side, watching. He watched the two most important people in his life—a father who gave him life yet turned against him, and a woman whose soul was intertwined with his yet brought him countless entanglements—converge in this unexpected way on the edge of life and death. He didn't know if Wang Yi would succeed, or what awaited them after saving his father. But at least in this moment, her selfless "for him" was like a pebble thrown into an icy lake, stirring the first faint but real ripple in the still waters of his heart.
In the dead of night at Da'an Palace, candlelight flickered. A rescue operation concerning life and death, emotions and the future unfolded quietly under Wang Yi's extremely calm and collected approach. Li Shimin, meanwhile, was gradually pulled back to reality from his detached state of mind, observing everything before him with increasingly complex emotions.
After examination, Wang Yi confirmed that Li Yuan's critical condition closely matched the team's most likely cause of death (acute stroke complicated by heart failure). The last vestige of uncertainty in Wang Yi's mind vanished. Contingency Plan A was activated.
Her movements were swift and steady, completely disregarding the traditional boundaries between men and women or social etiquette; at that moment, she had only the patient and the procedures to be followed. First, she pried open Li Yuan's jaw and dissolved a potent combination pill for lowering blood pressure and dilating cerebral vasodilators in a small amount of warm water, carefully dripping it under his tongue. Next, she took out specially made silver needles and swiftly and accurately inserted them into several key acupoints, aiming to stimulate nerves, clear the meridians, assist the medication in taking effect, and lay the foundation for possible limb rehabilitation (though the hope was slim).
In the process, she inevitably used some methods that were beyond the comprehension of her time. For example, she kept the seemingly copper bell-shaped "stethoscope" (which she explained as a "foreign instrument for listening to and identifying breathing") against Li Yuan's chest and back for a long time; she also pressed on Li Yuan's neck and wrist from time to time, silently calculating something (estimating changes in heart rate and blood pressure). She even took out a leather air bag and a hollow silver tube (a rudimentary concept of a simple breathing aid device, extremely simplified and disguised) from the bottom of her medicine box, and assisted with artificial ventilation several times when Li Yuan's breathing suddenly weakened.
These strange instruments and techniques, if seen by ordinary imperial physicians or palace servants, would probably be astonished as sorcery, or at least filled with doubt. But the one guarding them at this moment was Li Shimin.
After Wang Yi began to act, Li Shimin retreated to the shadows, like a frozen sculpture. He neither asked questions nor disturbed her, but simply watched quietly. His gaze sometimes fell on Wang Yi's focused and calm profile, sometimes swept over the strange tools in her hands, and finally lingered on his father's ashen face, which seemed to have gained a little vitality because of her actions.
His heart was not entirely unmoved, but all emotions were veiled by a deeper, almost cold, rationality. He was conducting a silent deduction:
If the treatment fails, Li Yuan dies...
The court and the public would inevitably be shaken. However, the retired emperor had been ill for a long time, and his death was somewhat expected. The key question was how to deal with the rumors that might follow, targeting Wang Yi. Would anyone suspect that she was "incompetent in her medical skills" or even "intentionally caused it"? After all, her terrible relationship with the retired emperor was common knowledge.
Several names and plans flashed through Li Shimin's mind. He needed to inform Changsun Wuji beforehand, emphasizing that the Empress Dowager had done her utmost and that Heaven's will was unavoidable. Military generals like Cheng Zhijie and Yuchi Jingde could be described as "heroes risking their lives to rescue her, their loyalty and courage are commendable." As for those officials who might use this opportunity to cause trouble, or those connected to Li Yuan's former subordinates… if necessary, he would need to throw out a few minor pretexts to divert attention, or even make an example of them. He would issue a decree praising Wang Yi's "loyal and filial act" (rescuing the retired emperor despite past grievances), guiding public opinion towards "benevolence and filial piety" and "doing one's best." In any case, he had to ensure that, whatever the outcome, no one could use this to harm her. This was not only about protection, but also about maintaining his authority as emperor—those he approved of could not be slandered by others.
What if...they are saved?
This possibility made his thoughts even more complicated. Saving her life might bring even more trouble. But looking at Wang Yi's focused expression as she exerted all her strength (as he perceived it), and at her temples slightly damp with sweat from continuously administering acupuncture, observing, and adjusting medication, a faint warmth and... heaviness seemed to seep into that cold place in his heart.
She got involved in this bigger trouble because of him.
Time passed slowly in the heavy atmosphere and the scent of medicine. Candles were flickering, and the night outside the window gradually faded, revealing the pale gray of dawn. Wang Yi remained almost constantly by Li Yuan's side, adjusting the medication and techniques based on subtle changes in his vital signs (some were genuine medical adjustments, others were performative maneuvers to achieve the desired effects of the "overseas secret method"). Her body was exhausted from prolonged concentration and mental strain, but her eyes remained sharp.
Li Shimin also did not close his eyes. He stood or occasionally sat there, like a silent guardian deity, providing Wang Yi with an absolutely undisturbed environment.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window lattice, casting dappled shadows on the cold ground. Li Shimin and Wang Yi, who had been closely monitoring him, noticed almost simultaneously that Li Yuan's previously weak, intermittent, and sometimes abruptly stopped breathing had finally become more stable. Although still slow and weak, it was at least rhythmic, and the rise and fall of his chest was much more noticeable. His complexion was still pale, but the deathly ashen pallor seemed to have faded somewhat.
Wang Yi carefully examined Li Yuan's pupils and pulse again (still weak but palpable), and secretly assessed his blood pressure using a simplified device (it had risen slightly). She assessed in her mind that the most dangerous acute phase had temporarily passed, and his life was likely saved. However, brain damage caused by prolonged hypoxia and hemorrhage (or infarction) had already occurred, as could be inferred from Li Yuan's lack of signs of awakening and the slight unnatural curling of one side of his limbs (signs of central nervous system damage).
She straightened up, her vision blurred slightly from bending over for so long, and she swayed. Li Shimin, who had been watching her closely, immediately stepped forward and offered a helping hand.
"How is it?" His voice was a little hoarse from the long silence.
Wang Yi steadied herself, her face showing exhaustion but her eyes clear. She truthfully (partially) reported, "Your Majesty, the most critical moment for the Emperor Emeritus seems to have passed, and his life should be safe."
Li Shimin closed his eyes, his nerves, which had been tense all night, seemed to relax slightly, but were soon replaced by more complex emotions. He looked at his father, who was still unconscious.
Wang Yi continued, "However... this illness struck fiercely, with the evil wind penetrating the brain, causing considerable damage. When will the Emperor Emeritus wake up, and whether his mind, speech, and limbs will return to normal... I dare not speak rashly. He needs long-term, meticulous care and careful observation." Her words not only illustrated the severity of the situation (the aftereffects of the brain injury) but also paved the way for keeping Li Yuan in a state of "requiring long-term care and being unable to manage affairs," while simultaneously lowering Li Shimin's overly high expectations for "immediate reconciliation between father and son."
Li Shimin nodded silently. This outcome was better than the worst he had anticipated (death), but it was far from perfect. His father was alive, but might become a "living dead" requiring long-term care, perhaps even mentally unstable. Those unresolved issues, those longed-for conversations, might never have the chance. But... at least, he was alive. Perhaps this was the "best" ending they could achieve after everything they had gone through.
Looking at Wang Yi, who was exhausted but had a determined look in her eyes, he felt a surge of mixed emotions, a warmth and a heavy feeling coursing through his heart. She had done the almost impossible, pulling her father back from the brink of death, but in doing so, she had also brought him (and perhaps herself) a long and complicated future.
"Thank you for your hard work," he finally said in a low voice, his tone filled with gratitude and complex emotions that were difficult to fully express.
Wang Yi shook her head slightly, indicating that this was what she should do. She was already planning her next steps: to develop a detailed long-term care and rehabilitation (maintenance) plan to ensure that Li Yuan's condition remained stable within her predetermined range. At the same time, she also needed to start thinking about how to use this "merit of saving the emperor (the retired emperor)" and Li Shimin's deepening gratitude and dependence at this moment to advance her own core plan.
A new dawn broke over Da'an Palace, but it wasn't a time of celebration; rather, it was a heavy, uncertain calm. A complex relationship entangled in love, hate, power, and life was forcibly derailed by Wang Yi's intervention, heading towards an unknown port—a port where, at least for now, "life" still existed. The already special emotional bond between Li Shimin and Wang Yi was further deepened and complicated by this shared night of life-or-death struggle.
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