Chapter 29: A Voice from the Void

Shangguan Liqian’s sudden collapse sent the entire Imperial Academy of Medicine into a frenzy.

Under Luo Wushuang’s direct command, every physician on duty was summoned to wait outside Phoenix Hall. Leading them was the old Chief Physician, a man whose hair and beard were as white as snow.

Accompanied by several of the academy’s most skilled practitioners, the Chief Physician stepped forward tremulously. He could feel the oppressive, frigid aura radiating from Luo Wushuang as he reached out to take Liqian’s pulse.

After a long silence, the Chief Physician withdrew his hand, his brow furrowed in deep concern. The other physicians took turns checking her pulse before huddling together to whisper in grave, hushed tones.

Standing to the side, Luo Wushuang’s phoenix eyes were cast downward. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, her knuckles white as she waited in agonizing suspense for their verdict.

After their brief consultation, the Chief Physician bowed deeply and reported, “Your Majesty, Miss Shangguan’s pulse is chaotic. It appears she has suffered a severe emotional shock. Combined with a violent surge of internal turmoil, it has caused her to fall into this deep coma.”

Luo Wushuang’s brow tightened. A violent surge of internal turmoil?

Why would Sister be so distressed? Is it because of Prince An, or perhaps Shen Youran?

Taking a deep breath, she suppressed her ill-timed suspicions and asked sternly, “Is there a way to treat her?”

Knowing the Empress’s volatile temperament, the Chief Physician replied hastily, “We can first prescribe a regimen to calm her spirit and regulate her internal energy. It would be best to wait until she wakes before deciding on further treatment.”

Luo Wushuang waved her hand dismissively, signaling them to go brew the medicine. Once they left, she took her place by Liqian’s bedside, refusing to leave.

Various emotions flickered in her narrow phoenix eyes—guilt, anger, confusion—until they all dissolved into pure, raw worry.

“Sister, I’m sorry… It’s my fault for not taking better care of you,” Luo Wushuang murmured, clutching Liqian’s hand where it rested atop the brocade quilt. “I knew you didn’t want to be with me, yet I forced you anyway. I’m so sorry…”

In her unconscious state, Liqian was initially aware of the person beside her, but that awareness soon faded into a void. As her consciousness drifted, the sound of rhythmic Buddhist chanting began to echo in her ears.

She could vaguely hear the sounds of people talking and moving around her, yet she couldn’t open her eyes or move a finger. It felt as though an inexplicable, invisible force was pinning her down.

Panic surged through her. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her throat. She was forced to listen to the monks’ chanting.

The chanting rose from a low hum to a sharp, piercing crescendo, cycling endlessly…

Liqian was filled with a desperate urge to bolt upright and drive everyone away, but she was powerless. She could only endure the mental torment.

After what felt like an eternity, the chanting gradually began to fade.

Just as Liqian thought she could finally breathe, a voice—one that felt both hauntingly familiar and strangely foreign—drifted into her consciousness.

“Master Yujing, are you still unwilling to ask your Senior Brother to come out of secluded meditation? You might be able to withstand the backlash of this formation, Master, but that doesn’t mean your disciples can.”

The speaker sounded helpful, but the malice underlying the words was impossible to hide.

Liqian didn’t have the energy to parse the grudge between this person and the monks; she was too preoccupied by the voice itself. It teased her memory. She searched her mind, but she couldn’t place it. It was the kind of voice that left an impression upon first hearing, yet vanished the moment she tried to identify the speaker.

She was certain she had heard it before. But who was it? And what were these monks doing? Why were they so irritating?

In her delirium, Liqian’s consciousness felt like it was being pulled in two directions.

She heard a long, weary sigh, followed by a weak, strained voice.

“Your Majesty… the six paths of reincarnation are governed by fate. The Empress is, by nature, a demon. It is only natural that she fears the True Dragon’s Aura that protects the Sovereign. This dissolution was meant to be; she should have scattered into the void long ago…”

“No! Even if the Empress is a demon, she is the finest soul in this world. She does not deserve such an end!”

The Empress? Which dynasty had a demon for an Empress? Liqian thought, her mind a clouded mess. I’ve never heard of this.

She listened as the argument between the two grew increasingly heated.

“If you refuse to aid me, Master, then I shall order everyone who has ever received the Empress’s grace to be buried with her!” The speaker sounded pushed to the brink of madness, his voice carrying a chill that made her blood run cold.

Liqian didn’t know how the monks felt, but she was terrified.

Which Emperor is this? He’s almost as insane as Luo Wushuang.

Could he be one of my ancestors?

Liqian mused that perhaps Wushuang’s madness was simply a hereditary trait passed down from their forefathers.

While Liqian lay trapped in her own mind, the old monk continued his desperate attempt to persuade the young Emperor.

“Your Majesty, you must not! Without the protection of merit, the Empress won’t have even a sliver of a chance left.”

“Then I shall…”

Liqian couldn’t hear the rest of the sentence. A very familiar, incredibly raspy voice suddenly cut through the void.

“Sister… please, wake up and look at me.”

The voice sounded small, aggrieved, and utterly pitiful.

Liqian recognized it instantly. It was Wushuang.

Concentrating all her willpower, Liqian tried to open her mouth to respond, but her efforts were in vain.

Luo Wushuang, who had not moved from Liqian’s side, saw the girl’s finger twitch. She gasped, “Sister! You can hear me, can’t you?”

Liqian, eyes still closed, couldn’t see the Empress’s expression. Wushuang was looking at her with a gaze filled with such intense pleading—begging for a sign, begging for her to return.

“Wu… shuang…”

Struggling against the darkness, Liqian finally forced a sound out.

Those two syllables acted like a key, unlocking the cage around her consciousness. Her awareness returned, and her eyes slowly fluttered open. The first thing she saw was Luo Wushuang’s small face, covered in tears and looking completely helpless.

“Sister, you’re finally awake!” Wushuang’s voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, but the joy on her face was unmistakably genuine.

“I’m okay. Don’t be afraid,” Liqian whispered. She reached up, using the pad of her thumb to wipe a tear from the corner of the Empress’s eye.

Wushuang nodded frantically, wiping her face clean before shouting to the physicians waiting in the outer hall, “Get in here! Now!”

The physicians filed in like a school of fish. After checking her pulse, the lead physician’s tense expression finally relaxed. He bowed to the Empress and said, “Your Majesty, Miss Shangguan is no longer in danger. She simply needs to rest and follow the previous prescription for a period of time.”

Luo Wushuang finally allowed herself to relax.

Realizing that Liqian must be hungry after being unconscious for days, she ordered the imperial kitchen to prepare light, refreshing dishes. Then, she asked cautiously, “The physician said you fainted because of a severe shock. Did… did something happen that I don’t know about?”

Liqian’s brow furrowed. She didn’t know if she should tell Wushuang about her past life. Even if she did, would Wushuang even believe her?

As for whether Prince An was also a regressor, it was still just a suspicion without concrete proof.

However, thinking back to the strange conversation she had overheard in her coma, Liqian decided to speak. Regardless of whether Prince An had returned from the future, he was a ticking time bomb. It was better to warn Wushuang so she could take precautions.

She didn’t care if Wushuang thought she was losing her mind.

Liqian steeled her resolve and prepared to explain everything. But the moment she opened her mouth, she realized she had underestimated the situation.

She couldn’t speak of her past life.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to; she literally couldn’t.

It felt as though an invisible, celestial force was gagging her, preventing her from revealing the secrets of the previous life.

This discovery sent a new wave of tension through Liqian’s recently calmed nerves.

What… what is happening?