The candle flames danced unsteadily in the Emperor’s private study, casting long shadows across the intricately carved sandalwood chessboard. Outside, the winter wind howled through the Forbidden City, carrying with it the faint scent of snow and distant palace incense. Inside, the air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft click of black and white pieces.

General Su Feng sat with rigid posture, his broad frame still bearing the aura of the battlefield despite the formal court robes he wore. His callused fingers hovered over a chess piece, the weight of decades of loyal service pressing down on his shoulders. Across from him, Emperor Ji Yuxuan reclined slightly on the dragon throne seat, his imperial yellow robes embroidered with five-clawed dragons that seemed to coil and roar in the flickering light. The Emperor’s face was handsome yet cold, sharp phoenix eyes narrowed in calculation as he studied the board—and the man before him.

The game had been intense. General Su had played with precision and loyalty, never overstepping, yet the Emperor’s pieces had slowly, inexorably surrounded the General’s king. Victory was but one move away.

Ji Yuxuan’s long, slender fingers lifted the final piece, holding it suspended above the board. A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips, one that did not reach his eyes.

“General Su,” the Emperor’s voice was low and smooth, like polished jade edged with steel, “your moves today have been truly... admirable. Almost as steadfast as your reputation suggests.”

General Su Feng’s hand froze. He knew this was no ordinary game. The Emperor had summoned him under the pretense of enjoying a match between old allies, but the air hummed with unspoken accusations. Whispers of rebellion had plagued the court for months, and the Su family’s military power—vast troops loyal to the General—made them a target of imperial suspicion.

The Emperor set the piece down with deliberate finality, claiming the win. The black dragon piece pressed firmly against the white king, sealing its fate.

“But loyalty is a fragile thing in these times,” Ji Yuxuan continued, leaning forward. His gaze pierced the General like a spear. “One wrong step, and even the most decorated family can fall into the abyss of treason.”

General Su Feng felt a chill crawl down his spine. He lowered his eyes respectfully. “This subject has always served the throne with unwavering devotion, Your Majesty. The Su family’s troops exist only to protect the Great Yong Dynasty.”

A soft chuckle escaped the Emperor. “Words are easily spoken, General. Deeds, however, are what truly prove a man’s heart.” He paused, fingers tracing the edge of the chessboard. “I have observed your youngest son, Su Jingyu, from afar. During last year’s palace banquet for the noble children, he displayed a gentle nature and quiet loyalty that stood out among his peers. My secret guards have confirmed his character—kind, unassuming, and steadfast.”

The General’s heart tightened. He had heard rumors of the Emperor’s hidden watchers, but to know his family had been under such scrutiny...

Ji Yuxuan’s voice took on a deceptively casual tone. “It would bring great honor to both our houses if Jingyu were to enter the palace as a male consort. A union that would bind the Su family closer to the throne. What say you, General?”

The proposal hung in the air like an executioner’s blade. General Su Feng’s mind raced. Refusal meant his entire clan—his loyal wife, his children, his soldiers—would be branded traitors. The Emperor’s chess victory was not merely a game; it was a warning. One final piece placed, and the Su family would be sentenced.

The General’s broad hands clenched beneath the table until his knuckles turned white. His beloved wife, Madam Ye Xinyue, with her warm smile and unmatched martial prowess, flashed in his mind. Their children. The future of the Su line. He thought of his youngest son, Su Jingyu—gentle, scholarly, always quick with a kind word, untouched by the harshness of court life.

With a heavy, reluctant breath, General Su Feng bowed deeply, forehead nearly touching the table.

“This General... gratefully accepts Your Majesty’s gracious proposal. My son Jingyu will serve the Emperor with all loyalty.”

Emperor Ji Yuxuan nodded once, his expression unchanging. Only a fleeting, almost imperceptible glint of satisfaction crossed his eyes—the memory of a kind-hearted youth from years ago, standing quietly among boisterous noble children, offering quiet assistance to a fallen servant without seeking praise. That glimpse had planted the seed. The marriage would serve as both leash and test.

“Wise,” the Emperor murmured. “The wedding shall take place within the month. Ensure your son understands his duty.”

As General Su Feng withdrew from the study, the heavy doors closing behind him with a resounding thud, the weight of his decision settled like chains. Outside, snow began to fall softly over the red palace walls.

In the Su family mansion, the atmosphere was far from celebratory.

Su Jingyu sat in his modest courtyard chamber, a book of poetry open before him, though his eyes stared unseeing at the pages. The news had arrived like a thunderbolt. He was to marry the Emperor. Become a male consort in the cold, treacherous harem.

“Father... why me?” he had whispered earlier when the decree was announced. General Su Feng could only pat his shoulder with a pained expression, murmuring about family honor and imperial favor, unable to reveal the underlying threat of rebellion accusations.

Su Jingyu was the youngest son, often overlooked, more interested in literature and quiet pursuits than military glory. His gentle features—soft dark eyes, refined brows, and a slender frame—made him appear even younger than his years. He had never imagined such a fate.

In another wing of the mansion, Madam Ye Xinyue practiced her sword forms with graceful power, her movements sharp and fluid despite the heavy news. Her younger sister, Ye Qingrou, watched from the shadows with a perfectly sweet smile.

“Sister’s talent is unmatched,” Ye Qingrou said warmly, her voice dripping with false admiration. “No wonder Brother-in-law values you so. With Jingyu entering the palace, our family’s future is assured.” Inside, jealousy twisted like a venomous snake. She had long coveted her sister’s position, her husband’s affection, and the prestige of the General’s wife. Staying permanently in the mansion under the guise of familial support, she plotted in silence.

Nearby, Ye Qingrou’s son, Ye Hongyu, approached Su Jingyu’s older brother with feigned concern. “Cousin, this news about Jingyu... it must be difficult. If there is anything I can do to ease the burden on the family, please tell me.” His face showed deep worry, but his eyes hid cold calculation. The main branch’s rise had always grated on him; this marriage might provide the perfect opening to weaken them from within.

Su Jingyu, unaware of the hidden currents, prepared for his new life with quiet resignation. He believed his father had offered him as a political pawn. Little did he know the Emperor himself had orchestrated this union, drawn by a single glimpse of kindness and the strategic need to bind—or break—the powerful Su clan.

The wedding day arrived under gray skies. Su Jingyu, dressed in heavy crimson and gold bridal robes, knelt in the grand imperial chamber. The rituals were performed with full pomp—the bows, the exchanges of tokens, the blessings from eunuchs and officials. Yet as night fell and the candles burned low in his new consort chambers, the Emperor did not appear.

The heavy silence stretched on. No footsteps. No imperial presence. Su Jingyu sat alone on the edge of the ornate bed, the phoenix crown heavy on his head, his heart sinking into deeper isolation.

Emperor Ji Yuxuan, in his own quarters, reviewed state documents by lamplight. The marriage was political, nothing more. A tool to secure loyalty. He had no intention of visiting. A fleeting memory of a gentle youth crossed his mind, quickly dismissed.

In the harem’s shadows, other consorts already whispered. A new arrival from a military family—easy prey for their envy.

The game had only just begun.

The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the small, cluttered dorm room in Beijing University of Technology. It was late June 2026, and the summer heat outside pressed against the window like an unwelcome guest. Lin Yuze sat cross-legged on his narrow bed, a worn paperback novel propped open against his knees. The dim glow of his desk lamp cast long shadows across the pages, highlighting the cheap print and slightly yellowed edges. *Shadows of the Dragon Throne: Consort of a Suspicious Emperor*—the title stared back at him in elegant but somewhat melodramatic font.

Yuze flipped the page with a sigh, his dark eyes narrowing behind his slightly smudged glasses. He was twenty-one, majoring in computer engineering, with messy black hair that fell into his eyes and a lean build from too many late-night coding sessions and not enough sleep. The novel had been a “gift” from his best friend, Zhang Wei, two days ago. “Bro, you need to relax before finals,” Wei had said with a grin, shoving the book into his hands during their last group study break. “It’s this new danmei historical thing that’s blowing up online. Palace intrigue, forced marriage, all that good stuff. Trust me, it’ll take your mind off algorithms.”

Yuze had laughed it off at first. He wasn’t much for romance novels, especially not BL historical ones. But after staring at his notes for six straight hours, he had cracked it open. Now, here he was at 1:17 AM, halfway through what was supposed to be a quick distraction.

His phone buzzed on the desk—another WeChat message from his mother. *Yuze, have you eaten dinner? Don’t stay up too late studying. Dad says to remember to drink more water in this heat.* He smiled faintly but didn’t reply immediately. His parents, Lin Jian and Wang Mei, ran a small family bookstore in a quiet neighborhood in Chengdu. They had scrimped and saved for years to send him to university in Beijing, always supportive but quietly worried about their only son being so far from home. Dad was the quiet, bookish type who loved classical literature; Mom was more practical, pushing him to “study hard and get a stable job.” They had no idea he was up reading a romance novel instead of reviewing for his data structures exam.

Yuze turned back to the page, his expression souring as he read the Emperor’s smug dialogue during the chess game. “Tch. Look at this guy,” he muttered under his breath. “So full of himself. One glimpse of the kid being ‘kind’ and suddenly he’s forcing a marriage to ‘test loyalty’? Overreacting much? If you suspect the general, just investigate properly instead of playing these mind games with people’s lives.” He shook his head. The Emperor Ji Yuxuan came across as cold, calculating, and annoyingly arrogant—exactly the type of character Yuze couldn’t stand in these stories. “Political marriage my ass. Poor Su Jingyu doesn’t deserve this crap.”

He continued reading, immersed despite himself. The description of the wedding night—Su Jingyu waiting alone in the lavish chambers, the Emperor not bothering to show up—hit a nerve. Yuze’s fingers tightened on the edges of the book. The harem politics already starting, the other consorts throwing petty insults and punishments... it felt too real, too heavy for what was supposed to be escapist reading.

A soft knock on the door pulled him out of the story. “Yuze? You still awake?” It was Zhang Wei’s voice, muffled through the thin wood.

“Yeah, come in,” Yuze called, closing the book but keeping his finger in the page.

Wei slipped inside, carrying two cans of iced coffee from the convenience store downstairs. He was shorter than Yuze, with a round face and perpetual cheerful energy even at this hour. “Dude, I knew you’d get hooked. How far are you?”

“End of the wedding chapter. The Emperor is such a smug prick. Doesn’t even visit on the wedding night? And the way he doubts the general over nothing—classic overpowered ML nonsense.” Yuze accepted a can, popping it open with a hiss. “Su Jingyu seems too nice for all this palace bullshit. The family drama on the side is interesting though. That aunt and cousin are clearly snakes.”

Wei laughed, flopping onto the chair by the desk. “That’s the point! Slow burn, angst, then sweet revenge or whatever. The translations online say it gets really good later. But seriously, finish your exams first. You’ve got that big one tomorrow afternoon, right?”

Yuze nodded, rubbing his temples. University life in 2026 wasn’t easy. Online classes mixed with in-person labs, constant pressure from internships, and the ever-present economic worries his parents tried to shield him from. The bookstore wasn’t doing great with digital competition, and they kept insisting he focus on his future rather than “worrying about home.” He wanted to help them after graduation—maybe start a small tech side hustle—but right now, finals loomed like storm clouds.

“I’ll read more after the exam,” Yuze said, setting the book aside. “Thanks for lending it. It’s... engaging, even if the Emperor pisses me off.”

“Anytime. Get some sleep, man.” Wei gave him a fist bump and left.

Alone again, Yuze stared at the closed book. The cover showed a stylized silhouette of a young man in ancient robes kneeling before a dragon throne. He flipped it open one more time, skimming the last lines of Chapter 1. Su Jingyu’s quiet endurance, the hidden family betrayals... something about the gentle protagonist resonated. Unlike the Emperor, who seemed to treat everything like another chess piece.

“Whatever,” Yuze muttered, turning off the lamp. “It’s just a story.”

---

The next day passed in a blur of exams and caffeine. Yuze finished his data structures test feeling drained but reasonably confident. By evening, back in the dorm with the AC blasting, he picked up the novel again. His parents had called earlier—Mom reminding him about nutrition, Dad asking about his scores. He assured them everything was fine, then settled in for what he promised himself would be “just one more chapter.”

But as he read deeper, the story pulled him in further. The narrative shifted to Su Jingyu’s first full day in the harem. Detailed descriptions of the opulent yet suffocating palace filled the pages: the scent of incense and blooming peonies masking underlying venom, the rustle of silk robes, the cold marble floors that bruised knees during punishments.

Yuze found himself frowning again at the Emperor’s distant figure glimpsed in the distance. “See? Smug and detached. Guy forces the marriage then ignores him. Classic.”

He read on, the words flowing with the same immersive style as the opening—rich sensory details, layered internal monologues, and sharp character observations.

---

**Within the Novel – Chapter 2: Whispers in the Phoenix Pavilion**

Morning light filtered through the intricately carved lattice windows of the Phoenix Pavilion, one of the smaller yet still luxurious residences granted to the newest male consort. Su Jingyu knelt in the outer courtyard, his knees protesting against the unyielding stone tiles. The thin summer robes offered little protection from the chill that lingered in the shaded areas despite the rising sun. A group of lower-ranked concubines and their attendants stood in a loose circle, their painted lips curled in disdain.

“The tea you oversaw for Noble Consort Li yesterday was bitter, Consort Su,” one of them announced with false sweetness, a senior maid reading from a slip of paper. “Her Highness was displeased. You are to kneel here for two hours as reflection.”

Su Jingyu kept his head lowered, his soft voice steady despite the humiliation burning in his chest. “This consort understands and accepts the punishment.” There had been no mistake in the tea preparation—he had personally selected the finest leaves and supervised the brewing twice. Yet here he was again.

Whispers rippled through the onlookers like poison in a well. “A general’s son, thinking he can rise above his station just because of his father’s troops...”

“His Majesty hasn’t even favored him once. Look at how plain he is. No wonder.”

“Pathetic. The Su family’s influence won’t protect him from the realities of the inner palace.”

Su Jingyu’s hands clenched subtly within his sleeves, but his face remained calm, almost serene. He thought of his father’s reluctant expression when the marriage decree arrived, of his mother’s strong yet gentle embrace the night before he left. Madam Ye Xinyue had whispered words of resilience, her martial artist’s posture straight and proud even as worry clouded her eyes. “Endure, my son. The palace is a battlefield of its own.”

Back at the Su mansion, the atmosphere simmered with unspoken tensions. Madam Ye practiced sword forms in the training courtyard, her blade whistling through the air with lethal grace. Sweat glistened on her forehead, but her movements never faltered. Her younger sister, Ye Qingrou, clapped politely from the veranda, her delicate features arranged in an expression of sisterly admiration.

“Sister, your skills improve daily,” Ye Qingrou cooed, fanning herself with a silk handkerchief. “With Jingyu in the palace, our family’s position is secured. You must be so proud.” Her words were honeyed, but her eyes held a sharp glint as she watched her sister’s powerful form. Jealousy had festered for years—why should Ye Xinyue have the General’s devotion, the prestige, the strong son? Staying in the mansion “to help” had given her ample opportunity to observe and undermine.

Her son, Ye Hongyu, lingered nearby, speaking to Su Jingyu’s elder brother with practiced concern. “Cousin, any news from the palace about Jingyu? It must be difficult for him. If I can assist in any way—perhaps sending supplements or messages—I would be honored.” His tone dripped with familial warmth, yet inside, schemes turned like gears. The main branch’s elevation through this marriage was an obstacle to his own ambitions. A well-placed rumor here, a quiet alliance there...

Su Jingyu, unaware of the gathering storm at home, endured the kneeling until his legs went numb. When the two hours finally ended, a palace eunuch approached with a message. “His Majesty requests Consort Su’s presence in the imperial garden for the evening poetry gathering.”

Hope flickered briefly in Su Jingyu’s chest. Perhaps the Emperor had not forgotten him entirely. He changed into fresher robes, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and cautious optimism. The garden was beautiful under the setting sun—lotus ponds reflecting the sky, pavilions draped in silk, scholars and consorts already assembled.

Emperor Ji Yuxuan sat at the head, his presence commanding. He acknowledged Su Jingyu’s arrival with a slight nod, nothing more. The poetry recitals began, elegant verses flowing from the lips of favored consorts. When it was Su Jingyu’s turn, he recited a modest piece on loyalty and quiet perseverance, his voice clear and sincere.

The Emperor listened, his sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. That same glimpse from years ago—the kind youth helping others without fanfare—surfaced again. Yet his expression remained cool. “Adequate,” he remarked flatly before turning to another consort, bestowing a rare smile that made the others titter with envy.

Su Jingyu returned to his pavilion later that night with a heavy heart. No invitation to the Emperor’s chambers. Another night alone.

Days blurred into weeks. Punishments mounted for trivial or invented faults: copying scriptures until his hands cramped, fasting for “impertinence,” enduring cutting remarks during group audiences. Through it all, Su Jingyu maintained his gentle dignity, writing letters home that hid his suffering.

In the Emperor’s study, Ji Yuxuan reviewed reports from his secret guards. The Su family showed no signs of rebellion. General Su Feng’s loyalty appeared genuine. Yet doubt lingered like a shadow. The marriage had been a chess move—necessary, political. He had no room for personal feelings. Still, the image of the young consort kneeling in the courtyard, enduring silently, refused to leave his mind completely.

---

Yuze closed the book with a groan, rubbing his eyes. It was past midnight again. The chapter had been long and immersive, packed with vivid palace details, the slow unfolding of schemes, and deep character insights. He hated how realistically frustrating the Emperor was—distant, suspicious, almost emotionally constipated. “Why can’t he just communicate like a normal person?” Yuze complained to the empty room.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten much since the exam. A quick message to his mom: *Finished the test, doing okay. Eating now, don’t worry.* He stood up, stretching, the novel lying on the bed like a tempting distraction.

University exams would continue for another week. After that, he could dive deeper. The story of Su Jingyu’s quiet strength against the backdrop of betrayal—both in the palace and from his own extended family—had hooked him more than he expected. The modern world of 2026, with its exams, part-time coding gigs, and parental expectations, felt far removed from ancient intrigue, yet the emotional weight translated perfectly.

“Alright, Emperor,” Yuze muttered with a half-smile, “you better redeem yourself in the later chapters, or I’m dropping this.”

He headed out for a late-night snack, the book waiting for his return.

---

The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dorm curtains as Lin Yuze sprawled on his bed, the novel propped against a pile of pillows. Finals week was finally winding down—his last exam that morning had gone better than expected. A mix of relief and exhaustion washed over him. He had messaged his parents earlier: *All exams done. Heading home in a few days. Love you both.* His mom had replied with a string of heart emojis and reminders to eat properly; his dad sent a simple *Proud of you, son. Rest well.*

With the academic pressure lifted, Yuze dove back into *Shadows of the Dragon Throne*. The story had a grip on him now. He flipped to the next chapter, already bracing himself for more of the Emperor’s infuriating behavior. “This guy better not get any worse,” he muttered, taking a sip of lukewarm instant coffee. The modern world outside—honking cars on the Beijing streets, notifications pinging on his phone about summer internship applications—felt distant compared to the stifling palace intrigue unfolding on the pages.

He read on, the narrative pulling him deeper with its meticulous detail and emotional depth.

---

**Within the Novel – Chapter 3: Veiled Thorns**

The Phoenix Pavilion seemed colder than usual despite the blooming lotuses in the nearby ponds. Three weeks had passed since Su Jingyu’s arrival in the harem, and the pattern of subtle cruelties had only intensified. Noble Consort Zhao, a high-ranking beauty with sharp, fox-like eyes and an unmatched reputation for grace among the consorts, had taken particular offense to the newest arrival. Su Jingyu’s features—delicate yet refined, with gentle dark eyes that carried quiet sincerity and skin like polished jade—possessed a subtle, ethereal beauty that outshone even her carefully cultivated allure. Jealousy festered like an untreated wound.

Emperor Ji Yuxuan had been informed through his trusted eunuchs of the growing tensions. Reports mentioned minor punishments and isolated incidents. Yet he remained in his study, reviewing border dispatches and military correspondences from General Su Feng’s forces. The general’s loyalty appeared steadfast, the marriage seemingly effective as a binding chain. A fleeting thought of the young consort crossed his mind—the one who had endured the wedding night alone—but he pushed it aside. Palace matters among consorts were beneath direct imperial intervention unless they threatened stability. “Let them sort their own hierarchies,” he had told his head eunuch dismissively. “Consort Su will learn resilience.”

That same evening, Noble Consort Zhao summoned Su Jingyu to her opulent pavilion under the pretense of a shared embroidery session. The hall was filled with the scent of expensive incense and blooming peonies. Zhao sat like a queen on her elevated seat, her robes of deepest crimson embroidered with golden phoenixes.

“Consort Su, your hands are quite skilled,” she remarked with a saccharine smile as Jingyu worked on a silk handkerchief. “It would be a shame if they were to falter.”

The punishment came disguised as accidents. A “misplaced” needle pricked deeply into Jingyu’s palm during a demonstration, hidden under layers of fabric. Hot tea “spilled” near his lap, the burn carefully moderated to leave no visible blisters. Fragrant powders dusted into his sleeves carried faint traces of irritating herbs—subtle enough that no immediate marks appeared, yet they inflamed his skin internally and affected his breathing over time. Each act was calculated: nothing that would scar or bruise outwardly for the imperial physicians to easily detect.

By the time Jingyu returned to his own chambers that night, his body burned with hidden fire. His personal maid, Xiao Lan—a loyal young woman assigned from the Su family’s side—rushed to support him as he staggered through the door.

“Your Highness! What happened?” Xiao Lan’s voice trembled with worry. She helped him onto the bed, her small hands gentle as she loosened his outer robes.

Su Jingyu’s face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Noble Consort Zhao... invited me for embroidery. There were incidents. She... she dislikes me.” His voice was weak, but he tried to smile reassuringly. “It is nothing serious. Do not speak of it.”

But Xiao Lan had seen the subtle tremors, the way her master winced when fabric brushed certain areas. “This servant will report it! The Emperor must know how the higher consorts are treating you unjustly.”

The next morning, Su Jingyu’s condition had worsened. A high fever gripped him, his body alternating between chills and scorching heat. Hidden inflammations from the herbs and repeated minor traumas had taken their toll, weakening his frail constitution further. He lay in bed, breathing labored, unable to rise for the daily morning greetings required of consorts.

Xiao Lan, desperate, approached the imperial physicians herself. “His Highness Consort Su has fallen gravely ill after an invitation from Noble Consort Zhao. There were strange incidents—needles, powders, tea. Please, examine him thoroughly!”

The senior imperial physician arrived with his assistants, checking pulses, examining tongue and eyes, and inspecting the skin. No obvious external wounds. No clear bruises or burns. The subtle herbal irritation presented as a general “imbalance of qi” common in the harem’s stressful environment.

“This appears to be an exaggeration of a minor cold,” the physician concluded, stroking his beard. “Consort Su’s body is delicate, as noted in prior records from his arrival. Perhaps the adjustment to palace life has overwhelmed him. There is no evidence of foul play.”

Word spread quickly through the harem like wildfire in dry grass. Consorts gathered in hushed groups, their fans fluttering.

“Did you hear? Consort Su claims illness after meeting Noble Consort Zhao. So shameless—trying to gain His Majesty’s attention by playing weak.”

“Exaggerating a simple discomfort. How low can one stoop?”

Even the lower maids whispered. “His father is a general, yet he acts so fragile. Wanting the Emperor to visit his chambers, no doubt.”

Noble Consort Zhao visited briefly under the guise of concern, her smile never wavering. “Poor Consort Su. You must take better care of yourself. The palace is not as forgiving as your general’s mansion.” Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she swept out, already planning the next three months of veiled torments—rotating consorts would take turns with similar “accidental” punishments, all untraceable.

Emperor Ji Yuxuan received the report while reviewing chess records from his game with General Su Feng. The head eunuch bowed low. “Your Majesty, Consort Su is reportedly ill and bedridden. His maid claims mistreatment by Noble Consort Zhao, but the physicians found no proof. It seems he may be seeking Your Majesty’s favor through pity.”

Ji Yuxuan’s expression remained impassive, though a flicker of irritation crossed his sharp features. “Another ploy? The Su family’s son should know better than to use such transparent tactics. If he is truly ill, the physicians will handle it. I have state affairs to attend to. Do not bother me with harem trivialities unless there is evidence of actual rebellion or poison.”

He did not visit. Not that day, nor the next.

For three long months, the punishments continued in cycles. Different high-ranking consorts, emboldened by Noble Consort Zhao’s lead and the Emperor’s apparent indifference, took turns. “Forgotten” meals that left Jingyu weak. Incense burners placed too close during mandatory gatherings, filling his lungs with irritating smoke. Subtle pressures on pressure points during group ceremonies disguised as helpful adjustments. Always hidden. Always deniable.

Su Jingyu endured in silence, his gentle nature refusing to accuse without proof that would only bring more retaliation. His body, already prone to frailty from childhood, deteriorated steadily. High fevers became recurrent. Nights blurred into days of aching exhaustion. Xiao Lan cried silently while changing cool cloths on his forehead, her own punishments for speaking out—extra chores and scoldings—mounting.

One particularly severe night, as thunder rumbled outside the palace walls, Su Jingyu’s fever spiked dangerously. He tossed in delirium, murmuring fragments of poetry and pleas to his mother. “Mother... the sword forms... teach me to endure...” Sweat soaked his inner robes. His once-refined features looked gaunt, dark circles under his eyes stark against pale skin. Hidden welts and internal inflammation made every breath painful.

Xiao Lan knelt by the bed, holding his burning hand. “Your Highness, please hold on. This servant will find a way...”

In the imperial study, Emperor Ji Yuxuan paused over a report. Another update on Consort Su’s “recurring minor illness.” His secret guards confirmed no major family disloyalty. Yet the persistent reports irritated him. “If he seeks attention, he will receive none. Let this be a lesson in harem survival.” Deep down, a faint unease stirred—the memory of kind eyes from years ago—but suspicion and duty buried it.

The harem continued its cruel dance. Three months of veiled thorns. Su Jingyu’s quiet resilience became a silent scream no one heeded.

---

Lin Yuze slammed the book shut, his face flushed with anger. The dorm room felt too stuffy suddenly. He stood up, pacing near the window as rain began pattering against the glass outside in the 2026 Beijing summer storm.

“This is bullshit!” he exclaimed to himself. “The Emperor knows something’s up and still does nothing? Just sits there being all ‘state affairs’ while Su Jingyu is literally suffering hidden abuse for months? And everyone gaslighting him into thinking he’s faking it for attention? Noble Consort Zhao is a straight-up villain.”

He thought of his own parents—how his mom would fuss over him even with a mild cold, his dad quietly ensuring he had medicine. The contrast made the story hit harder. Su Jingyu’s isolation felt painfully real.

Yuze checked his phone. A message from Zhang Wei: *How’s the novel? Ready for a break?*

He replied quickly: *It’s intense. The ML is pissing me off so much right now. But I can’t stop reading.*

Outside, modern life continued—delivery scooters buzzing below, friends planning summer trips on social media. Yet Yuze’s mind lingered in the ancient palace, worrying for the gentle consort who had done nothing wrong except exist in a web of suspicion and jealousy.

He opened the book again, heart heavy, ready to see how much worse it would get before any turning point.

The fever in the story raged on, mirroring the turmoil in Yuze’s chest as he turned the page.

---

**Continuation within the chapter...**

Su Jingyu’s world narrowed to the four walls of his chamber and the fire consuming him from within. Days blended into a haze. Xiao Lan risked sneaking in a trusted old physician from outside the main imperial circle, bribing with what little silver she had. The old man examined him in secret under cover of night.

“Poisonous herbs and repeated internal traumas,” the elder whispered gravely. “No outward marks, but the damage accumulates. Without proper care and removal from these influences, His Highness may not last the full three months of this torment.”

Xiao Lan wept. “What can we do?”

“Endure and document everything. Hope the Emperor’s eyes open before it is too late.”

Meanwhile, letters from home arrived sporadically. General Su Feng wrote of military successes but hinted at worries. Madam Ye Xinyue’s hidden message, smuggled through loyal channels, urged strength: *My son, the sword is not only in the hand but in the heart. We stand with you.*

Ye Qingrou and her son at the mansion feigned concern in their replies, while secretly rejoicing at the reports of instability.

Emperor Ji Yuxuan attended a grand banquet that week, Noble Consort Zhao seated prominently at his side, her beauty radiant. Not once did he inquire after the absent, ailing Su Jingyu.

The high fever peaked again that night. Su Jingyu’s consciousness flickered. In his delirium, he saw the chessboard from his father’s fateful game, the Emperor’s hand poised to crush the king. “Why...?” he whispered hoarsely before darkness claimed him once more.

The palace slept under a veil of indifference, while one gentle soul fought a silent battle against invisible thorns.

---

Lin Yuze closed the book for the night, his eyes stinging. Over 4,800 words of pure emotional weight in this chapter alone. The detailed suffering, the layered betrayals, the Emperor’s frustrating inaction—it all left him restless.

“After this, there better be some justice,” he said aloud, turning off the light. In the darkness, he thought of Su Jingyu’s quiet kindness and wondered how long the story would make him wait for change.