Chapter Forty-Five: Poisoned

When there was nothing to occupy his time, the days slipped by quietly, and before he knew it, several days had passed since Zhu Yu had rewarded Ye Zhanqing. Zhu Yu had pondered long and hard about bestowing upon her the Muscle and Bone Reinforcement chapter of the Nine Yin Manual—a peerless technique that could improve one’s innate talent.

By rights, such a skill should never have been given as a reward; two commonplace martial arts manuals and a pouch of gold or silver would have been the most anyone could expect. Yet, because she was his “fellow townsman,” Zhu Yu, moved by a sense of kinship, gave Ye Zhanqing the section of the Nine Yin Manual most crucial for her.

Several people had mentioned her lack of talent to him. Since he was aware of it, Zhu Yu thought he might as well lend a hand—he wanted her to go further, to avoid being cut down by an enemy simply because her martial arts hit a bottleneck due to her limitations. After all, the life of an assassin was fraught with peril.

At first, Zhu Yu had considered drawing closer to her, but after seeing Ye Zhanqing’s demeanor that day, he gave up on the idea. He truly harbored no ulterior motives, but if a beautiful woman was within reach, what man could remain unmoved? He feared that if he got too close, things might develop beyond his control.

As he had once said, it was her face and the distance between them that evoked in him a faint sense of kinship. Yet, if things truly progressed to the point where they lay in the same bed, Ye Zhanqing would become no different from any other woman in his eyes.

Besides, if there was one thing Zhu Yu was not lacking, it was concubines.

To preserve this sense of distance, Zhu Yu decided to set her aside for now—he would wait until she had calmed down.

According to his original plan, by now Zhu Yu ought to have set foot in the martial world to earn Fate Points. Yet the comfort of palace life had made him lazy. With delicious food, fine drink, and beautiful women at his side, why risk his life stirring up trouble in the martial world? Why bother?

Zhu Yu’s long-dormant laziness erupted in full force. Again and again, he postponed his foray into the martial world, until finally he gave himself a new goal.

His current Fate Points stood at 991. He would wait until they naturally rose to 1,000, then learn the Rama Divine Art before considering his next move.

He had thought about sending agents from the Eastern Depot or the Six Doors to intervene in the martial world, but ultimately dismissed the idea. His experience with subduing Blackstone had shown that, with few exceptions, those in the martial world harbored deep suspicion towards the court.

To plot against the martial world through schemes would take far too long. Zhu Yu could not afford to wait. If he issued orders to intervene directly, he risked uniting the chaotic martial world into a single force against him.

After much consideration, he concluded it was best to act personally. With his current abilities, few in the world could kill him in open combat, and even if he could not win, he could escape.

Secondly, knowing the storylines gave Zhu Yu an edge. While he could not seize every opportunity, being personally involved in the events would bring a sense of accomplishment. There were, after all, regrets from martial arts dramas he hoped to amend.

Thus, Zhu Yu found himself in a quandary. He watched his Fate Points intently, torn between enjoying a life of ease and craving the thrill of blade and shadow.

Because of this, his appetite failed him, he could not drink, and even his sleep was restless.

Amid his endless indecision, his Fate Points finally crossed the threshold of 1,000.

With the waiting over, Zhu Yu wasted no time. He picked up the Rama Divine Art and began his practice.

He spent two hours carefully studying the manual. When the long-missed “+” icon appeared in his system, he focused intently and initiated the upgrade.

Moments later, his information changed:

Host: Zhu Yu
Status: Emperor of Jing, Leader of Blackstone
Condition: Healthy
Martial Arts: Northern Sea Divine Art (Proficient), Nine Yin Manual (Proficient), Rama Divine Art (Novice)
Dynasty Fate Points: 701

As he felt himself gaining initial mastery over the Rama Divine Art, Zhu Yu noticed that the Fate Points consumed did not match his expectations.

He had assumed that, as before, it would cost 400 points to upgrade. But the system only deducted 300 this time.

A moment’s thought clarified the issue: the discrepancy lay in the skill’s level. The previous two—Northern Sea Divine Art and Nine Yin Manual—were peerless techniques, hence the higher cost. The Rama Divine Art, however, was a legendary-level skill, so the cost was less.

It seemed that lesser martial arts would cost even fewer points. Of course, Zhu Yu had no intention of testing this theory. Why waste precious Fate Points on inferior skills? After all, it had taken him nearly half a year of peace and prosperity to accumulate just under 400 points.

Who could guarantee that his dynasty would always enjoy such harmony? If it did, he would hardly need to bother with martial arts at all.

If the land enjoyed endless peace and he had the people’s support, he could simply raise an army of millions and sweep away all before him.

As he indulged in these idle fantasies, Zhu Yu suddenly noticed that the Rama Divine Art was circulating automatically.

This realization brought him some amusement—did it function like the Nine Yang Divine Art, cultivating itself without conscious effort?

Yet before the delight had fully blossomed, he sensed something amiss.

The path the energy took was identical to the route for the art’s self-healing function. But he was not injured. Why would this be?

The moment the thought struck, Zhu Yu’s expression darkened—he understood at once.

The Rama Divine Art’s self-healing could cure both injuries and poisons. In other words, he had been poisoned without his knowledge.

He focused again on the flow of internal energy. The movement was sluggish; whether this was due to his lack of proficiency with the art or the potency of the poison, he could not tell.

Unable to wait any longer, Zhu Yu rose and went secretly to the Imperial Medical Institute.

The imperial physicians’ diagnosis confirmed his suspicions: he was indeed poisoned.

They described his recent symptoms—loss of appetite, inability to drink or sleep—all of which he had attributed to his own anxieties, but which were in fact the effects of the poison.

As Zhu Yu struggled to contain his fear and anger, the imperial physician informed him of something strange.

The poison was not fatal. The three symptoms described were its only effects.

The physician’s words left Zhu Yu bewildered. Someone had poisoned him, but not to kill—what was the meaning of this? To keep him from eating, drinking, or sleeping—did they hope to drive him mad? But how long would that take?