The Sickly Emperor Is Only Immune to Me-Chapter 180 - Cold Wind

In her view, although Tan Yunjian was a knight of the worldly society, he had died saving He Ying and had thus performed a great service. He deserved a grand funeral back in He Country.

He Ying gazed at the coffin, mourning, “Tan Yunjian got seasick and never sailed. This time he sailed for Jiang Ke. Before boarding the island, he told me if he was unlucky enough to die, he wished to be buried with Jiang Ke. They were confidants, brothers; now they can keep each other company. He must be contented.”

So that was it.

Sang Yan was shocked.

She hadn’t expected Tan Yunjian and Jiang Ke to have such a deep bond.

Even though their time together was marked by Jiang Ke’s displeasure and rude words.

It turned out that the affections of men were the same; not expressed in words but in deeds.

“Alright.”

Since it was his dying wish, how could she not fulfill it?

“Dig.”

Once He Ying saw her agreement, he ordered the soldiers to start.

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Obedient to the command, the soldiers began to wield their shovels vigorously.

After digging the grave, they bowed in unison before the coffin and then placed it inside.

As they began to fill the grave, He Ying took an active part.

“Emperor, your injury—”

Pei Muyang softly cautioned, not wanting He Ying to undertake such physical labor.

Sang Yan, thinking of his wounds, shared the same thought and advised, “Let them handle it. After it’s covered, you can throw some soil.”

He Ying did not insist, threw in a couple of scoops of dirt, then handed the shovel to one of the soldiers nearby.

The soldiers resumed covering the grave.

Pei Muyang then had people prepare paper money and paper ingots.

He Ying, watching the slowly rising mound, drowned his sorrows in heavy drinking.

Sang Yan, seeing this, wanted to urge him to drink less but then saw him pouring the wine over the cup and spilling it onto the front of the grave mound.

The soldiers successively brought melons, fruits, chickens, and ducks as offerings.

Sang Yan lit the paper money and worshipped both of them.

He Ying poured several cups of wine, sprinkling it on the graves of the two men, murmuring, “Jiang Ke, Tan Yunjian, life was brief; may we be brothers in the next life.”

Tears fell from Sang Yan’s eyes as she whispered, “Jiang Ke, be my younger brother in your next life. I will choose a different identity and love you well.”

Her voice was so low that it was carried away by the wind, and He Ying did not catch it.

“Chirp chirp—”

A beautiful colorful bird flew over, perching on a branch.

Its black eyes rotated curiously, watching the people below, and then, fluttering its wings, it soared towards the azure sky.

Hearing the bird, Sang Yan looked up, astonished, “Xinyuan, look, that bird is so beautiful! Its feathers are colorful!”

He Ying saw it too and agreed, “Yes. Very beautiful.”

“The mountain’s beauty delights the birds, the pond’s reflection captivates the soul.”

Standing up, she watched the bird fly away, smiling gently, “He would have liked it here.”

He Ying did not respond but walked over and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

The sunlight was intense.

The wind began to pick up.

“Emperor, Lady, it’s time to set out.”

Pei Muyang reminded them softly.

He had known Hero Tan for a time and was pained by his sudden death, but after reaching the point of farewell, they had to part ways.

“Alright. Ah Yan, let’s go.”

He Ying packed away the sadness in his eyes and reached for Sang Yan’s hand.

He was shocked by the coldness of her fingers as he touched her hand, “Why are your hands so cold? Are you feeling cold?”

While asking, he hurriedly took off his outer garment and draped it over her shoulders.

This nameless little island was surrounded by the sea, and the sea breeze was particularly bitter.

“It’s okay. I don’t feel cold.”

Sang Yan had barely finished her sentence when she couldn’t help but sneeze, “Achoo—”

“Get on the boat quickly.”

He Ying urged with a frown, fearing she might catch a cold.

But whatever he feared seemed to manifest.

Less than two hours after boarding the ship, Sang Yan began to run a fever.

He Ying urgently summoned the accompanying Imperial Physician, Liang Xin, to come and examine her.

“No, no, Xinyuan, save me—”

Sang Yan lay in bed, her pretty face flushed red, her consciousness blurred by the fever.

She felt as if she was sinking into darkness, no, perhaps into the dark seawater, reminiscent of when she and Jiang Ke had fallen into the sea, surrounded by dark, cold, and no help in sight.

“Xinyuan, Xinyuan—”

She perspired, furrowed her brows, and muttered in agony.

Gradually, she faintly heard He Ying’s anxious voice.

“How is the Empress?”

“Responding to the Emperor—”

After checking her pulse, Liang Xin, not wanting to delay, hurriedly bowed and responded, “The Empress herself is naturally frail, and worried overly much recently; she was just exposed to the sea breeze, and the chill has led to her catching a cold. This humble official will now prepare medicine for the Empress.”

“Go quickly.”

He Ying sat beside the bed, took a damp handkerchief, and gently wiped the sweat from Sang Yan’s face.

Then, he placed the handkerchief in a basin of water, soaked it, wrung it out, folded it, and placed it on her forehead.

Liang Xin wrote a prescription beside them and opened the medicine chest, taking out herbs and handing them to Pei Muyang, instructing him how to cook the medicine.

Turning back to see the Emperor’s actions, he advised, “Emperor, do not just apply cold compresses to her forehead; you can also use warm water to sponge the Empress to prevent the high fever from harming her body.”

Upon hearing this, Pei Muyang immediately called a palace maid to attend.

“No need. I will do it myself. You go fetch some hot water.”

“Yes.”

Pei Muyang carried several bags of medicine out, then called for someone to bring hot water in.

After a while, two palace maids came with a bucket of hot water.

He Ying was about to lift the hot water, but as he stood up, he realized that Sang Yan was gripping his sleeve tightly.

“No, Xinyuan, don’t go—”

The owner of the small hand seemed anxious about his departure.

He Ying was pleased and yet heartbroken by her delicate dependence, “Ah Yan, don’t be afraid, I’m here.”

He held her hand, kissed it, and placed it back under the blanket.

“Xinyuan, Xinyuan—”

Sang Yan’s eyes were tightly closed, her lips moved slightly, dried and cracked from the fever.

Seeing this, He Ying let a palace maid bring over some tea, and he fed her a few spoonfuls to moisten her lips.

“Ah Yan, good girl, open your mouth, drink some water.”

He Ying cooed softly, smoothing her furrowed brows with his hand from time to time.

After struggling to feed her water, he said, “Ah Yan, good girl, I am going to sponge you down now; you’ll feel more comfortable.”

It seemed as if she heard He Ying’s comforting voice, and in her blurred consciousness, Sang Yan allowed him to remove her outer garment.

He Ying moistened the handkerchief, then unbuttoned her inner garment, without a trace of desire, and sponged down her body.

Then he wrapped her back up in the blanket.

By nighttime,

The previously feverish Sang Yan started to feel cold again, her lips trembling.

He Ying could only hold her tightly in his arms, using his body heat to warm her.

The joyful atmosphere of returning home on the entire ship fell into gloom again because of Sang Yan’s high fever.