An Zi-yuan suddenly fell silent, not speaking for a long time. The physician, worried, dared to glance at him hesitantly. Before he could catch a glimpse of his expression, An Zi-yuan’s sharp gaze had already turned to him. "You go ahead. Don’t mention this to anyone—especially to Moon Consort." "Understood," the physician bowed and withdrew. The room fell quiet once more. The room was spacious, spacious, and still—so quiet that even when all sounds outside ceased, An Zi-yuan’s deep internal energy could hardly carry the faint breath of Yun Rao. This awareness often troubled him, filled with a sense of unease and fear, yet he could do nothing about it. Yun Rao remained asleep, and An Zi-yuan had not disturbed her. He simply lay beside her, cradling her tightly in his arms. Though she was clearly within his embrace, she seemed as if she might vanish at any moment. Every morning, as soon as he opened his eyes, he would check her pulse, wondering if she were still alive. Sometimes, what made one feel most desperate was not merely life and death—but the endless, unending suffering. ——— Yun Rao slept deeply, her body already frail and now bearing the weight of pregnancy, relying solely on such prolonged rest to conserve her strength. The longer she slept, the deeper An Ziyuan’s growing concern became. When Yun Rao awoke, it was already morning light. As she opened her eyes, she saw the handsome face that, though familiar to her, still felt strangely new and close—so near that she was startled, nearly tumbling off the bed. Fortunately, An Ziyuan promptly reached out and caught her. Still breathless, Yun Rao patted her chest, asking, “Does the Emperor not attend court this morning?” “Yeah,” An Ziyuan lightly replied, not informing her that he had already returned from court. He only held her hand tighter, took her pulse, then accompanied her for breakfast, feeding her medicine—everything proceeded as usual. Yet An Ziyuan, who had always been composed and relaxed, now seemed restless and uneasy, his chest nearly suffocated by the growing weight of his anxiety. Yun Rao, sensitive to these subtle shifts, first noticed the change when she had vomited the night before. She didn't ask him any questions. While he was off to the imperial study, she summoned Bian, the chief physician, and had him take her pulse, then inquired about her own health. Following An Ziyuan's instructions, Bian deliberately withheld the news of her pregnancy, merely stating that she was physically weak, and quietly prescribed a tonic to calm her condition. Cui Xi brought the medicine over, and Yun Rao, accustomed to drinking medicine regularly, immediately sensed something was amiss. As a woman who had lived most of her life in the幽ming Valley and who had long suffered from illness and toxicity, Yun Rao had a basic understanding of medical principles. The aroma of the medicine reminded her of Gujingcao—hermaceous, warming the spleen and calming the fetus. A tonic to calm the fetus? Her hand unconsciously rested on her flat abdomen, recalling the nausea and sourness she had experienced lately, as well as the embrace and kiss from Emperor Yanjing last night when he had taken her pulse. Had she—already—become pregnant? Yun Rao couldn't quite put into words how she felt at this very moment—it was so奇妙. She had never imagined, in all her life, that one day she would become a mother. Yet now, within her flat belly, there was already a tiny life growing. A warm, touching emotion surged from her heart, soft and beautiful. But this beautiful feeling was quickly torn apart by the sharp, cramping pain rising in her chest. Since entering the palace, Yun Rao had scarcely suffered any more episodes of the piercing pain. She had almost come to believe that she would never again experience such agony throughout her life. Now, as the pain gripped her, she bent double, her hand holding the bowl of medicine growing weak and dropping. The crisp sound of the bowl shattering sent a sharp, scattering of broken porcelain flying across the floor. The sound was clear even to An Zi yuan, who had just come from the imperial study and was still outside the courtyard—he immediately changed color, his heart racing with shock and fear, and hurried toward her. As he pushed open the door, he saw Yun Rao curled up in Xiao Man's arms, her small body convulsing, her face pale as snow. "Yun Rao." "With a sharp cry, An Zi yuan had already reached her, cradling her in his arms, his trembling hands gently patting her face. His usually steady voice now trembled as he repeatedly called her name, 'Yun Rao, Yun Rao...' patting her face again and again. Yun Rao managed to lift her head slightly, struggling to suppress the sharp pain within her, and managed a weak smile. 'An Zi yuan, I thought you'd keep this secret from me forever.' Her voice was so weak it was nearly incoherent, yet An Zi yuan heard her clearly. He only tightened his grip on her waist, his arms trembling slightly. 'I'm sorry,' he murmured, bending down to carry her back to the bed, and then, losing control, shouted at Qu Xiaoman and Cui Xi, 'Call the Imperial Physician! What are they waiting for?' Yun Rao struggled to hold onto his hand, trying to stop him, but found herself unable to exert much strength. 'Yun Rao, don't move. Just lie still,' An Zi yuan said, taking her hand in his own, his voice growing softly trembling. Xiaoman stepped forward to remind, 'Your Majesty, is there any cold spring water available?' “There’s…,” An Zi yuan seemed to suddenly grasp it, bending down to lift Yun Rao, but Yun Rao firmly grasped his hand, tears suddenly welling up, her voice tinged with emotion, “No… I don’t want to. I don’t want to.” Her body could endure the cold of the chilly pool, but her child could not. She didn’t want to learn of the child’s existence only to face the very possibility of losing him the day after she woke up. “An Zi yuan,” she clutched his hand tightly, “I won’t make it anyway. How many days I live, let him live with me for those many days. I don’t want him to go before me.”