Chapter 84

The Culinary Chronicles of the Court Physician: The Disgraced Princess Consumes Poison to Create Medicine

At midday, caravans were dispatched, and troops were organized for expeditions.

Until the necessary medicinal ingredients were gathered, Fei Ling took on the role of preparing palliative medicines. Even creating remedies to ease headaches and slow the spread of internal toxins required complex pharmaceutical expertise. Since the Emperor’s collapse was a state secret, Fei Ling fulfilled her duties as a court physician in the inner palace while also preparing medicine for the royal court.

This morning, prayers echoed across the inner palace from early dawn.

It was finally the day of the Festival of the Hearth. Once the festival concluded, the Spring Festival would continue for approximately twenty-three days. To dispel the calamity of the Heavenly Poison, the ceremonies were to be held on a grand scale.

As Fei Ling crossed the corridors of the Winter Palace, she encountered Hao Xiao, the Winter Consort.

“Isn’t this the daughter of Suo Meng? What a rare coincidence,” Hao Xiao said.

After bowing respectfully, Fei Ling replied:

“Were you close to the late Emperor, Lady Hao Xiao?”

“Oh, Suo Meng? When we had time, we used to drink together until morning. He was one of the few people who could talk with me as an equal,” Hao Xiao said with a reminiscent smile.

“He was a thoughtful man, quick to grasp the currents of the time, bold yet cheerful. He would observe things from unexpected perspectives and eloquently articulate unthought-of ideas, which, strangely enough, always seemed to make sense. But alas, he is… dead, isn’t he?”

The words fell from her lips as delicately as a camellia flower dropping, stirring a breeze in Fei Ling’s chest.

The late Emperor Hao Xiao described was someone Fei Ling didn’t know. It felt as if she were hearing about a stranger she’d never met, yet an inexplicable sense of nostalgia welled up within her.

(Ah, I remember now.)

When her father smiled, dimples would appear on his cheeks.

After the late Emperor’s downfall, Fei Ling had been unable to recall his face. The image etched deeply into her memory of the late Emperor was a chaotic blur—devoid of eyes, nose, or ears.

But so, it seemed.

He wasn’t a mere creature of chaos.

Whether Hao Xiao understood Fei Ling’s internal state or not, she continued:

“Suo Meng was an Emperor worthy of the blessings of the Qilin.”

And that was why Fei Ling felt such regret—that he had been poisoned and defeated by it.

Her heart felt as though it would shatter. Yet it was already a matter of the past.

(I must think that way.)

She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on what could no longer be changed.

“Speaking of Qilin, do you know of the Creation Myth?”

“…The one recorded in the Book of Pangu?” Fei Ling asked, startled by the sudden shift in conversation.

Perhaps out of concern for Fei Ling’s melancholic thoughts or due to her habit of jumping between topics, Hao Xiao brought up an unexpected subject.

“Indeed. Then you must also know why the Qilin is venerated as the guardian deity of the imperial lineage.”

In keeping with the Spring Festival, tapestries depicting scenes from the Book of Pangu adorned the walls of the corridor. These depicted the creation of heaven and earth through intricate weaving.

To shake off her dark thoughts, Fei Ling began reciting the opening verses of the myth:

“In the beginning, there was chaos. Yin and Yang had not yet separated, and heaven and earth were undivided, sleeping soundly in their slumber. Then came a single sound, and the shell split apart. The chaos condensed within the egg scattered. The wings of the phoenix rose gracefully into the heavens—”

The tapestry began with the image of birds taking flight.

The phoenix’s wings carried seasonal flowers like plum blossoms, peonies, and hibiscus. The cracked shell of heaven and earth was expressed with inlays of mother-of-pearl.

“The wind carried by the phoenix passed through, and the sky gradually became the sky. The phoenix, completing its cycle, descended to the earth to give rise to all living things—”

The Book of Pangu resembled poetry. Fei Ling recited it fluently.

“The phoenix, descending to the earth, folded its wings and transformed into the Qilin, bearing hooves. Where the Qilin treads, life springs forth, and it governs the cycles of time—”

Next came a tapestry depicting the cycle of the phoenix and the Qilin.

The phoenix governed the heavens, and the Qilin reigned over the earth. Their intertwined forms resembled a vibrant yin-yang diagram, illustrating how opposites are cyclical and inseparable. The phoenix and Qilin were both two halves of the same whole.

“And so, the heavens and earth began—”

Fei Ling finished the prologue of the Book of Pangu. Hao Xiao nodded and recited the next passage:

“Yes, and it continues—‘As time revolves, the seasonal gods are born, serving the Emperor of the Hour. Heaven and earth are eternally firm and unshaken—’”

The scene depicting the Emperor of the Hour ruling the land was prominently displayed in a large tapestry. The face of the current Emperor, Diao, was woven into the image, following the tradition of modeling the ruler in the myth after the reigning Emperor.

“I’ve been taught that the name ‘Koku’ (刻) comes from the Emperor of the Hour (Koku no Sumera) in the Book of Pangu. Therefore, the Qilin, symbolizing the ruler of the land, is enshrined as the Emperor’s emblem, and the inner palace has consorts representing the seasons.”

“As expected of the daughter of the Hakutaku clan,” Hao Xiao remarked with admiration.

The tapestries stretched endlessly to the end of the corridor.

“Though the phoenix and Qilin are the same entity, considering that the heavens were born first and the earth was built later, one could say the phoenix is the precursor to the Qilin. The Qilin is not immortal but is often spoken of as eternal. In other words—”

Hao Xiao tapped her scepter lightly.

“Could it be that when a Qilin perishes, its soul ascends to heaven and transforms into a phoenix?”

Hao Xiao seemed to believe the Qilin had already died and continued her investigation.

A phoenix, then. The wings of the phoenix depicted on the tapestries bore an uncanny resemblance to peacock feathers.

The “poison devouring poison” within Fei Ling manifested as a tattoo of a peacock on her skin. But if that tattoo symbolized a phoenix rather than a peacock, it might connect to her immunity to poison after touching the remains of the Qilin.

Fei Ling wondered if Hao Xiao knew something about this tattoo, but she couldn’t decide how much to reveal and remained silent.

Noticing her hesitation, Hao Xiao’s eyes softened slightly.

“Hmm. If there’s ever anything troubling you, come visit me. I’ll prepare some tea for you.”

With her feathered robe billowing behind her, Hao Xiao walked away.

As they parted, the festival’s distant clamor returned in full force. The prayers from the Festival of the Hearth echoed with verses from the Book of Pangu.

There was so much she didn’t understand, but one thing was certain:

(Ah, this land has truly become a country without the Qilin.)

The loss she had already known struck her anew, weighing heavily on her chest.

It felt as though her heart might collapse under the burden.