Chapter Sixty-One: Du Ruhui’s Illness

From the beginning of the fourth year of the Zhen Guan era, the health of Duke Lai, Du Ruhui, had steadily deteriorated. Half a year ago, he had already submitted his resignation, requesting retirement due to old age.

Li Shimin, out of compassion, swiftly approved Du Ruhui’s resignation, and every few days he sent imperial physicians to diagnose and treat him.

Yet fate would not be swayed; after enduring the shifts between summer and autumn, Du Ruhui’s decline could no longer be stopped. Now, his life hung by a thread, sustained only by prescriptions from the Imperial Medical Bureau and the rare medicinal treasures bestowed by Li Shimin. If timely treatment was not administered, he might not survive the winter.

After more than two years away, Li Kong returned to Chang’an with a heart full of mixed emotions—some melancholy, some resignation. Yet more than anything, he felt joy: the city was livelier than three years ago, its population noticeably increased. As he walked, the bustling figures, laughter, and chatter echoed from afar; after three years of tranquility, the Tang Dynasty had finally entered a period of genuine peace.

At the Duke Lai’s residence, Li Kong found countless people anxiously gathered in the courtyard. Among them, Fang Xuanling’s grief was most profound; after all, the two had met in their youth and together assisted Li Shimin in consolidating his rule, earning the moniker “Fang’s Strategies, Du’s Judgments.” Though not brothers by blood, their bond was stronger.

Now, as his old friend’s life flickered like an oil lamp nearly spent, Fang Xuanling’s anguish was palpable.

In front of Fang Xuanling, Li Shimin stood with a heavy expression, gazing at the room ahead. Several palace maids hurried back and forth, sweating as they prepared decoctions, fetched water, and sorted medicines.

Seeing this scene, Li Kong understood: if today could not be overcome, Duke Lai of Tang would bid farewell to the mortal world.

Taking a deep breath, Li Kong straightened his clothes and approached Li Shimin, cupping his hands in salute. “This humble subject, Li Kong, greets Your Majesty. May Your Majesty enjoy ten thousand years of peace!”

Li Shimin’s hand paused, his expression complex as he looked at Li Kong. Years ago, he had exiled Li Kong to Changle County based on something Li Kong had said. Though more than two years had passed and any anger had faded, a sense of guilt remained.

Li Kong had not only helped train an exceptional crown prince for him, but also enriched the national treasury. Most importantly, thanks to Li Kong’s prescriptions, the Empress Changsun’s illness had largely abated; her complexion and spirit were far improved compared to previous years.

Did Li Kong harbor treasonous thoughts? Li Shimin once suspected so, but now... he no longer believed it. If Li Kong truly sought rebellion, he would have wished for Li Shimin’s household to fall into chaos.

After a long silence, Li Shimin finally spoke: “Go inside and see him. Try your best... If nothing can be done—”

He did not finish the sentence, but the choking tone sent a tremor through Li Kong’s heart. This was precisely why Li Kong was willing to help: throughout five thousand years of history, emperors as sentimental and principled as Li Shimin were rare, and Li Shimin was the best among them.

To put it simply, following such an emperor meant one never had to worry about losing his head—there was security.

Acknowledging the command, Li Kong turned and entered the room.

Inside, several imperial physicians were busy, sweat dripping from their brows. Though the patient was not a royal, they knew well Du Ruhui’s importance to Li Shimin; if Du Ruhui died, those responsible for his treatment would not fare well—some might even pay with their lives.

Li Kong coughed, interrupting their thoughts. When they saw him, a hint of confusion appeared in their eyes.

“It’s fine now. Duke Lai’s illness is no longer your concern. All of you, please leave.” Li Kong’s words sounded like a heavenly reprieve, and the physicians gladly accepted the release. Though uncertain why Li Kong would say this, they knew Li Shimin stood outside; if this young man had his approval, he must possess extraordinary ability.

One physician, recognizing Li Kong, stepped forward and saluted. “Greetings, Lord Li. We leave Duke Lai in your care. We are ashamed.”

Li Kong smiled and shook his head, then turned to Du Ruhui. Compared to their meeting two years prior, Du Ruhui now truly resembled a candle at its end—his face was pale, his body gaunt, nearly skeletal. To describe him as “withered as sticks” was no exaggeration.

Much of his beard and eyebrows had fallen out; even the hair atop his head was thinning. His sunken eyes were tightly closed, and his uneven breaths suggested that life might cease at any moment.

Li Kong took Du Ruhui’s hand and turned it over—not to read his pulse, but to examine his fingertips. Then he opened Du Ruhui’s eyelids and finally leaned over to listen to his heartbeat.

After a quarter of an hour, Li Kong exhaled slowly. Luckily, Du Ruhui was simply overworked, his heart inflamed by stress, and likely by some event that had stirred his anger, causing all his frustration to converge in his heart and block the flow of blood.

In modern terms, it was a lack of cardiac power, resulting in reduced blood supply—commonly known as myocardial infarction.

Such a disease in this era was impossible to treat—not because their medical techniques were insufficient, but because they could not identify the illness. The treatment required not only unblocking the meridians, but also increasing the heart’s blood supply; of the two, the latter was most crucial.

Moreover, Du Ruhui’s heart meridians had been mostly cleared by the imperial physicians’ acupuncture, leaving only a final blockage. If the blood supply could be restored, the stagnation would dissipate.

“If only I had a fast-acting heart pill now!” Li Kong muttered under his breath, then shook his head with a wry smile, somewhat self-mocking. Though such a pill could help Du Ruhui recover, it had a major drawback: afterward, the heart would become extremely fragile, and even minor agitation could cause sudden collapse and death.

Looking at Du Ruhui lying on the bed, Li Kong gently began massaging his heart area in a seemingly random pattern, speaking softly: “Though your son and I do not get along, and I have little regard for him, you cannot die now—not for the sake of His Majesty, nor for the whole Tang Dynasty. So summon your will to survive; I can only help you so much.”

It seemed Du Ruhui heard him; his face flushed slightly, and as Li Kong’s massage quickened, his color slowly returned.

This continued for an entire hour. Finally, Li Kong collapsed at the edge of the bed, glancing at Du Ruhui, whose color had improved somewhat. With a bitter smile, he said, “Fortunately, your desire to live is strong. Next, I’ll need to massage you ten more times, and with medicine to strengthen your heart and blood, you should gradually recover. But illness comes like a mountain, and to fully recover you’ll need at least two years of rest.”

Du Ruhui’s hand moved slightly—though the motion was faint, Li Kong saw it. Smiling gently, he supported his exhausted body and slowly walked outside...