(3) The Flower-Grafting Technique

"Heng... Heng..." Seeing this, Yinglan was frantic beyond measure; she wept and screamed herself hoarse, helpless in her own paralysis.

　　"Heng, wake up! Don't... don't die..." Yinglan called out to him again and again, nearly at the end of her hope, her voice raw with grief, echoing across the platform until all who heard it felt their hearts wrench with sorrow. Watching his son in this dreadful state, Rong Yin spat up another mouthful of old blood and fell unconscious as well.

　　Shenyu gritted his teeth. As the one who administered punishment, mercy and pity were the very things he could least afford — others might indulge them, but not he, or he would be failing his duty. He drew a deep breath, and raised the whip a third time against Rong Heng.

　　Yet the instant this stroke landed on Rong Heng, Shenyu sensed at once that something was wrong. He could not say exactly what, but he knew that this blow, if it truly struck Rong Heng, would either shatter him soul and all or kill him outright — had Rong Heng's own cultivation not been considerable, he likely would have died after the first two strokes already; surviving three was, for a demon, all but unheard of.

　　Even the Demon King himself, most likely, could not have withstood three strokes — let alone Rong Heng.

　　Shenyu tilted his head, puzzling over it, brow furrowed in confusion, when his eye caught something strange in Ziyuan's expression nearby.

　　"Your Highness..." Shenyu suddenly understood, and cried out in shock; the realization so alarmed him that he rushed before Ziyuan, showing a rare loss of composure.

　　"Your Highness, you must not—" Before Shenyu could say more, Ziyuan raised a hand to stop him.

　　"This Prince never told you to switch targets. All four strokes have truly landed on Rong Heng. You need have no worry on that account." Ziyuan spoke evenly.

　　Having just taken one stroke of the God-Smiting Whip himself, however deep his cultivation, he could not help but be affected somewhat, and his voice, plainly, no longer carried its usual vigor. In truth, everyone's attention had been fixed entirely on the two figures on the platform, and no one had noticed Ziyuan quietly forming the hand-seals of the Flower-Grafting Technique, transferring onto himself the force and effect of the God-Smiting Whip meant for Rong Heng. And having sent Changxiu away beforehand, he had worked this sleight of hand to swap heaven for earth without anyone the wiser.

　　"Your Highness... this humble servant... this humble servant would not dare." Hearing this, Shenyu dropped in a panic to his knees. At this, everyone else in the hall knelt as well. That this punishment should now fall upon the innocent, universally beloved Ziyuan left the whole assembly pale with shock; Shenyu, for his part, looked ready to wish himself dead on the spot — how could he possibly bring himself to deliver a fourth stroke?

　　"This humble servant would not dare." Shenyu pressed his forehead honestly to the floor, not daring to lift his head.

　　He had not known, a moment ago, of Ziyuan's hidden maneuver, and the mistaken strike he had already dealt him weighed on him now as a grave sin; knowing full well that Ziyuan meant to take the fourth stroke in Rong Heng's place, how could Shenyu possibly go along with it?

　　"Hear my command, Shenyu: if this Prince taking these two strokes in his place can bring lasting peace and friendship between our two clans — even, perhaps, a happy marriage uniting them — would that not be a blessing rather than a misfortune? These two strokes, landing on Rong Heng, though he brought this on himself, would cost the Demon King his beloved son, and breed lasting resentment toward the Celestial Court for years to come; landing on this Prince instead, though they cause him some harm, they do no great damage — this Prince can bear it, and is willing to. Why cling so stubbornly to the letter of your orders? Once this affair is settled, this Prince intends to petition Father to grant Yinglan and Rong Heng a marriage — would that not please everyone? But if you beat the Eleventh Princess's future husband to nothing, consider carefully whether you could ever make up for it." Ziyuan spoke with a wry smile, laying the greater cause plainly before Shenyu.

　　"Rise now and finish the punishment quickly. Delay any longer, and even saving Rong Heng may become impossible." Ziyuan reached out and pulled Shenyu to his feet.

　　"Yes..." Having been reasoned with so thoroughly by Ziyuan, Shenyu found himself with nothing left to say in answer; save for taking up the whip once more, he seemed to have no other choice.

　　After Ziyuan signaled for everyone to rise, Shenyu stepped back onto the platform. He looked at his own hand holding the whip and found it trembling faintly, his heart a knot of conflict; he glanced back once more at Ziyuan, and seeing him form the mudra before his chest, hands sealed together, Shenyu abruptly swung the whip up and brought it crashing down upon Rong Heng's back.

　　"Your Highness..."

　　Before Shenyu could even catch his breath, cries of alarm broke out behind him. Ziyuan's footing gave way; he dropped to one knee, a searing, tearing pain lancing across his back. Fortunately Changxiu arrived just in time, supporting Ziyuan and helping him sit down where he was. Shenyu, having removed the chains and the iron cross from the platform, had no time yet to attend to either of the two fallen figures there; he sprinted at once toward Ziyuan instead, his face heavy with guilt, and dropped to his knees again before him, not daring to lift his eyes to Ziyuan's pale, drawn face.

　　"This is none of your doing." Ziyuan tried to reach out and comfort Shenyu, but found he lacked the strength, and spoke weakly instead, half-leaning against Changxiu.

　　Meanwhile, Yinglan, freed at last, used what power she had to send Rong Heng floating toward the Medicine King. Changxiu, it turned out, had gone earlier at Ziyuan's command to fetch the Medicine King from the Medicine Hut to stand ready to save a life. The Medicine King at once produced a Soul-Recall Pill and pressed it into Rong Heng's mouth, then used his own power to dissolve it and draw its medicine through Rong Heng's entire body.

　　The Medicine King, summoned to save someone, had understood that someone to be Rong Heng, and so on arriving in haste he had turned his attention there first — and indeed Rong Heng's condition was by far the more urgent, so he chose to treat Rong Heng's injuries first, though his heart was troubled all the while for Ziyuan waiting nearby. The Medicine King sighed; His Highness always thought first of others and never of himself. When he had sent Changxiu to fetch him, he had mentioned only Rong Heng. Having administered the medicine and arranged for Rong Heng to be carried back to the Medicine Hut, the Medicine King sighed again, shook his head helplessly, and hurried at last toward Ziyuan.

　　"Your Highness! This is the Soul-Nourishing Pill." Seeing the Medicine King approach, the crowd parted to let him through, and he produced the pill for Ziyuan to take.

　　"Once you've taken the Soul-Nourishing Pill, a period of rest and recovery will see you through it."

　　"I am in your debt..."

　　Ziyuan was about to say something more, but the Medicine King spoke first, with gentle consideration: "This is my duty, Your Highness — there is no need for such courtesy. That boy Rong Heng has Your Highness's protection over him; he will not die, so set your mind at ease and look first to your own recovery. This humble one will go back to the Medicine Hut now to treat him."

　　"Go, then." Ziyuan nodded.

　　The Medicine King took his leave, and Changxiu was just about to help Ziyuan back to Cize Hall when the Celestial Sovereign suddenly appeared.

　　The Celestial Sovereign, hearing of the disturbance at the execution platform, had rushed here at once. He had not expected that Ziyuan's careful scheming would bring the whole affair to resolution without costing a single soldier or a single clan, while also cementing goodwill between two peoples. Whatever could be done, Ziyuan had done — and done it thoroughly, flawlessly — how many times over did that surpass what he himself, the father, might have managed?

　　Looking upon his weakened son, the Celestial Sovereign bent down and reached out to help him up.

　　"Why... did you have to do this?" The Celestial Sovereign sighed, his heart aching though he dared not let it show too plainly. As a father hoping to see his son rise to greatness, as the ruler of the Three Realms, he could not let Ziyuan see too much softness in him.

　　"Ziyuan is unharmed. Please, Father, do not trouble yourself."

　　Ziyuan let go of the Celestial Sovereign's supporting hand and made to bow, but his father stopped him.

　　"At a time like this, must we still stand on ceremony? Changxiu, hurry and help His Highness back to rest and recover."

　　"Yes." Changxiu answered respectfully.

　　"Father, grant Yinglan and Rong Heng a marriage. That boy Rong Heng is no ordinary sort."

　　"He is a demon — how could he possibly be a match for Yinglan?" Hearing Ziyuan say this, the Celestial Sovereign was taken aback; the thought of the Celestial Court's Eleventh Princess marrying down into the demon clan left him faintly troubled just imagining it.

　　"A demon who could not even withstand three strokes of the God-Smiting Whip — marry Yinglan to him, and what could he possibly give her?"

　　"In this world, false feeling abounds and true feeling is rare — that these two share true feeling for one another is precious beyond measure. As for Father's need to balance the various factions through marriage alliances, we, your sons, are enough to shoulder that burden between us. Since Yinglan's heart is already given, why not let her have her wish? What's more, is not a marriage alliance with the demon clan itself the very beginning of lasting friendship between our two peoples? A course of action good for both sides — why not take it? I beg Father to consider it once more." As Ziyuan spoke, he coughed several times, low and muffled.

　　"You..." Ziyuan's words left the Celestial Sovereign at a momentary loss; how could he fail to hear the deeper meaning beneath them? The words felt like a thorn, driven deep into his chest.

　　Perhaps even now Ziyuan still harbored resentment over the marriage his father had arranged for him all those years ago. Ziyuan never spoke of it, but how could a father fail to understand such a thing?

　　This eldest son was different from all his other sons. For the other princes, a political marriage meant, at most, one more person in the back courtyard — but Ziyuan's Cize Hall remained, to this day, cold and empty. He did not fully understand why Ziyuan had never taken anyone else into his household since, but it was an undeniable fact that Ziyuan had been unhappy with the marriage arranged for him back then, and had resisted it. In every other respect Ziyuan was without flaw — his pride, not only his ablest help in matters of state but a prince who had won the hearts of the people besides — and yet this one matter still weighed on him even now; he even carried a measure of guilt over it.

　　And so, whether Ziyuan intended it or not, these words of his did indeed strike a tender nerve. And it was precisely because of that guilt that the Celestial Sovereign yielded on this matter with unusual speed.

　　"You speak with good reason." The Celestial Sovereign answered Ziyuan with a smile.