The Empress Dowager's Pulse Raced for the Palace Physician novel · Chapter 20 of 24

Chapter 20: The Exam

Qinglan had poured the Prince's cup onto the temple stones that morning, and nobody had seen.

The Hall of Audience was lit with a thousand lamps, and the full moon stood in the open doors.

Ministers in purple and blue lined both sides in rows.

At the far end, behind the beaded curtain, the throne glittered, and in front of it a low table had been set with a silk pulse cushion.

Murong Yue sat beside the table in her scarlet and gold, with her hair pinned and her face as calm as a lake.

Qinglan sat across from her on a stool, grey-green robe, wooden pin, medicine box at her feet.

Her heart was hammering, and she was grateful that nobody was going to take her pulse.

The Prince sat on a chair of honor, round-faced and smiling, in dark purple.

Beside him stood his physician, hands folded.

"We begin," said the head eunuch. "His Highness's physician will read first."

The physician stepped up, bowed, and took the Dowager's wrist.

He held it for a long time.

He frowned.

He said, in a worried voice, that the beat was quick and uneven, that the Dowager's spirit was clearly overheated, and that rest in a quiet palace was advised.

A murmur went around the hall.

The Prince sighed, deeply, sadly.

"Physician Shen," he said. "Perhaps you will confirm?"

Qinglan rose.

She walked to the table, took Yue's wrist from the cushion, and laid two fingers on the pulse.

She looked into the black eyes and thought, rice.

The beat under her fingers was slow and steady and strong.

"Seventy-two beats," she said, loud enough for the back rows. "Even. Deep. This is the pulse of a healthy woman who slept well."

The hall went quiet.

"That is not what my man found," the Prince said, still smiling.

"No," said Qinglan. "His fingers found a racing pulse because he'd given her tonic the week before. Yours was the only hand that raced her blood, and I can name the week."

"A grave accusation."

"I'll be glad to prove it, Your Highness. Give me your wrist."

The smile stayed on his face, but his eyes went flat.

"I am not the one being examined."

"You said you'd kneel and beg pardon if the Dowager was found sound. A pulse is a pulse. If mine is a lie, yours will tell."

A minister near the front coughed.

Another leaned forward.

The Prince looked at the faces, and at the moon in the door, and held out his plump hand.

Qinglan took it.

His skin was damp.

She pressed her fingers to the vein, and counted aloud.

She counted for the length of a long breath.

"Racing," she said.

The hall rustled.

"One hundred and ten beats, in a man sitting still. Flushed face, dry mouth, a tremor in the fingers." She looked down at his sleeve. "And the smell of ephedra."

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