Substitute Rival

Feng's Illness

The Imperial Palace, once bustling with energy, felt colder and quieter these days. Prince Feng, once full of vitality, was now confined to his chambers, his body betraying him. He had been ill for weeks, with no sign of improvement. His muscles ached, his skin burned, and a dull pain pulsed through his veins, growing worse each day. Physicians came and went, all of them baffled by the mysterious disease that seemed to drain the life from him.

Feng had always been strong, a warrior in every sense, but now, he couldn't even stand without the ground swaying beneath his feet. He sat by the window, staring out at the palace gardens, his face pale, his once-sharp eyes now dull with fatigue.

The whispers had begun long ago—rumors that he had been cursed by the demonic sect. Some said it was punishment for his rivalry with Prince Cheng, others said it was a move to weaken the empire's warriors. Feng hadn't believed them, at least not at first, but now, doubt crept in.

As he sat in his chamber, a cough racked his body, and he leaned forward, gripping the arm of his chair for support. His servant rushed to his side.

"Your Highness, please rest," the servant urged, concern etched on his face.

Feng waved him off weakly. "I'll rest when I'm better," he muttered, though he knew that might never happen. The truth weighed heavily on him, but he refused to show weakness.

Just then, the door to his chambers creaked open. A royal physician entered, bowing low before approaching the prince. His face was grim, as it had been for days.

"Your Highness," the physician said softly, "we've tried every remedy we know. I'm afraid... we don't understand the nature of your illness. There are whispers that this could be the work of dark forces—perhaps something tied to the demonic sect."

Feng's expression hardened. "Nonsense," he growled, his voice low but firm. "I've fought the demonic sect before. If they wanted me dead, they wouldn't need to hide behind some poison or curse."

The physician hesitated, then continued, "Regardless, we will continue to search for a cure. But I must ask... has anyone unusual come into contact with you in the weeks before this began?"

Feng shook his head, frustration building. He hated the helplessness of it all—the uncertainty, the weakness. "Just find a way to fix this," he said coldly, his temper flaring despite his exhaustion.

As the physician bowed and left, Feng clenched his fists, trying to keep his frustration in check. He hated the insinuations, the rumors that painted him as a victim of some unseen enemy. He wouldn't believe it, couldn't believe it.

Suddenly, the door opened again, and one of his personal attendants hurried in. "Your Highness, a message has arrived from the Crown Prince," the servant said, holding out a scroll.

Feng's eyes narrowed as he took the message from Cheng, breaking the seal and reading the contents. His brother had been busy in the countryside, supporting one of the smaller sects that had allied with the empire. Cheng's letter was brief, asking about Feng's health and mentioning his recent success with the sect.

Feng crumpled the letter in his hand, tossing it aside. He knew Cheng meant well, but the thought of his brother gaining influence while he lay bedridden made his blood boil. Even now, he couldn't escape the shadow of Cheng's ambition.

But as much as the rivalry gnawed at him, Feng knew something far more dangerous was at play. He could feel it in his bones—the sickness wasn't natural. Someone had done this to him, but he didn't know who or why.

And the thought terrified him.

Meanwhile, Crown Prince Cheng stood in the midst of a small sect's courtyard, speaking to its leader. He had been busy forging alliances, strengthening his position within the empire, all while keeping a close eye on the palace and the court's intrigues.

As Cheng discussed logistics with the sect's elders, one of his personal guards approached, bowing deeply.

"Your Highness, urgent news from the palace," the guard said, handing over a sealed scroll.

Cheng's brow furrowed as he broke the seal and read the contents. His heart skipped a beat—Feng's illness had worsened. The physicians feared he might not have much time left.

He handed the scroll to one of his attendants and immediately mounted his horse. "We're leaving," Cheng ordered, his voice steady, though his mind raced with worry. Feng and he had always competed, but Cheng never wished him harm. His brother's condition was worse than he had thought.

By the time Cheng arrived at the palace, it was late, but he wasted no time rushing to Feng's chambers. His stomach churned as he entered the dimly lit room, seeing Feng lying in bed, barely conscious. His once-strong brother looked like a shadow of himself.

"Feng," Cheng said softly, kneeling beside him. "What's happened to you?"

Feng opened his eyes weakly, struggling to focus on his brother's face. "I don't know," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It's... getting worse..."

Cheng frowned. "I'll find out who did this," he said firmly. "Whoever is behind this will pay."

Feng coughed, wincing in pain. "I don't think... it's the demonic sect," he murmured, his thoughts scattered. "I don't know... but I feel like... someone's after me..."

Cheng clenched his fists. If it wasn't the demonic sect, then who? His mind raced with possibilities, but one thing was clear—someone was plotting against his family, and they had nearly succeeded in killing his brother.