Xia Tinghe glanced at the courtiers who were kneeling on the floor.
The old guys standing at the front almost dropped their heads to the ground, but their shoulders were shaking slightly. Not afraid, but smiling.
Laughing at him for being such a sick emperor, he couldn't even survive the morning court.
The right minister, Zhao Chongshan, is sixty-three years old this year. He stands up straight and his white beard twitches. He looks like he is worried for the emperor, but in fact the corners of his mouth are almost raised to the sky.
Xia Tinghe knew it all too well - these old guys wanted him to die today so that they could be replaced by an obedient little emperor and let them take power.
He took a deep breath, feeling a burning pain in his throat.
"I'm fine." Xia Tinghe's voice was hoarse and he raised his hand to take the medicine bowl.
Halfway through his hand, a light suddenly exploded in front of his eyes.
