But then again, the one who harmed him wasn’t the Princess, but this very system. One must be able to distinguish right from wrong; you can’t just vent your anger on the Princess because you’re upset. That’s the behavior of a petty person. If you have the guts, go curse the emperor instead.

Even taking a step back, if you must vent, there should be a limit—enough is enough. The Princess is so understanding and virtuous, always looking out for you. You can’t bully someone to death.

If the goal was to anger the Princess to death, why not just refuse the marriage in the first place? Compared to refusing the marriage, driving the Princess to death is a far greater sin, and even more despicable. The emperor definitely wouldn’t let it slide.

Besides, to be so cruel to a gentle, virtuous, and innocent woman—even someone like Thomas Foster, who could watch hundreds or thousands of people be burned alive before his eyes, finds it too cruel to bear. This is no longer normal; there must be something wrong psychologically.

“Nanny, do you think if I start to turn over a new leaf now, change my old ways, and treat the Princess a bit better, is it still possible?” Since there’s an illness, it must be treated. Thomas Foster felt that just treating the illness wasn’t enough—he also needed to make up for the emotional damage done to the Princess.

If she really is as understanding as Nanny Bennett described, he might as well give her some happiness. After all, she’s not ugly, and she’s the Princess—more than a good match for him.

As for future prospects, ideals, ambitions, and such—none of that matters. He never had those things anyway. Especially the rule about not leading troops into battle—that suits him perfectly. Let President Abraham Lincoln keep him like a pig to be fattened.

“If the Princess heard what you just said, Dalang, she’d be overjoyed…” Nanny Bennett probably had never seen Charles Bennett so humble before and was at a loss for what to do, so she simply knelt before Thomas Foster, afraid he was just joking again.

“Nanny, there’s no need for such formality in the residence… Charles Bennett, what a scoundrel—did you really think you could fool me!” Thomas Foster was just moved by the nanny’s loyalty, and was about to help her up, when suddenly a man’s voice came from behind. It wasn’t loud, but carried an air of authority.

“…Your, Your Majesty… I… I… truly am not pretending…” Thomas Foster had already made up his mind: Nanny Bennett must be severely punished. She wasn’t pleading for the Princess at all—she knelt only because she saw the emperor arrive, tricking him yet again!

Not sure how a prince consort should address the emperor, he decided to salute as a minister instead. At least he knew a bit about that, having spent some time in the Lin’an imperial palace.

“…Do you think you can bear the crime of deceiving your sovereign!” President Abraham Lincoln looked a bit like the Grand Princess of York—they must be siblings. Compared to President George Washington, his features were more delicate, but now his face was ashen, and his already arched eyebrows seemed about to stand on end.

“Your Majesty, every word Dalang said is true. I, this old woman, am willing to vouch for him!” At this, Nanny Bennett spoke up again. Her words were somewhat pleasing to the ear, so Thomas Foster decided to spare her this time and see how things went.

“Hmph… Imperial physician, carefully examine the captain!” President Abraham Lincoln seemed quite familiar with Nanny Bennett, and, giving her some face, suppressed his anger. He didn’t call for anyone to drag her out for a beating of 2,000 strokes or anything so harsh, but instead turned and gave an order toward the entrance of the corridor.

“Your servant obeys…” The one who answered was a middle-aged man, head slightly lowered so his face couldn’t be seen clearly, with long beards on his upper lip, chin, and both cheeks. This was a common look for Song dynasty men—few went clean-shaven.

“…Thank you… Nanny, please get a cup of water for the imperial physician…” Seeing that the emperor had no intention of entering the room, Thomas Foster could only sit on the corridor bench and extend his left hand for the physician to take his pulse.

At this moment, he noticed the physician’s forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat, and his breathing was heavy—he must have rushed over at a run. Regardless of whether the diagnosis would find him ill or not, the necessary courtesies had to be observed.

“…” Upon hearing Thomas Foster’s words, the physician suddenly raised his head, glaring with his triangular eyes as if he wanted to eat someone alive.

“Is there any hope for me?” Thomas Foster was startled by his glare, thinking he’d been diagnosed with something serious. Getting kicked in the head by a horse is no small matter—if there was internal bleeding, this trip would have been for nothing.

“Your Majesty, forgive my lack of skill—I cannot diagnose the captain’s illness.” The triangular-eyed physician only briefly touched Thomas Foster’s wrist before giving up on treatment.

“Hmph… York, help your husband back inside for a proper examination!” At this, President Abraham Lincoln seemed less angry, and gave another order toward the corridor entrance. Then Princess of York and the maid in green came out, followed by an old man with a white beard carrying a wooden box. Apparently, they had arrived earlier but hadn’t shown themselves.

This white-bearded old man was also an imperial physician, but much more professional than the previous one. He checked the tongue coating, looked at the eyes, took the pulse, tapped all over the body, and fussed for quite a while before finishing.

The final conclusion: the prince consort was indeed suffering from madness. There was no specific cure for this illness; it could only be nursed slowly. Maybe one day he’d recover, but more often than not, it was incurable.

The emperor never entered the room, and it wasn’t clear when he left. But Nanny Bennett soon came in, and after the physician left, she quietly told Thomas Foster that he had just survived a great calamity. If he’d handled things even a little carelessly, he’d be packing his bags and heading to the wilds south of the Yangtze River tomorrow.