The little Crown Prince flailed and escaped his fate as a hand warmer, only to be commanded:
“Crawl a circle for me to see.”
The Crown Prince curled his fingers into claws, refusing fiercely:
“Grrr—!”
Emperor Zhou grabbed his little paws, displeased: “Countless people outside would jump at the chance to curry favor with me. Only you, you little brat, refuse to accept such an honor.”
At this point, he pressed further: “Why were you so well-behaved today, changing into the clothes yourself and even willing to call me ‘Father Emperor’? Have you changed your nature?”
Emperor Zhou narrowed his eyes, pinching his son’s cheeks on both sides: “Why do I feel like you’re full of schemes?”
Wu Junji had already grown accustomed to the old man’s blunt choice of words.
The young version of the old man was no easier to deal with than the one from over a decade later—sharp-tongued, vindictive, suspicious, and a bit of an intuition monster to boot.
Wu Junji scrambled up to leave: “I’m going to complain to Imperial Grandfather!”
Emperor Zhou pinned him down with one leg, watching the little child struggle and squirm but fail to lift his leg, and laughed heartily:
“With those short little legs of yours, you want to go complain?”
“Before you complain, tell me first: what a great honor it is for me to make clothes for you. Why are you unwilling to wear them?”
Emperor Zhou was raising a child for the first time. Ever since he took in Wu Junji, whenever he saw other people’s children, he felt sorry for their families, thinking they had given birth to a fool.
It never occurred to him that his own child might be the problem.
Toward Wu Junji, he held both the tolerance one has for a child and an inexplicable wariness.
Wu Junji, panting heavily from exhaustion, still couldn’t break free from the weight of the other’s leg. He simply gave up and lay flat.
“I am the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince must have dignity.”
Wu Junji cared deeply about his image; one could say he had a strong sense of vanity.
In his previous life, entering the court had felt like stepping onto a stage as a clown. He had been embarrassed more than once because of his attire.
Thus, Wu Junji developed a habit: whether the fabric was cotton, linen, silk, satin, or leather, he would have the four-clawed dragon pattern embroidered onto it. That way, no one dared to mock or nitpick.
He studied etiquette intensively, molding himself into a proper and dignified person.
Address and clothing—Emperor Zhou had touched upon two of his major taboos.
He also disliked Emperor Zhou’s overly casual attitude.
You tell me to crawl, so I have to crawl? If I told you to crawl, would you?
Wu Junji was extremely patient. As long as he could achieve his goal, he could endure until death.
Emperor Zhou didn’t take it seriously: “I am your dignity. With me here, who would dare say you’re wrong?”
See, this was where their communication broke down.
Emperor Zhou only saw him as the emperor’s Crown Prince, not as the Crown Prince of the Zhou Kingdom.
Emperor Zhou probed: “Since you don’t like it, why did you wear it today?”
Of course, because I thought you were about to lose your temper.
But he couldn’t say that.
The little Crown Prince, small in stature, spoke with the words of an old soul:
“Because I saw that Father Emperor really liked it, so I decided to endure a little hardship myself.”
“This is called… ‘wearing colorful clothes to amuse one’s parents.'”
Emperor Zhou was amused: “You even know about ‘wearing colorful clothes to amuse one’s parents’? Who taught you that?”
Wu Junji answered naturally: “Father Emperor once said it to Imperial Grandmother.”
Only then did Emperor Zhou let the matter drop:
“Since you feel wronged, should I comfort you a little and give you some reward?”
Wu Junji scrambled up in one swift motion: “Really?”
Emperor Zhou was used to his strange speech quirks. He said, “You can try.”
In reality, if Wu Junji dared to ask, he would immediately serve him a “stir-fried meat with palm”—a spanking for overstepping.
The little Crown Prince’s eyes rolled, and he tumbled into Emperor Zhou’s arms. With a loud “mwah,” he kissed him on the cheek and said sweetly:
“Father Emperor, I will always love you.”
“So can I have a box of silver beans~”
Emperor Zhou was taken aback. He abruptly stood up, wiping the saliva off his face with a damp cloth in disgust, his voice growing much more irritable.
“You little brat, you smell like a chick. It’s disgusting.”
“Qian Deli! Hurry up and get a box of silver beans to send this kid away.”
Emperor Zhou left without looking back, clearly quite angry.
Wu Junji didn’t care at all. If Emperor Zhou were truly angry, he wouldn’t have given him silver beans—he would have kicked him in the chest instead.
It seemed that, compared to soft words, Emperor Zhou preferred confrontation.
Wu Junji found this rather tricky. Acting cute was easier, but confrontation required a much finer sense of balance.
While adjusting his plans in his mind, Wu Junji raised his head and instructed the capable eunuch:
“Silver beans, one hundred pieces.”
Qian Deli respectfully smiled. “Rest assured, Crown Prince. This servant will have someone deliver them shortly.”
As the emperor’s personal eunuch, Qian Deli couldn’t quite understand the relationship between the father and son.
It didn’t seem like His Majesty cared much for the Crown Prince, yet it also didn’t seem like he didn’t care at all.
Still, it was always wise to show respect to the young prince.
Wu Junji began undressing in front of the mirror, changing into his vermilion four-clawed dragon robe.
If the old man ever made him cosplay again, he’d just kiss him—disgust him to death.
If Emperor Zhou could change how he addressed him afterward, it would prove that he had an instinct to “reciprocate” goodwill.
If not, he’d have to think of other methods.
He needed to cultivate Emperor Zhou’s willingness to compromise, starting with small things.
Once a person compromises once, they can do it a second time, a third time… countless times.
Emperor Zhou shook off a shiver. Wu Junji had guessed correctly—compared to such intimacy, Emperor Zhou preferred it when the Crown Prince defied him.
Ideally, he’d kick him when he disturbed his sleep.
He’d curse him with his eyes closed, calling him “old man,” when he dragged him out of bed to admire the dawn.
He’d look at him like he was an idiot when he chased after him, trying to feed him wine and ginseng.
And when he flew into a rage and ordered executions, he’d stroll in nonchalantly, wearing that infuriating expression that said, “I’m just watching, go on.”
Emperor Zhou thought his own thoughts were sick. To be sure, he had the entire Imperial Medical Bureau examine him, but aside from some internal heat, they found nothing wrong.
In the end, he attributed the cause to his nightly dreams.
Every night, Emperor Zhou dreamed of coffins, mourning halls, and wailing.
He had been having the same dream for two years, with the only difference being that the scenes in the dream were becoming clearer. Gradually, he could make out the face of the man weeping by the coffin in the dream.
So similar.
If someone said Emperor Zhou hadn’t fathered him, he wouldn’t believe it himself.
An emperor’s dreams were no ordinary matter. If not for his good health, he would have sought someone to exorcise the evil spirits.
He’d investigate it in detail after the General Appointing ceremony.
Emperor Zhou had left decisively during the day, but when he returned to Taiji Palace at night, he felt inexplicably guilty.
So, he went to favor a concubine in the harem.
In Taiji Palace, Wu Junji counted his silver beans one by one.
The gleaming silver beads were incredibly beautiful.
If scattered on the floor, they would clink against the golden bricks like wind chimes, rolling into the gaps between the tiles and around the feet of the many people present.
Inside the bed curtains, the child lay on the bed, propping his chin on his hands. The hazy yellow light cast shadows over his brows and eyes, faintly revealing the shadow of the sickly Crown Prince who had once towered over the world in his previous life.