Beitang Ang seemed extremely impatient. He gave even his own son a thorough dressing-down, utterly lacking the dignity expected of either a king or a father.
But in truth, that was simply his nature. Before outsiders, he shrank like a quail; before his own people, he puffed himself up, somewhat fierce only within his own household. Still, it was merely his temperament, not that he was truly petty.
Take Beitang He, this heir, for instance. He was actually the one Beitang Ang favored most. Beitang Ang had four sons; the other three had remained in Imperial Capital City, while he had brought only this eldest son with him. His fondness was plain to see.
Beitang Ang himself did not mind being snapped at in the slightest. He said nothing more, merely lifted the gift box in his hand and set it atop the jade table beside Beitang Ang, saying,
"Father, take a look at what is inside. Meng Zhao just sent someone to deliver it to me."
Beitang Ang had initially been puzzled, thinking the boy wanted to present him with some gift. The moment he heard Meng Zhao's name, however, he was immediately startled. His earlier impatience vanished as he asked in a low voice,
"Why him? He sent you something? Could there be some plot behind it?"
Three questions in a row. Beitang He said nothing, only personally opened the gift box and revealed the Hesheng Pastry within.
"These are pastries. Could Meng Zhao be deliberately making a fool of you, sending someone to deliver this stuff in the middle of the night?"
If one was giving a gift, one ought to give something valuable—gold, silver, and jewels, or martial arts manuals, weapons and armor, rare flowers and herbs. Any of those would do. But pastries? How could