The little Crown Prince flailed his way out of his fate as a hand warmer, only to be ordered again,
"Crawl a lap for me."
The little Crown Prince curled his fingers into claws and fiercely refused:
"Awooo-!"
Emperor Zhou caught his claws and said disapprovingly, "Countless people out there want to curry favor with me. Only you, brat, would throw my favor back in my face."
At that, he continued questioning him. "Why are you so obliging today? You changed into those clothes yourself and even agreed to call me Father. Have you turned over a new leaf?"
Emperor Zhou narrowed his eyes and tugged at both his son's cheeks. "Why do I get the feeling you're full of schemes?"
Wu Junji had already grown used to the old geezer's blunt language.
The younger old geezer was no easier to deal with than the old geezer over a decade later: sharp-tongued, vindictive, suspicious, and a freak when it came to intuition.
Wu Junji scrambled up to leave. "I'm going to tell Imperial Grandfather!"
Emperor Zhou pinned him flat with one leg. Watching the little child wriggle with all his might without managing to shift it, he laughed aloud:
"You're going to tattle with those stubby legs?"
"Before you go tattling, tell me this: having me make clothes for you is an immense honor. Why won't you wear them?"
This was Emperor Zhou's first time raising a child. Ever since he had begun raising Wu Junji, every other child he saw made him feel that their family had suffered a misfortune by producing an idiot.
It had never occurred to him that his own child might have a problem.
Toward Wu Junji, he had both the indulgence one showed a child and an inexplicable wariness.
Wu Junji was panting with exhaustion, yet still could not escape the weight of his thigh. He simply gave up and lay flat.
"I am the Crown Prince. A Crown Prince must have dignity."
Wu Junji cared deeply about his image. One could call him vain, too.
In his previous life, entering court had been like stepping onto a stage as a clown. His clothing had made a fool of him more than once.
So Wu Junji had developed a habit: whether his clothes were cotton, hemp, silk, satin, or leather, he had four-clawed dragon patterns sewn onto them. That way, no one dared mock him or pick fault.
He had crammed etiquette until he had molded himself into a proper, respectable person.
Forms of address and clothing-Emperor Zhou had prodded two of his greatest taboos.
He disliked Emperor Zhou's casual attitude, too.
If you tell me to crawl, I have to crawl. If I told you to crawl, would you?
Wu Junji could endure a great deal. As long as it let him achieve his goal, he could endure until death.
Emperor Zhou brushed it off. "I am your dignity. With me here, who would dare say you're in the wrong?"
There it was: the point where the two of them could never see eye to eye.
Emperor Zhou only regarded him as the emperor's Crown Prince, not the Crown Prince of Zhou.
Emperor Zhou probed further. "If you dislike them, why did you wear them today?"
Obviously because I thought you were about to crack.
But he could not say that.
The tiny Crown Prince spoke with the air of an old man:
"Because Father liked them so much, I decided to put up with a little unhappiness."
"This is called... entertaining one's parents in colorful clothes."
Emperor Zhou was amused. "You even know about entertaining one's parents in colorful clothes? Who taught you that?"
Wu Junji answered naturally, "Father said it to Imperial Grandmother before."
Only then did Emperor Zhou let the matter drop:
"Since you feel wronged, should I comfort you a little and give you a reward?"
Wu Junji scrambled up in a flash. "Reallyyy?"
Emperor Zhou was used to his peculiar verbal quirks. Aloud, he said, "You can try."
In truth, if Wu Junji dared ask, he would serve him a stir-fry of palm against flesh right then and slap him for taking a mile when given an inch.
The little Crown Prince's eyes rolled mischievously. He rolled into Emperor Zhou's arms, planted a smacking kiss on his cheek, and said sweetly:
"Father, I'll love you forever."
"So could you give me a box of little Silver Beans~?"
Emperor Zhou froze for a moment, then abruptly stood. He wiped the saliva from his face with a wet cloth in disgust, his voice growing considerably more irritable.
"You little brat, you reek of chick fluff. You stink."
"Qian Deli! Hurry up and get a box of Silver Beans. Send this brat on his way."
Emperor Zhou left without looking back, apparently very angry.
Wu Junji did not care in the slightest. If Emperor Zhou were truly angry, he would not have given him Silver Beans. He would have given him a kick to the chest.
It seemed Emperor Zhou still preferred trading insults to sweet words.
Wu Junji found that rather tricky. Acting cute was easy; trading insults required a much finer grasp of boundaries.
As Wu Junji adjusted his plans inwardly, he lifted his head and reminded Eunuch Deli:
"One hundred Silver Beans."
Qian Deli smiled respectfully. "Rest assured, Your Highness. This servant will have someone deliver them shortly."
As the emperor's personal attendant, Qian Deli could not make sense of the way father and son interacted.
To say His Majesty cared deeply about the Crown Prince did not seem right, but saying he did not care was wrong as well.
Still, he could not go wrong treating the little prince respectfully.
Wu Junji began taking off his clothes before the mirror and changed into his vermilion four-clawed dragon robe.
Next time the old geezer makes me cosplay, I'll kiss him. Disgust him to death and be done with it.
If Emperor Zhou changed how he addressed him afterward, it would prove he possessed an instinct to reciprocate goodwill.
If he did not, Wu Junji would have to think of another way.
He needed to cultivate Emperor Zhou's willingness to compromise, one little matter at a time.
Once a person compromised once, there could be a second time, a third... countless times.
Emperor Zhou shook off a bodyful of goosebumps. Wu Junji had guessed correctly: compared with this sort of affection, Emperor Zhou preferred the Crown Prince contradicting him.
Preferably with a little kick when he disturbed his sleep.
Or with his eyes closed, calling him "old geezer" when he dragged him out of bed to admire the dawn.
Or looking at him as though he were an idiot when he chased him around trying to feed him wine and ginseng.
Or strolling in as if nothing were happening when he was furiously ordering people beheaded, wearing that infuriating expression of, I'm just watching. Carry on.
Emperor Zhou thought there was something sick about his own thoughts. He had even gone so far as to have the entire Imperial Medical Bureau take his pulse, but they had found nothing beyond excess internal heat.
In the end, he attributed the sickness to his nightly dreams.
Emperor Zhou dreamed every night: a coffin, a mourning hall, funeral lamentations.
He had been having the same dream for two years. The difference was that the scenes within it were growing clearer, and he had gradually made out the face of the man weeping over the coffin.
The resemblance is uncanny.
Even Emperor Zhou himself would not believe anyone who said the man was not his son.
An emperor's dreams were no ordinary matter. Had there been anything wrong with his health, he would have wanted to find someone to exorcise the evil.
Once I return from General Summoning, I'll investigate further.
Emperor Zhou had left decisively during the day, but returning to the Taiji Palace at night always made him feel guilty.
So he went to bestow his favor upon the consorts of the inner palace.
In the Taiji Palace, Wu Junji counted his Silver Beans one by one.
The silvery beads were beautiful.
If they were all scattered across the floor, they would strike the gold bricks with clear chimes like wind bells, rolling into the cracks between the bricks and around the feet of the crowd.
Within the bed curtains, the child lay on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands. Hazy yellow light illuminated his features, as though the first outline had appeared of the Crown Prince whose sickly bones had held up the heavens in his previous life.
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