After I Faked My Death, the Dog Emperor Completely Lost His Mind - Chapter 11

After discovering Shen Yuheng had sprained his ankle, the palace servants of Qingzhuo Hall were thrown into a state of panic.

Consort Shen was of noble birth, born with a “golden branch and jade leaf” constitution, and currently held the Emperor’s favor. For someone who usually didn’t have so much as a scratch on him to twist an ankle, everyone was practically on high alert, treating him like a fragile porcelain doll.

Yundou and Jiaobai were especially frantic, rushing back and forth to apply medicine and cold compresses.

Unfortunately, “a broken bone or strained tendon takes a hundred days to heal.” After Imperial Physician Xu performed an examination, he informed the staff: “Consort Shen has a weak constitution. Even with daily medication, he must rest for at least two months to fully recover… If the Consort is in true discomfort, his name tablet must be removed from the selection.”

Removing the tablet meant he could no longer be summoned for the night.

Yundou sighed repeatedly. “Consort Shen just gained favor, how could this happen…”

Jiaobai came over to comfort him. “Don’t be sad, Consort. We will massage it for you often; you will surely recover quickly.”

Shen Yuheng: “…”

Does anyone know how hard it is to hold back a laugh?

This was the first time he truly loved the original owner’s weak body. If he had known a sprained ankle was all it took to get his tablet removed, he would have done it ages ago!

But… they say “bad luck comes in threes.” Shen Yuheng had escaped the bed twice now. Could the third time really go this smoothly? He shuddered, not daring to think too deeply about it.

Escaping the second night was already beyond his expectations. Yesterday, when he said he was “scared,” he thought Xiao Huai would fly into a rage, but the Emperor actually let him go. Honestly, Xiao Huai’s ability to stop when told was better than many modern men.

Too bad he wasn’t Shen Yuheng’s type. First, the age gap was too large. Second, Xiao Huai had an entire harem of men and women. As a modern soul, Shen Yuheng couldn’t stand the idea of a “one husband, many wives” setup, even if the ancients thought it was normal.

In the following days, the Emperor did not flip anyone’s tablet. Instead, he ordered the funeral arrangements for the Sixteenth Prince. Since the Prince died suddenly and the assassin had not been caught, the royal family was embarrassed, and the funeral was handled hastily.

Xiao Huai directly ordered Shen Yuheng to be exempt from the rites, allowing him to rest in Qingzhuo Hall without having to wear mourning white like the others.

Shen Yuheng remembered something and stopped Zhou Yuan. He handed him a heavy bag of silver. “Find some young eunuchs to look after Attendant Su. Make sure he isn’t bullied during the funeral.”

In the original book, the assassination of the Sixteenth Prince was supposed to happen two months later, by which time Su Cheng and Xiao Jin would have already spent two months together. Although Xiao Jin never felt any affection for Su Cheng, he still stepped in when Su Cheng was bullied by other male consorts during the funeral.

Now, without Xiao Jin’s help, Su Cheng might just silently endure the abuse. Shen Yuheng couldn’t let anything happen to Su Cheng before he met Xiao Jin.

Shen Yuheng looked at the sky. “I feel like I’m shipping an obscure crack-pair. To get them together, I have to find a way to make them meet first…”

The System choked: [Host, we have no grievances, why must you tear open my old wounds… who hasn’t shipped a niche pairing before…]

While Shen Yuheng was reminiscing, Zhou Yuan returned, looking hesitant. “Master, Lord Meng sent several more letters this morning…”

Shen Yuheng almost forgot the original owner had an ex. It seemed the original owner hadn’t been entirely abandoned; this ex was still clinging to him even after the breakup.

However, Shen Yuheng’s position was awkward. He couldn’t have any connection with Meng Qian. Meng Qian was a powerful official and a member of the Second Prince’s faction. With the struggle for the throne intensifying, Shen Yuheng couldn’t afford to bring trouble to the Shen family.

Zhou Yuan added, “Master, Lord Meng said that if you do not read his letters, no tavern in the capital will allow Shen Tinglan to enter.”

Shen Tinglan was Shen Yuheng’s second brother. He held a minor post and loved wine and brothels. If he had to choose between the two, he’d choose wine every time. Barring him from drinking would be his death sentence.

Shen Yuheng’s two brothers one literary and one martial were both formidable. He didn’t want to offend either. He sighed. “Leave them. I’ll look when I have time. Tell him not to make things difficult for my second brother.”

As for when he’d actually read them… that was another story.

During his recovery, Shen Yuheng didn’t have to worry about the Emperor. His only task was taking care of Xiao Jin.

But this kid was so difficult to deal with. If Shen Yuheng hadn’t threatened him with “I’ll go throw a tantrum and complain to your father,” he wouldn’t even see Xiao Jin’s shadow. The boy’s fever had just broken, yet he was always out late in the cold wind; he was bound to fall ill again.

As for what Xiao Jin was doing out late, Shen Yuheng didn’t dare think about it. He only had one requirement for his “son”: as long as it wasn’t murder or arson, he didn’t care.

One night, Shen Yuheng waited in Qingzhuo Hall until the moonlight reached the clouds. Finally, he heard the creak of the door. The youth slipped into the room instantly a movement so light a normal person would have blamed it on the wind. He brought with him the biting chill of the night and a faint, metallic scent of rust.

“You’re back?”

Shen Yuheng’s voice was lazy and weary. Xiao Jin’s eyes flickered toward the figure on the bed before he looked away as if stung.

Shen Yuheng felt frustrated. He wasn’t whipping or abusing the boy like the original owner did, so why was Xiao Jin still avoiding him? Was he really that unlikable? His pride as a former “Golden Kindergarten Teacher” was taking a hit.

Xiao Jin headed toward his small cot behind the curtains without a word.

“Wait.” Shen Yuheng called him over. “I have a favor to ask the Ninth Prince. Could you come closer?”

His tone was soft, almost like he was coaxing a child. The figure behind the curtains paused, then actually walked over. Shen Yuheng breathed a sigh of relief it seemed the “child-coaxing voice” worked on all ages.

Xiao Jin stood by the bed. His eyes were dark, like a pool of stagnant water. Shen Yuheng felt a chill and almost backed down, but he gathered his courage and lifted the hem of his robe.

Xiao Jin froze, his body leaning back sharply. Under the moon-white silk, the curve of a man’s calf was revealed slender yet soft. His eyes fell on that curve, then jerked away.

Shen Yuheng pointed at his ankle. “There’s a banquet today, and the servants are busy. Help me apply the medicine.” He held out a jar of ointment.

“I don’t know how,” Xiao Jin said coldly.

“What’s there to know? I’ll teach you. Come up here.”

Shen Yuheng figured that if Xiao Jin “accidentally” used too much force and kept him bedridden for another few weeks, it would be even better. If the Emperor forgot about him in a few months, he’d be set for life.

Xiao Jin sat on the edge of the bed. His hand, heavy as lead, lifted Shen Yuheng’s fair, reddened ankle. His fingers pressed into the soft ointment, squeezing out a small dollop of pale gold.

“Ow! Gentler…” Shen Yuheng let out a muffled groan. He knew Xiao Jin was strong, but he didn’t expect him to be so rough. He shrank back into the blankets.

But then, remembering his plan, he sighed and looked back at Xiao Jin with watery eyes. “Actually… you don’t have to be gentle.” Short-term pain is better than long-term pain. If I stay injured, the Emperor won’t touch me.

As Xiao Jin rubbed the soft calf, the scent of blood he had just washed off seemed to resurface in his mind. He forced himself to remember Shen Yuheng’s cruel and shameless past, yet his vision was filled with those moist, pleading eyes.

He didn’t understand what Shen Yuheng wanted from him. He only knew he wanted to crush this person into dust, to watch him sink into the foulest mud.

The thought made Xiao Jin feel nauseous, his body burning with a strange anger. He stood up to leave, accidentally knocking over a small table. Letters scattered across the floor.

He saw them letters from “Lord Meng.” Always a Meng, or the Emperor, or some other man. Xiao Jin’s gaze fell on the back of Shen Yuheng’s neck; in his mind, he had already killed the man a thousand times.

After a moment of silence, Shen Yuheng felt a strange sensation on his leg. The boy’s hands rough from healed chilblains crept over his skin like snake scales, tightening.

Shen Yuheng felt uneasy, but the hand didn’t do anything “bad.” It just repeatedly applied the ointment over the injury.

After what felt like an eternity, it was over. Shen Yuheng was exhausted. He looked back, but Xiao Jin’s head was lowered, his face unreadable.

“…Is it… over?” Shen Yuheng asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

The ointment jar was smashed onto the floor, shattering into pieces. Xiao Jin retreated, stepping on the scattered letters. His eyes burned with a hatred so intense it felt like he might strangle Shen Yuheng at any moment.

But in the end, it was Xiao Jin who fled the room.

Shen Yuheng stared at his back, confused. He rubbed his leg. It hurt, but the injury hadn’t gotten better or worse.

“Total loss,” he muttered. “I hurt for nothing!”