After Pretending to be an Idiot, I Was Targeted by the Cold-Blooded Zhangyin - Chapter 3

The Imperial Physicians who rushed to the scene wished they could split themselves into three people.

Among the thirty or so old men, one group was brewing medicine for the old Emperor, who had suddenly fainted; another group was examining the Crown Prince, Xie Chengjing, who had suddenly vomited blood; and yet another group surrounded Xie Changsheng, fussing over his well-being.

The scene could only be described as utter chaos.

After a full hour of commotion, the old Emperor finally drifted back to consciousness. The first thing he did upon waking was to confirm Xie Changsheng’s condition with the physicians.

Upon learning that his most precious youngest son had truly become a simpleton, the old Emperor pulled Xie Changsheng into his arms, tears streaming down his aged face.

“Changsheng, my Changsheng… how did you become so…”

Xie Changsheng lay against the Emperor’s chest, his eyes filled with a blank daze as he muttered under his breath: “I am your dad, I am your dad, I am your dad… Ane shi nen die…”

The Emperor’s tears flowed even faster.

By the time things finally settled down, nearly another hour had passed. Xie Chengjing’s coughing had subsided, and the red-eyed Emperor was being supported by attendants as he lay in bed.

Only Xie Changsheng remained, still chanting his mantra.

The Emperor asked wearily about the cause of the illness. The physician delivering the report trembled like a sieve as he told the Emperor: “The Little Highness inhaled water into his brain and sustained a blow to the back of his head, which is why…”

The Emperor interrupted him irritably: “Is there any possibility of recovery?”

“If he rests well and recovers—”

“Do I employ you all just to hear this nonsense?!” the Emperor suddenly exploded in rage. “Useless! All of you are useless! Drag them all out and execute them!”

At those words, Xie Chengjing stood up abruptly: “Imperial Father… Imperial Physician Wei has been in the palace for over thirty years; his medical skills are superb, and his heart is kind…”

He hadn’t even finished half of his plea when the Emperor’s expression changed again. He looked at Xie Chengjing coldly: “The Crown Prince thinks I am in the wrong?”

Xie Chengjing’s face froze.

The Emperor raised his hand, and someone immediately stepped forward to support his arm and help him up. He drew a precious sword from the head of the bed and moved to stab the lead physician.

Xie Changsheng lowered his gaze, his emotions complex. He had known from the book about the old Emperor’s cruelty and debauchery—how people were beheaded batch after batch, and women were sent into the palace in waves. But when those words became a reality before his eyes, Xie Changsheng only felt disgusted.

Just as the Emperor’s sword was about to pierce the old physician’s heart, Xie Changsheng suddenly burst into loud laughter.

Instantly, everyone’s eyes turned toward him. No one knew what interesting thing this newly-turned-foolish prince had discovered to make him laugh like that. He laughed so hard he leaned back and forth, eventually falling directly onto the ground.

With Xie Changsheng’s movements, the accessories on his body jingled together. Mixed with the hoarse end-notes of his laughter, it inexplicably made one’s heart feel restless.

Before anyone could ask, Xie Changsheng suddenly began to wail.

Tears fell rapidly from his eyes, staining the corners of his lids red, making his already peerless features appear even more heart-stopping. Seeing Xie Changsheng cry, the Emperor was instantly heartbroken. With a “clang,” he dropped the sword and embraced him: “Changsheng, Changsheng, what’s wrong?”

“I… I…”

After a long while, Xie Changsheng finally stopped crying. Sniffling, he said: “I’m scared.”

He pointed at the sword the Emperor had dropped and repeated: “I’m scared.”

Coming out of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Xie Changsheng let out a long sigh of relief in his heart.

On the surface, he showed nothing, maintaining that vacant look in his eyes as he playfully tugged at Xie Chengjing’s sleeve. He didn’t gauge his strength well, and Xie Chengjing’s sleeve immediately tore with a “rrip.”

Startled for a moment, Xie Changsheng wore an amazed expression: “Wow, Big Brother is a duanxiu (broken sleeve/cut-sleeve).”

Xie Chengjing: “…”

Looking at Xie Changsheng, who was playing with the half-sleeve in his hand as innocent as a four or five-year-old child, Xie Chengjing felt complicated. He recalled how, before entering the hall, he had somewhat gloatingly thought that becoming a fool was perhaps Xie Changsheng’s retribution. Yet just now, he had actually saved those physicians.

Thinking it over and pacing in circles for a few moments, Xie Chengjing finally made up his mind: “Changsheng, we…”

But before he could even start his sentence, Xie Changsheng had already run off. He had no interest in hearing what the Prince had to say.

Xie Chengjing couldn’t help but chuckle and slowly finished the rest of the sentence to himself: “Let our past grievances be wiped clean.”

Although Xie Changsheng had been granted a title as a Prince, the old Emperor insisted on keeping him in the palace.

Back at his hall, the maid named Yang Luo was leading others in hanging copper mirrors and burning mugwort. This was the idea of Empress Wu; having heard about Xie Changsheng’s condition, she suspected he might have offended some ghost or deity and wanted the hall purified of evil spirits.

Xie Changsheng was choked by the heavy scent of mugwort and began to cough, so he simply slipped out again with a few maids and eunuchs. On one hand, he wanted to familiarize himself with the map; on the other, he was truly curious about the scenery within the imperial palace.

As they wandered and played, the mountains and water were indeed beautiful. However, his “eat-the-rich” sentiment was also pushed to the limit; every time he saw a brick gilded with gold powder, he rolled his eyes. By the time his eyelids began to twitch from the strain, he squatted in a flower bed to dig in the dirt.

Digging alone wasn’t enough; he insisted on making the eunuchs and maids dig with him, competing to see who could roll the largest mud ball.

The attendants, thinking Xie Changsheng was truly a fool, rolled mud balls while whispering among themselves, assuming he couldn’t understand.

“The Highness is actually much cuter like this than before.” “Shh, shh, shh…” “What are you afraid of? I’m praising our Highness!” “…If the Highness is like this, will there be no more rewards?” “…This…”

Suddenly, the gossip stopped all at once. The maids and eunuchs hurriedly knelt behind Xie Changsheng: “Second Prince.”

Xie Changsheng didn’t look back.

He waited, hearing footsteps that were sometimes light and sometimes heavy. Then, the scent of alcohol drifted into his nose. Finally, the handle of a folding fan suddenly reached over and tapped him on the head.

Xie Changsheng used his muddy, filthy hands to cover the top of his head, turning back with a frown of dissatisfaction. Standing behind him was a refined, dandy-looking gentleman with a drunken expression.

Seeing Xie Changsheng turn around, the man smiled: “Imperial Brother heard that you’ve become a little fool.”

Xie Changsheng already knew who this was from the attendants’ greeting.

The Second Prince, Xie Hemiao.

In the book, there wasn’t much description of Xie Hemiao in the early stages. It was only known that he was a cripple, that he was on good terms with Xie Changsheng, and that he loved to frequent wine houses and song halls.

However, at the end, this lightly-sketched character gave the readers a real surprise—despite Gu Feiyi’s repeated tests confirming he was a useless wastrel, he still managed to outmaneuver him. If Gu Feiyi hadn’t been alert, the person to ultimately ascend the throne might very well have been Xie Hemiao.

Xie Changsheng had no interest in meddling in the struggle for the throne, but seeing Xie Hemiao made his heart tremble. In the original book, when Xie Changsheng died, Xie Hemiao had arrived drunk. He had lunged forward and, like a wild beast, bitten off a large chunk of flesh from Xie Changsheng’s leg because Xie Changsheng had once mocked his limp.

Looking at Xie Hemiao, Xie Changsheng’s first reaction was a phantom pain in his leg.

“Who are you?” Xie Changsheng asked.

“Truly a fool?” Xie Hemiao raised an eyebrow, limping his way into the flower bed. “You don’t even recognize your Second Brother?”

Xie Changsheng lowered his head with a lack of interest, using a flower stem to poke at ants. He was tapped on the head again: “How about Second Brother calls you ‘Little Fool’ from now on?”

Xie Changsheng still didn’t speak.

The fan handle moved to poke Xie Changsheng’s cheek: “Why aren’t you talking? Brother heard you were quite bold with your words in front of Imperial Father.”

At the thought of Xie Changsheng muttering “Ane shi nen die” (I am your dad) to the old Emperor, Xie Hemiao couldn’t help but want to laugh out loud.

Yet Xie Changsheng remained silent. So, the fan handle became even more restless. It poked the top of Xie Changsheng’s head, poked his lower back, and then poked his face: “Little Changsheng… Little Fool…”

Driven to annoyance, Xie Changsheng stood up abruptly and glared at Xie Hemiao. Xie Hemiao wore a curved smile, but a flash of vigilance crossed his eyes. He took a step back with his crippled right foot and asked: “What?”

“Don’t talk! Don’t talk to me! I’m a mushroom, I can’t answer you!”

Xie Changsheng was utterly exasperated, his face turning red with anger: “If you talk to me again, I’ll stuff ants into your holes!”

Xie Hemiao: “…”

Looking into Xie Changsheng’s chaotic eyes, Xie Hemiao shuddered.

…Specifically, which hole?