Rebirth of the Unloved, Sickly Prince - Chapter 2

After taking two doses of the herbal decoction, Mu Jue woke the next day no longer feeling the dizzying headache.

The sky outside was still dark. He lit a candle himself and pulled open his inner robe. Holding a bottle of medicine in one hand, he gently sprinkled the powder onto the purplish bruises on his back.

On the day he was pushed into the pond, the Third Prince’s attendants had kicked him with brutal force. While a high fever could be weathered with two bowls of medicine, those bruises remained painfully tender to the touch.

Living in the side hall year-round with little sunlight, the young man’s skin was a sickly, translucent white. The bruises stood out in grisly, mottled patches across his spine. Because the medicine had been applied late, the surrounding skin had become red and swollen, leaving only his butterfly shoulder blades appearing sharp and elegant.

As the medicine touched the skin, it wasn’t long before the bruises began to burn with a searing pain. The young man’s expression remained blank as he continued his task, though the mole at the corner of his eye grew more vivid, and a faint flush spread across his face.

Once finished, he put the medicine away and donned his mourning clothes. In the outer room, Xia Ming heard the movement and ran in, eyes still bleary with sleep.

“Your Highness, after you’ve washed, I’ll warm up two steamed buns for you. You have to go to the Hall of Benevolence and Wisdom to keep watch over the Third Prince’s coffin today; who knows how long you’ll have to kneel.”

“You eat the two buns. Aside from me, there will be other young princes, princesses, and members of the imperial clan there. There will surely be pastries provided.”

“Then please remember to eat more. Your fever has just broken and your body is still weak. If you—”

Mu Jue nodded. Once ready, he stepped out, making his usual stop at the neighboring room to see his mother.

His mother sat on the bed with disheveled hair, her expression vacant. One moment she would laugh, the next she would cover her face and weep. She held a wooden comb, rhythmically stroking her tangled hair in front of a bronze mirror. Through the chaos of her hair, one could still catch glimpses of her former stunning beauty.

Before marrying into the imperial family, his mother had been a famous songstress from Jiangnan. The Emperor had brought her back to the palace during a tour of the south. At first, she was grandly favored for several years and titled Consort Li. But according to Xia Ming, she had gone completely mad after moving into this palace.

He bowed deeply. “Mother.”

She ignored him, continuing to comb her hair. Mu Jue stood at the doorway for a moment before walking over slowly.

“Mother, that’s not how you comb hair. Shall I do it for you?”

He tried to take the wooden comb from her hand. The woman sat quietly, allowing him to smooth out her hair strand by strand.

“Comb hair… you comb my hair… once it’s combed, you must come back safely.”

A few muttered words, her tone full of longing and tenderness. Mu Jue’s fingertips paused.

“Mother, who are you talking to?”

Perhaps before they moved here, before his mother fell into madness, she had spoken to him in his swaddling clothes with such tenderness. But he had no memory of that time. For as long as he could remember, his mother had never spoken a word to him, as if she didn’t realize he was her own son.

This time, he received no response either.

The bronze mirror reflected two faces that shared a thirty or forty percent resemblance in their features. He didn’t know how to style a woman’s complex hair, and there were few hairpins here. After loosely pinning her hair up, his wrist was suddenly gripped by his mother.

Mu Jue looked up in slight surprise. She stared blankly into the mirror as if trying to identify his face. Suddenly, her calm expression twisted violently. She began to struggle like a madwoman, trying to snatch back the wooden comb and the hairpin.

A shrill, piercing scream escaped her throat.

The tip of the hairpin was sharp, but his mother seemed not to notice, thrusting her palm directly against it. Mu Jue instinctively pulled his hand back to dodge, but he caught a glimpse of the intense loathing in his mother’s eyes. He froze for a second, and in that moment, he was shoved hard, his back slamming into the sharp edge of the table.

The pain from the bruises on his back flared with agonizing clarity upon impact.

As he reached back to rub his spine, the hairpin fell to the floor with a sharp metallic clink. He looked down to see his palm had been sliced open by the sharp tip, blood pooling in his hand.

In front of him, his mother picked up the hairpin and continued to strike and shove him. The young man’s forehead and hairline were covered in a fine cold sweat. Following her silent demand, he retreated from the room and closed the door. Only then did the screaming stop.

After a long while, that gentle voice drifted out again. “Comb hair… you comb my hair… once it’s combed, you must come back safely…”

Mu Jue looked down at his mourning clothes. There was no blood on them; they didn’t need washing.

He stood outside the hall, holding his bleeding right hand away from his body. Crimson beads of blood gathered at his fingertips and fell into the snow like a broken string of pearls. The young man leaned slowly against the palace door, listening intently to the sounds within, pretending those tender words were meant for him.

Xia Ming bandaged his hand and escorted him to the Hall of Benevolence and Wisdom.

“Your Highness, Consort Li must have mistaken you for someone else to have hurt you. What mother doesn’t love her own child?”

Mu Jue looked at his hand wrapped in white cloth but said nothing.

“Your Highness, just endure a few more years. Once you reach adulthood and have your capping ceremony, you can leave the palace to set up your own manor. Even if His Majesty… when the Crown Prince ascends the throne, he will surely grant you a title.”

“At that time, you’ll have your own fief and tax income. You can bring Consort Li with you. Maybe once she’s out of the palace, her illness will get better.”

Xia Ming always loved to comfort him with these words. He had heard them hundreds of times over the years, but…

A trace of a smile appeared in Mu Jue’s eyes. He didn’t actually care about being a Prince or having a fief. As long as he could leave this palace, it wouldn’t matter even if he were demoted to a commoner. He just didn’t want to be a dog in this imperial cage anymore.

He arrived at the hall neither early nor late. Not everyone had arrived, but several princes and clan members who had been close to the Third Prince were already there. The hall had been decorated as a funeral parlor, filled with mourning banners. In the center sat the Third Prince’s coffin, with an altar set before it. Incense and candles burned on either side, flanking several plates of sacrificial offerings.

Only during a major event like a funeral would the Emperor not use the excuse of “weak health” to prevent him from appearing before the clan and officials. After all, the scandal of a consort’s affair and the possibility of a prince not being of royal blood was a palace secret; they couldn’t make a grand scene of it for outsiders to see.

“Your Highness, you…”

Mu Jue withdrew his gaze from the offerings. “Look at those pastries. Don’t they look quite delicious?”

Xia Ming was startled. “Your Highness! Those… those are the Third Prince’s offerings!”

Mu Jue’s dark eyes rippled with a smile. He laughed silently and willfully for a moment, only composing himself as he approached the altar.

Guarding the entrance were two of the Third Prince’s personal eunuchs. Mu Jue remembered their faces; they were among those who had pushed him into the pond and kicked his back. Looking further back, they were the ones who had torn his winter clothes, replaced his meals with cold, spoiled dog food, and put snakes in his courtyard to crawl into his mother’s bed at night.

“How does a bastard like you dare show your face here?” One of the burly eunuchs stepped forward to drive him away. “Get lost! Don’t bring bad luck to our Third Highness! A bastard born of a songstress doesn’t deserve to step into the Third Highness’s funeral hall.”

The nobles offering incense inside either didn’t hear the eunuch or heard and didn’t care to intervene. Two very young princes were carried in by their wet nurses, passing right by them. The eunuch immediately switched to a fawning smile, bowing low to greet the young princes.

Mu Jue remained expressionless. “I am here by His Majesty’s decree.”

“By His Majesty’s decree? His Majesty would let you—”

“These mourning clothes were sent to me yesterday by the Head Eunuch.”

The eunuch’s words cut off abruptly, a look of hesitation crossing his face.

Mu Jue only wanted to use this vigil to eat some good pastries and bring some back for his mother and Xia Ming.

“I heard that at yesterday’s banquet, the Third Prince died right in front of Director Lu’s table,” the young man’s lips curled slightly, his voice soft and slow. “I wonder if Director Lu will come today. Do you really want to waste time arguing with me here?”

The eunuch’s expression changed completely.

A Prince had died at the banquet, yet the matter had been brushed aside as if it were nothing. Everyone knew it was because of Director Lu. But no one knew why Director Lu had picked the Third Prince to duel the Northern Di warrior. Was it because the Third Prince had offended him? Or his mother’s family?

Ultimately, anyone who offended Director Lu either had their home raided by the Eastern Depot or died under mysterious circumstances. Although Director Lu hadn’t started a killing spree over the Third Prince’s death yesterday, no one knew if he might be in a bad mood today and decide to kill a few people for fun.

Mu Jue tilted his head, his dark eyes watching the terrified look on the eunuch’s face. He remembered Xia Ming’s vivid description of the banquet. He said that when Director Lu, dressed in crimson python robes, called the Third Prince’s name, the Prince had collapsed to the floor in terror, weeping and kowtowing for mercy. In the end, two Eastern Depot agents had dragged him onto the platform.

The Third Prince had trained in riding and archery, but he had long since wasted his body on wine and women. The Northern Di warrior was as strong as a bull. Within a few moves, the Third Prince was seized by the collar, lifted into the air, and hurled off the stage. Normally, such a fall wouldn’t be fatal, but the Third Prince had bad luck; the back of his head struck the corner of the table right in front of Director Lu. Blood splashed everywhere.

Director Lu’s face was flecked with blood, looking more terrifying than the King of Hell. The music and dancing stopped instantly. Half the guests fell to their knees. Eastern Depot agents rushed to wipe him clean, and no one dared to touch the Third Prince’s corpse.

In Mu Jue’s mind, a picture formed of a sinister, fanged eunuch.

“May I go in now?”

The eunuch kept his mouth shut and stepped aside to let him pass.

Mu Jue offered a stick of incense and found a cloth cushion near a corner to kneel on. The rules for a Prince’s funeral weren’t that strict, and to prevent the younger princes and princesses from going hungry, many plates of vegetarian snacks were set out.

After kneeling for a while, Mu Jue reached out for the snacks. He didn’t even bother to hide his movements with his sleeves, picking them up and eating them one by one. The younger princes nearby stared in shock, and their mothers cast looks of disdain and contempt.

Mu Jue stuffed his mouth full of pastries. He wrapped several plates’ worth in his robes, planning to take them back for his mother and Xia Ming. Suddenly, a piece of pastry slipped from the edge of his clothes and rolled away.

He watched as the pastry bumped against a pair of black boots.

He instinctively reached out to pick it up, but a pair of long, jade-white hands beat him to it.

Someone bowed, their voice trembling slightly: “Director Lu, what brings you here today?”