Rebirth of the Unloved, Sickly Prince - Chapter 3

Mu Jue knelt on the cloth cushion and lifted his face.

The man who had picked up the pastry looked very young, likely having just reached his capping ceremony (twenty years old). He was tall and slender, dressed in crimson python robes. The python patterns were woven with silver thread, appearing lifelike as if they moved with the shifting light and shadows. That splash of red was jarringly conspicuous in the midst of the deathly white funeral hall.

The man held the pastry between his fingers, seemingly examining the pattern stamped upon it.

The hall fell into a heavy silence. Those who had been standing bowed their heads in small groups. Mu Jue stared at Lu Shiting’s face. It was entirely different from the hideous, sinister eunuch image he had imagined.

His face was as clear as the moon after rain, with a straight nose and thin lips, resembling a jade statue. However, his phoenix eyes were a distant, cold brownish-tea color, and his lips were thin and pale, devoid of emotion. Dressed in those blood-red robes, he looked less like a man and more like a sinister deity.

Behind this “Evil Buddha” followed a dozen Imperial Guards in flying-fish robes. It didn’t seem as though the Director of the Eastern Depot had come to pay his respects.

But regardless, it certainly had nothing to do with Mu Jue.

In the silence, Mu Jue kept his face upturned, staring at the pastry in the man’s hand. He was waiting for Lu Shiting to toss the dust-covered snack back so he could retrieve it. In the side hall, the food delivery often came only once every few days. The meals were either cold leftovers or salted pickles with steamed buns. He could only taste fresh pastries like this a few times a year; every piece was precious to him.

The man’s hand moved, but he didn’t throw it back. Instead, he brought it to his lips, took a bite, and began to eat it unhurriedly.

A nearby prince quickly stepped forward, offering a fresh tray of pastries. “Director Lu, that one fell on the floor and got dirty. Please, have this one!”

Mu Jue withdrew his gaze in disappointment. He had lost a piece of pastry; he blamed himself for not holding it securely.

Lu Shiting finished the pastry and looked down at the people in the hall. When he spoke, his voice was not shrill like an ordinary eunuch’s, but as clear and cold as a mountain spring.

“Letters were found among the Third Prince’s effects, proving he conspired with his maternal family to commit treason. His Majesty decrees: The Third Prince is demoted to a commoner, and his body shall not be buried in the imperial tombs. The Third Prince’s mother, Lady Kong, is ordered to commit suicide. The Kong clan incited a prince to rebel; they are to be executed to the third degree.”

As the words fell, the funeral hall erupted into chaos.

A dozen Imperial Guards quickly tore down the mourning banners and swept the offerings aside. They began to pry open the coffin in public, clearly intending to drag the Third Prince’s body out. The princes, princesses, and officials who had come to keep vigil fell into a panic. Many scrambled to shed their mourning clothes and flee, while others stood dazed, watching the Third Prince’s corpse roll out of the coffin.

Mu Jue turned around to scavenge the remaining pastries.

The hall was a mess, and the Imperial Guards hadn’t overturned the food yet. He used his robes as a makeshift sack, pouring plates of pastries into them. When he couldn’t carry any more, he stopped with a sigh of regret. As he turned to leave, he felt a ghostly cold gaze on his side.

Mu Jue looked over. Lu Shiting seemed to be watching him—or more accurately, watching the comical sight of him waddling out with a heap of pastries cradled in his lap.

He slowed his pace. He had seen plenty of mocking looks in his life and had long since ceased to feel shame. But Lu Shiting’s gaze didn’t seem to mean that.

Mu Jue returned to the side hall with his hoard. Xia Ming, who was washing clothes in the yard, looked up in surprise.

“Your Highness? You were supposed to be at the vigil; why are you back so—Whoa! So much food!”

Mu Jue briefly explained the day’s events and went inside to find porcelain plates for the pastries. “Give some to Mother, and eat some yourself.”

“Thank you for the reward, Your Highness!”

Mu Jue smiled. “After you eat, go outside and find out what exactly happened with the Third Prince’s ‘rebellion’.”

By evening, Xia Ming returned out of breath and told him the rumors. The Third Prince’s mother was from the Kong family, the daughter of the Minister of War. The Kongs were a prestigious clan that had flourished for centuries. Aside from the two legitimate sons born to the Empress, the Third Prince had the noblest birth among the Emperor’s dozen sons.

The word outside was that the Kong family wasn’t satisfied with their grandson being a mere idle prince. Taking advantage of the Emperor’s obsession with alchemy and his declining health, they used their military influence to plot a coup to put the Third Prince on the throne. This time, the Eastern Depot hadn’t just found secret letters in the Third Prince’s room; they had also uncovered evidence of the Kong family embezzling military funds.

“I heard there’s a drought in the south this winter, which might affect the spring plowing. Provisions at the border with the Northern Di are already tight. For the Kong family to dare embezzle military funds…” Xia Ming clicked his tongue. “If war breaks out again, who knows how many families will become refugees and have to sell their sons to the palace as eunuchs.”

Mu Jue looked at the plates of pastries on the table, his eyes dark. “The Third Prince just died, and the Eastern Depot immediately ‘found’ letters of rebellion and evidence of embezzlement…”

The Eastern Depot’s movements were suspiciously fast.

“Does Your Highness want me to keep digging?”

Mu Jue shook his head. “It has nothing to do with us. The Kongs embezzle funds, and their grandson dies at a banquet for the very people he was supposed to be defending against. It’s quite poetic.”

In the evening, the person delivering their food arrived. However, the person had been replaced by one of the eunuchs who had been guarding the Third Prince’s funeral hall earlier that day.

In just one day, this eunuch had fallen from being the Third Prince’s personal attendant to a lowly food runner for the side hall. His status had plummeted, and his fleshy face was twisted with resentment.

Xia Ming took the food box, but a rancid smell hit him as soon as he opened it.

“How can this be for the Sixth Prince? This food has been spoiled for days! Wang Baoping, are you doing this on purpose?”

“A bastard eats spoiled rice. What else do you want?”

Mu Jue raised a hand to stop Xia Ming from arguing. “Dump the food.”

Xia Ming glared at Wang Baoping and took the box to the wall. Wang Baoping sneered. “Dump it today, but I’ll be the one bringing your food tomorrow, too. I’ll see how long it takes before you swallow this rot. You jinxes… the Third Prince only caught your bad luck and that’s why—”

Mu Jue rested his chin on one hand, his elbow on the table, revealing a thin, pale wrist beneath his sleeve. He watched as Xia Ming poured the spoiled rice by the wall.

“Then let this box of spoiled rice serve as an offering to my Third Brother.”

His voice was calm, just loud enough for Wang Baoping to hear.

The eunuch flew into a rage. “You bastard, what did you say?!”

“A commoner who committed treason. What else should he eat besides spoiled rice?” Mu Jue’s peach-blossom eyes curved with a hint of a smile, his dark pupils shimmering in the fading twilight. “Third Brother has been demoted. I heard the Eastern Depot threw his body into a mass grave, and the Kong family is wiped out. There likely won’t be anyone to offer incense for him in the future. Having a box of spoiled rice is already quite a treat.”

Wang Baoping’s face turned a purplish-red. “Fine! I’ll see how you crawl and beg me for spoiled rice when you have nothing else to eat!”

For the next three days, every meal was spoiled. Some even growing white mold, emitting a foul stench. Clearly, Wang Baoping was intentionally swapping their food. The pastries Mu Jue had brought from the funeral hall were almost gone.

Xia Ming ran to the Imperial Kitchen to ask for a change in delivery personnel, but he returned dejected. “Your Highness, the palace is cutting expenses. Consorts and princes are all making a fuss at the kitchen; they didn’t have time for me. I’ll go back later and try to bribe a young eunuch to bring some food back.”

Mu Jue nodded. It was a rare sunny day, and he sat in the courtyard soaking up the sun. Suddenly, a raspy sound of vomiting erupted from his mother’s room nearby.

The young man lunged toward the room. On the floor lay a mess of overturned food—a yellowish paste that was unrecognizable, with several white maggots wriggling happily inside. His mother was kneeling on the floor, clutching her throat and gagging.

“Your… Your Highness! I threw away all the spoiled rice Wang Baoping brought! I never gave those things to Consort Li!”

Mu Jue turned pale. He knelt beside his mother and used his sleeve to wipe her mouth. His hand became stained with filth, soaking through the white bandages on his palm. The unhealed wound stung sharply.

He glanced at the wide-open window. This room’s window faced the wall; someone could climb over and reach the window in just two steps. The wooden window creaked in the cold wind.

Mu Jue helped his mother up. “Who gave you this to eat?”

His mother stared at him blankly, clutching her wooden comb.

He asked again, “Who gave you this? Did they hand it through this window?”

His mother slowly nodded, her hand reaching out again toward the maggot-infested paste on the floor.

“What about the pastries I gave you?” Mu Jue blocked her, his dark eyes reddening.

His mother seemed furious that someone was stopping her from eating. After struggling and realizing he was stronger, she began to scream shrilly, her nails clawing at his face. No one would bother to bully a forgotten consort locked in a side hall except for Wang Baoping. He was deliberately climbing over the wall to swap her pastries for this filth, venting his rage over his fallen master and his own lost status onto them.

Mu Jue held his mother’s hands. “Xia Ming, clean this up.”

“Yes, Your Highness…”

He dragged his mother away. Her voice was raw from screaming, her eyes fixed on the floor as the mess was cleared. Suddenly, she lunged and bit his arm hard as if biting an enemy who was trying to starve her to death.

Mu Jue let out a muffled groan. He was still wearing the mourning clothes; the white fabric was quickly stained with blood, blooming into a large crimson flower.

“Mother,” the young man whispered, his lips bloodless as he forced a faint smile. “I’ll bring you food tonight, alright? Good pastries. We’ll eat delicious pastries…”

By the third time he said it, his mother let go and sat down quietly before the bronze mirror.

Xia Ming frantically tried to get medicine. Mu Jue rolled up his sleeve to reveal two deep rows of teeth marks, with blood bubbling out. His skin was so white it was almost transparent, making the blood look heavy and dark.

There was a flush of red at the corners of Mu Jue’s eyes, but no trace of tears.

“…Xia Ming, go find Wang Baoping. Tell him to go to the plum garden at the edge of the palace tonight. I have something to say to him.”

“Your Highness! This was clearly Wang Baoping’s doing—”

“I know. Just tell him I’m inviting him to the plum garden because I want to give him silver so he’ll bring better food in the future.”

“Your Highness?!”

Mu Jue lowered his sleeve and narrowed his eyes. “Go.”

The plum garden had been built during the previous dynasty. Because this area was full of deserted palaces, nobles rarely visited. The garden had been neglected for years; the plum trees grew wild and tangled. As the “Beginning of Spring” approached, the red plums were in full bloom. The night was bitterly cold, and the wind carried the crisp, chilly fragrance of the blossoms.

Though the day had been sunny, there was no moonlight tonight. Mu Jue held a lantern, waiting quietly by a well.

Xia Ming soon arrived with Wang Baoping. The eunuch walked behind Xia Ming, his belly protruding, looking arrogant.

“Your Highness, Wang Ba… Eunuch Wang is here.”

“And here I thought the Sixth Prince didn’t need to eat. Bastards sure are hardy.” Wang Baoping walked up to him, standing sideways to the well. His beady eyes glittered with mockery. “If you’d been this sensible earlier, you wouldn’t have had to eat spoiled rice for days, right? Where’s the silver?”

Mu Jue pulled a few pieces of broken silver from his sleeve. Wang Baoping glanced at them and slapped them out of his hand.

“This little bit? Are you tipping a beggar? You’re a Prince—even if you’re a bastard born of a songstress, surely you have more than this?”

Mu Jue half-crouched to pick up the silver. “My money has all been divided among the other eunuchs.”

The Clothing Bureau, the Internal Affairs Department, the Kitchen… every department took a bite. How much could possibly be left for him?

Wang Baoping sneered. “Then give me whatever you have left. Didn’t you know? I sent ‘food’ to your crazy mother today. Swill meant for pigs, and she ate it with such gusto! Hahahaha! If you don’t want to eat that every day, you’d better—”

Mu Jue pointed toward the edge of the well. “Fine, I’ll give you everything I have. A silver ingot fell over there; I can’t reach it.”

Wang Baoping stepped forward. He hesitated at the sight of the well, but after peering in and seeing it was a dry, shallow well with no cover nearby, he relaxed. “Where did it fall? Where is it?”

Mu Jue took an imperceptible step back. Expressionlessly, he picked up the well rope at his feet, which had already been tied into a slipknot.