The Little Crybaby Continues to Court Death as a Cannon Fodder - Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Half an hour ago.

Xie Xuanying found sleep impossible. Lying in his clothes, he tossed and turned before finally sitting up in frustration. The agonizing restlessness of wanting to sleep but being unable to torture his nerves, making his already volatile heart even more chaotic.

What was the little Prince doing right now?

He had heard from the palace servants that the little Prince had taken the Jing Dynasty hostage into the inner palace as a male favorite and had summoned him to serve tonight.

Serve? Serve whom? Serve the Prince?

Was the Prince mad? He looked so small, small everywhere. Back at the cold spring of Deep Heart Pavilion, he could easily be enveloped by another man. From a man’s perspective of pride, the little Prince certainly wasn’t “mighty”; he could only be described as exquisite—delicate in shape, pale in color, only flushing a deep red after being overused.

Just as delicate as the little Prince’s face.

Why would he show an expression like that? Usually, he was so fierce, an lawless little tyrant. Those memories Xie Xuanying forced himself to forget now resurfaced like a retreating tide on a beach, exposed under a harsh light.

The little Prince clearly lacked stamina; he surely didn’t exercise much. After only a few sucks and kisses from the High Priest, his legs had turned weak, forcing him to lean against the man’s back, his voice trembling into a mess.

Xie Xuanying had intended to simply recall the scene to condemn the Prince’s absurd behavior, but the more he reminisced, the clearer the images became. He could perfectly describe the exact frequency of the Prince’s fluttering eyelashes and his different reactions to every action of the High Priest.

An indescribable heat rushed to his head—it was that feeling again. He had been controlled by this same sensation earlier today in the spring. Xie Xuanying glared down at himself fiercely, then stood up and paced the room, agitated.

Was the Prince really going to favor the Jing hostage? Favor him… how?

In Xie Xuanying’s mind, unbidden echoes of soft whimpers began to play, imagining a thin, weak white hand unconsciously scratching a man’s back like a kitten. No, he had to go see for himself.

Though Xie Xuanying had lost his internal power, he was still a trained martial artist; climbing onto a roof was no difficult task. He lurked there, using his memory to locate the Prince’s bed. He stealthily pried away a few tiles, allowing a sliver of light to reveal the swaying, snowy-white calves of the little Prince.

That shock of white was too impactful. Xie Xuanying warned himself he was only there out of curiosity to see what the Prince was doing, with no other intentions. He just hadn’t expected to see something so stimulating.

The Jing hostage, usually so submissive and soft-spoken, actually kissed quite aggressively. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the Prince’s face, only the rounded back of his head and his hair tangled with the other man’s. But it didn’t matter; the sounds were clear enough.

Tsk… this little Prince’s voice is actually quite pleasant.

“Master Xie.”

The deep male voice snapped Xie Xuanying back to reality. Startled, he nearly tumbled off the roof. Fortunately, his balance was steady; he quickly adjusted and saw a man he did not want to see. The man was dressed in black, blending into the night, his eyes radiating undisguised hostility.

He said coldly, “Master Xie, what are you doing here?”

Facing Cang He, Xie Xuanying felt a flicker of fear. He had once nearly strangled the Prince, and Cang He, as the personal guard, had almost taken his life in return. Having lost his internal power, he was no match for Cang He. He remembered the Prince’s panicked interference—kicking and crying at Cang He to release him.

Xie Xuanying looked up coldly, his tone laced with venom: “We both serve the Crown Prince. If you can be here, why can’t I?”

He glanced at him indifferently, then looked down at the removed tiles. Catching someone in a wrongful act usually caused embarrassment, but Xie Xuanying was thick-skinned. He boldly pried away another tile and looked back provocatively.

“Master Xie, I do not wish to make a scene.” Through the opening, Cang He saw the Prince sprawled over the other man. His keen hearing could not ignore those soft, emotional sounds. He turned his head away. “Leave on your own.”

In that one glance, Xie Xuanying read a hidden, repressed jealousy. Jealousy? Of what? That Hua Jingshi is in the Prince’s bed? Xie Xuanying’s thoughts turned wilder—just how “hungry” was this Prince that even his guard felt this way?

“I don’t want to stay here either; it sullies my eyes.” Despite his words, Xie Xuanying peeked down again, his raised foot settling back into place.

He frowned, but Xie Xuanying signaled him to be quiet, pointing downward and shaking his head.

Together, they watched through the gap. The little Prince was clearly “kissed through”; his white inner robe clung to his body like it was soaked in water, becoming semi-transparent and revealing his pink-white flesh.

“You… presumptuous!” “Us… mnh-ya…”

As the Prince turned his head slightly, revealing a portion of his exquisite profile, the two men on the roof locked their gazes instantly, their throats bobbing. When the Prince’s face turned away again, both felt a simultaneous sense of dissatisfaction and loss.

This didn’t stop them. They continued to watch the Prince touch himself to check for sweat, his soft hands brushing his own skin, rubbing it into a pink flush.

His skin is so tender, Xie Xuanying evaluated objectively.

It wasn’t until Hua Jingshi coaxed the Prince to lift himself up to change clothes that Xie Xuanying sensed something was wrong. This Prince, usually so ill-tempered, was now incredibly soft and foolishly obedient, lifting himself quite readily.

A vast expanse of white-tinted pink flooded their vision. The heat boiled from their eyes and spread through their organs, burning fiercely in their abdomens.

Clang. Two more tiles were removed.

He and Xie Xuanying glanced at each other and quickly looked away, focusing back on the movements below. Xie Xuanying’s hands weren’t delicate; they were long and calloused from labor. He imagined his rough fingertips there…

So small…

Xie Xuanying’s nose suddenly ran hot. He didn’t bother to wipe it properly, just used his sleeve, desperate not to miss anything. He lowered his head further, almost burying it in the opening. This little Prince was truly supernatural—how could even that place be so pink?

The longer he watched, the more frequently his throat moved. His eyes ached from not blinking, and his nosebleed continued. Only when a drop of blood nearly fell through the gap did he panic, stand up, and messily wipe his face. Covered in blood and with a stiff back, as if nothing had happened, he dropped a word of farewell and left first.

Cang He ignored him, remaining focused. Once he was sure Xie Xuanying was far away, he slowly shifted his legs. He always wore tight-fitting gear; any “change” was very obvious. Listening to the Prince’s constant whimpering, he closed his eyes and slowly placed his hand down.

…

By the time he was wiped dry, Yu Qing was still crying and cursing: “When I wake up, I will definitely punish you!”

Hua Jingshi had been incredibly bold; Yu Qing had said “stop” several times, but Jingshi had ignored him, acting on his own until the bedding was soaked, making it impossible to sleep. The Prince was now wrapped tightly in a silk quilt, only his small head peeking out. Hua Jingshi held him close, watching the Prince’s exquisite face fill with anger.

“Just you wait!” the Prince yawned, still trying to issue threats.

The palace maids鋪ing the new bedding kept their heads down, terrified by Hua Jingshi’s gentle yet powerful gaze. Once everything was ready, Jingshi laid the Prince down carefully, afraid to wake the now-sleeping boy. He stared at the jade-like neck for a long time before he couldn’t resist leaning down to leave a restrained mark.

The next morning, Yu Qing woke to find Hua Jingshi gone. Just as he was about to lose his temper, Jingshi entered carrying a porcelain bowl.

“Your Highness, you’re awake?” Yu Qing glared, but Jingshi simply smiled and offered a spoonful of fresh shrimp and hibiscus porridge. “Will Your Highness try some?”

“Us does not like porridge,” Yu Qing said coldly. But he looked at it, and it looked appetizing. He opened his mouth, and Jingshi blew on a spoonful to cool it before feeding him.

Yu Qing’s eyes lit up. Delicious! He hadn’t expected Jingshi’s cooking to surpass the imperial chefs. The once-angry Prince now sat there obediently eating. His manners were refined and noble. His red lips were wet with porridge; occasionally, his tongue would lick the white jade spoon, leaving a water mark.

The intimacy between the two was noted by the servants. When they saw the “hickey” on the Prince’s neck, they exchanged knowing glances.

After breakfast, Yu Qing hurried to the Deep Heart Pavilion. Midday was the hottest time, and he needed to be by the cold spring. Wei Shengyin seemed to have been waiting for him; as soon as Yu Qing arrived, the High Priest’s cold face melted into a soft gentleness.

The Fate and Numerology lesson was boring, and Yu Qing soon fell into a drowse. Wei Shengyin didn’t wake him; instead, he guided the Prince to lie with his head in his lap. For the socially awkward High Priest, this silent companionship was precious. He looked down at the Prince’s snowy face. Perhaps because he was having a sweet dream, the Prince’s red lips were slightly parted, revealing a dark spot inside.

Like a wound.

Wei Shengyin knew nothing of romance or that kissing could cause such marks. His first thought was: Who dared to hurt the Crown Prince? He pressed his thumb against the center of the Prince’s lower lip, pulling it down. The red inner lining of the mouth and the snowy-white teeth were exposed, making the dark mark even more glaring.

He saw it clearly now: it was a bite mark.

An indescribable fury rose in his heart. His movements grew a bit heavier as he opened the Prince’s mouth further, leaning down to see the wound more clearly. His fingertips inevitably caught a sweet scent. Wei Shengyin stared dazed at the glistening moisture on his fingers, then leaned down to sniff and kiss them, his expression obsessed, as if possessed.

The sleeping Yu Qing’s lashes fluttered and his brow furrowed, clearly unhappy again, though he didn’t wake. He turned his head, exposing a fresh, ambiguous mark on his neck. A “hickey” is an imprint created by repeated sucking; just looking at it, one could imagine how the person had been obsessed, like a mad dog that couldn’t be satisfied.

Wei Shengyin’s smoke-grey eyes gradually filled with heat. He stared at the mark, his heart racing. It felt as if a beast were about to break out of a cage, commanding him to cover that mark with his own. He didn’t hesitate. He pinched that bit of skin and prepared to bite down to reclaim the territory.

Before he could, a cool, powerful voice spoke: “High Priest.”

Wei Shengyin quickly fixed Yu Qing’s collar to hide the mark before looking up.

It was the Prime Minister.

Qiu Zhiruo was the Prince’s maternal uncle. His family had been loyal officials for generations, and he was known as a refined, upright gentleman. He was handsome and dignified, his black hair and purple robes flowing in the breeze. His calm eyes hid a sharp edge.

Qiu Zhiruo looked at Wei Shengyin, or more accurately, at the Prince in his lap. “His Highness has been neglecting his studies lately. I have come to take him back.”

Wei Shengyin was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “His Highness is sleeping. Lord Prime Minister should return when he wakes.”

Qiu Zhiruo was only being polite; he stepped forward immediately, reaching out to take the Prince. Wei Shengyin didn’t want to hand him over, especially since he was sleeping.

The two struggled over the Prince, and despite trying to be gentle, they woke him up. The little Prince had a terrible “morning temper.” Without even looking at who it was, he swung his arm and delivered a sharp slap.

The recipient’s head was knocked to the side. After a frozen moment, the man slowly turned back. It was a refined, dignified face, but his eyes were now filled with sternness. Yu Qing took one look and his shoulders shook with fear.

Why is it his uncle!

The little Prince feared no one except his uncle. When Yu Qing first arrived, he was forced into lessons daily—archery, horsemanship… he was terrible at them. Every time he ran away, he was caught and punished. He had only had a break because of recent border wars.

He expected Qiu Zhiruo to explode, but the man only said calmly to Wei Shengyin: “High Priest, please leave. I have matters to discuss with the Crown Prince.”

The once-arrogant Prince now sat with his head bowed like a kitten with its claws clipped. Wei Shengyin left reluctantly.

Left alone by the spring, Qiu Zhiruo’s expression softened. “Come here.”

Yu Qing came over unwillingly and, under his uncle’s calm gaze, lay obediently across his lap. He felt miserable. Why did Qiu Zhiruo have to be his uncle? He was usually tolerant of family, but a strict relative was another story.

Suddenly, Yu Qing felt a chill. Just as he was about to turn his head, slap! He nearly jumped out of his skin.

Qiu Zhiruo had only intended to scare him, but he had noticed that the usually pink, delicate area had darkened in color. Although it had been cleaned, there were clear signs of overuse. On the snow-like skin were several marks—fingerprints.

The aloof Prime Minister immediately lost his cool. Like a husband discovering an affair, he raised his hand and struck again.

The little Prince’s eyes widened: “You dare hit us?!” “Can I not?” Qiu Zhiruo asked coldly, his gaze fixed on those glaring fingerprints. “Who did this?”

Which blind fool had dared to touch his Prince while he wasn’t looking?

“Qiu Zhiruo, you dare hit Us! Ah-mnh—”

“Your Highness, I am your uncle.” Seeing the Prince refuse to speak, Qiu Zhiruo assumed he was protecting a lover, and his tone grew colder.

“…That still doesn’t mean you can hit us there!”

His voice was soft and sobbing. Qiu Zhiruo’s heart softened. He looked at the handprint he had left, seeing that it now completely covered the fingerprints from before, and his mood improved slightly. He slowly rubbed the reddened area, then pulled the teary-eyed Prince up, wiping the tears from his eyes with his thumb. “So pampered. If you can’t even handle this, how will you rule one day?”

“You still shouldn’t hit us… there!” Yu Qing wondered if his uncle was sick in the head.

The servants said the Prime Minister had once given up on the Prince and even advised the Emperor to have another son. The original Prince had hated this uncle. But since Yu Qing arrived, Qiu Zhiruo was at his door every other day, insisting on teaching him military strategy and archery. When Yu Qing resisted, Qiu Zhiruo found a way to “discipline” him, realizing the Prince was extremely concerned with his dignity.

The little Prince glared with watery eyes, his nose tipped with pink. He looked incredibly exquisite. Qiu Zhiruo suppressed a smile and coaxed, “Then next time I’ll hit your palm, alright?”

“No!” Yu Qing glared fiercely. “Not the palm either.”

Noticing his uncle was in a better mood, the Prince grew bold. He found the position uncomfortable and adjusted himself to sit in the man’s lap. But because the hitting had been real, the pressure on the wound made him let out a whimper, his shoulders hitching.

Qiu Zhiruo’s body stiffened at the sound. It was too late to hide it. The little Prince’s eyes widened as he looked down. Qiu Zhiruo’s face was slightly flushed.

The Prince gave a small huff. “Are you sure you’re disciplining Us as an uncle?”

Qiu Zhiruo remained silent, his lips pressed into a dangerous line.

Getting no answer, Yu Qing didn’t get angry. Instead, he knelt on top of Qiu Zhiruo, their hair tangling together, his hot breath falling like thunder by the man’s ear.

“Us thinks the Prime Minister is satisfying a private desire… deliberately wanting to see Us cry.”

Qiu Zhiruo was about to protest when the Prince slowly used his knee to grind against the “evidence.” He looked up quickly; the Prince was smiling nonchalantly.

“Isn’t that right, Lord Prime Minister?”

A malicious expression, a teasing tone. It should have been annoying, but it pointlessly sparked desire, making everything intensify.

“Yes.”

Qiu Zhiruo had seen many things in his life; he didn’t falter. He remained cool and composed, his aura steady. Except for his reddened ears, he was perfectly in control. “What will Your Highness do? Charge me with a crime?”

It was just a child’s game; he would play it to the end.

Yu Qing took the man’s face in his hands, their noses touching. “How could Us do that?” He deliberately brushed against the man’s nose, feeling his breathing grow erratic. A mischievous curve touched his lips.

“The Prime Minister is very honest. Us people like honest children. And for good children, I have a reward.”

The Prince was sensitive to heat and dressed lightly. His slender white fingers moved at his waist, slowly undoing himself. He stood up, then sat back down on the ground, speaking as if granting a favor.

“Crawl over here.”