The Loyal Dead Soldier Did Not Plan to Run with a Bun (Pregnant) - Chapter 14

Wei Zheng’s medicinal effect had not yet worn off; he was dizzy and his body felt truly weak and soft, but this did not hinder him from using the opportunity to get close to the dead soldier.

The whole “male concubine” identity had been created specifically to bring the dead soldier by his side for easier intimacy. Yet, unexpectedly, after the very first day, one thing after another had crowded in, and he had hardly had a chance to properly nurture their relationship.

Now that he had finally found an opportunity, he naturally had to make up for it all at once.

Having made up his mind, Wei Zheng’s arm circling the dead soldier’s narrow waist exerted a little more force, and he groaned weakly: “My head aches; rub it for me.”

The dead soldier would never refuse him, so he naturally said yes.

The two returned to the bed. Wei San sat on the edge of the bed, while Wei Zheng lay horizontally, his head resting on Wei San’s lap.

Wei San’s fingers pressed and massaged Wei Zheng’s temples, not daring to use too much strength.

The prescription’s medicinal effect was indeed violent. Physician Liu had wanted to reduce the dosage, but to play the part convincingly and to prevent the old Emperor from discovering anything amiss, Wei Zheng had refused the suggestion.

After two consecutive days, even with Wei Zheng’s strong constitution, he was thoroughly worn out.

Even though his body was very weary, Wei Zheng, having been unconscious for two days, felt mentally alert. He kept his eyes open, his gaze tracing Wei San’s fine features.

The dead soldier was quiet. Despite his cold and hard expression, Wei Zheng could somehow force himself to see a hint of gentleness within it.

He was momentarily stunned, recalling his childhood when he was suffering from a persistent high fever; his mother would also let him rest his head on her lap, her expression cold and severe, yet her movements infinitely gentle.

Suddenly overcome with a desire to confide, he murmured softly to Wei San: “When I was delirious from the sickness, I dreamt of my mother.”

Wei San’s hand movements paused, sensing the loneliness in his heart. He did not respond vocally, but remained silent, listening intently.

He listened as Wei Zheng spoke of the time when Consort Xu was still alive. At that time, he had only recently entered the camp and had only seen the Master from afar a few times; he had never seen Consort Xu. Based on the information in Wei Zheng’s words, he roughly painted a portrait of the Master’s mother in his mind.

She was a cold, beautiful woman who was nonetheless very gentle inside, yet she also had a wretched fate.

With her sincerity misplaced, she had ruined herself and destroyed her maternal clan as well.

Consort Xu and the Emperor were childhood sweethearts. After the Emperor ascended the throne, a single imperial edict had crowned her Consort.

Initially, the two respected each other like honored guests, living in harmony, and Wei Zheng, relying on his mother’s favor, was greatly doted upon by the Emperor.

This lasted until the Duke of Dingguo pacified the Western Rong and returned to the capital with the letter of surrender from the Western Rong, which was willing to become a vassal state.

The day the Duke of Dingguo returned to the capital, the streets were empty, and the commoners lined the roads to see him off. The Emperor stood at the city gate, feeling satisfied about eliminating the threat of the Western Rong, when he suddenly heard the Empress say with a smile: “The Duke of Dingguo uses troops like a god and has never known defeat; he is the Battle God who stabilizes our Great Yu Dynasty. His prestige among the people is extremely high, nearly on par with Your Majesty.”

The Emperor was jolted awake by the Empress’s words, and his face turned cold on the spot.

The Duke of Dingguo’s merits were so great that the monarch could not bestow any further honors; a single unintended remark had invited the monarch’s suspicion. Once the seed of doubt was planted, it was like a stone rolling down a mountain—once it began, it could not be stopped.

In less than two months, the evidence of the Duke of Dingguo colluding with the enemy and attempting to rebel was presented on the desk in the imperial study. The Emperor was furious, stripping the Duke of Dingguo of his military power and title, and casting him into the heavenly prison. A decree for his execution after autumn soon followed.

At that time, Consort Xu was six months pregnant, less than a month away from labor. Upon hearing the terrible news, she fainted on the spot.

Consort Xu knew deeply that her father had been framed and wronged. Ignoring the advice and obstruction of palace staff, she knelt outside the Chengde Hall with her swollen belly, seeking only for the Emperor to reinvestigate the case.

But how could the Emperor, who was determined to get rid of the Duke of Dingguo, see her?

Consort Xu knelt for a full day and night until she could no longer hold on, eventually suffering a miscarriage.

Wei Zheng still had vivid memories of the scene that night. His mother, who had loved beauty so much, lay in a pool of blood without a breath. The bright red blood had stained the bed in a shocking dark red. The baby, born dead, looked so fragile and delicate in his arms; it hadn’t even had the chance to open its eyes to see the world.

Wei Zheng personally buried his mother and sister. After he returned, he fell into a grave illness. It was also then that he learned from the imperial physician that even if his mother had not suffered a miscarriage, she would have suffered massive hemorrhaging during labor and his sister would not have been born alive.

In this royal palace, there were far too many people who could not tolerate them.

Wei Zheng’s eyes turned red, and his hands clenched tightly, unconsciously.

He said: “If my mother and sister were still alive, my sister would be a grown young lady by now. She would surely be as bright and moving as my mother. As her older brother, I would worry about finding a good match for her, but unfortunately…”

His tone was extremely calm, but the hatred in his eyes was shocking.

He thought of the old Emperor visiting him; hearing those words while he was drowsy and confused, he couldn’t help but sneer aloud.

“Wei San, oh Wei San, do you think the Emperor truly has any father-son affection for me?”

He was asking Wei San, yet he was also asking himself.

In truth, he had the answer long ago. A monarch is cold-blooded; if he could be like this toward the woman he favored most, how could he ever have true sincerity? It was just that he saw him as foolish and without backing—the easiest to manipulate and the least threatening.

Acting foolish and enduring for ten years; now, it was finally time to close the net.

He gripped Wei San’s hand, his gaze locked on those clear peach-blossom eyes.

“Wei San, what I am going to do is be a traitor and rebel. Are you still willing to follow me?”

Wei Zheng was certain in his heart that Wei San would not say he was unwilling, but he was stubbornly eager to hear Wei San say it out loud himself.

He expected the dead soldier not to hesitate, but the dead soldier remained silent, his lips pressed together. His heart felt as if it had plummeted into an ice cellar for a moment, followed by a flicker of annoyance.

Just as he was about to rise in irritation, Wei San finally spoke.

Wei San was confused, asking puzzled: “But I am the Master’s dead soldier; I am the blade in the Master’s hand. Where the Master is, the blade is—isn’t that how it should naturally be?”

He was lost and panicked, not understanding why the Master suddenly asked such a question. Was it that he hadn’t done something well enough, causing the Master to doubt his loyalty?

He wanted to explain, but he didn’t know where to start; he had no idea what he had done wrong.

Wei Zheng had never seen him so anxious and uneasy, like a puppy abandoned by its owner, unable to find the road home  pitiful and helpless.

“You are right; that is how it should naturally be.”

Wei San would be the blade that fit him best.

Suddenly, he felt an impulse to pull the dead soldier into his arms, and he did exactly that.

Wei Zheng’s embrace came too suddenly; the cool, clear sandalwood scent was as domineering as ever, instantly soaking through the person in his arms as if claiming territory.

Wei San’s mind went blank; he stiffly raised both hands, not knowing where to put them.

He didn’t understand why… the Master had suddenly hugged him.