The Loyal Dead Soldier Did Not Plan to Run with a Bun (Pregnant) - Chapter 22

The old Emperor, who kept such a tight grip on his dragon throne, had actually secretly written an imperial edict for the succession at such a critical juncture and entrusted it to the Grand Tutor for safekeeping. This clearly showed that he had reached the end of his rope.

Wei Zheng had always known that the old Emperor’s health was poor; he was currently just lingering on with the help of life-sustaining medicinal soups. Wei Zheng would not have been surprised if someone had said the old Emperor had passed away. What truly surprised him was that the old Emperor had written the succession edict before he was even critically ill or on his deathbed, and the person holding the edict was also someone completely unexpected.

The Grand Tutor, who logically should have been in the Crown Prince’s camp, was actually one of the old Emperor’s men.

He lowered his eyes and pondered for a moment before saying to Wei Er, “Continue to lurk in the palace. If there is any unusual movement, send word back immediately.”

“Yes.”

Wei Er received his orders and left directly. Duan Lin took a step forward and asked, “Master, what should we do next?”

Wei Zheng replied, “Not only do we not need to do anything, but we must also keep the secret for Father and the Grand Tutor.”

A secret that determined the fate of the Great Yu Dynasty was not yet ready to be exposed to the light of day.

Duan Lin was a smart man and understood instantly. He did not ask why, but instead discussed with Wei Zheng how to proceed, without any avoidance of Wei San, who stood to the side.

Wei San could not interject at all. He stood by Wei Zheng’s side, eyes lowered, listening to their conversation in silence.

Hearing Duan Lin and Wei Zheng planning back and forth on how to deal with the Crown Prince and the old Emperor, he couldn’t help but sigh dejectedly. He was truly no match for Commander Duan. Aside from these hands that could kill for his Master, he couldn’t help his Master with anything else; he was useless and uninteresting. If his Master were not benevolent, he feared he would have been sent back to the Death-Sworn Camp long ago.

Wei San’s mood grew increasingly low. The more he thought, the more useless he felt; he was not a qualified death-sworn guard at all.

Wei Zheng and Duan Lin finished discussing their strategy and, with a single glance, spotted the sadness hidden beneath Wei San’s expressionless face.

It wasn’t that he could read minds; it was that Wei San’s pair of beautiful peach-blossom eyes were misty and rimmed with red, as if he were about to cry.

He didn’t know what was going through Wei San’s mind to make him so sad, but he immediately raised his hand without a second thought to ruffle Wei San’s hair, silently offering comfort.

Duan Lin, who was forced to watch the intimacy between the two: “…………”

He was not someone who didn’t understand affection; he could see the change in Wei San that was different from the past at a glance.

The Wei San of the past was like a dull, uninteresting flower bud that didn’t know how to bloom; the current Wei San was like a multi-petaled lotus with its petals pried open, revealing its tender yellow stamens, unconsciously alluring at every moment.

He scanned the two of them coolly and subconsciously frowned.

These two—something is very wrong!

Could it be that they had turned a fake act into a real one? Had Wei San truly become the Master’s male favorite?

The thought flashed through his mind, and Duan Lin felt extremely conflicted. He wanted to convince himself that he had just guessed wrong, but Wei Zheng wouldn’t give him the chance.

Under Duan Lin’s scrutinizing gaze, Wei Zheng frankly held Wei San’s hand, startling the already guilty Wei San, who visibly shrank back, looking exactly like a frightened little animal.

Wei San didn’t care much about what others thought, but in front of Duan Lin, who was both mentor and father figure to him, he dared not do anything out of line, especially not something shameful like this, which smacked of seducing his master.

Wei San tugged his hand hard, but couldn’t pull it away. Helpless and flustered, he stole a glance at Wei Zheng, signaling him to let go immediately.

Wei Zheng raised an eyebrow, acting as if he didn’t understand, and continued to play with his fingers as he pleased. Wei San, who dared not escape or speak, could only lower his head, burying his head in the sand as he watched the tips of the grass blades on the ground, pretending on the surface to be unconcerned while his heart was tied in knots.

Duan Lin wanted to say something, but seeing Wei Zheng’s self-satisfied demeanor, he couldn’t get the words out.

No wonder his Master had suddenly suggested using someone to impersonate a male favorite, with conditions that pointed directly and indirectly toward Wei San.

He had originally thought that Wei San was bold enough to seduce his Master, but thinking about it carefully now, it was clearly his Master who had been moved by lust and was bullying Wei San for being honest and obedient.

Wei San was clearly ignorant and unenlightened, showing he hadn’t yet given his heart, but since Wei San had been raised by Duan Lin, he knew very well the weight Wei Zheng held in Wei San’s heart. If things continued like this, it was only a matter of time before he fell in love.

Duan Lin sighed inwardly, not optimistic about the relationship between the two. His Master was born into the imperial family; the two of them, with their disparate statuses, were destined to have no result. Moreover, he didn’t know how much genuine sincerity was mixed into this. He only hoped Wei San could hold onto his original intent.

.

Time flowed like water, passing in the blink of an eye. With less than two hours left until their audience with the Emperor, Wei San was stripped down to just his undergarments, standing stiffly behind a screen. Outside, several maids holding clothes were lined up, while Wei Zheng picked them up one by one to examine them.

“This one is too vulgar, this one is too garish.”

He picked and chose, feeling that none of them could perfectly accentuate Wei San’s beauty and temperament.

No one in the room dared to speak. If there hadn’t been maids outside, Wei San would have wanted to walk out and advise his Master to just pick any one of them.

Wei Zheng was dissatisfied no matter what he chose, and finally waved his hand to dismiss the maids with the clothes, turning to go to his own walk-in closet.

The room suddenly became quiet. Wei San could only see blurry, moving shadows through the screen; judging by the movement, his Master seemed to be rummaging through something with his back to him.

He couldn’t resist his curiosity and leaned out to take a look. Before he could see clearly, he was met head-on with Wei Zheng’s teasing eyes.

“What are you peeking at, little death-sworn guard? You refused when I asked you to come out and try on clothes earlier; now that there are no outsiders, you’re not shy anymore?”

Wei San opened his mouth but had no rebuttal. He pressed his lips together sheepishly and quickly shrank back.

Wei Zheng chuckled, not giving him a chance to hide, and simply walked over with long strides, squeezing in behind the screen.

The space behind the screen was not large. With two big men crammed inside, the remaining distance was less than half an arm’s length.

The death-sworn guard was standing with his back to him. The protruding parts of his butterfly bones were flushed a light pink; his waistline was smooth, and his skin was dazzlingly white, as if he were the most perfect work of art created by a master craftsman. Even the pink scar spread across most of his spine held a sort of morbid beauty.

Wei Zheng licked the tip of his canine tooth and suddenly felt that these scars didn’t necessarily need to be removed.

“When were these injuries sustained?”

He reached out to touch the wounds. Wei San was startled, reflexively grabbing the outer robe that had been taken off and placed to the side to drape over himself, his entire body’s muscles tensing up.

Wei San knew he had come in, but he hadn’t expected him to reach out and touch the scars on his back.

The sensation of cool fingertips still lingered on his back, tingling and numb, as if he had been bitten by ants.

“I don’t remember.” He lowered his eyes slightly, his mind filled with thoughts for some reason of that fake Wei Liu, who had touched the scars on his body in the same way.

Not only touched, but also used his mouth and tongue…

The color drained from Wei San’s face in an instant, leaving him pale as paper. He clenched his fingers into his lapels so tightly they turned white, his stomach aching faintly with nausea.

He felt disgusted by what the fake Wei Liu had done to him, and even more disgusted by how dirty he felt himself to be.

Wei Zheng’s eyes darkened slightly, and he slowly withdrew his hand from mid-air, handing the cyan robe hanging on his arm to him as if nothing had happened.

“Change into it. We have to enter the palace in a while.”

He put away his previous teasing attitude and distanced himself from Wei San, keeping a distance that was just right—not enough to make Wei San feel pressured, yet just enough to easily reach out and take the clothes from his hands.

Wei San breathed a secret sigh of relief and thanked him: “Thank you, Master.”

Wei Zheng nodded without a word and turned to walk outside the screen before saying, “I will wait for you outside. If you need any maids to help you, just call for someone to serve you.”

The person behind the screen replied, “Okay,” and then fell into silence.

Wei Zheng stared at that slender figure, grinding his fingertips together. Thinking of something, he suddenly curled his lips in a smile and turned to walk out of the room.

Hearing the door close, Wei San slowly relaxed his tensed muscles. He let out a dejected breath, reflecting on his overly intense reaction just now; his Master must have been annoyed by him.

Did his Master think he was repulsed by his touch? But that wasn’t his intention at all; it was just because of that detestable fake Wei Liu, which had left him with psychological trauma.

Wei San wanted to clear up the misunderstanding, but didn’t know how to explain it to Wei Zheng.

He was conflicted in his heart, but remembering that he still had to accompany Wei Zheng to the palace to face the Emperor, he could only temporarily set aside his chaotic thoughts and quickly changed his clothes.

While pinning up his hair, he looked down at the light cyan outer robe with subtle bamboo leaf patterns. Not taking the easy way out with a high ponytail, he used a ribbon to tie his hair, letting it drape diagonally against his neck.

Wei San’s hair was smooth and jet-black, and because he had worn a mask for years, the skin on his face was as white as winter snow; the collision of these two extreme colors was extremely striking. Coupled with his exquisite and beautiful features, the cyan robe set him off as refined and elegant, like a gentle, jade-like young master walking out of a scroll.

When Wei Zheng caught sight of him, his eyes held undisguised awe and appreciation.

That cyan robe was new clothing made last year, and since it didn’t fit his temperament, he had never worn it. When he found this robe in the wardrobe, he knew no one was more suitable for this outfit than Wei San.

He couldn’t resist a joke: “Whose beauty is this? It makes my heart flutter at first sight.”

Wei San’s face flushed red from the teasing, and he felt so self-conscious he didn’t know where to put his hands or feet. Wei Zheng, however, wouldn’t let him off, tapping his palm with a fan and pretending to have a sudden realization: “Oh, it’s from my own house.”

This joke could be called utterly shameless.

Wei San… Wei San was completely numb.

The accompanying maid lowered her head, her mouth struggling to hold back a smile.

The Prince of Xian’s carriage traveled from the outskirts of the capital all the way to the imperial palace, stopping outside the palace gate.

The guard on duty leaned his head out for a look and just happened to see the Prince of Xian—of whom it was rumored that his brain illness had been cured—getting off the carriage while holding a beautiful person with a bright and clear temperament in his arms.

The beauty’s brows were slightly furrowed, and a look of sorrow could not be hidden between his brows, clearly showing he was unwilling.

The guard stood up straight, his heart of gossip burning brightly.

This Prince of Xian and the beauty… could it actually be a case of forced acquisition? This is just too exciting!