The Young Marquis is Ruining the Court! - Chapter 3

Chi Zhou hadn’t quite figured out what kind of legendary eccentric the original host was, nor did he have the heart to dwell on it.

In the original novel, Mingjing, the Young Marquis of Ningping was more of a plot device than a person. He existed solely on the protagonist’s growth arc to provide a series of bizarre, jaw-dropping, and nonsensical hardships.

He was a non-consensual source of “connections” and “gold coins,” helping Xie Mingjing complete the primitive accumulation of capital needed for his rise.

In short, he was a low-IQ villain whose family fortune was devoured by the protagonist and whose flesh was eventually devoured by the protagonist’s dog.

Readers generally don’t waste time analyzing the logic or internal motivations of such characters. Chi Zhou was no exception; he stared at the replanted peach twigs for a moment and realized he still had no idea what the original guy had been thinking.

Whenever he tried to dig deeper, the image of a skeletal figure trapped in a room with a vicious hound flickered in his mind. The very air around him seemed to take on a phantom scent of blood.

Chi Zhou shuddered involuntarily, a layer of goosebumps rising on his arms.

Suppressing the terror, which was likely amplified by the residual instincts of this body—he forced his gaze away from the four “beautiful maidens” (the twigs).

“No need for a marker. I believe in doing good deeds anonymously. I won’t be coming back to disturb their lives,” Chi Zhou said with a straight face, looking remarkably solemn.

Ming Xi stared at his master in silence for a long time. Then, he turned back and tied the handkerchief into a knot so tight it looked permanent, as if terrified the wind might snatch it away.

Chi Zhou: “…”

He silently apologized to the willow tree.

The pleasure boat had docked, though no one had boarded yet. Chi Zhou looked up and saw three large characters etched in gold leaf on the hull: The Glazed Moon.

The calligraphy was sharp and powerful “iron strokes and silver hooks.” It was a strange contrast; the most tender imagery and the softest place of pleasure were branded with a brushwork so lethal and stern it felt misplaced.

For a moment, one might forget they were in the heart of the luxurious capital and feel instead like they were thousands of miles away on a desert dune, beneath a cold moon and a vast galaxy of the frontier.

But it was surely an illusion. The music drifting from the boat was clearly a Southern melody gentle, winding, and devoid of any northern bitterness.

Chi Zhou shook his head. Seeing that no one else was moving, he stayed put and waited quietly.

It wasn’t until a man in an apricot-yellow robe stepped out of the roadside carriage and walked toward the floating bridge with practiced ease that the crowd finally stirred. Only then was Chi Zhou certain: that man was indeed the Crown Prince.

Chi Zhou watched him instinctively. Perhaps he stared a bit too long, because the man paused, looked back, and scanned the crowd.

Initially, his expression held a flicker of royal displeasure at being stared at, but as soon as he recognized Chi Zhou’s face, he broke into a smile. He even stopped on the bridge and waved, beckoning Chi Zhou over.

Before Chi Zhou could react, Ming Xi let out a quiet “tsk” of annoyance and whispered urgently, “Master, go on. It’s not good to keep His Highness waiting.”

Chi Zhou was pushed forward like a puppet. His scalp felt itchy with nerves; that familiar sense of “people-vertigo” was back. This time it was worse of the hundreds of people on the bank, more than half were now staring at him because of the Prince’s gesture.

Chi Zhou: “…”

I would really like to die now.

Someone save this socially anxious, face-blind disaster.

As Ming Xi steered his master through the throng toward the bridge, he suddenly stopped. He turned his head sharply toward the boat’s cabin.

Feeling the pressure on his back disappear, Chi Zhou glanced back, confused.

“Nothing. I just stepped on a pebble,” Ming Xi explained.

It might have been his imagination, but he felt as though someone on that boat had been staring at his master—not just since the Prince stopped, but from the very beginning. Even when he was washing his master’s hands by the water, he had felt a cold, predatory gaze boring a hole into his back.

It was unsettling. Couldn’t be an assassin, right?

Ming Xi looked worriedly at the back of Chi Zhou’s head. His master was a man who couldn’t lift a heavy basket and probably had less wrist strength than a lady at a brothel. If they really met an assassin, could he even dodge?

But then his gaze shifted to the Crown Prince, and he smiled with sudden relief.

What a massive human target! What a shiny gold decoy!

What kind of blind assassin would ignore the Crown Prince to go after our Young Master?

Right!

Chi Zhou was trying to stay composed as he navigated the crowd when he heard a muffled noise. He glanced back to see Ming Xi looking down, giggling to himself about something.

How strange. The Prince was strange, and now his servant was clucking like a hen.

Estimating the distance to the Prince, Chi Zhou couldn’t help but whisper a warning: “Stop laughing. You’re starting to sound like a duck.”

Ming Xi:  Not funny.

Chi Zhou realized he had a bit of a mean streak. Just a second ago, he was panicked about being put on display, but seeing Ming Xi’s smile vanish instantly made him feel remarkably better. In a way, he finally understood the “asshole” joy of building one’s happiness on someone else’s misery.

He stepped onto the bridge and reached the Prince’s side, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

Xie Mingjiang’s eyes lingered on Chi Zhou’s face. He stepped closer, bringing with him a scent of incense that was hard to place. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was… strong.

Chi Zhou frowned slightly. Just as he was about to take a step back, his wrist was suddenly seized.

Chi Zhou’s pupils dilated in alarm. Xie Mingjiang was already laughing, pulling him toward the boat.

“Everyone said you were ill and that’s why you haven’t left your estate. I sent two letters and got no reply. I thought you were still upset about that incident at Qunyu House and didn’t want to see me,” Xie Mingjiang chuckled. He glanced at Chi Zhou with phoenix eyes that looked warm but were actually full of calculated observation.

Under that light gaze, Chi Zhou’s alarm flared. He stopped trying to pull his wrist away and lowered his eyes, whispering, “Your Highness jokes. How would I dare be angry with you? I simply drank too much and caught a cold. My grandmother and mother kept me under house arrest.”

“Then why come out today?” Xie Mingjiang asked casually.

The wind swept across the river, and the crowd was noisy, but Chi Zhou suddenly felt a chill. A cold sweat broke out on his back.

When he read the novel, his perspective was entirely on the protagonist, Xie Mingjing. Even when the Crown Prince appeared, he knew from spoilers that this was just a villain destined to die. To a reader, the Prince’s grand entrances were no different from the Marquis’s—they were both just puppets on a stage. No threat, no reason to fear.

But the novel was just a million words. This world was a reality of passing days. No fast-forward. No skipping.

He had no “God’s eye view” anymore. He was in the game.

Aside from those nightmares, this was the first time Chi Zhou truly felt the terror of a sword hanging over his head. On this river, before this ship, under the warm spring sun.

Chi Zhou stood on the bridge, his wrist held intimately by the most powerful man in the land.

He looked up at the glittering glazed tiles of the boat’s roof and smiled. “Your Highness knows me. I’m a man of luxury and excess…”

He turned his head, meeting Xie Mingjiang’s eyes. His own eyes curved into crescents, looking like a clever white fox. “—I simply love a good crowd.”

Xie Mingjiang was momentarily dazed by the smile. His grip tightened unconsciously. Chi Zhou let out a soft gasp and knit his brows. “It hurts.”

His voice was soft, carrying the spoiled innocence of someone who had been pampered since birth. Xie Mingjiang had heard him use that same tone to beg the Emperor for a jade bracelet—it was incredibly stupid.

The strange suspicion in the Prince’s heart vanished. He released Chi Zhou’s hand and apologized with a smile. “The bridge swayed and I lost my footing. My apologies. Let’s get on board.”

“After you, Your Highness.” Chi Zhou stepped back half a pace, gesturing for the Prince to lead.

Before boarding, Chi Zhou looked up at the name The Glazed Moon one last time, then stepped inside.

The boat had three levels. Aside from the viewing decks, the interior wasn’t actually that large—maybe twice the size of the brothel he’d woken up in. He was wondering how it could fit so many people when he looked back and realized Ming Xi hadn’t followed. The boy was on the bank, waving happily.

Chi Zhou’s heart sank. The heavens truly want me dead.

Seeing him stop, Xie Mingjiang glanced back and understood. “Only a few are allowed on the Glazed Moon today. The letter I sent you included a ticket, but I didn’t consider that you might need a servant. My mistake. Just stay behind me; I’ll look after you.”

Chi Zhou wanted to dive into the river and swim with the ducks. He regretted this. Truly.

Of all the brothels and taverns in the capital, why did he have to choose this boat? Of all the ways to get information, why did he have to dive into a pile of high-ranking dandies? Without Ming Xi as his “face-recognition” cheat code, how was he supposed to survive this?

Chi Zhou closed his eyes in despair. “It was… Your Highness who sent the letters?”

Xie Mingjiang laughed. “Who else? Little Zhou, have you stopped checking the signatures on your mail?”

Little Zhou doesn’t want to talk. Little Zhou thinks that nickname sounds oily coming from you.

He glanced at the water, estimating the temperature. In this weather, it couldn’t be more than ten degrees Celsius. If he jumped, his “fake” cold would become a very real one.

Chi Zhou sighed and gave up. He put on a perfect, standard smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

The Glazed Moon began its circuit. At every pier, though it didn’t take on new passengers, it paused for performers to sing and dance on the deck for the crowds on the shore.

Chi Zhou looked back longingly at his human “cheat code” one last time, only to see that Ming Xi’s attention had been entirely captured by a petite girl on the shore performing a breathtaking double-blade dance.

Chi Zhou watched for a moment, but as he turned to walk into the cabin, a wave of dizziness—worse than being in the crowd—hit him.

I’m not even that socially anxious, really. Why don’t I have a system? Why couldn’t I at least keep the original guy’s memory of names and faces?

The universe is out to get me.

The Crown Prince was immediately surrounded by a group of nobles in jade and silk. All of them looked like “old friends” of the original Marquis.

Chi Zhou froze. Before anyone could notice him, he spun around and bolted up the stairs.

The first floor was open space, but the upper floors had private cabins. He knew the crowd would move up eventually; the Prince wasn’t going to stay in the common area all night. Chi Zhou’s plan was to find a room to hide in. If anyone asked, he’d say he was seasick and bail at the next pier.

He wandered the hallway, maintaining a fake smile and dodging a few youths who tried to drag him into drinking games. After shaking off the last one, he rounded a corner and leaned against the wall, drained.

Ming Xi had insisted he wear an extra robe in case it got cold. Now, wrapped in the thick fabric, Chi Zhou was breaking into a light sweat. He panted softly, his hair a bit mussed.

He zoned out for a moment until his strength returned. Before he could decide where to go, the music downstairs stopped. The floorboards creaked; voices were coming around the corner.

“This way, Your Highness. We’ve reserved a private room for you,” said a voice, likely the boat’s manager.

“Mm,” Xie Mingjiang replied. “Go find the Marquis of Ningping later. See what he’s up to and invite him to join me.” He paused, his voice taking on a strangely frivolous, mocking tone. “If he’s already having too much fun with someone… then leave him be.”

Chi Zhou: “…”

The footsteps drew closer. Chi Zhou didn’t have time to thank the original host for his “debauched” reputation. He ducked into the nearest room, slammed the door, and bolted it, leaning his back against the wood.

The footsteps passed and faded. Chi Zhou exhaled in relief, only to hear a voice from behind him:

“What are you doing here?”

Chi Zhou jumped and spun around. There, reclining on a daybed by the window, was a young man about eighteen or nineteen. He was tall with exquisite features, looking at Chi Zhou with a mix of impatience and irritation.

His robes were slightly disarrayed, the collar slipping to reveal a sharp, elegant collarbone. Chi Zhou stared for a second too long.

Through the translucent screen, Chi Zhou couldn’t see clearly. He could only see the man was covered with a quilt; he couldn’t tell if there was anyone else under there.

Thinking about where they were, Chi Zhou’s ears turned beet red. He looked down in a panic. “Sorry, I didn’t know”

“Whom did you harass and get beaten by this time? There’s such a long cut on your face”

The youth’s voice cut off abruptly. He sat up straight, his impatience replaced by a bone-chilling coldness. He stared at Chi Zhou as if looking at a dead man.

“What did you just say?” the man asked frostily.

Chi Zhou: “…”

I really, truly want to die.

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