Why is the Dog Emperor Like That? - Chapter 13

Speaking selfishly, I do not want Yin Xiao to actually be with Yin Shu. Setting aside the question of whether “true-blood incest” would even pass censorship, it is simply because the probability of them having a “Bad End” is far too high. Given Yin Xiao’s dark and paranoid personality, once Yin Shu rejects him, there is nothing Yin Xiao would not do. Things like “brothers, the dark room, yandere, imprisonment, brainwashing” are truly terrifying. It is practically like he is holding a script straight out of a Danmei novel. Just thinking about that kind of future, I cannot help but sympathize with Yin Shu from the bottom of my heart.

New Year’s Day, the Great Liang state banquet. Early in the morning, just as the horizon began to show a hint of pale light, the old Emperor set off with several Empresses and favored concubines to pray for blessings at the Ancient Buddha Temple. By the time they returned to the palace, it was still just dawn. Though the sun had barely risen, the civil and military officials were already kneeling in neat rows outside the Great Liang Palace.

Li Shi and I, both holding the position of Academician-in-Waiting, knelt among them, quietly waiting for the Emperor to return. After what felt like an eternity, the whips sounded three times before the palace gates; the old Emperor had returned. My aching waist and knees finally saw a glimmer of hope. The protocol officer knelt, holding the congratulatory memorial and reading it aloud; the old Emperor granted seats and tea, and all the officials bowed in gratitude. This ritual repeated itself several times, with whip-cracking and music playing in front of the palace gates.

I do not know how the other officials were doing, but I was at my limit. My knees shifted left and right, and by the end, I was in pain everywhere. Is this eighteen-year-old body really so fragile? I strongly suspect I have reached premature aging from being both father and mother to Yin Xiao. Damn it.

The complex rituals finally, finally, finally came to an end. Once the officials finished their three kneelings and nine kowtows and shouted “Long live the Emperor,” everyone moved inside the Great Liang Palace. The state banquet had officially begun. Servants moved busily through the hall, carrying fruits, wine, and food to the officials. High above on the throne, the hearty laughter of the old Emperor and his concubines drifted down, creating a relaxed and pleasant atmosphere. Below the hall, surrounded by the fragrance of fruits, dishes, and wine, the officials gradually began to relax their expressions. After a busy year, it was a rare moment of ease and joy. While others exchanged cups, I buried my head and stuffed my face.

While others discussed the world, I buried my head and stuffed my face. Just eating was enough. As I was enjoying my meal, Li Shi suddenly tugged at my sleeve and whispered, “Master Ji, look! Is that Noble Consort Rou?” I was chewing on half a succulent peach, looking over as I ate.

On the golden tiered steps sat the old Emperor with his women and children. Apart from the favorite concubines held in the Emperor’s arms, the other women sat with their offspring. Noble Consort De was sitting with Yin Shu, and beside Yin Xiao was naturally the “famous” Noble Consort Rou. Even from afar, I could clearly see Noble Consort Rou staring at the women in the Emperor’s arms with a venomous gaze. The old Emperor’s greedy eyes roamed between the singers and dancers.

Wherever he looked, Noble Consort Rou’s jealous gaze followed; yet, from start to finish, she never once looked at her son, Yin Xiao, who was sitting right beside her.

Li Shi peered at the hall, muttering a complaint, “The Second Prince has gained strength, and logically speaking, since Noble Consort Rou comes from an illustrious family, she should be doing everything in her power to assist the Second Prince.” These past few years, not to mention Li Shi, even I had not seen Noble Consort Rou visit Lanyue Hall once. In the royal family, one relies on their status for their child, just as a child relies on their mother. Blood ties bind people together, climbing upward by clinging to one another.

Common sense dictates that for the sake of her future, Noble Consort Rou should fully support her son, Yin Xiao, in ascending to power. But Noble Consort Rou never seemed to have such thoughts. She was the first woman the old Emperor married while he was still a Prince, and she spent her whole life competing for her husband’s partiality.

When Yin Xiao was young, Noble Consort Rou had once shown him affection, but that care was merely to use the child to tether a man’s heart.

However, the debauched and unrestrained old Emperor did not fall for it. Since Yin Xiao could not be used for that purpose, he was naturally forgotten by Noble Consort Rou. Looking at Yin Xiao’s detached and numb eyes, which showed not a flicker of reaction, I bit my lip, feeling inexplicably uneasy.

As soon as the state banquet ended, Noble Consort Rou hurried up to chase after the old Emperor’s departing back. The officials left the court; on the first day of the Lunar New Year, they all had to return home to celebrate with their families. I said goodbye to Li Shi and, under his puzzled gaze, went to find Yin Xiao. When I arrived, Yin Xiao had just stood up to leave. He looked fine, cold and indifferent, no different from usual.

Amidst the celebratory smiles all around him, his solitary figure made one’s heart ache. Yin Shu walked over, saw me, and nodded with a smile. “Second Brother,” he said as he turned his head to call out to Yin Xiao, “Father went to the Ancient Buddha Temple today to pray, returning later than in previous years.” Yin Shu lowered his eyes and added, “I heard that Father felt unwell this morning.

Several imperial physicians came to look at him, saying it was an old ailment and he needs to continue nourishing his health.” Yin Xiao did not speak. With his back to me, I could not see his expression. I guessed he probably did not have much of one.

Whether it was his Imperial Father or his mother, the weight of them in Yin Xiao’s heart was perhaps lighter than a bird’s feather. But Yin Shu was different; he was the old Emperor’s first son. While he had not received much fatherly love growing up, it was at least more than Yin Xiao had. He continued, “Second Brother, there is no morning court tomorrow. After breakfast, come with me to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to pay respects to Father.”

“No.” After saying this, he turned his head and glanced at me. “Let us go.” I opened my eyes in surprise and followed him. So, Yin Xiao knew I had come?

I felt that Yin Xiao was acting a bit strange. On the way from the Great Liang Palace back to Lanyue Hall, Yin Xiao’s back was inexplicably stiff. At first, I thought he was in a bad mood from seeing his mother, but I soon realized things were not that simple.

On the first day of the New Year, at Lanyue Hall, a few servants were cleaning up fallen flowers in the courtyard. Yin Xiao’s gait was stumbling, yet he forced his limbs to tense, walking quickly toward the bedroom. Yin Xiao did not look back, his hoarse voice cold, “This Prince wishes to be alone; Teacher, please return.”

Alone, my foot. I jammed my hand into the door frame, telling the little maid behind me that no one was allowed to enter without permission. Without waiting for Yin Xiao’s protest, I forcefully entered the bedroom. Yin Xiao’s brow furrowed, casting a shadow, and his voice was raspy, “Teacher, you…”

I strode forward, raised my hand to pinch his neck, and patted his back. “Spit it out.”

Yin Xiao stared at me, stunned. “How did you?” Before he could finish, his face turned pale, and a trail of blood spilled from his lips.

It was too late; the poison had already taken effect. My heart sank, and I hurriedly patted his back to help him cough up the remaining poisoned blood so he would not choke. He braced himself with his arms. His body was cold, unnervingly so, with no warmth at all, yet his posture remained rigid.

“Do not lie flat, you will choke,” I said, my tone eerily calm. “I am going to get the imperial physician.”

“…Teacher.” Yin Xiao gripped my sleeve tightly. His strength was uncontrolled, nearly tearing the fabric. “Just send anyone; you… stay.” His commanding tone was as strong as ever, but it ended in a weak, trailing note. It was like a beast filled with fangs that, even at the point of death, refuses to let anyone come close. He was gripping me so tightly I could not leave. I had no choice but to call Jinlan in and order her to fetch the physician.

Only when Jinlan ran out in a panic did the tension in Yin Xiao’s back finally show a hint of relaxation. He still tried to maintain a formal, upright sitting position, but after I threatened him for half a day, he finally agreed to lean against the wall to rest. I wanted to scold him; was he trying to die? Since the poison had acted, why force himself to return to Lanyue Hall?

If he had coughed up that mouthful of blood in the Great Liang Palace, he would not have been in such a dangerous position. If he died like this, the old Emperor would surely have us all buried with him. I was ready with a string of harsh words, but when I looked up and saw Yin Xiao leaning against my shoulder, his brows knitted in pain, and his forehead drenched in a fine layer of sweat, I paused. I suddenly understood those “foolish” emperors who would have the entire medical staff executed for failing to save a favored concubine.

As soon as the banquet ended, news that Yin Xiao had been poisoned hit the Imperial Medical Academy like a thunderbolt. They rushed over at top speed, frantically preparing medicine to save him, their faces flushed with urgency. The poison put in Yin Xiao’s food, while potent, was not fatal since he had only consumed a small amount.

When I heard that Yin Xiao was “out of danger,” the stone that had been weighing on my heart finally fell. I had not expected such a major event to occur on the very first day of the new year. Yin Xiao being poisoned at the state banquet was not even mentioned in the original book.

Yin Xiao remained unconscious for three days, vomiting half of whatever medicine he was fed, his skin alternating between deathly pale and burning hot. I stayed by his bed for several days, tasting every meal and medicine myself before feeding it to him.

In the dead of night, I was awakened by a pained groan, realizing I had fallen asleep leaning against his bedside. Yin Xiao seemed to be having a nightmare; low, intermittent groans escaped his lips. The young man’s noticeably thinner wrist hung over the edge of the bed.

That empty hand was shivering alone in the cold air. I could not bear it, so I reached out to hold his icy, thin hand, but I could not warm it up after a long time. In the end, I had no choice but to press my own cheek into the young man’s palm. I fell asleep like that, pillowing my head on his hand.

When I woke up, in my hazy state of consciousness, I realized I was lying in a soft, comfortable bed. The quilt had a complex and ornate pattern; it was not mine. I froze for a few seconds and sat up to look to the side. I was lying in Yin Xiao’s bed, and Yin Xiao was sitting at the edge, holding a copy of Chunqiu Fanlu, flipping through the pages nonchalantly.

Yin Xiao had finally woken up. If not for his finger bones, which had suddenly thinned due to illness, I would not have been able to tell he was a patient. Hearing the news, the medical staff rushed over to check on him, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as Yin Xiao woke up, he started dealing with the backlog of work at Lanyue Hall without waiting to recover. I asked him repeatedly if he needed to rest. In just one night, Yin Xiao had completely shed the weakness of the past few days. He looked me up and down and said, “I think you look more like the one who was poisoned.”

I frowned at my reflection in the bronze mirror and held it further away, thinking: Indeed. I was already thin, and these past few days had made me even thinner; my under-eyes were dark, and my skin was so pale that the purple-blue veins were clearly visible.

It really was me who looked worse off. Fortunately, Yin Xiao handled almost all the big and small matters himself, so I did not even need to grind ink; I only had to discuss things orally with him and other colleagues. Although the capital had been stable lately, the war at the borders was tense, and Su Mu, the eldest son of the Duke of Ding who stood on Yin Xiao’s side, had arrived at the front lines a month ago. Every time Su Mu sent a battle report, he would also send a letter to Lanyue Hall to inform us of the situation.

During the few days Yin Xiao was unconscious, Su Mu had sent six letters in a row; it seemed the situation on the front lines was urgent. Yin Xiao worked through the night on this matter, the candlelight never flickering out. I braced myself to read those reports, my eyes reddened and filled with bloodshot veins. Yin Xiao glanced at me quickly, “Teacher, go get some rest, lest others start gossiping that this Prince does not respect his teacher.”

I wanted to say it was not necessary, but Yin Xiao snatched the military book from my hand, telling me that if I wanted to read it, tomorrow would be early enough, and that ruining my health was not a long-term strategy. I thought about it, and he was right, so I nodded gently and walked out behind the moon-shadow gauze. To take care of Yin Xiao, my sleeping arrangements had been loose; I had not slept in this bed for days. Just as I lay down in the cool bedding, I heard a faint voice from Yin Xiao, “…Thank you for taking care of me these past few days, Teacher.”

“What?”

Yin Xiao paused, dissatisfied. “…Never mind if you did not hear it.”

“Alright,” I smiled, “Actually, I did hear it.”

Yin Xiao let out a crisp, sharp sound of gritting his teeth. I guessed he must have been cursing me, but after listening for a long time, I heard nothing else. I was too exhausted and quickly fell asleep. Deep in the space between wakefulness and slumber, I vaguely felt something touch my face. It was cool, and it was gone in a touch.