Your Majesty, Please Be Obedient - Chapter 2

“Stop crying now, or you will choke.”

Pu Tingsong’s tone was so incredibly gentle that Jiang Qiyan suddenly felt an even stronger urge to weep.

“My injury is fine; it does not hurt much,” Jiang Qiyan whispered.

He hesitated for a long time before finally asking the question he already knew the answer to. “Mister, has Imperial Father abandoned me?”

“Yes. So, what are you going to do about it?”

What was he going to do?

Jiang Qiyan thought about it seriously. He was alone and helpless, unable to think of any solution. All he could do was trouble his teacher.

Jiang Qiyan pursed his lips as large teardrops rolled down his cheeks. He reached out and lightly grasped the corner of Pu Tingsong’s robe, his soft voice thick with a sob. “Imperial Father does not want me anymore.”

He remembered. Mister had said that as long as he pulled on his robe, he would hold him. He felt miserable and wanted to bury himself in his teacher’s arms to cry for a while.

As promised, Pu Tingsong leaned down and scooped him up. “If he does not want you, then so be it. What else can be done?”

“There is nothing to fear. Regardless, I will want you.”

Jiang Qiyan cried, this time coaxed into it by Pu Tingsong’s comfort. He could not tell if it was sadness or gratitude; Mister was simply too good to him, and he had always been this way.

His face was blurred with tears, but through the haze, he suddenly caught a fleeting glimpse of something playful in his teacher’s eyes.

Was it a hallucination?

Pu Tingsong held him with one arm, using the other to ruffle his hair. “Be good now. If you keep crying, your teacher’s heart will break from the pain.”

“Mhm,” Jiang Qiyan rubbed his eyes. Pu Tingsong’s expression now held nothing but doting affection.

It really must have been his eyes playing tricks on him. “I will stop crying.”

He should be happy; he was going to live with his teacher now. Surely, Mister would not find him a nuisance.

Suddenly, his stomach let out a loud growl. Jiang Qiyan froze.

It is over; I have been caught.

“Are you hungry?” Pu Tingsong stopped ruffling his hair and instead felt his incredibly flat little belly. “Did you not eat?”

“I did,” Jiang Qiyan’s voice was tiny. “Just not much.”

In truth, it had only been a few bites of pigeon meat and a small leg.

“Is that so?” Pu Tingsong carried him into the carriage and said no more.

The boy felt a pang of disappointment. He thought Mister would—never mind. It was not mealtime; how could he make such an unreasonable request as asking for food? How could he make demands of his teacher?

Jiang Qiyan kept his head down the entire way. He did not know why he felt so sad, but his small hand restlessly gripped Pu Tingsong’s sleeve, refusing to let go.

When the carriage slowed to a halt, Pu Tingsong carried him up the steps and set him down. He looked up at the plaque above the grand gates. The Imperial Preceptor’s estate was massive, perhaps even larger than the Kunning Palace.

He stood there with his head bowed, not quite daring to enter.

“Why are you not moving?” Pu Tingsong waited a moment. When no answer came, he did not press further, but simply extended his hand. “Do you want to hold hands?”

“Yes.”

Jiang Qiyan told himself to be brave. This was his teacher’s home, not a dragon’s den or a tiger’s cave.

He placed his small hand in Pu Tingsong’s palm. The man smiled at him. “Let us go to the dining hall. You must be hungry.”

Jiang Qiyan’s eyes lit up instantly. His nose crinkled, and he nearly burst into tears again. “But it is not mealtime.”

Can I really have something to eat even if it is not mealtime?

He was so moved that he felt utterly lost. “I…”

“Indeed, it is not mealtime,” Pu Tingsong’s voice betrayed no emotion, “but you are hungry.”

“Did you really eat?” Pu Tingsong walked slowly, accommodating the boy’s injured leg. “Do you think you can hide anything from me?”

“Do not lie to me again in the future. You will be punished.”

The voice was light, yet Jiang Qiyan felt a strange sense of trepidation. Mister was clearly so gentle. It must be because he had hidden the truth and felt guilty.

Led by Pu Tingsong, Jiang Qiyan felt dizzy as they turned several corners and passed through many gates before reaching the dining hall. It is so big. Without someone to lead me, I would definitely get lost.

Anxiety began to creep in again. His ankle throbbed with pain; he desperately wanted his teacher to carry him. But Mister was not looking at him. Was he angry because of the lie?

Even if he was angry, he had not walked off and left him behind. Instead, he stopped every now and then to let the boy catch his breath. Mister was already being thoughtful enough; it was Jiang Qiyan who had not been good today.

Pu Tingsong sat in the main seat and pulled the boy toward him, carefully wiping away his tears. “Why are you crying? Are you scared I will punish you?”

Jiang Qiyan stood with his head down, his gaze fixed on his toes. Pu Tingsong’s hand followed his drooping head lower and lower. Once the boy’s face was completely hidden, Pu Tingsong finally spoke.

“I will not punish you. Eat.”

Perhaps afraid he might accidentally poke the boy’s eye, or perhaps feeling it was futile to keep wiping, Pu Tingsong withdrew his hand.

Jiang Qiyan sniffled, feeling even more like crying. Next time Mister wipes my tears, I will not look down. That way, he can stay close for longer.

He thought longingly about this, then looked at the tall wooden chair and felt a sense of dread. With his injured leg, he could not climb up. But since Mister was angry, he did not dare ask for help. He just stood there like a little human statue, motionless.

“Have I taught you nothing?” a voice came from above. “Can you not remember?”

“Mister.”

Pu Tingsong seemed about to say more, but stopped the moment he heard the soft call. “Speak,” he said, looking calmly at the child.

The child’s eyes were brimming with tears again. Even though Mister had something to say, he was willing to listen to him first. Mister gave him so much respect. Truly.

“I remember,” Jiang Qiyan’s voice was small but audible. “Mister taught me that if I have difficulties, I should take the initiative to ask for help.”

Pu Tingsong listened intently. This level of attention gave Jiang Qiyan a spark of courage.

“Mister,” Jiang Qiyan looked up, his face streaked with tears. “The chair is too high. Can you please pick me up?”

The words were the same as the night before, but the result was different. Pu Tingsong nodded and lifted him onto his lap.

“Your foot has been hurting all the way, has it not?” Pu Tingsong said with a hint of pity as he massaged the ankle. “You wanted to be held long ago, did you not? Even if you did not want to speak, I taught you ways to ask without words, did I not?”

Jiang Qiyan did not answer, appearing fully focused on biting into a fragrant chicken leg. Only his shifting eyes and perked ears betrayed him.

Perhaps afraid he might choke, Pu Tingsong waited until he saw the boy swallow before speaking again. “Is your teacher not doting enough on you?”

Jiang Qiyan found it hard to keep eating. He put down the chicken leg and shook his head frantically.

“Acting tough in front of someone willing to cherish you is a lack of trust; it is also a betrayal of that kindness,” Pu Tingsong said unhurriedly. He then watched as the tears the child had been holding back finally flooded out.

“I know you are insecure,” Pu Tingsong’s voice softened slightly, “but insecurity is also a form of mistrust.”

Jiang Qiyan wanted to grab his teacher’s sleeve to tell him it was not like that. It was not a lack of trust; it was because he felt Mister was unhappy and did not dare ask to be held. But his hands were covered in oil; if he touched the sleeve, he would make him dirty.

“What do you want to say?” Pu Tingsong took out a small silk cloth and reached out.

The boy placed his soft little hand in his. The oil was quickly wiped away. “Say whatever you wish to say; do whatever you wish to do.”

Jiang Qiyan suddenly changed his mind. He did not want to grab the sleeve; he wanted to throw himself into his teacher’s arms.

“Mister, can Mister put his arm around my waist?” He did not quite dare to pounce, so he just cautiously tried to lean in.

The gesture was easily accepted. Pu Tingsong gathered him in, and he was held close.

“Not eating anymore?” Pu Tingsong patted him gently. “I will allow you to stay like this for a moment, then you must continue eating.”

Jiang Qiyan sniffled. His breath was filled with the scent of pine from his teacher, a very distinct, woody fragrance.

“Ugh.” Perhaps it was because his teacher’s embrace was too warm, making him fragile. Minor grievances that usually felt insignificant were now magnified. His resolve shattered easily.

“Wailing sounds.”

“Mister! Mister!” Jiang Qiyan wailed.

He called out “Mister” over and over, sobbing between each breath.

“Is it really that much suffering?” Pu Tingsong smoothed his back to help him breathe. “Shall I vent your frustrations for you?”

It was not suffering; it was being too moved.

“No, do not,” Jiang Qiyan shook his little head frantically.

The lineage of the Imperial Preceptors had always held an awkward position in court. They held no real power and were forbidden from interfering in politics. Moreover, Mister’s father, the previous Preceptor, had passed away. On the day Jiang Beiwang ascended the throne, he had decreed the execution of the old Preceptor.

Jiang Beiwang had executed his own teacher, likely out of hatred for how strictly the old man had governed him before his ascension. Jiang Qiyan thought to himself that since Mister became the Imperial Preceptor, he had only been in official service for a little over a year. His situation must be incredibly difficult.

Without allies in court, he must be bullied often. If he were to offend the new Empress as well…

“No, no.” Jiang Qiyan remembered how decisively his teacher had knelt for him in the Imperial Study this morning.

His heart ached terribly. He was not good enough; his father did not like him. As the Crown Prince’s teacher and the only son of the late Preceptor, Mister must have endured many cold glares from the Emperor. Perhaps the Emperor would use him, the Crown Prince, as an excuse to make Mister suffer some unjust accusation.

Thinking of this, he felt overwhelmed by guilt and pain.

“Mister, do not go,” Jiang Qiyan cried so hard he could barely open his eyes. “I am not suffering. I just think Mister is too good, and I…”

After a long pause, he gripped his teacher’s lapel tightly and whispered with a heavy nasal tone, “I am not good. I am not worth it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his fingers were pried off the lapel one by one. He was quickly moved from Pu Tingsong’s lap and placed onto the chair beside him.

“Eat,” Pu Tingsong’s aura became so cold it felt as though the air might condense into water. “I will speak with you once you have finished.”

Jiang Qiyan’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips, pulled the bowl into his arms, and lowered his head to eat. Mister seemed angry again; he had made him angry so many times today.

Pu Tingsong cleansed his own hands with water before taking the chicken leg from the boy’s bowl. He shredded the meat into thin strips and placed them back in the bowl. As Jiang Qiyan chewed the meat and rice, his tears continued to fall.

It was delicious; it felt like it had been a long time since he had eaten anything this good. It was not leftovers; it was a meal specifically ordered because his teacher knew he was hungry.

“Stop crying,” Pu Tingsong’s tone was flat. “You will choke.”

How could he not cry? Jiang Qiyan’s shoulders began to tremble. His spoon hung mid-air, unable to reach his mouth. How can such beautiful hands be stained with grease? He should be like his owner: high above and untainted. Why should he do such unnecessary small tasks? Even though it was a bit hard for his small teeth to bite into a large chicken leg, Mister did not have to…

“Do you need me to feed you? Why can you not even hold a spoon steadily?” Pu Tingsong leaned forward, his voice questioning.

Jiang Qiyan tried his best to steady his hand and eat. He would not dare let his teacher feed him.

Suddenly, two long fingers rested on his small hand. “You still have not remembered what I said just now?”

Jiang Qiyan shuddered and obediently let go, allowing his teacher to take the spoon.

To act tough in front of a teacher willing to dote on him is to fail him.

Jiang Qiyan looked at Pu Tingsong with the eyes of a small animal, timid and full of low self-esteem. When Pu Tingsong scooped up the next spoonful, he obediently opened his mouth and ate.

One bite after another.

His stomach was soon full, and his heart felt full too; both felt almost uncomfortably tight.

“Are you full?” Pu Tingsong put down the empty bowl and felt the boy’s protruding little belly. “Then let us talk. You are injured, so just stay seated.”

That sense of tension and crisis began to sprout again like bamboo shoots after rain. Jiang Qiyan looked down and rubbed his fingers, his heart jumping into his throat.

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