Your Majesty, Please Be Obedient - Chapter 23

The wind outside the hall whistled through the gardens, making the withered leaves on the branches rustle loudly. Inside, the hearth burned slowly, and the damp firewood emitted occasional pops from incomplete combustion.

In the middle of the night, Jiang Qiyan felt his hands and feet turn icy cold. His small hands uncontrollably sought a source of warmth. In the pitch-black night, a pair of eyes suddenly opened. A soft sigh echoed through the room.

Pu Tingsong had been sleeping soundly when he was suddenly startled awake by a pair of freezing little hands reaching for his waist. It was quite chilling. He tried to shift slightly, but a dissatisfied whimper came from beside him. The next instant, a small leg pressed down firmly across his abdomen. Pu Tingsong let out a muffled groan, his breathing turning heavy under the weight.

“Truly,” he murmured, pulling the child closer. “I am helpless against you.”

A night without dreams passed. Just as dawn was breaking, Jiang Qiyan woke up. He realized with a start that he was clutching his Master’s waist. Terrified, he instantly retracted his small hands. He shifted his head, only to find he had been using his Master’s arm as a pillow all night.

No wonder he had slept so soundly, but Master looked to be in a rather bad state.

“My leg,” Pu Tingsong spoke, finally awake. “How much longer do you plan to pin it down?”

“I am sorry!” Jiang Qiyan hurriedly scrambled off his Master and moved to the side.

Pu Tingsong moved his right arm, which had been pinned for half the night; as expected, it was numb and stiff. “How old is little Qiyan now? Still needing to cling to Master to sleep?”

Jiang Qiyan’s face turned slightly red. He desperately wanted to cover his Master’s mouth to stop him from speaking. He was not small anymore; he was five years old. He had heard that when Master was five, he could already stand on a small stool to bake pastries in the kitchen. Those pastries were meant for the elder Lord Pu, but the old man had stayed in the palace that night. Whether the pastries ended up in Master’s stomach or were given to the servants, he did not know. He only felt, upon hearing those stories, that Master was truly pitiful.

“Master,” Jiang Qiyan stood on the floor, letting his Master dress him and comb his hair. He cooperated obediently, only speaking softly as his hair was being bound. “I want to eat jujube paste cake.”

Pu Tingsong’s hand tying the hair ribbon suddenly loosened. The hairstyle he had just completed fell apart, and the smooth long hair scattered.

Jujube paste cake. He had not made that for many years; after all, there was no one to eat it even if he did. He had waited day after day, steaming batch after batch, only for the fine cakes to turn into a sticky mess and eventually spoil. He had thrown them out and never repeated such futile efforts again.

From then on, he became more diligent, and his heart grew cold and hard. He pushed himself desperately until he had left the person his father personally mentored for years far behind. He thought that surely then his father would finally spend a birthday with him. But his hopes were dashed; that day Jiang Beiwan had a slight fever, and Lord Pu stayed in the palace again.

Since then, he understood that without strength powerful enough to control everything, one could only choose between waiting and disappointment.

His finger was suddenly hooked by a small hand. He looked down into the child’s large, sincere eyes. “Can Master make some for me? If Master makes them, I will like them even more.”

The regret left in his heart for so long seemed to be filled a little. “It happens to be a rest day with no morning court. If little Qiyan is diligent during lessons, Master will make them for you.”

Matters seemed to be developing in an uncontrollable direction, yet neither of them realized at the time that their partiality for each other had quietly crossed the line.

After breakfast, which as usual included a bowl of milk, Pu Tingsong waited for him to finish before leading him into the study. The two mats before the small table remained, and the two copies of Dui Yun on the desk were now at the final chapter.

“There are many poems by ancestors regarding reeds; most are related to the river. Reeds grow alongside the river, and this.”

And this was the entanglement between the Pu family and the Jiang family that had lasted for hundreds of years. The Pu family was born to accompany the Jiang family. An Imperial Preceptor had to follow the Emperor from the time he was Crown Prince, braving frost and thorns, going through fire and water, even sacrificing his life.

Reeds have short lives, while river water flows long. But, why?

“How short the reed leaves are, when the tide comes and the river is full. Is there no golden knife to cut the water? Yet the water flows on, uncuttable.”

Pu leaves, Pu leaves, why do you look as short as a palm? Is it because the tide has risen and the river is too full, submerging most of you? Pu leaves, your edges are so sharp, like blades. Why can you not even cut the water?

“Master,” Jiang Qiyan pursed his lips. “I do not like this poem. It sounds very bad.”

Why must the river drown the reeds? Why, after taking power, must the Imperial Father execute the Imperial Preceptor who accompanied him his entire life?

“Then we shall change it,” Pu Tingsong turned the page, masking the churning emotions in his eyes.

Why did his father, who clearly had the strength to resist, and the Pu family, who could have replaced the royal family, remain so steadfastly loyal? Was it because of that ridiculous teacher-student bond? Because of that bit of absurd sentiment, the reeds were submerged by the river bit by bit until the Emperor they raised placed the executioner’s blade on their necks. Only then would each generation of Imperial Preceptors utter a helpless sigh.

“I have no regrets, nor do I blame him.”

They passed this sorrowful fate from one generation to the next: “Do not blame him; this is all fate. We open a prosperous age for Suiyang; though we die, we live on.”

But why, exactly? He did not accept it, nor was he willing. He was determined to break this ancestral curse. He was determined that Jiang Qiyan would never harbor a rebellious heart toward him. Imperial power belongs to those who are capable.

“Old pine branches fall to feed the fierce fire, withered reeds woven into mats to cover broken windows.”

Pu Tingsong had only read halfway when his sleeve was tugged again. “This one is even worse. I do not like it.”

“You won’t learn this, and you won’t learn that,” Pu Tingsong closed the book and looked at him. “You are becoming picky?”

“It is just bad; I will not learn it.” Falling pine branches, withered reeds, broken windows, it all sounded terrible. “Are there no good poems about reeds?” Jiang Qiyan was a little unhappy. “I am not being picky. I just do not want them to be bad.”

“The imagery of reeds is often such; predecessors have rarely given them good connotations. However.”

However, what? He looked up into his Master’s eyes, and Master was looking down at him.

“Master can compose one for you to hear.”

Master was going to write a poem! Jiang Qiyan immediately sat up straight, picked up a small brush, and laid out a clean sheet of paper, intending to record it.

“Reeds grow by the vast lake, entrusting themselves to the side of great waves. Spring dew graces me with moisture, autumn frost enriches my color. Roots and leaves follow the wind and waves, always fearing they will not be firmly planted. Survival has its own fate; why speak of wisdom and strength? How can one travel above the clouds, and share wings with you?”

As Jiang Qiyan wrote, his eyes turned red. Master was like those reeds by the ruler’s side, constantly swaying in the wind and rain, their lives precarious amidst the waves, yet never giving up easily. Perhaps one day, Master would be powerful enough to shake the court. He felt Master should be like that. If he were to inherit the throne, he would definitely give Master great responsibility. He was not like his Imperial Father, who could not distinguish loyalty and liked to suspect people.

But his Imperial Father already had a new prince, born to the current Empress. Perhaps soon he would no longer be the Crown Prince.

“If you continue to daydream like this, there will be no jujube paste cake.” While he was lost in thought, Master suddenly lifted the book and gently tapped his forehead.

He pouted. “I don’t want that.”

“Then pay attention.”

“Mmh.”

“Reeds grow by the riverbank, so in ancient poetry, the two images often appear together. In other words, reeds cannot leave the river. In the future, when little Qiyan wants to compose poems for poetry assemblies or write essays and needs this imagery, you will know how to pair them.”

Jiang Qiyan appeared to be listening intently, but a subtle thought was brewing in his heart. Reeds are born to accompany the river. He and Master were a perfect pair. His ears turned slightly red, and he suddenly asked softly, “Master. I.”

“What is it?” Pu Tingsong stopped explaining and listened.

“I. Can I call you, Husband?”

Pu Tingsong stiffened. He had finally managed to put the “wedding” incident out of his mind these past days; why was it being brought up again?

“I. I want to call you that.” Jiang Qiyan nudged closer to his Master.

Pu Tingsong cleared his throat and backed away slightly to create distance, his expression looking unnatural. “Not now. You are too small.”

Jiang Qiyan felt a bit wronged. If it was not allowed, it was not allowed; why did Master have to dodge him? He crawled forward a few steps and hugged Master’s waist. Pu Tingsong’s hand lowered and lifted several times before finally resting on the boy’s back. “Where did you learn this thick-skinned behavior? Mmh?”

“Brother Fang taught me.”

Brother Fang taught him that if Master bathes, he should climb into the tub; if Master reads, he should crawl onto his lap; if Master is angry, he should cry. Brother Fang said that if he stayed glued to Master every moment, Master would slowly get used to his presence and gradually become unable to leave him.

Pu Tingsong held him for a while before lifting him out of his arms. “Alright, it is almost noon. Master is going to make the jujube paste cakes.”

The boy refused to let go, grabbing Master’s hand. “Let us go together.”

Pu Tingsong considered it for a moment and then led him to the kitchen. The boy was not idle either; he sat before the stove, helping Master add fuel to the fire. After a long while, the cakes finally came out of the steamer. Pu Tingsong used a wet cloth to wipe the boy’s face and hands before handing him a warm pastry.

Watching him eat until his cheeks puffed out, Pu Tingsong actually felt a sense of satisfaction. The reddish-brown cake overlapped with the plate of cakes from many years ago. It had finally found its diner.

“So sweet. So fragrant.” Jiang Qiyan blinked, and tears rolled down silently. How could it be so delicious? It made him want to cry.

Another piece was handed to him. Master wiped his tears while saying, “Two pieces are enough. If you stuff your stomach, do you still want to eat lunch?”

Was he not allowed to eat more? Then he would eat slowly. Jiang Qiyan took small bites of the new cake, savoring a different sensation. The delicate texture enveloped his mouth. It was just like Master’s delicate care enveloping his entire being. From then on, he no longer had to be like a discarded little beast, licking his wounds alone in the dark.

After lunch, Master told him to go play and entered the study. When he went to find Fang Wuming, the man was suspiciously hiding something under his pillow. His heart skipped a beat. He stepped forward and tapped Fang Wuming’s shoulder.

Fang Wuming shuddered violently. When he turned and saw it was the boy, he let out a sigh of relief, patting his chest. “Brother Fang, you were so absorbed just now. What were you doing?”

“I am ashamed to say,” Fang Wuming pulled him out of the room and said mysteriously, “a grasshopper jumped into my room and vanished in a flash. I was just looking for it when you arrived. Yanyan, why do you walk without making a sound? You truly gave me a fright just now.”

Fang Wuming was lying to him! Jiang Qiyan clenched his small fists. Why was Fang Wuming treating him like a fool? What season was it? Deep winter! How could there be grasshoppers?

“Never mind that. Look,” Fang Wuming showed him some grain in his pocket. “I asked the kitchen for this. Come, I will take you to catch birds. Strange,” speaking of catching birds, Fang Wuming looked at the sky. “The sun was out this morning; where did it go? The weather has changed too quickly. We won’t be able to catch birds now. I think it looks like it is going to snow. When the snow has completely fallen, we will find a clear day, sweep an open space on the snow, scatter the grain, and prop up a basket with a small wooden stick tied to a string. When the birds go in to eat, we will hide in the distance and pull the string. We can catch two or three at a time.”

Jiang Qiyan clenched his fists even tighter. He had felt Fang Wuming’s vibe was strange before, and now he finally understood why. At first, Fang Wuming presented himself as a well-educated, refined gentleman with manners and boundaries. But in certain details of their interactions, he often felt Fang Wuming was more like a profligate loafer. Was Fang Wuming’s politeness merely an act? Perhaps, perhaps the man had some difficulties. Perhaps his personality was simply contradictory.

Jiang Qiyan still did not want to believe the worst of Fang Wuming. Perhaps Brother Fang was not hiding money just now, but something else inconvenient for him to see. Who could guarantee they did not have a small secret? He should be understanding.

Fang Wuming played with him in the courtyard. Several times Jiang Qiyan wanted to speak but hesitated. Looking at the darkening sky, he finally made up his mind. He gently poked Fang Wuming’s shoulder. “How much New Year’s money did Master give you?”

Fang Wuming looked at Jiang Qiyan with confusion and rolled his eyes. “Why ask that? The Imperial Preceptor said it yesterday; he treats us equally. We both got eight gold leaves.”

His heart was gripped tightly. In that instant, Jiang Qiyan felt a ringing in his ears. Refusing to give up, he asked again, “How many?”

“Eight,” Fang Wuming took out the pouch, opened it, and showed him. “See? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

This pouch was noticeably thinner than it had looked yesterday!

“Brother Fang,” he took a deep breath and said with difficulty, “is something missing from inside?”

“Oh, that,” Fang Wuming’s eyes dodged his. “Just a few pieces of candy. I have already eaten them.”

Jiang Qiyan had thought that perhaps Master made a mistake and there were truly only eight. But seeing Fang Wuming’s obvious lying, what more could he say in his defense? His heart ached. He forced a smile, his body swaying slightly, his voice becoming weak. “I am a bit hungry. Brother Fang, could you go to the kitchen and get me some jujube paste cake? Master does not allow me to eat much, and I dare not ask for more.”

Seeing that he did indeed look like he was about to collapse, Fang Wuming nodded. “You did eat little at lunch; you must be dizzy now. I will go get it. Wait a moment.”

Watching Fang Wuming leave the courtyard, Jiang Qiyan rubbed his temples, pushed open the door, and went to the bedside. He reached under the pillow and immediately felt even more lightheaded. Beneath it were the other eight gold leaves! He had trusted Fang Wuming so much; how could he do this!

Jiang Qiyan tilted back, steadying himself against the bedpost. Fang Wuming was his first friend, and his only friend. He was the friend for whom he had finally gathered the courage to escape the shadows of the past, whom he wanted to be sincere with, a soulmate he could talk to about anything. But, but!

Jiang Qiyan suddenly felt immense regret. He regretted not listening to Master and giving away his heart so easily. Now everything Master said had come true. Master must have seen long ago that Fang Wuming was untrustworthy, yet he allowed the man to stay for half a month. Was it to let him experience this lesson personally? Or was it because Master saw he was unconvinced and allowed him to try, knowing he would turn back once he hit a wall?

Waves of sorrow submerged him. He put the gold leaves back under the pillow, walked out, and closed the door. Before long, Fang Wuming returned with a piece of jujube paste cake. Jiang Qiyan took the cake and pushed Fang Wuming hard with his other hand.

“Fang Wuming,” he said word by word, “I am never playing with you again. I am not throwing a tantrum; I am truly done with you.”

“Why. Why?” Fang Wuming felt a pang in his chest and felt some sadness. “At least give me a reason.”

“There is no reason. You can continue staying until the beginning of spring, but I will never speak to you again.”

“Yanyan.”

“Call me, Your Highness.”

Jiang Qiyan did not want to say another word and left immediately. Halfway there, he could not stop the tears and sniffled, forcing them back. The ground was cold, but just as before, he sat at the doorway of Master’s study.

“Master.” He called softly like a helpless kitten. He was so sad and hoped that at this moment Master would open the door and say with a smile, “Who is this?” He hoped Master would rub his head and ask, “Why are you sitting at the door again?” At that time, he would surely say he was Master’s little Qiyan. He was Master’s little Qiyan alone and would never make friends with anyone else.

But. He knocked gently on the door. Why did Master not open it? Did Master not know he was outside?

“Come in and take your small mat.”

Why a small mat? He did not want a small mat. He only wanted Master’s warm embrace. Jiang Qiyan opened the door a crack and stuck his small head in. The moment he saw Pu Tingsong, the tears he had been holding back crashed down.

Pu Tingsong did not look at him as before; he was focused on reviewing memorials without any distraction. He waited for a long time, but Master ignored him. With a trembling, crying voice, he said, “Master.”

“I believe I made it clear,” Pu Tingsong sighed softly. “This time Master will not coax you. You made your choice; bear the consequences yourself.”

But, but he could not quite bear it.

“Ugh.”

He had only uttered half a sob when Master tapped the desk lightly. “Be good. Take the mat and go outside to cry.”

He was stunned. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, pursed his lips tightly, picked up the mat, and went out. He dropped the mat on the ground, sat on it, and wept silently. His heart felt empty, and the pain felt as if his soul were leaving his body. So it was true when Master said he would not coax him. How could it be true?

He held the piece of jujube paste cake in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb. “Ugh. Master.” He cried to the cake. “Master, I know. I was too stupid. Master is so smart; I should have believed Master. But I only. In the future, I will listen to Master in everything. Listening to Master will not lead to loss.”

He ate the entire cake while crying. “I. Brought this upon myself.”

There had been no sound outside the door for a long time. When Pu Tingsong pushed open the door, Jiang Qiyan was no longer there; only a small mat remained on the ground. At dinner, Pu Tingsong sent the butler to call Jiang Qiyan, but he did not come. Pu Tingsong’s brow furrowed deeper. Of course he would coax him, but not now. He was waiting. Waiting for the first clap of thunder. He felt a bit of heartache and even thought about giving up the plan to go coax him. But he ultimately held back and returned to the study after dinner.

Fang Wuming discovered that the items hidden under his pillow had moved; they had mysteriously appeared on the table! Could it be that the little Crown Prince discovered his deal with the Imperial Preceptor and that was why he was so angry? No wonder he kept asking if something was missing from the pouch; indeed, Jiang Qiyan was so smart that he must have noticed something long ago. Asking him to get the jujube paste cake was likely a deliberate attempt to lure him away.

Last night, when he opened the pouch, besides the eight gold leaves, there was also a defense map of the palace. As soon as he saw this map, he knew the Imperial Preceptor must have realized his true identity long ago. This was evidence provided to help him enter the palace and investigate to destroy his uncle’s entire family in one go. The Imperial Preceptor’s terms were written on the back: exchange it for that shocking rejuvenation sorcery.

The little Crown Prince saw this map and probably thought he was going to assassinate the Emperor, so he was angry enough to toss it on the table and push him. Fortunately, he did not take it, otherwise, it would be difficult. Fang Wuming packed the map, intending to leave the estate tonight and enter the palace to investigate.

Just as he stepped out of his room, he was struck on the back of the neck by a hand. His body went limp, and he blacked out. Qin Shizhi carried the man and sped across the rooftops. Arriving at a hidden hut on the outskirts of the capital, he tied the man up securely, tossed him on the bed, and left. Qin Shizhi shook his head; he had not left the imperial edict here according to the original plan but kept it in his hand.

“This Pavilion Master has done you such a big favor. Do not think of running away after you wake up,” Qin Shizhi took one last look at the hut and vanished into the night.

Imperial Preceptor’s study.

Pu Tingsong sat behind the desk, playing with an exquisite dagger under the flickering firelight. He recalled Fang Wuming’s height and laughed softly. The next instant, he actually plunged the dagger directly into his own thigh! He carefully wiped the blood-stained blade clean and put it away. Only then did he unhurriedly bandage himself, intentionally doing so in a messy and hurried fashion. He seemed not to feel the pain at all as he lowered his head to continue reviewing memorials.

The bedroom was pitch black. Jiang Qiyan had not lit any lamps; he had been crying with his head buried in the blanket for a long time. Once he was certain Master truly would not coax him, he ran back to the bedroom. It did not matter if Master did not hold him. If he crawled under the blanket, he would also feel secure. It did not matter if Master did not coax him. They had agreed on it beforehand; he just needed to cry a bit longer. Anyway, had it not always been like this? When he felt wronged, he could only return to his room and cry secretly.

He suppressed his sobs, seemingly returning to his previous state. He was still that child whom nobody wanted. “I deserved this,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he held back his sobs. “I brought this on myself. It is your fault for being disobedient. You deserve it if Master does not want you.”

He was so sad that his head was still in a daze, as if he had not yet grasped the situation. The back of his head felt numb. He was like a broken doll, no longer very lively. Over the past half month, he had been cared for so well by Master that he had forgotten what his doll’s heart was filled with. It was just some discarded scraps of cotton and fluff. Now that the seam at his heart had opened and the messy old cotton was spilling out, he remembered exactly what he was. Jiang Qiyan was just a piece of discarded junk picked up by Master.

“I am not. Sad,” he slowly curled into a tiny ball. “I have long been used to this. I am also. Not afraid. I am not a child anymore; I am not afraid of the dark. I am not afraid of the dark,” he trembled. “I always sleep alone; I am not afraid.”

He trembled violently. “Why. Why is that? I was not afraid before. I did not like to cry before either. I. I am so useless. Why can I not be a little braver?”

He knew that actually Master’s heart was very soft. As long as he did not take the small mat, as long as he leaned in and tugged at Master’s sleeve, Master would hold him. But why did he still take the mat even though he knew Master would hold him?

“I. I do not need anyone to coax me. I will be fine on my own; I will be fine in a little while.” Perhaps it was due to some stubborn little thoughts.

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