Rong Shuang nearly drowned. 

This Ying Wujiu really did come to take his life—his methods were both underhanded and ruthless. If it weren’t for Emperor Hui of Liang’s imperial edict stepping in, Rong Shuang would’ve been soaked until he turned into a giant Buddha statue in no time. 

He gurgled and spat out a bunch of bubbles before the Emperor fished him out of the water. 

Rong Shuang: “Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough…”

He might as well cough himself to death. Seriously, with the situation this dire—with the fire at his eyebrows, the arrow on the string, and the city gates burning while his own backside is on fire—what’s the point of him even being alive? 

He braced himself against the edge of the medicinal pool and coughed for what felt like an eternity before finally catching his breath.

“It seems Minister Rong’s constitution really is as frail as the rumors say.” The emperor’s voice was low and measured, his words a masterclass in shifting blame: “Otherwise, how could he have slipped and fallen into the pond out of the blue?” 

Rong Shuang：“……”

“Just out of the blue,” he thought. 

So, getting hit by eight arrows in the back is considered suicide, is it? 

Rong Shuang lifted his head—and as he did, he found himself just a fist’s width away from the Emperor.

The man’s facial features were narrow, long, and chiseled, with sharp lips and deep-set eyes; his long hair was soaked, and a few strands clung lazily to his brow.

Amid the cascading black hair, Rong Shuang caught sight of several scars—on his neck, the side of his face, and his brow bone—varying in size.

His breath caught in his throat. This face was undeniably handsome, but the meaning hidden behind each scar sent a chill down his spine. The man before him was unlike an ordinary emperor who lived a life of luxury and ease. Rong Shuang had also learned something of this new emperor’s past from Rong Zhihuan’s brief notes.

Prince Ying Wujiu of Beiling, the fourteenth younger brother of Emperor Hui of Liang, was enfeoffed as a prince at the age of sixteen. He had distinguished himself on the battlefield, once leading his troops to rout Louqi over a distance of three thousand li, securing at least twenty years of peace for the Great Liang Dynasty. 

So the bloodlust Rong Shuang sensed was no illusion—Ying Wujiu had truly killed that many people.

Rong Shuang’s legs felt a little weak. Not to mention that when this fellow returned to the capital, his sole purpose was to purge the court of corrupt courtiers; if he was allowed to chop people into mincemeat, he would surely have, and he was probably scheming every day about how to exploit loopholes in that imperial edict.

With a clatter, Rong Shuang suddenly put some distance between them.

“Yes, yes, yes… that’s right. This humble subject is so frail, so frail, so frail. I’m actually sick today—I wouldn’t want to infect Your Majesty.”

The emperor narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze dark and menacing.

Rong Shuang forced his body to sink a little deeper into the water, trying to physically block that gaze.

“Gulp… gulp… gulp, gulp…”

He blew bubbles in the water, stealing glances upward—a quick look, then down; another quick look, then down again. It took him a while to realize that since entering the palace, he hadn’t performed the proper courtesies or expressed his gratitude.

Oh my.

Where on earth do I even begin? 

After holding his breath for a while, he broke the surface and said politely, “This humble subject pays his respects to Your Majesty.” 

Ying Wujiu: “?”

Polite x2: “This humble subject thanks Your Majesty for Your gracious favor.” 

Ying Wujiu let out a cold laugh. What kind of trick was this parasite pulling now?

Rong Shuang didn’t forget to butter him up: “Your Majesty is truly virtuous and benevolent, inviting your subjects to bathe in the palace. This pool is so comfortable—so comfortable! It’s cured all my ailments!”

Ying Wujiu: “Then, Lord Rong, please enjoy your soak. I miss you dearly, as I haven’t seen you in court for days.”

Rong Shuang：“……”

Nothing but nonsense—only a fool would believe it. 

He backed away three paces, while the emperor closed his eyes to rest.

He tugged at the undershirt clinging to his body, while the Emperor closed his eyes to rest.

He felt terribly uncomfortable and pulled his collar open a bit; the Emperor kept his eyes closed, resting. He tugged at his belt.

“Does your body itch?”

Rong Shuang shuddered, widening his eyes to reply: “ Is your body… “

The Emperor in front of him didn’t seem to possess a single comedic bone in his body. Hearing his words, a low voice pressed out from his throat: “If your body itches, take off your clothes.”

Rong Shuang looked down at himself and instantly clutched his clothes tightly in a second.

“…If your body itches, you come to take a bath?”

How on earth is this bro like a ghost? He knows what he’s doing without even opening his eyes?

Rong Shuang looked down at himself and immediately clutched his clothes tighter.

This guy is like a ghost—he knows exactly what I’m doing without even opening his eyes?

Spying, catching me off guard—get it? OK? 

He stammered timidly, “Your Majesty, this is against etiquette. I wouldn’t want to offend Your Majesty’s eyes—this humble subject will keep his clothes on.” The emperor snorted derisively, his gaze sweeping over Rong Shuang like a razor’s edge.

Rong Shuang immediately sank back into his seat. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle~

But it didn’t last long—just the brief moment it took the emperor to close his eyes—and he felt lightheaded, his vision going dark as he began to float upward.

Oh, low… blood… sugar… 

Help…

Rong Shuang was so dizzy he had no strength left. He’d intended to grab the edge of the pool to at least steady himself, but he was a split second too late, so his whole body began bobbing up and down on the water’s surface like a dead fish. 

Help me…

His survival instinct quickly took over, and Rong Shuang reached out, groping in the water. Save me! I don’t want to die like this.

Huh?

What… I’ve got it.

Rong Shuang grabbed hold of that “lifeline” and gave it a tug. Admittedly, he didn’t have much strength, but with the buoyancy of the bathwater supporting him, he was able to swing himself to solid ground with ease. 

“Phew… phew…”

Rong Shuang tilted his face up out of the water, breathing heavily and laboriously.

The next second, a massive hand, like a pair of iron pliers, clamped down on his neck.

Rong Shuang was about to speak, but those hands suddenly tightened, and a terrifying sense of oppression instantly engulfed him.

The emperor’s voice rang in his ear—slow, yet laced with a bone-chilling cold that could cut straight through the mist shrouding the entire pond.

“Rong Zhihuan, I do not know what other tricks you have up your sleeve…” 

“But your wretched life—I have decided to take it.”

I appreciate your hostility. 

But with Rong Shuang on the brink of death, how could he possibly spare a thought for anything else? His face was as pale as paper, and a few tears rolled down from the crimson corners of his eyes. He managed to say with great difficulty, “Bro…”

Ying Wujiu kept his eyes downcast, watching his death throes as if he were looking at a cold corpse.

“Food…”

He mustered his last ounce of strength: “Give me… something… to eat…” 

Ying Wujiu: “……”

Rong Shuang looked every bit the reincarnation of a starving ghost.

He let go, and Rong Shuang’s entire body went limp, sinking unconscious into the water.

“Waaah, just give me a steamed bun to eat, please TT…”

Even though he was begging like this, Ying Wujiu still stood by, coldly watching. 

It was hard not to realize that, deep down, Ying Wujiu was hoping he’d starve to death right there in the pond.

For a parasitic pest who had lived a life of extravagance and squandered money like water to ultimately starve to death right before everyone’s eyes—that would be quite dramatic. 

Rong Shuang was completely exhausted and prepared to wait for death.

Well, dying here is better than being tortured in prison and then torn apart by five horses, isn’t it? At least I’ll suffer a little less.

……

……

A moment later.

“Huang Lian.” 

Huang Lian trotted in with a smile: “Your servant is here.” 

“Lord Rong wants some steamed buns—bring him a plate.”

Rong Shuang: “……”

Great, as if he hadn’t suffered enough already.

In the end, Rong Shuang didn’t die after all; two steamed buns saved his life.

He sat cross-legged at the edge of the bath, holding one steamed bun in each hand. After taking several bites, he gratefully clasped his hands together and offered a sincere expression of gratitude: “Thank you, Your Majesty; without Your Majesty, this subject would have starved to death just now.”

Ying Wujiu’s voice was languid: “Thanking me again? You have a short memory, Lord Rong.”

Rong Shuang had no idea what kind of riddle this enigmatic man was playing now. He thought for a moment, then reached three fingers out from behind the steamed buns and grabbed the pot directly: “Your Majesty, I slipped and fell into the pool on my own—it has nothing to do with you.”

The emperor glanced at him from under his eyelids; to be honest, that look was almost like a scolding. Rong Shuang even slowed down as he ate his steamed bun.

Then the Emperor spoke: “Indeed. After all, Lord Rong’s constitution is so frail, so frail, so frail.” 

Rong Shuang fell silent.

Had the emperor suddenly developed a sense of humor?

But Rong Shuang certainly didn’t dare to talk back to the Emperor—even if he had ten heads, it wouldn’t be enough to beheaded. He meekly endured the sarcastic remark, his face plastered with a fawning smile. Sigh. Flattering his master for personal gain—in the end, he had become exactly the kind of person he despised the most. 

Just as he was feeling melancholy about the unpredictability of fate, he suddenly heard a commotion coming from outside the side hall of the Liuqing Pool.

The man’s steps were steady yet brisk, and he appeared before long.

Rong Shuang sat there clutching a steamed bun like a dazed fool, staring blankly for a long while before recalling from a few short notes he’d read. Li Yan, the Inspector-General of the Office of Inspection?

That must be him. Dressed in a black, form-fitting tunic with gold-threaded embroidered borders featuring python patterns, he held a red-lacquered wooden box in his hands and knelt at a distance neither too close nor too far away. Just as Rong Shuang was wondering whether he should step aside, he heard Li Yan shout loudly.

“The Rebellious Prince Ying Chun falsely transmitted an imperial edict and secretly mobilized the troops of the Three Guards. He has now been executed. The head of the traitorous prince is here—please verify it, Your Majesty!” 

“Clunk.”

The steamed bun in Rong Shuang’s hands fell to the ground.

Head, head, head, head, head, head, head!!!!! Head?!!

Head!!!!

That wooden box contains a human head?!!

Rong Shuang’s mind was a storm of turmoil, each wave higher than the last.

He stared blankly at the wooden box, his whole body cold and stiff.

But even more terrifying than that human head was the fact that it belonged to Ying Chun—the Prince of Qi. On his very first day in this ancient world, the future emperor whom his original host, Rong Zhihuan, had been flirting with had been beheaded by Ying Wujiu.

Damn it all, there was absolutely no way out.

In an instant, Rong Shuang felt paralyzed; he braced himself on the ground with both arms and struggled to move. 

Waaah, waaah, waaah, waaah, waaah, waaah.

“Where are you crawling to, Lord Rong” 

The emperor’s voice echoed, like a venomous snake coiling around his earlobe—that sticky, clammy chill unique to cold-blooded creatures.

It also carried the sense that once ensnared, one could never escape for the rest of one’s life. 

With tears welling up in her eyes, Rong Shuang stammered in fear, “This servant… this servant was wrong…”

Ying Wujiu: “Lord Rong, don’t you want to see the Prince of Qi one last time?”

The person was chopped down by you.   How the hell could that happen?!?

Speaking of “big head” and “ghost”…

Rong Shuang was at his wit’s end again. Ying Wujiu was clearly trying to scare him to death, wasn’t he? Terrified, his eyes blurred with tears, he shook his head frantically: “No, no, no, no, no, no.” 

Ying Wujiu: “Li Yan.” 

Rong Shuang only heard the wooden box creak open.

“……”

“……”

“……”

There was a “splash.”

Rong Shuang fainted from fright and fell back into the pond.

Ying Wujiu raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, seemingly surprised that this corrupt official was such a coward. 

He raised his hand in a gesture, and Li Yan took his leave. From the pool: “Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle…”

Ying Wujiu grabbed him by the neck and hauled him out as if he were a chick, examining him from all angles for a moment. He was indeed a scourge on the nation and its people—even this face and this body. 

So beautiful that it filled Ying Wujiu with loathing.

Hmph.

“Huang Lian, summon Imperial Physician Xuan.”

Rong Shuang fainted completely; in a daze, he vaguely remembered seeing his great-grandmother just before closing his eyes.

It was so tragic.

It was truly a terrible sight.

Rong Shuang had no idea how long he’d been unconscious; he woke up purely because he was starving, his stomach churning with acid and a bitter aftertaste. If this kept up, he’d really end up meeting his great-grandmother.

He opened his eyes, barely conscious, and realized he was lying on a lavish, custom-made bed. Was he back at the manor?

He coughed twice, propped himself up slightly, and called out, “Old Ge… Old Ge…” Old Ge heard the call and immediately pushed open the door: 

“Sir, you’re awake!”

Rong Shuang: “I’m so hungry… Get me something to eat…” 

Old Ge remained silent for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something but held back. In the end, he said nothing and turned to go fetch him something to eat. When he returned, Old Ge was holding a plate of steamed buns.

The steamed buns themselves weren’t the issue—the problem was that the top two had been bitten into. Whose leftovers had he been served? 

Just as he was about to ask, Old Ge knelt on the ground, looking as though they were all about to be thrown into prison and have their entire clans executed.

“Your Excellency, these are steamed buns bestowed by His Majesty!” 

“……”

The plate he’d eaten last night??