…Breakfast? Is this really the time to be talking about breakfast?

Well, I can’t go without eating.

At least that’s what Wen Maomao told Wen Guan the next day.

For most people, it was a harrowing night. Senior officials rushed to the palace in the dead of night; the Palace Guard Bureau sealed off all the palace halls; and the Imperial Guard, along with the Hu Xiao Guard garrison on the outskirts of the capital, swiftly deployed troops at all city gates and palace entrances to strictly control access. They immediately took measures to prevent any potential leaks of information from the imperial palace and the capital.

It wouldn’t be accurate to say everyone was on edge, but the pressure had certainly mounted sharply. However, as Bi Fang, the Chief Scribal Eunuch of the Bureau of Ceremonial Affairs, remarked, if you felt you were about to crack under the pressure, you could look to Commander Xue, the current Commander of the Imperial Guard.

That’s what it really looks like to be on the verge of collapse.

Does the Imperial Guard wield great power? Absolutely. It oversees both civil and military officials, interrogates government officials face-to-face, and in extraordinary times can even arrest officials based on mere rumors—only to retroactively obtain an imperial warrant after the arrest.

But all of this rests on one premise: the extraordinary and often abused power of the Imperial Guard is granted by the emperor.

In a sense, they are an extension of the emperor’s will. But now there isn’t even an emperor. His Majesty did not leave a clear imperial edict during his lifetime indicating which prince he favored to succeed him. How could the Imperial Guard possibly dare to act so arrogantly anymore? To make matters worse, there are suspicious circumstances surrounding the Emperor’s sudden death. The Imperial Guard has been entrusted with this critical mission in a time of crisis, facing pressure from powerful figures on all sides, and must uncover the truth within an extremely short timeframe amidst a complex web of rival factions… The difficulty of this task is self-evident.

“What do you mean the Imperial Consort has ‘borrowed’ Consort Shun to cook for the child?” At that moment, Commander Xue almost thought he was hearing things. The few key witnesses who were present in Changle Hall when His Majesty died had all been summoned to the Bureau of Criminal Investigation—how could any of them just walk out like that?

“What on earth is your Department of Criminal Investigation good for? Tell me which consort is so bold!”

Oh, is it Consort Huo—whose father is the Grand Marshal, whose eldest brother is currently attending the court assembly to select the next heir to the Great Qi throne, and whose second brother commands troops that control nearly half the capital? Well, in that case, it’s fine. As long as Her Majesty is happy.

So what if it’s just cooking? Of course she has to cook—otherwise, if the child gets hungry, is she just supposed to ignore it?

Once Consort Shun has a moment, she can just come by and fill out the case file.

If it’s really inconvenient, we can borrow a few eunuchs from the Palace Administration Bureau to make a trip to Qixiang Palace—I really have no objections at all, not even a little.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

She has to say, Consort Shun is truly a skilled cook.

The moment Wen Maomao opened his eyes that day, he saw a table full of breakfast dishes from his hometown in Jiangzuo.

Soft, chewy, and sweet glutinous rice date balls; sweet potato tapioca pearls stuffed with crushed peanuts and brown sugar; minced meat rice cooked with an abundance of ingredients and topped with a spoonful of that soul-stirring meat sauce; plus a bowl of bean-flour porridge with an incredibly savory and thick broth…

The capital isn’t so different from home after all~

After washing up, the little boy—who had already been charmed by the sight of the food even before taking a bite—remembered what Aunt Huo had told him earlier: to share. He immediately asked Jianlan to help him portion out the food and pack it up, ready to climb the ladder and deliver it to his good friend Guangan next door.

For Wen Maomao, this pleasant, breezy morning was no different from any other—except that as soon as he woke up, Jianlan had changed him into a white outfit, and the North Fifth Compound had been sealed off overnight. Even neighbors like Wen Maomao and Wen Guan could no longer casually drop in on each other.

But that’s no big deal, thought Wen Maomao, the outlaw. When have I ever gone through the front gate to visit Guan Guan?

Before Wen Maomao could even set up the ladder again, Wen Guan had already rushed over. This young master, who always had a plan up his sleeve, was dressed in a mismatched set of unhemmed mourning garments—hurriedly tailored and delivered that very morning by the Imperial Household Department. The hemp rope at his waist, trimmed with white coarse cloth, and the notched cap on his head all silently signaled the arrival of a national mourning period.

However, the General of Military Strategy—the First Mourner of the Great Qi Dynasty—didn’t seem particularly concerned about his deceased uncle. As soon as he entered the door, he headed straight for Wen Maomao and examined his younger cousin thoroughly, from head to toe.

Only after confirming that Wen Maomao hadn’t been frightened and remained as carefree as ever did he finally feel a little relieved.

When Wen Maomao cheerfully greeted him with, “You’re just in time!” and invited him to join him for breakfast, Wen Guan didn’t refuse. He simply sat down at the round table in the flower parlor, dutifully burying his head in what he considered to be a strange, overly sticky breakfast, all the while admonishing Wen Maomao: “No matter who comes to take you away today, don’t agree to it lightly, understand?”

With the emperor’s death, the three of them—who were merely nominal adopted sons of the emperor and had not yet been formally invested with the title—found themselves in a rather awkward position.

Wen Guan couldn’t help but feel that his imperial uncle had been rather inconsiderate to die without leaving a clear imperial decree.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Regardless of which path these men chose to follow the dragon, she had to ensure that the three princes in the Northern Fifth Palace were firmly under her control before she could rest easy.

Having the Palace Security Bureau, along with the palace guards, seal off the Northern Fifth Palace and control the entry and exit of outsiders was the most appropriate solution Empress Pei could think of at the moment.

If no one could have him, it meant anyone could.

Wen Guan had been carefully weighing his words throughout the meal, afraid both of sounding too severe—which might frighten Wen Maomao, who had never experienced anything like this—and of not explaining things clearly enough, which might leave Wen Maomao without a clear understanding of the current dangerous situation and make him an easy target for manipulation.

Wen Maomao’s response, however, was to simply stuff a piece of sweet-but-not-cloying black rice cake into his best friend’s mouth.

As Xiao Guan looked over in shock, the little fool across from him was still cheerfully asking, “Tasty, isn’t it?”

Wen Guan chewed and chewed, wanting to say something, but the glutinous rice cake was so sticky. It was a rule of etiquette deeply ingrained in the bones of a Prince of Qin not to speak with food in one’s mouth, so in the end, all he could do was chew vigorously.

He had been unable to control his mind—it was as if he were suffering from OCD. All morning long, he had been endlessly replaying in his head the possible fates and ordeals that might befall those who were sacrificed, because he knew all too well how power could dehumanize people into something terrifying—just like his father, the Prince of Wu, and just like his royal uncle. The noise in his head was so loud he simply couldn’t stop thinking.

It wasn’t until that moment—as Wen Guan sat across from his close friend Wen Maomao on a small, flower-patterned embroidered stool—that all that remained was the sticky, sweet aroma of glutinous rice cakes lingering in his mouth.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but once Wen Guan had completely calmed down, he realized that he—who had been telling Wen Maomao not to be afraid all along—was actually the one who was more afraid.

His original intention had been to protect his friend, but unexpectedly, it was his only true friend who had soothed all his own anxiety. The glutinous rice cakes were indeed delicious.

Sweet, just like Maomao right in front of him.

Wait a minute—that’s not right. The Northern Fifth Palace had long been sealed off. Where had Wen Maomao gotten all this food? All he’d had that morning was a few bites of flat noodle soup hastily thrown together by a eunuch in the small kitchen.

“Consort Shun made them,” Wen Maomao replied, completely oblivious to anything amiss, answering his friend’s questions without hesitation. “How did Consort Shun get in here?” Wen Guan was even more stunned.

“Auntie Huo brought her here.” Every one of Wen Maomao’s answers took Wen Guan by surprise, yet left him unable to refute them.

The little boy fiddled with his cloth tiger—which was squeaking wildly, utterly distraught over how Emperor Yingzong had died so suddenly and wondering who would make amends for the mischief he’d caused—and continued to his best friend, “Auntie Huo and Consort Shun left after they finished cooking. They said Consort Shun had to rush back to the Palace Bureau—I don’t know what she’s so busy with.” Wen Maomao was extremely worried.

Wen Guan, who could discern the shifting tides of power, was delighted that his good friend had finally come to his senses; the movements of these two consorts were indeed highly suspicious, and there was certainly cause for concern.

However, there’s no need to worry too much. Right now, half of the military forces in the entire Yongji region come from General Huo’s Hu Xiao Guard. Given the current situation, whoever holds military power holds the upper hand.

Before Wen Guan could offer any reassurance, Wen Maomao had already piped up: “How could we possibly skip breakfast?” 

Wen Guan: “……” Is that what you’re worried about?

“Then what are you worried about?” Wen Maomao asked, genuinely puzzled. Breakfast really is important. My grandma says that if you don’t eat properly and on time, you’ll get stomachaches when you’re old.

Oh, right—and Wen Mengzheng!

“Why worry about him?” Wen Guan frowned. He didn’t like Wen Mengzheng. Long before he became friends with Wen Maomao, he had known Wen Mengzheng—who, by blood, could be considered a true cousin—and their relationship was as incompatible as water and fire.

There was no particularly deep reason—it was the same reason most children of the imperial clan resented Wen Guan: his reputation for precociousness was simply too well-known. He was constantly held up as a benchmark by other families, and few children could calmly accept that fact time and time again.

Wen Guan…didn’t like playing with fools either.

However, Wen Guan had a change of heart; it seemed that Wen Mengzheng was indeed needed at this moment. Although Consort Huo appeared to hold Wen Maomao in high regard, when it came to power, how much was that barely perceptible favor really worth?

In contrast, Wen Mengzheng—as the eldest grandson—was genuinely favored by his grandfather, the Prince of Wu. Although the Prince of Wu was currently far away in his fiefdom, he undoubtedly maintained numerous private connections with court officials in the capital and had certainly left agents to support Wen Mengzheng within the palace.

By aligning themselves with Wen Mengzheng now, they could effectively borrow his influence to bolster their own position. If Wen Mengzheng were to make even the slightest misstep…

The young Wen Guan, with his hawk-like heart and crane-like appearance, gripped the sharp dagger hidden at his waist—sharp enough to sever a strand of hair—and thought to himself that they might even gain an extra hostage.

Killing several birds with one stone!

As expected, Wen Guan heard Wen Maomao continue, “Consort Shun has prepared far too much breakfast. The two of us alone certainly can’t finish it all, and Wen Mengzheng is so tall and sturdy—he looks like he has a hearty appetite.”

Wen Guan: How should I put this? He was actually starting to get used to Wen Maomao’s way of thinking.

By the time they’d scaled two walls and reached the First Residence, Wen Mengzheng was already in a state of utter panic, long since having shed his earlier air of a haughty little peacock. Just as he was wondering whom to turn to for help, Wen Maomao appeared as if sent by the heavens.

Just like when they first met at the Northern Fifth Palace, he had spotted Wen Maomao among the crowd of children at a glance—the boy was so radiant, it was as if he were glowing. He had unilaterally decided to forgive him, just as he had once unilaterally declared that he was cutting ties with Wen Maomao for befriending Wen Guan.

“Maomao!” The little boy, who used to love putting on a brave front, threw his arms around Wen Maomao and burst into tears, his words coming out in a jumbled stream: “They took Donglu away. Those people stormed in, ransacked the place, and took the person Grandfather gave me—but Donglu and the others didn’t do anything wrong!”

Wen Guan stood to the side, looking rather indifferent, calmly analyzing the situation in his mind: it seemed the Prince of Wu was under suspicion.

It made sense. His relationship with his father was strained; he had absolutely no one from the Prince of Qin in his inner circle. The only person with whom he had a connection—his wet nurse—worked in the Imperial Household Department and had likely been placed under control even before him. When the Palace Security Bureau stormed in that morning, they’d merely conducted a routine search before leaving. As for Wen Maomao, there was no need to mention him—it was common knowledge that he possessed nothing, and besides, Imperial Consort Huo would likely step in to offer some protection.

Wen Mengzheng, however, was the exact opposite. Just as the people his grandfather had left behind had once looked out for him, those who could now relay information between the palace and the outside world—and facilitate exchanges—were now all the more suspect.

From the perspective of those with vested interests, it was indeed possible that the Prince of Wu might attempt to assassinate the emperor.

“Was His Majesty assassinated?” Wen Mengzheng’s face grew even paler; he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what he did, he’d never be able to clear his name—because his grandfather was indeed guilty. The Prince of Wu’s desire for the throne had begun when the current emperor was found to have no heirs—not for his own sake, for he was already quite old and had long since given up on that ambition, but for his grandson, who was still young.

In a letter from his eldest grandson—an old prince who hadn’t been particularly clever in his youth and hadn’t evolved much with age—he spoke plainly to Wen Mengzheng, stating that he had already begun actively cultivating connections with the prominent clans, especially the Pei clan of Yingchuan, to which the Empress belonged. He told Wen Mengzheng to wait patiently for good news.

There’s a person, there’s a motive, and he’s entangled with the noble clans… It’s over. They’re completely finished.

Even if his grandfather’s intention was merely to have him recorded in the Empress’s imperial genealogy as a legitimate son, no one would believe it now.

Wen Guan curled his lips in disgust. If they’d known the Prince of Wu was such a good-for-nothing, they wouldn’t have come all this way to waste their time.

“It’s not even certain he was assassinated.” Only Wen Maomao was still trying to comfort his friends. He gave Aunt Huo a subtle nod. “I can’t say who told me this, but the rumor I heard is that His Majesty got up in the middle of the night, alone, and accidentally got his neck caught in the curtains. Trying to free himself, he bumped into a candlestick. It was an accident.”

An accident filled with countless coincidences.

As for whether anyone actually bought that story… well, that remains to be seen.

These were Wen Maomao’s most vivid memories of that time: the delicious Jiangzuo cuisine; Wen Mengzheng, who cried so hard he was hiccuping and soaked the round collar of his white robe; and the sharp-tongued Guan Guan, who said with a cold smile, “In that vast sea of people, the fact that Your Majesty and a Candlestick came to know each other can be considered karma.”

Before Empress Pei and Consort Huo joined hands and returned from observing the court session in the front hall, Tiger Doll 666 had already pulled himself together after a series of unexpected events.

Let everything happen!

After enduring so much misfortune, he eventually got used to it.

So what if Emperor Yingzong died young? It’s no big deal, it told its host: 【You’ll just have to work hard to take on your “dad’s” share of the bad stuff too.】

As for how a five-year-old was supposed to go about that…

The System replied with a solemn expression: 【Just become emperor first.】

Wen Maomao didn’t argue; he simply looked at his little tiger with those eyes that seemed to speak, asking, “How do you become an emperor?”

When Empress Pei, Consort Huo, and the others entered, flanked by their retinues, they saw three children standing in the courtyard in a row from tallest to shortest, like a set of chime bells, jumping in time to the “Health and Fitness Exercises” the System had taught them—one, two, three, four; two, two, three, four. Amid Wen Maomao’s rather stiff chant of “Young Eagle Takes Flight,” they were engaged in the most important task of being an emperor: building a strong body.

The two groups locked eyes.

And so, amidst a sea of people kneeling in homage, the young and inexperienced Wen Maomao became the reigning emperor.

— Author’s Note —

Nonsense Mini-Drama:

Evil System’s sudden epiphany: I get it—your “golden finger” isn’t actually me, but the power to make your wishes come true.