Upon hearing this, Jianlan’s first reaction was to be willing to give her very life for His Highness; her second reaction was one of astonishment—when had His Highness met Imperial Consort Huo, and how had such an agreement been made?

Soon, she found the answer in her memory.

—Six days ago.

The Emperor, who had kept his sons and nephews at a distance for over ten days, finally declared that his health had stabilized somewhat and summoned his sons to Changle Palace for an audience.

That day, Wen Maomao had also been groomed and dressed by Jianlan in advance, though their circumstances back then were not as favorable as they were now. Aside from Brother Xiao Chuan, whom he had brought with him from Jiangzuo, the only person assisting Wen Maomao was Jianlan—a palace maid temporarily assigned by the Imperial Household Department to care for members of the imperial clan. She took matters into her own hands and worked diligently to create endless possibilities with Wen Maomao’s limited wardrobe.

The fabrics might not have been the finest, nor were the styles the most fashionable in the capital at the time, but at least Jianlan could guarantee that her young master would be the most handsome among all the imperial relatives.

This was somewhat at odds with Jianlan’s naturally low-key demeanor, but after all, this was Wen Maomao’s first audience with His Majesty. She felt that people tended to be more forgiving toward good-looking children.

Having served in the palace for many years, Jianlan had some understanding of the current emperor’s character—such as his naturally suspicious nature and his extreme concern for saving face. The young boy could have stood out sufficiently; if he did not on the day of the audience, the emperor would interpret it as a lack of respect for him and a show of contempt.

This was nothing short of twisted logic, but such was the nature of the Son of Heaven who now held supreme power—life and death, reward and punishment, all rested on a single whim of his.

Jianlan didn’t want anything to happen to Wen Maomao, so she had no choice but to help him come up with some “unorthodox” schemes.

That day, Wen Maomao actually had no idea what they were going to do; he only had a vague impression that he was being summoned by His Majesty.

Wearing the outfit Jianlan had carefully put together for him, he stood among a group of children of noble birth, listening to their chattering discussions—they were finally going to the Imperial Palace, and he would finally be able to see His Majesty.

It was only then that Wen Maomao realized that the Fifth Prince’s Mansion, where he had been living all this time, was not actually the Imperial Palace.

The Fifth Prince’s Mansion did not refer to the residence of the fifth-ranked prince, but rather to a complex of buildings where numerous princely mansions were clustered together. It was named after the five feudal princes who were originally raised there.

For some unknown reason, the royal family had, for a time, been deeply superstitious that princes over the age of six could not be raised within the palace; they believed that only by being more in touch with the common people could they grow strong and thus live to a ripe old age. Since the young princes were too young to be sent to their fiefs after leaving the palace, they were temporarily housed at the Five Princes’ Mansion outside the palace.

When Wen Maomao and other members of the imperial clan first arrived in the capital, they were, in accordance with old custom, initially housed here.

Wen Maomao didn’t know whether this belief in “connecting with the earth” was valid; all he knew was that this cluster of princely mansions, covering an unknown number of mu, didn’t exactly look like a place that could foster such a connection.

Its sheer scale rivaled that of a small city. Located in the northeast corner of Yongji, where the nobility gathered, ordinary people were not only barred from entering—even standing on a distant high-rise and glancing down at it felt like an offense.

Wen Maomao had never lived in such a vast residence in his entire life—or, for that matter, had he ever even seen a place like this. He had previously only heard Brother Xiao Chuan say that the Imperial Palace was the emperor’s residence—the largest mansion in the entire realm—so he’d assumed the boundlessly vast Fifth Prince’s Mansion was the Imperial Palace itself.

He never would have imagined that, compared to the Imperial Palace, the Fifth Prince’s Mansion was but a drop in the bucket. Just how vast must the real Imperial Palace be?

That was exactly what he was thinking—and that was exactly what he asked.

At that moment, carriages carrying more than twenty children were being granted special permission to drive straight through the Xuanwu Gate at the rear of the Imperial Palace, one after another. They rolled over the blue-white stone pavement that had weathered centuries of wind and rain, and amid the swaying of the indigo-colored curtains, the carriages brought everyone to the gates of the Changle Palace.

As soon as Wen Maomao spoke up, he drew the mockery of many of the other royal princes. Among them, the Prince of Wu’s eldest grandson laughed the hardest. Considering himself the leader of the royal clan, he stood at the very front of the group of children. Adorned from head to toe in jewels and precious stones, looking as if he were a living jewelry display case, the prince snorted derisively, “Look at you—you’ve clearly never seen the world.”

This prince, who hailed from the house of the Prince of Wu, was named Wen Mengzheng—the same “Mengzheng” from the phrase “Nurturing Righteousness Through Holy Deeds.” He took great pleasure in saying baffling things to Wen Maomao. For instance, although he had been quite friendly when they first met, he began to look down his nose at Wen Maomao the moment the latter stood alongside Wen Guan, the eldest son of the King of Qin.

That morning, before entering the palace, he had even made a point of stopping by Wen Maomao’s small courtyard, where he disparagingly commented on its shabbiness—yet after speaking, he refused to leave; instead, he kept showing off the jewelry he claimed he’d never be able to use up.

Wen Maomao, completely baffled, just stared back blankly and said, “Oh.”

Seeing that he hadn’t achieved his goal, the Prince of Wu’s grandson snapped in a fit of rage, “Could that motherless brat Wen Guan give you any of this?”

Wen Maomao thought it was quite rude to speak of others that way and was still pondering how to respond when Wen Mengzheng—already half-mad from not getting a reply—snapped, “Wen Guan is sick and won’t be attending the audience today. If anything goes wrong before the Emperor, don’t count on me to save you,” and stormed off in a huff.

But now, Wen Maomao’s reply was simply, “I haven’t seen what the capital is like, and you haven’t seen what our Jiangzuo region is like—so we’re even.” His eyes, which resembled frost-covered grapes, sparkled brightly, and his tone was quite serious.

“Huh?” Wen Mengzheng was left completely baffled; he probably never would have imagined in his wildest dreams that things could be called even like this. This eldest grandson of the Prince of Wu—whose combat prowess wasn’t exactly top-notch—took a long moment to gather his thoughts before stammering, “W-who would want to go to your backwater?” Unless…

Wen Maomao replied, her face full of surprise, “The Taizu, of course. Our Jiangzuo is the land where the dynasty was founded—it’s the Taizu’s ancestral home. Don’t you even know that?”

Of course he knew that.

Who wouldn’t know where their ancestral home is?

Wen Mengzheng was speechless as he realized that Wen Maomao—who had just said something so absurd he couldn’t even find a way to nitpick it—genuinely believed he didn’t know, and was even prepared to help him cram the information at the last minute, just in case His Majesty asked.

“……” Wen Mengzheng didn’t even know what to say; it seemed he’d completely lost interest in picking on a simpleton.

This scene made Consort Huo, who had long been accompanying the Emperor on his journey and observing the behavior of these royal relatives, burst out laughing.

No one else noticed, but Wen Maomao, sensing something, turned around. Amid the chaos at Changle Palace—which seemed noisier than a thousand ducks—he spotted his beautiful aunt, faintly visible behind the green gauze of the partition, hidden among the crowd.

The moment their eyes met, she smiled at him, her eyes crinkling with joy; all the pearls and jewels adorning her head could not compare to her radiant beauty. Next came the customary audience with the Emperor.

Exchanging courtesies, offered greetings, and answered a few simple questions.

The Emperor, slumped on his throne in the Hall of Brightness, barely spoke throughout the entire proceedings—whether because he was feeling unwell or simply had no enthusiasm for receiving his relatives was unclear. In any case, all communication was relayed by the scribe eunuch at his side.

The vast palace felt like an upside-down giant bell. The emperor’s throne loomed high above, far removed from the rest of the room. The light was dim, and only amidst the wispy purple smoke rising from the incense burners could one sense the overwhelming sense of hierarchy—as if it were being etched into everyone’s knees—along with that faint, undulating sound of a bright yellow-robed figure’s cough. 

The children who had been the noisiest just moments ago now had their little faces drained of color with fear; they knelt trembling on the ground along with everyone else, not even daring to cry.

Only Wen Maomao remained oblivious to the situation. He obediently lined up, stepped forward with confidence, and after reciting everything Uncle Zhong had prepared, happily returned to the back of the line to examine the roof ridge beasts atop the palace beyond the latticed gate.

Wen Maomao didn’t know how he’d performed that day, nor did he care. He only remembered that after seeing His Majesty, the most important part of the day had finally begun—mealtime.

The ailing Emperor did not participate, but he did bestow a few extra dishes upon the children who had performed well; Wen Maomao and Sun Wen Mengzheng, the Prince of Wu, were the only two to catch the Emperor’s eye.

The ritual of accepting the meal was somewhat cumbersome; Wen Maomao and his companion had to first leave the banquet hall, go outside the palace to receive the imperial decree and express their gratitude, and only then could they return to continue eating.

After expressing their gratitude, Wen Mengzheng was called away by his grandfather’s men—no one knew where he went—while only Wen Maomao was escorted back to the side hall by the young eunuch who had led them there. On the way, he asked, “What’s that little figure riding a chicken on the roof of the main hall?”

Such childlike innocence once again made Imperial Consort Huo Hanguang laugh so hard she could barely stand.

She had been preparing to slip out through a side door when she unexpectedly ran into Wen Maomao, so she casually responded to the little boy’s whimsical question.

“That’s not a little man riding a chicken; it’s the leader of the roof ridge beasts—the Immortal Riding the Phoenix.”

The gold coins minted by the Imperial Household Department this year happened to be shaped exactly like roof ridge beasts—about the size of a thumb, with twelve in a set and ten sets in a bag. Their design was quite unique, so Huo Hanguang casually grabbed a handful and placed them into the hands of the lovely child standing before her.

“Look, these are immortals. On the roof, they prevent the tiles from rusting; in your pocket, they’ll protect you from misfortune.” Many years later, Huo Hanguang confessed to her second older brother that she actually had no idea how to teach children—she simply spoiled them with money. It was only because the child was naturally well-behaved that it seemed as though she had achieved quite a bit in terms of parenting.

Signs of this had already begun to show when they first met: she gave Wen Maomao a handful of little figurines as “toys,” and Wen Maomao returned the favor with a pretty little boat.

Despite having played the role of a “money-giving fairy” for so many years, this was the first time Miss Huo had seen an immediate return on her “investment.”

It was Wen Maomao’s masterpiece—pointed at both ends and bulging in the middle—a perfectly crafted replica of a black-roofed boat.

He told her, “I left Jiangzuo on a little boat just like this, and when I return home from the capital to visit Uncle Zhong, I’ll probably take a little boat like this, too.”

“You want to go home? Isn’t the capital nice?” Huo Hanguang asked in surprise.

The little boy shook his head, then nodded: “Yongji is great, but our Jiangzuo isn’t half bad either.”

So, under the veranda of Changle Palace, they made a solemn promise: once Wen Maomao had folded five little boats, she would send him back to Jiangzuo—a place no less wonderful than Yongji.

This was also why Wen Maomao later remained so certain that he would return to his hometown—and that everyone else was mistaken. After all, he’d already made a promise with his aunt.

Time passed, yet Wen Maomao remained full of anticipation. But he was simply too young—too young to understand why the beautiful aunt in Changle Palace had laughed at his little boats back then, and too young to decipher the deep, almost overwhelming sense of regret in the eyes of the dignified and graceful Consort Huo as she looked at him now, standing before the Jiaotai Hall.

She had thought that dismissing Wen Maomao and sending this charming little boy home would be as simple as a single sentence. But…

Now, filled with guilt, she could only carefully negotiate with Wen Maomao: “You want to go back to your hometown for Uncle Zhong. Auntie will help bring him to the capital so you can be reunited, all right?”

Huo Hanguang had mentally prepared herself for the child to wail heart-wrenchingly, refuse to back down, and accuse her of breaking her promise. She’d also braced herself for the possibility that even a basketful of promises of compensation and kind words would leave him unmoved, leaving her at her wits’ end.

But she never could have imagined that, after waiting and waiting, all she heard in the end was Wen Maomao’s cheerful reply: “Sure.” He had agreed.

Without a single tear or fuss, he agreed easily and without any strings attached.

If it had been that little troublemaker at her cousin’s house, it would have been strange if he hadn’t caused such a commotion that the heavens and earth were turned upside down and the sun and moon were obscured.

“Is… that all?” the Imperial Consort asked, fiddling with her hairpin.

But Wen Maomao remained as calm as ever, even going so far as to explain in a very organized manner, “Don’t you know where I live? Let me tell you—just follow my lead: my home is in Mingzhi County, Jiangzuo Prefecture, Jinling… You’ll be able to memorize it in no time, so don’t worry about getting lost.”

Who exactly was afraid of not being able to find their way home? It was really hard to tell.

Even after Wen Maomao was led away by the head maid to apologize, Huo Hanguang remained caught in a complex mix of disbelief and embarrassment. Throughout the evening’s banquet, she had unconsciously glanced at Wen Maomao several times, and each time, the child was either bowing his head, eating, or daydreaming with great enthusiasm—in any case, he looked absolutely delighted, showing not the slightest hint of resentment over her failure to keep their appointment.

How could he be so easygoing?

Consort Huo, who had always been strong-willed, felt this simply wouldn’t do. “If you keep letting yourself be pushed around like this, you’ll just keep getting taken advantage of!”

To say that Wen Maomao wasn’t hurt at all would certainly be impossible—after all, he’d been looking forward to it for so long and had waited so patiently. But the young boy thought it over; he realized that letting Uncle Zhong see the splendor of the capital with his own eyes would surely be better than just hearing him describe it dryly.

Not to mention…

“Cloth Tiger 666,” who had previously been as lifeless as a stone, was back online. It remains to be seen whether this system, which has committed countless evil deeds, actually has what it takes when it comes to causing trouble, but it seems to have quite a knack for parenting.

As soon as it detected that the little one’s emotional level was below average, it immediately played a cartoon that only Wen Maomao could see. A child born and raised in ancient times had never encountered such a “dimension-lowering” experience before, and he was instantly mesmerized by the moving little figures on the screen.

By the time the child had been soothed, 666 had more or less soothed itself as well. It took a deep, deep breath. Things had come to this point—there was nothing it couldn’t push forward now: 【It’s fine. If it’s the Year of Jiadé, so be it. Starting to wreak havoc early isn’t a bad thing either. First, tell me how far you’ve gotten, so I can help speed up the process of your ascension to the throne.】

Wen Maomao, who hadn’t had enough of the drawings, had only one thing to say: “What are you babbling about? Show me a little figure first so I can see what you’re capable of!”

— Author’s Note —

PS: With an average of 1.67 little boats stacked per day, our Maomao has been working quite hard.