Chapter 8

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“I heard it.”
As Cheng Yun reached the door, he heard a voice from inside.
The sound was neither too loud nor too soft—anyone with slightly poor hearing would probably not catch it clearly.
Cheng Yun switched the foot he was using to push the door open and saw the prodigy sitting by the bedside.
He had bathed yesterday and changed clothes; his previously messy hair looked much smoother, and his whole body seemed as clean as if bathed in celestial spring water.
At this moment, he wore a thin garment, putting on a padded outer robe. The robe was brand new, shining like silk with a fur collar around the slender neck, complementing his pale, flawless face, making him look like a refined rabbit spirit.
Wen Baisang lowered his head, his chin and lips buried in the fur collar, carefully fastening the buttons on his chest. He tugged at the hem of his robe and glanced at him.
Cheng Yun’s usual morning grumpiness inexplicably eased a bit. He slowly furrowed his brows and asked, “Where did the new clothes come from?”
“Your Highness,” Pang Qi hurriedly interjected from behind, “these are the new clothes made for you earlier, but you grew too quickly to fit into them.”
By regulation, hundreds of clothes for the Crown Prince were made every year. The unused ones were given to servants, some sold at authorized royal shops, and the especially precious pieces were kept for safekeeping.
For example, the fur on Wen Baisang’s collar was from a snow fox hunted in the northern border, pure white without any discoloration. The fabric was woven silver brocade, exuding extraordinary luxury at a glance.
Truly, a man is judged by his attire, just as a horse by its saddle, Cheng Yun thought, then said lightly, “Since you’re awake, come help me change into my court robes.”
Wen Baisang’s hearing was not as keen, even worse than many ordinary people’s.
He was indeed awakened by Cheng Yun’s door-kicking but didn’t understand why he was being asked to get up so early.
He confirmed, “Change into court robes?”
“Exactly,” Cheng Yun said, “There’s a morning court session today.”
Wen Baisang naturally knew what court robes meant but didn’t understand, “Why do you want me to help you change?”
“Because you, you little demon, were bossing me around in a dream last night.”
Wen Baisang: “…”
Is he crazy?
“Hurry up!”
“My legs…” Wen Baisang said, “I can’t walk.”
Cheng Yun glanced around displeased, ready to find someone to drag him over, but suddenly realized that among this bunch of misfits, hardly anyone was suitable to be a mount for the rabbit spirit.
He instinctively took a step forward, then abruptly stopped.
Hah, he wasn’t worthy of handling it himself.
“Go fetch the court robes.”
Wen Baisang thought he was truly mentally ill.
The Crown Prince’s robe was intricately embroidered and very heavy. Wen Baisang couldn’t stand, struggling to lift it, and even when he raised his hands, he couldn’t reach Cheng Yun’s shoulders. Cheng Yun looked at him with a stern face and cursed, “Useless.”
Then he spun around and kicked the door shut, blocking any prying eyes outside, before squatting coldly in front of him.
“…” Wen Baisang genuinely didn’t understand what he was after.
He painstakingly draped the robe over Cheng Yun’s shoulders, and as he moved his arms, Cheng Yun caught a familiar scent of old sandalwood. This sandalwood was of superior quality, rich in oil, and had been specially set aside for some time before being applied, free of any smoky or harsh odors. It carried a mellow sweetness with a unique woody milky aroma from aged sandalwood. Perhaps due to the long time it had been kept, the scent was a bit faint but still lingeringly pleasant.

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This was a scent he loved dearly in his youth.
Such a familiar fragrance on the person he disliked most made Cheng Yun’s expression subtly complex.
He spread his sleeves and let Wen Baisang continue buttoning the frog closures. “What fragrance did you usually use?”
“I don’t use fragrance.”
“A rustic fellow,” Cheng Yun said, “Indeed unfit to use perfume.”
Wen Baisang ignored him, eager to get this incurable, unstable Crown Prince out of his sight as soon as possible.
Finally, he picked up the equally heavy belt, hearing the prince say again, “I really should throw you into the lotus pond to wallow in the mud for a while; that muddy smell suits you.”
Cheng Yun had already stood up, arms still outstretched with the wide robe hanging on both sides. Wen Baisang impatiently fumbled with the jade hook; even without seeing his expression, Cheng Yun knew he was surely frowning.
Looking down on Wen Baisang, he said with a hint of kindness, “Serving me is your blessing. You should be happier; it’s better for both of us.”
“…” Wen Baisang only wished he had fifty pounds of black dragon fire to raze the Crown Prince’s residence to the ground.
Finally finishing the annoying jade hook, Wen Baisang moved back, and a jade pendant was suddenly handed over.
Wen Baisang: “…Where did you put my walnut?”
“You secretly purchased thunderfire, which severely violates Liang’s criminal laws, and you foolishly hoped to bring it back?”
Wen Baisang took the pendant expressionlessly and hung it up for him.
Cheng Yun casually asked, “Where did you buy those thunderfire bombs?”
Wen Baisang said, “Already prepared.”
Another golden token symbolizing status was handed over, and Cheng Yun asked again, “Where did you buy the thunderfire bombs?”
Wen Baisang hung the token and said, “The black market.”
Cheng Yun: “…”
His gaze toward Wen Baisang darkened with a strange glint.
This rabbit spirit looked gentle and weak yet dared to trade in the black market.
He said in a low voice, “Which black market sells thunderfire?”
Wen Baisang looked at him and replied, “The black market in Gentleman City.”
“You’ve even been to Gentleman City?”
Gentleman City’s location was special, nestled among towering mountains separating Qi State and Liang State. It was easy to defend but hard to attack. For nearly a century, it had maintained neutrality in world affairs and sometimes acted as a mediator when the two nations clashed.
It sounded very gentlemanly, but in reality, it was a vast trading hub, bustling with all manner of merchants, selling everything imaginable.
Though the armies of Qi and Liang rarely reached there, those who survived in that city were either extremely smooth, adept at social maneuvering, or possessed formidable strength with coveted goods that no one could seize.
What could this rabbit spirit possibly have? And yet, he dared to mingle in Gentleman City? Without leaving his bones picked clean…
“Your Highness,” Pang Qi’s voice came from outside, “It’s time for court.”
Cheng Yun remembered the matter at hand but couldn’t help glancing at the rabbit spirit once more. He truly couldn’t figure out how such a gentle, harmless-seeming yet daringly unconventional fellow had survived to this day.
Did he possess some special means of survival?

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At the morning court, Emperor Yongchang sat high on the dragon throne, while Cheng Yun and the assembled ministers knelt and bowed simultaneously.
Winter had arrived, and today’s main discussion was how to prepare for the upcoming heavy snowfall. Shengjing experienced distinct seasons—scorching summers and bitter winters. A heavy snowfall could freeze the moat, requiring additional troops to guard the city and prevent small groups from causing trouble.
Amidst the lively discussion, Cheng Yun did not voice any opinion.
Until Yongchang spoke, “Any other matters?”
Silence fell. After confirming no one else was speaking, Cheng Yun stepped forward respectfully. “Your Majesty, to better coordinate the city’s defense and reduce expenses, the soldiers of the Thunderfire Battalion have not received new cotton clothes for two years. The camp walls have aged and cracked in many places since last year; during the spring flood, the granary was even waterlogged. The Astronomical Bureau predicts an especially heavy snowfall this year. I am truly concerned for the safety of the soldiers, and also…”
“Qi State’s black dragons have already reached the northern border, yet you’ve been in charge of the Thunderfire Battalion for two years without producing any effective new firearms, and now you come to ask me for funds?”
Cheng Yun did not look up but continued respectfully, “Though my Thunderfire Battalion has made little progress, the firearms engineers sent from the battalion to assist city defense have reportedly accomplished much. When will Your Majesty recall them? The half-built Thunder Dragon is still lying beneath the camp.”
A brief silence fell.
Everyone knew that when the Thunderfire Battalion was handed to the Crown Prince, it was essentially an empty shell. All the firearms engineers had been transferred to the city defense battalion under Prince Chu’s command. The city defense squads all carried firearms, showing the engineers’ prowess.
Now, the Thunderfire Battalion only had some ordinary soldiers loafing around, no firearms engineers, no orders from above, no budget from the Ministry of Revenue. Naturally, the soldiers could not shoot targets out of thin air.
As for the so-called half-built Thunder Dragon, it was a large-caliber firearm planned during the late emperor’s reign to counter the black dragons of Qi State but had been shelved for two years with no progress.
Although Cheng Yun was deferential, his words clearly implied criticism of the emperor’s injustice—no, perhaps even accusing him of unfilial behavior.
Without looking up, everyone knew how furious Emperor Yongchang was at that moment.
The atmosphere in the Golden Throne Hall was suffocatingly heavy.
“When will you produce decent new firearms?” Yongchang’s face was ashen, voice cold. “Then I will fulfill all your wishes.”
He swept his sleeve and left, accompanied by the herald’s long chant, “Dismissed—”
Three years since his ascension, Cheng Yun still couldn’t get used to his shamelessness. As the herald followed the emperor away, he straightened his posture expressionlessly and turned to leave first.
Behind him, Prince Chu, dressed in a white coiling dragon robe, exhaled and smiled wryly.
“Palace Cheng Yun is getting more and more arrogant, but that’s a good thing for me.”
Zhou Xuan watched Cheng Yun approach, initially wanting to step forward and take credit for presenting the dream demon, but seeing his expression from afar, he gave up the idea.
Everyone dispersed.
“Your Highness,” as soon as he stepped out, Qi Song approached, “How did it go today?”
“How could it go?” Cheng Yun said gloomily, “No money, no people, no resources. We’re still drinking the northwest wind this year.”
He climbed straight into the carriage, feeling deeply frustrated.
“Want to go see the Empress?”
“No,” Cheng Yun said, “Would only spoil her mood.”
Meanwhile, Wen Baisang had already been carried out of the small room by the enthusiastic Pang Qi and was sitting under the eaves basking in the sun.
The winter sunlight was warm and gentle. He leaned back in a soft chair, half asleep, vaguely feeling as if he had returned to the little fireworks shop in Gentleman City.
“Young Master, want to try this?”
Wen Baisang opened his eyes to see Pang Qi holding a bowl of milky white ice balls. He looked at him puzzled, and Pang Qi explained, “These are called Ice Milk Balls. After every morning court session, His Highness always eats a few. They’re excellent for cooling down and reducing internal heat.”