Chapter 11

The Eighth Prince, Xue Liuguang, buried his head deeply in the book before him, his fingertips pressing into his palm. He wished he could cover his eyes and ears, pretending not to hear or see anything. Yet, a sudden heavy shove to his shoulder made him stagger, unable to continue feigning ignorance, and he reluctantly lifted his head.

His second and third elder brothers were watching him, their gazes faintly threatening, while his attendant sat upright, seemingly absorbed in the book as if nothing had occurred.

The Eighth Prince clenched his teeth tightly, forcing down the turbulent emotions within. He reminded himself that princes were not all equal. His mother had been a mere palace maid who died without even gaining a formal status; he had no maternal clan to back him, and the emperor paid him no heed. With no one by his side, before he was strong enough to fight back, he had no choice but to endure—he could only endure.

Otherwise, he would end up like Xue Jin’an.

At the very least, he had not become like Xue Jin’an.

Thinking of his seventh elder brother, only three months his senior, who had fallen overnight from a favored son of heaven to a figure everyone could bully, the Eighth Prince’s unsettled mood strangely lightened.

He did not know why his spirits lifted. Perhaps it was because he was not the worst, or maybe because the one worse off was Xue Jin’an—born just before or after him, a fellow prince, yet worlds apart.

He signaled to his elder brothers with a subtle gesture and nervously watched Master Cen’s movements. Seizing the moment when the master turned away, he bent down quietly, slipping from his seat to the head table, reaching out to flip through the yellowed papers hidden beneath the pile. Just as he grasped the corner to pull one out, the master seemed to sense something and began to turn back.

Panic surged in the Eighth Prince’s heart; his hand trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat soaking his back. Instinctively, he glanced at the two brothers who had cornered him, only to find them unexpectedly bowed and reading, eyes fixed on their noses as if oblivious.

No, this would not do. He could not bear to be the only one punished. His pleading gaze, almost without thought, settled on the Sixth Prince—the one most approachable.

Most palace children matured early, vaguely aware of the undercurrents around them. The eldest prince’s recent assumption of court duties had sounded the first salvo in the battle for succession. Within just a month, two factions seemed to be forming, centered around the second and third princes.

Among the princes, the Fifth suffered from a heart illness, and the Sixth was naturally stammering. With all the others healthy, these two were essentially sidelined from the throne race. Yet, their maternal clans wielded considerable power, making them prime targets for alliances.

The Fifth Prince was silent and aloof, always avoiding others and difficult to approach. Thus, the kind-hearted and gentle Sixth Prince became the favored one, and the Eighth Prince had managed to become somewhat familiar within that circle.

The Sixth Prince’s temperament was genuinely soft and charitable. The Eighth Prince had enjoyed ample treats and even received gifts of gold, pearls, and coral from him.

At this moment, the Eighth Prince pinned all his hopes on the Sixth Prince’s compassion. Pale-faced, he whispered silently, “Brother Six, save me!”

The attendant’s hand immediately pressed over the Sixth Prince’s. Though hesitant, seeing the Eighth Prince on the verge of exposure, his body reacted before his mind, and he sprang up from his chair like a monkey.

“Master!” His voice burst out uncontrollably like firecrackers, startling the usually composed Master Cen.

Master Cen loosened his beard, rubbing his jaw that had been yanked painfully. With a dry tone, he said, “Speak more quietly. I’m not so old that I’ve gone deaf.”

“What questions do you have?” he asked.

The Sixth Prince blushed deeply, feeling guilty. At first, his stammer was mild but soon turned severe; each word was a struggle. “R-Respectfully, Master, just now the lesson on the sacrificial rites—I, I didn’t quite understand…”

Fortunately, Master Cen did not notice anything amiss, assuming only nervousness. After patiently listening, he raised an eyebrow and joked, “Yang Shunzhi is truly an incompetent maternal grandfather.”

The Sixth Prince’s mother, Consort Shu, was surnamed Yang and the daughter of Yang Congzhi, Minister of Rites. Shunzhi was Yang Congzhi’s courtesy name.

The Sixth Prince’s guilt deepened, his head lowered, avoiding the master’s gaze.

Luckily, Master Cen remained unaware and patiently began to re-explain the sacrificial rites.

Crisis averted, the Eighth Prince breathed a sigh of relief and swiftly withdrew the yellowed paper, returning to his seat. His heartbeat thundered like a drum; the secret thrill of success at a misdeed flooded his mind. He immediately wanted to examine his prize, but his arm was pushed again.

The attendant turned sideways, revealing behind him the second and third princes exchanging glances.

Like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, the Eighth Prince tightened his fingers, his expression briefly darkening. Yet he quickly composed himself, naturally handing the spoils to the attendant, who began to pass them along.

When the third prince eagerly opened the paper, the Eighth Prince feigned carelessness and swept his brush off the table. Bending to retrieve it, he lightly hooked a nearby stool with his foot.

“Ah!” The attendant stumbled and let out a startled cry.

Master Cen turned just in time to catch the third prince red-handed with the yellow paper.

Frowning, Master Cen’s tone turned cold. “Your Highness, what are you holding?”

The Eighth Prince’s eyes were blank and helpless, as if he could not understand how simply bending down to pick up a brush had suddenly made matters incomprehensible.

Thus ended the impromptu classroom mischief. Master Cen was furious and called for the corporal punishment master. The third prince and the Sixth Prince, caught covering for him, each received ten harsh strikes on their palms, instantly swollen and red.

The Sixth Prince covered his palm, tears welling in his eyes. His attendant comforted him with a pat on the back, eyes quietly lingering on the culprit for a moment.

The third prince was less delicate. Fond of swordplay and boasting a strong physique, he had the fiercest temper among the princes. Unlike the fourth prince, who was all talk and no action, he preferred to settle matters with his fists rather than harsh words.

Glowering fiercely at the culprit’s retreating back, he gritted his teeth and told his attendant, “After class, take him to the training grounds.”

The Eighth Prince pretended not to notice the attendant’s pale face and trembling frame. Nonchalantly, he raised the brush and resumed his calligraphy. Since entering the study, he had been copying Master Cen’s characters, gradually mastering their form. He had originally intended to write a bold, flowing character, but at the moment of writing, his strokes slowed inexplicably, becoming meticulous and proper.

Though he had not yet read the yellow paper’s content, he remembered the neat, square characters well.

Master Cen, who admired it so much, must have loved the calligraphy itself. Without realizing it, the Eighth Prince had imitated that script and firmly believed in it for many years, eventually mastering the standard style used in imperial examinations.

He copied the character “弃” — “abandon.”

— Those who leave me behind, yesterday’s sun cannot be kept.

Xue Jin’an, bullied and broken like a dead dog, was not like him.

At this moment, unaware of whose handwriting he was imitating, the Eighth Prince looked upon the character “abandon” with quiet satisfaction.

...

The Fifth Prince’s seat was at the back, from where he observed everything, including the seemingly secret little maneuvers.

How amusing.

He curled a lip. When the commotion died down and no more excitement followed, he stood.

Clutching his chest, frowning slightly, he whispered, “Master, I am unwell.”

The Fifth Prince, suffering from heart disease, was promptly excused. By the study’s entrance, he encountered a young eunuch struggling with a book box, negotiating with the guard, even trying to slip silver coins.

“Brother Guard, please, our prince must hurry inside and left the book box behind. I beg you to show some leniency. If you cannot allow us in, please at least help deliver the box inside. I would be eternally grateful.”

But the guard was unmoved, coldly refusing. “No outsiders are allowed in the study. Those on duty must not leave their posts.”

The Fifth Prince watched with interest as the young eunuch grew desperate, nearly in tears, still pleading with the guard.

In a good mood, the Fifth Prince sent his attendant to inquire and learned the eunuch belonged to the fourth prince’s household. Kindly, he told the boy, “He didn’t come.”

“How could that be?!” The eunuch, flustered, babbled incoherently.

Suddenly, near a corner by the study, someone had vanished without a trace. Perhaps—

“Kidnapped,” the Fifth Prince said casually, though in his mind he considered:

The palace was heavily guarded; no assassin could enter from outside. If anything happened, it had to be an insider. Yet, the emperor had recently ordered the eunuch supervisor to tighten security. The palace was on high alert. If someone did anything, this was the worst time to show themselves.

So the likeliest explanation was that the fourth prince had skipped class.

None of this was spoken aloud by the Fifth Prince.

The young eunuch, hit by the harsh news without warning, staggered, barely able to stand.

The Fifth Prince ignored the consequences of his words and strode away.

His personal eunuch and attendant, thinking he was genuinely ill, anxiously approached, asking repeatedly if he wanted to visit the imperial clinic or go to Minghua Palace—although he had moved into the prince’s residence, his medicine was kept at Minghua Palace, and his mother called him there each time to watch him take it—disrupting his otherwise bright mood.

He simply left them behind, retreating alone to his private chamber.

He had spent enough time with others today and needed solitude to clear his mind.

What he did not expect was that someone had broken into his secret room. Approaching, he heard screams inside, as if a chase and struggle were unfolding.

Murder in the palace? So bold?

The thrill-seeking Fifth Prince crept quietly to a wall draped with thick tree shadows, climbing up stealthily, confident no one would notice—only to almost be kicked over.

“Little Brother!” The tear-streaked face of his fourth brother suddenly appeared before him, with the seventh prince below, brandishing a knife, eyes fierce.

The Fifth Prince was speechless.

Good news: the fourth prince was indeed kidnapped, not skipping class.

Bad news: the traitor was the seventh prince, who seemed somewhat deranged.

Worse news: he tried to flee but failed, caught by the fourth prince’s grasp at his trouser leg, while the seventh prince grinned menacingly below, looking ready to take him down too.

The fourth prince often bullied the seventh, so revenge was understandable—but implicating him was another matter entirely.