Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 72

Chapter 72:

Jiang Henian (Part 2):

He Wasn’t the God in the Paintings, Not…

“Being chosen for the East Palace is a blessing you couldn’t earn in eight lifetimes. Serve His Highness well, understand?” The Chief Eunuch, his fingers pinching the boy’s forehead, his words like needles.

He left the boy in the care of the East Palace attendants, his words a warning, but the boy, his brow furrowed, his cheek still swollen, his defiance simmering, wasn’t easily intimidated.

“Make yourself presentable before you appear before me,” the Crown Prince had said, then disappeared.

The boy looked down at his worn, patched boots, scoffing. The royal family’s desire for lychees meant exhausted horses and men running themselves ragged. His clothes served their purpose, covering his body, always presentable in his eyes.

This kingdom belonged to the Jiang family, passed down from father to son, the prince born into privilege, second only to the King, while he was a slave, the lowest of the low, his life worth less than a single hair on the prince’s head.

He bit his lip. A slave was a slave, no matter where he served.

An attendant led him to a room, returning a few minutes later with a bath, water, and a set of clean clothes. He washed his hands before touching the fine fabric, a stark contrast to his own ragged garments, clothes no ordinary servant would wear.

“These are for me?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yes.”

“Why?” He didn’t understand the prince’s intentions.

“A gift from His Highness, you should be grateful,” the attendant replied, closing the door behind her. “I’ll take you to see His Highness after you’re dressed.”

He removed his dirty clothes, washing the grime from his body, the wound on his lip pale now, only the swelling remaining. He tied his hair back, the unfamiliar clothes feeling strange against his skin, the new shoes uncomfortable. He shifted his feet, shaking off the last vestiges of his former life.

He saw the prince again at three-quarters past three in the afternoon, the sun beating down on him, his forehead damp with sweat.

“Your Highness,” the attendant bowed and retreated, leaving him alone with the prince. He knelt, the posture familiar, his head lowered.

“Greetings, Your Highness.”

He was more concerned about his clothes, the fine fabric now creased and dirty from kneeling. He didn’t know what the prince wanted from him, but he didn’t want to die.

The prince sat on a stone bench, a scroll in his hand, another young person beside him, the King’s daughter, Princess Zhaoping.

He kept his gaze lowered, not daring to look at them.

“Brother,” he heard the princess’s voice.

She looked at him, her voice curious. “Is this the one you chose from the slave quarters? What’s so special about him?”

Jiang Henian had only glanced at the boy when he entered. He didn’t answer her question, simply saying, “What do you think, Xiao Wan?”

“He looks strong, but thin,” she replied. “Looks can be deceiving, we have to test him.”

“Then test him,” Jiang Henian said.

Jiang Wan smiled, walking towards the boy. “Stand up!”

He looked up, obeying her command.

She raised her hand. “Let’s spar. I want to see what you’re capable of.”

Sparring with royalty was just a glorified beating. He hated it, but he couldn’t refuse, the bruises on his face and back still aching. The princess, despite her delicate appearance, had a strong punch, her fist connecting with his stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground, a feigned surrender.

“Useless,” she scoffed, turning to her brother. “Send him back to the slave quarters!”

The boy lay on the ground, catching his breath, then glanced at Jiang Henian, whose gaze was cold and distant, like still water.

He wasn’t that weak. He scrambled to his feet.

“Again!” he yelled, his jaw clenched.

This time, he fought seriously, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, his movements fueled by anger and desperation, managing to pin the princess’s arm, his grip tightening, wanting to break it.

But she was more skilled, more agile, twisting her body, her leg sweeping his feet from under him, but he didn’t fall.

“Enough,” she said.

Her voice broke through his rage, his strength fading, his face flushed, his hand instinctively reaching for his neck, wondering how long he had left to live.

She pushed him away, returning to her brother’s side. “He’s acceptable. He’s probably only done manual labor, but with some training, he’ll be a decent fighter.”

The boy knelt on the ground. “I have injured the princess, I deserve to die.”

“Are you apologizing?” Jiang Wan pulled up her sleeve, revealing a bruise on her arm. “I haven’t even complained to my brother yet.”

He kept his head lowered, his face swollen, his lips chapped, his body sweating. He had seen too many slaves die at a royal’s whim.

“Look up,” the prince’s voice commanded.

He raised his head, his gaze meeting the prince’s, his fear replaced by a strange defiance. If he was going to die, he might as well break all the rules.

Jiang Henian put down his scroll. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“What’s your name?”

“Yu Lin.”

“Yu Lin, ‘outstanding in the forest,’ a good name,” Jiang Henian chuckled softly. “Live up to your name. Be my guard. You have one month to prove yourself.”

“You’ll be staying in the side chamber.” He stood up, his robes dragging on the stone path.

Yu Lin looked up, noticing his white robes, his tall, slender frame, his aura of authority.

“A gift for you,” he tossed him a small, ornate box.

Yu Lin caught it, opening it to reveal a white ointment.

“For your injuries,” the prince said, gesturing, and an attendant approached Yu Lin.

Yu Lin stared at him, surprised and relieved. He hadn’t been punished, but rewarded, the prince’s favor a surprising turn of events.

“Follow me,” the attendant said. “You’ve caught His Highness’s attention, your treatment will be better than ours. Perhaps we’ll even have to call you ‘Master’ someday.”

“Master?”

He murmured the word, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

The prince wanted him as his personal guard, a position of authority. He had thought his slave status would forever hold him back.

Even slaves had a hierarchy, and he would be serving the Crown Prince, the King’s favored son.

They said serving in the East Palace was a blessing, the prince kind and compassionate, unlike the other royals, his punishments rare, his demeanor gentle, like a deity in a painting, a warm light in the cold, harsh world of the palace.

Yes, the prince had a gentle face, a noble bearing, an otherworldly beauty, but Yu Lin didn’t find him warm.

His smile was polite, but his eyes were cold, like ice, his true nature hidden beneath a perfect facade. He had no close companions, the inner chambers of the East Palace quiet and deserted, the prince preferring solitude, only the princess allowed near him, and even she maintained a respectful distance, a subject before her prince.

Yu Lin rarely saw the prince. He had a spacious room and a degree of freedom, spending the month honing his martial arts skills under a master’s tutelage, then returned to the courtyard.

The prince sat beneath the eaves.

Yu Lin paused, his eyes widening slightly.

The prince’s hair was unbound, his robes loose, a thin, embroidered silk draped over his shoulders, his posture relaxed, his gaze still cold and distant, yet a hint of amusement in his eyes.

This wasn’t the prince the others spoke of.

“Come,” Jiang Wan beckoned him, tossing him a wooden sword.

They sparred, and before her sword reached his abdomen, his blade was at her throat, his movements swift and precise, his victory swift.

He lowered his sword, kneeling before the prince. “Your Highness…”

“You should address me differently now,” Jiang Henian stood up, his bare feet on the wooden floor, his robes swirling around him as he approached Yu Lin.

He took Yu Lin’s hand, pulling him up.

“Then how should I address you?” Yu Lin asked, his gaze meeting the prince’s.

“You’re mine now, address me as ‘Master,’ as the others do. In my presence, you are my subject,” Jiang Henian said, placing a jade pendant in his hand.

Yu Lin took the pendant, his confusion evident. “Why did Master choose me?”

“You shouldn’t question me,” Jiang Henian’s gaze sharpened, his voice cold. “If you can’t handle my gifts, discard them.”

Yu Lin’s brow furrowed, his hand clenching around the pendant, then he knelt, his voice strong and clear. “This servant thanks Master for his grace!”

The prince’s robes brushed past him, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “My guard, why aren’t you by my side?”

Yu Lin followed, his new role, the prince’s personal guard, his constant companion.

He waited outside while the prince met with the King, stood guard as he reviewed memorials, sometimes summoned inside.

A year passed, and he realized the prince didn’t like staying indoors, preferring the cool night air, sitting on the red-lacquered veranda.

The East Palace was filled with books and scrolls, and when the King summoned him for political discussions, he would light a single lamp, reading and reviewing documents.

The prince would sometimes speak to him, but Yu Lin, illiterate and uneducated, couldn’t offer any insights, and the prince, realizing this, assigned him a scholar, even teaching him a few characters himself.

The prince, favored by the King, was the future of the dynasty.

Yu Lin grew accustomed to his presence, yet he felt the prince’s true nature was revealed only when he shed his crown and robes, his usual gentle demeanor replaced by a cold calculation.

He wasn’t the god in the paintings, not the saintly prince the others spoke of, he was comfortable with power, his heart cold and ruthless.

Yu Lin tried to see beneath the facade, his curiosity growing.

The prince would often stand outside, his gaze fixed on a barren tree in the courtyard, its branches reaching beyond the palace walls.

What was he looking at?

When the tree blossomed, Yu Lin understood.

He had been waiting for the flowers to bloom.

A single peach tree in the East Palace courtyard, its pink blossoms a splash of color against the gold and jade.

The peach blossoms bloomed, and the prince smiled.