Accidentally Having a Baby with the Future Emperor - Chapter 101

Naturally, Xi Rong could not bring himself to smile.

However, looking at that face, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry either. Even though because of this man, he’d been toyed with like a fool, running himself ragged all over the capital.

Half his face was veiled in the flickering candlelight, the flame tracing the sharp lines of his profile. His chest rose and fell for a long while before he finally said, “It’s getting late. I’ll see you back to the Xiao Royal Residence.” Even now, Xi Rong’s tone remained calm without a trace of emotion or ripple. It was as if his long journey through the night to reach this place had truly been for nothing more than escorting Xiao Rong home.

As if it were a quiet echo of that oath he had once sworn on the Jade Dragon Terrace: from this day forth, they would have nothing to do with each other again.

“Send me back to the Xiao Royal Residence? Whatever for?” Xiao Rong rested his chin on his hand, still smiling. That inborn arrogance stirred within him, as if he could provoke the depths of those cold eyes and draw out whatever hid beneath. “Your Highness,” he said lightly, “don’t you know? I’ve already been cast out of the Xiao clan. Xiao Royal Residence is no longer my home.”

“The Eastern Palace isn’t your home either.”

Xi Rong was silent for a moment before speaking, his tone almost cold. “Rongrong, do you really think causing such a scene will force me to let you stay in the Eastern Palace?”

The shopkeeper had retreated in haste; the pot of boiling noodles still hissed on the stove. The room fell into utter silence, broken only by the crackle of fire.

The smile finally faded from Xiao Rong’s eyes. He fixed Xi Rong with an unwavering gaze. After a long pause, he withdrew his hand and lifted his chin. “I never said I wanted to go to the Eastern Palace. I have my own home. I don’t need Your Highness’s pity or your shelter.”

The coldness in Xi Rong’s eyes did not lessen in the slightest. He simply asked, “Where are the account books?”

Xiao Rong lifted a cup of tea, took a slow sip, and said nothing.

Xi Rong said evenly, “Rongrong, even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find them myself.”

Xiao Rong smiled lazily. “Then by all means, go ahead and look, Your Highness. But do hurry. My temper isn’t the best. You never know when I might feel displeased and decide to burn them all. Mo Dong,” Xiao Rong set down the cup and called softly.

Mo Dong appeared at once.

“We’re leaving.”

Xiao Rong placed a bit of silver on the table and rose to leave.

Xi Rong still stood between the two tables, his tall frame blocking the narrow passage completely.

“Your Highness, you’re in my way,” Xiao Rong said, his face now veiled once more behind the black gauze of his hat.

Xi Rong didn’t move.

Hands clasped behind his back, Xiao Rong simply walked around the table and out of the restaurant.

Jiang Cheng was still waiting by the door. When he saw Xiao Rong emerge, he bowed low without a word, although his eyes flicked in faint surprise toward the lamplight still burning inside.

The Crown Prince’s meeting with Prince Xiao’s heir… was it truly over so soon? Then why had His Highness searched for him with such desperation, almost to the point of madness?

Xiao Rong rode alongside Mo Dong on the official road leading back into the city. In his hand, he idly played with a willow branch he had snapped off along the way.

The road was crowded with travelers returning home, people and carts moving in both directions.

Mo Dong’s thoughts were in turmoil. From the moment the Crown Prince appeared, he finally understood belatedly why the Young Prince had been running about in such haste these past few days. But the Crown Prince dared refuse the Young Prince’s goodwill!

In Mo Dong’s eyes, that was sheer ingratitude.

The Young Prince had defied Prince Xiao himself, turned his back on his own clan, and even requested to be struck from the family register, all for the Crown Prince’s sake. And yet, the Crown Prince felt no gratitude.

Such betrayal!

Feeling indignant on his master’s behalf, Mo Dong looked at Xiao Rong’s quiet figure and could not help but say, “The Eastern Palace is no good place anyway. If you ask me, it’s better not to go.”

“Young master, why not return to the Xiao Royal Residence instead?”

Xiao Rong was not truly sad or dejected. He was simply thinking of his next move. Hearing this, he asked, “Why do you think I should return to the Xiao Royal Residence?”

Among the shadow guards, the first rule was silence, especially about their master’s affairs.

Mo Dong held his tongue for a long time before playing his last card. “Does the Young Prince truly mean to hand over the title of heir to that Xiao Yulin?”

Xiao Rong did not correct his form of address. He merely laughed lightly, unconcerned. “Once, I did insist on outdoing him in everything,” he said. “Always had to come out on top. But I suddenly realized something. To fight with him is to lower myself. It’s only the title of heir. I’ll treat it as alms to a beggar and give it to him.”

However, in truth, what he had fought over with Xiao Yulin was never the heir’s title itself. His constant competitiveness and his need to win, especially against Xiao Yulin, had only exposed his own weakness.

A man certain of victory has no need to fight anyone.

The reason he fought so hard was simply because he had never once felt assured of winning.

During the three years at Yongning Temple, although his days were bearable, he never felt secure. Not once.

When he finally returned to the Xiao clan, he found no joy, but only greater unease.

To outsiders, he was Prince Xiao’s only blood heir, his position unshakable.

However, who knew that he was nothing more than a despised pawn on the chessboard?

The day the Xiao clan no longer needed that pawn, there would be no place for him to stand.

He could accept being left to rot in Yongning Temple, but he could not accept being taken back only to be discarded again. He was no stray dog. Why should he be forced to live under the threat of abandonment?

His constant striving and his desperate need to be first in everything were his ways of proving, to Prince Xiao and to the world, that he was the best and that no one could replace him.

However, even if he did everything perfectly, so what? Were all those loyal ministers and good generals who died unjustly in history simply not good enough?

Two years ago, when he went north to assassinate Yan Ju, he carried a secret, venomous thought in his heart. He wanted to see if Yan Ju died, would the Xiao clan still need him? Would Prince Xiao finally show his true face?

He wanted to shatter the fragile illusion once and for all; to seize control of his fate before that sword of destiny hanging over him could fall, warning him, threatening him, and mocking him.

He had to win once.

However, in the end, he still failed.

So he ran.

Running, of course, solved nothing. As long as this pawn still held value, sooner or later, it would be placed back on the board where it belonged. Yet the assassination attempt two years ago completely enraged Yan Ju and completely changed the board itself.

By the time Yan Ju dared to ally with the Cui clan, to take part in the martial arts tournament, to step into the capital, and openly declare war on the Xiao clan, it was already clear that this pawn of the Xiao clan had lost its worth.

He accepted that fact within a few days.

It wasn’t hard to understand, after all.

The fact that Yan Ju had endured for so many years before finally removing all pretense with the Xiao clan was what had been truly absurd. What surprised him, though, was that he didn’t feel angry or despairing.

He felt calm and even relieved.

That night, when he confronted Prince Xiao face to face and walked out of the manor, he suddenly felt that the assured victory he’d longed for all his life was finally in his grasp, though in another form.

At last, he could truly take control of his own fate, not as the Xiao clan’s heir, not as a pawn, nor as a discarded piece, but simply as Xiao Rong. He even finally understood the words his old teacher, Qi Ru, had always repeated during his studies in the Qi residence.

“The way of the sage is to act, but not to strive.”

He used to think that was utter nonsense.

What dynasty or realm had ever been won without sword and blood? Heaven’s Mandate was just a trick to stir men’s hearts and justify ambition.

He had no idea what a sage was, but for a ruler who refused to fight, was the throne supposed to fall from the sky into his lap?

Even the Qi clan was fighting the noble families for power by relying on the common-born, yet his teacher had taken that saying as a sacred truth. Had it not been for respect toward his teacher, he would have called it sheer foolishness.

However, now, suddenly, he understood.

The sage’s ‘to act, but not to strive’ did not mean never fighting. It meant refusing to waste strength on battles that had no meaning. Like his teacher, still clear-eyed and sharp-minded, yet at the height of the imperial succession struggle, he had stayed hidden away in Qizhou.

Was he truly indifferent to the shifting tides of court?

Impossible.

Otherwise, he would not have dragged his frail body all the way to Songzhou to force Xiao Rong’s return.

Naturally, what Xiao Rong had done since then must have disappointed the old man and made that long journey seem wasted.

Still, by that same logic, all the petty rivalries of his youth with Xiao Yulin and Xiao Yuke over trivial matters were nothing more than meaningless struggles. He had truly given them too much face.

Zhiwei.

Perhaps his teacher had chosen that courtesy name for him with careful intent after all.

Mo Dong, of course, knew nothing of these tangled thoughts. He paused and then nodded firmly. “The Young Prince is right,” he said. “Even if that man takes the title, it’s only because you let him have it, not because he earned it.”

Xiao Rong turned his head, surprised. “Well now, I didn’t think you could talk like that.”

It was the first time Mo Dong had ever been praised by him. His face flushed with shy pride.

The road grew crowded again.

A few men in plain but well-cut clothes moved within the flow of people, keeping a close eye on the master and servant ahead.

When they passed a teahouse by the city gate, Xiao Rong suddenly stopped. “I’m a bit thirsty,” he said to Mo Dong. “Let’s go in for some tea.” He dismounted first.

Mo Dong followed quickly.

At that hour, the teahouse was quiet. The two were immediately led to a fine seat by the window.

Xiao Rong ordered a pot of bamboo-leaf tea to cool the heat and two small dishes of refreshments.
He did not remove his face veil and casually laid a scroll wrapped in black cloth on the tea table.

Not long after the two sat down, several men entered the teahouse and took the table right beside them.

“Will the gentlemen be staying the night or just stopping for a bite?” the waiter asked, stepping forward.

“A pot of tea,” said the man in the lead.

“What kind of tea would you like, sirs?”

“Anything!”

Their faces were fierce, their manner threatening. The waiter dared not ask further and hurried away to prepare the tea.

“Your tea, young master.” The waiter brought over the steaming pot and some pastries.

Xiao Rong thanked him and took out a small piece of silver as a tip. Then, unhurriedly, he lifted the teapot.

Mo Dong immediately rose. “Allow me, young master.”

“No need. Sit.” Xiao Rong picked up a teacup, rinsed it carefully inside and out, then set it down and began to pour the tea. “Tea-drinking,” he said lightly, “is the finest of earthly arts. One must savor it carefully and slowly. Only then is the tea not wasted. If you lift the bowl and gulp it down, how are you any different from cattle? You’ve served me for some time now. The rules you ought to know, learn them properly and keep them in mind. Never be coarse as before and when you see crude people, don’t imitate their crude ways.”

At the next table, the man who had just raised his bowl to gulp tea froze mid-motion, his facial muscles twitching.

Mo Dong bowed his head. “Your servant has learned the lesson.”

“This lotus pastry isn’t bad either,” Xiao Rong went on lazily. “Try some.”

“Yes, young master.”

“Do you remember how it’s eaten?”

“Yes, young master. First, one must cut along the lotus pattern into petals, then take a bite of cake and a sip of tea, never out of order.” Mo Dong used his dagger to slice the pastry neatly into six pieces. “Please, young master.”

Xiao Rong smiled. “Not bad. Only, you’re a bit slow. Didn’t you see our friends beside us growing impatient?”

The men at the neighboring table immediately realized they’d been discovered. Their expressions changed; they no longer bothered to hide. Drawing their blades, they stood.

“Hand over the Winter Plum painting!”

The shopkeeper and waiter, sensing trouble, ducked behind the counter in fright.

Still smiling, Xiao Rong picked up the black cloth–wrapped scroll from the table. “If you mean to rob me,” he said mildly, “you’d best be sure you have the skill for it.” Even as he spoke, a hidden arrow shot out from his sleeve.

The leader dodged swiftly and swung his blade toward the scroll but before the edge could reach Xiao Rong’s face, a sharp flash of swordlight knocked it aside.

Mo Dong had drawn his sword. With quick, precise strokes, he cut down the first two attackers.

The others, seeing his deadly skill, dared not fight one-on-one. They overturned the table and rushed in together.

Xiao Rong remained seated at the tea table, one hand holding the scroll, the other casually lifting his cup to watch the fight as though at leisure.

Whenever someone tried to strike at him, he used the scroll to block, and in their moment of hesitation, wary of damaging it, he loosed another hidden bolt from his sleeve, the arrow piercing straight through.

The attackers soon realized the arrows were poisoned and were deadly on contact; none dared come too near.

Mo Dong’s sword was ruthless and swift. In the space of a breath, the fight was over.

At that moment, another wave of assassins surged in; dozens of them, clearly here as reinforcements. They had been watching from outside for some time and their targets were clear. Most of them rushed straight toward Mo Dong, while two others charged directly at Xiao Rong.

Xiao Rong loosed a bolt and struck one down, but the other’s blade was already flashing before his eyes. He unfurled his scroll to block the strike while triggering the wrist crossbow hidden in his sleeve. He pressed the trigger twice but no bolts came. His brows furrowed faintly.

The assassin’s blade suddenly changed direction, scraping past the scroll and thrusting toward his chest.

Xiao Rong fell back with the motion. His next step would have him crashing over the tea table, cornered with nowhere to run.

In that split second, a hand caught him around the waist, lifting him up. A longsword descended with the force of thunder, slicing the assassin’s throat in one clean stroke.

Supported by that hand, Xiao Rong landed steadily. Lifting his gaze through the dark veil, he saw the man who seemed to have descended from the heavens with that familiar, handsome face. He raised an eyebrow. “Your Highness, what a surprise. Fancy meeting you here.”

Xi Rong faltered for a heartbeat at the teasing tone.

Another assassin lunged.

Before Xi Rong could act, Xiao Rong had already fired, felling the man with a bolt.

Xi Rong came back to himself, frowning as realization struck. “You still had bolts. Why pretend you didn’t?”

Xiao Rong looked utterly unrepentant, his voice light with mischief. “If I’d used them earlier, how would Your Highness have the chance to prove his unmatched valor?” He tilted his head slightly. “Your Highness arrived just in time and you’ve been watching me so closely. You haven’t been secretly following me, have you?”

The lamps in the hall burned bright.

Although Xiao Rong still wore his veil, Xi Rong could clearly see the long lashes lifted beneath it and the dark eyes glinting with unmistakable amusement. Xi Rong released him, letting him fall back onto the tea table, and said coldly, “I only came for the account book. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Your Highness.” Jiang Cheng entered with the guards. “The assassins outside have all been slain.”

“Let’s go.” Xi Rong sheathed his sword and walked out of the teahouse without a backward glance.

Jiang Cheng froze. He had thought His Highness would at least send someone to report the attack. Was he really going to leave the heir of Xiao Royal Residence behind like this?

Mo Dong had already finished off the remaining assassins. He returned to Xiao Rong’s side, eyes cold as he watched Xi Rong’s departing back.

Xiao Rong stood, dusted off his sleeves, and said lightly, “Go check if any are still alive.”

“Should we report it, young master?” Mo Dong asked.

Xiao Rong shook his head. “I’m just a minor clerk in the Chancellery now. What good would reporting do? Even if they’d truly killed me, who would bother to seek justice for a lowly clerk?”

Mo Dong said nothing and went to check the bodies.