Becoming Puppet Emperor of a Paranoid Eunuch - Chapter 38

Early the next morning.

Yan He attended to the emperor’s morning routine.

Wu Jing was still groggy, hearing Yan He softly call him, “Your Majesty, Your Majesty?”

He didn’t respond.

Yan He paused for a moment and asked again, “Did you find the little stone?”

Wu Jing pretended to understand and repeated, “Little stone? Wu Wu found it.” He thought for a moment, “Wu Wu put it with Yan He sister’s secret.”

Yan He paused, her expression complicated.

Before she could ask further, Wu Jing, worried she might be concerned, pretended to talk to himself, “Wu Wu dreamed before, the little stone was always there, it didn’t disappear.”

He genuinely believed this, his expression serious.

“I didn’t tell anyone about the secret.”

Yan He happened to be placing a hair crown on Wu Jing and said softly, “I understand.” But that secret was likely known by others long ago, deemed unimportant, thus unnoticed.

She wasn’t sure if she should sigh in relief or feel more pity for the emperor, only lowering her eyes with a hint of sadness.

Wu Jing pretended not to understand again, and before long, other palace attendants led him to the dining hall for breakfast. Though Ning Qinghong wasn’t there, a bowl of medicinal porridge was still brought over.

Under the watchful eyes of the attendants, Wu Jing had to gulp it down in one go. As for the bland dishes prepared for him, he didn’t even glance at them.

Since Ning Qinghong wasn’t there, no one could control him.

Wu Jing, emboldened, enjoyed his meal heartily.

Completely unaware that the few words he had just spoken reached Ning Qinghong, who was reviewing memorials in Yueji Hall, within a quarter of an hour.

Ning Qinghong responded lightly, showing no particular expression, as if he had only heard an ordinary report. He flipped to the next memorial, giving orders methodically before saying, “Summon the ministers to the side hall.”

Fu Chen conveyed the order and then, as if Ning Qinghong remembered something, he asked, “Did the Emperor refuse any food today?”

“No,” Fu Chen replied smoothly, “The attendants prepared dishes, but the Emperor completely ignored them.”

Ning Qinghong shook his head with a faint smile, “If it continues like this, have the Imperial Kitchen remove the meat dishes.”

Fu Chen silently lamented. The Emperor shouldn’t have mentioned anything about the medicinal porridge. This prescription was originally formulated by the Imperial Hospital for Ning Qinghong during his illness to ensure he still got some nutrition when he had no appetite.

The porridge was meant to supplement and stabilize his body during illness. Once recovered and eating normally, the porridge would be stopped.

However, taking this medicinal porridge with regular meals could result in over-supplementation, causing more harm than good.

Ning Qinghong had only been ill for three days, and the prescription was for a cycle of three days on, one day off, five days on, two days off. They were only halfway through; tomorrow was a day off, but there were still five days to go.

Fu Chen acknowledged this and, after Ning Qinghong finished reviewing the memorials, assisted him to the warm chamber in the side hall before quietly retreating.

Wu Jing didn’t see Ning Qinghong until lunch. When he saw the dishes on the Eight Immortals Table, he was stunned.

Although not entirely vegetarian like in a temple, compared to usual, apart from a porridge with minced meat, there was no trace of meat.

As Ning Qinghong walked past him to take his seat, Wu Jing couldn’t believe it. He heard Ning Qinghong chuckle, “Since Your Majesty cannot avoid certain foods, let the Imperial Kitchen prepare some lighter dishes.”

Could it be that his disobedience in the morning had angered Ning Qinghong, so now he wasn’t allowed to have tasty food?

Wu Jing felt utterly deflated, unwillingly trying to tug at Ning Qinghong’s sleeve to stop him.

It was as if Ning Qinghong had eyes on his back; without turning, he deftly avoided Wu Jing’s grasp.

Wu Jing, bewildered, called out, “Brother?”

Ning Qinghong smiled, “Your Majesty is of noble status, please do not address this humble servant in such a manner.”

Wu Jing was even more confused. He could understand the words, but like a true simpleton, he couldn’t grasp why Ning Qinghong was saying this.

He tentatively reached out again to touch Ning Qinghong’s fingertips, tentatively calling out, “Brother?”

Ning Qinghong gently lifted his hand, avoiding the touch. His gaze was still that of an adult dealing with a disobedient child, half exasperated, half amused, “Your Majesty.” He said, “You are the Emperor, your behavior must conform to etiquette. How can you entangle with a subject like this?”

The truth and lies intertwined, making it impossible to discern his true intentions.

Ning Qinghong’s words were filled with respect and subordination, yet he remained the only one at ease, sitting down casually and instructing Fu Chen to serve the meal.

He still took the main seat.

Wu Jing followed closely behind, not pretending this time, genuinely unable to understand the meaning behind Ning Qinghong’s words, yet noticing no difference in Ning Qinghong’s actions compared to usual.

Except for not letting him get too close.

He sat down dejectedly, deciding to obediently eat more vegetables this meal. After finishing, Ning Qinghong still had the same calm expression, not showing any sign of anger.

Wu Jing’s mind was in turmoil. When Ning Qinghong, as usual, prepared to take a walk in the Imperial Garden, Wu Jing naturally followed.

Ning Qinghong glanced at him unhurriedly but said nothing more.

It was too strange.

Wu Jing couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened that he wasn’t aware of.

Something felt off.

Very off.

They weren’t holding hands anymore. They always held hands before. Wu Jing looked down at his hands and then up at Ning Qinghong’s back.

He followed behind, bored, unconsciously starting to pick at his fingers.

It didn’t take long before Wu Jing began to feel sleepy.

Fortunately, after Ning Qinghong set up a game of chess at the lakeside pavilion, they returned to the imperial study in the Yangxin Hall.

The spring chair was still placed beneath the window.

It hadn’t been touched in the past two days.

This morning’s memorials were piled on the imperial desk, and the hall was filled with the warm fragrance of floating gold incense. Wu Jing was nodding off. As Ning Qinghong walked to the desk with a cup of tea, Wu Jing naturally followed behind him.

“If Your Majesty is tired, go rest in the warm chamber,” Ning Qinghong said calmly without turning around, playing with the tea cup.

Fu Chen heard this and led the palace attendants to prepare the warm chamber, setting up the warm fragrance, snacks, tea, and bedding.

Wu Jing carefully walked to Ning Qinghong’s side, tugging at his sleeve and cautiously poking his head out to see his expression.

What’s going on?

Wu Jing hesitated for a moment and called, “Brother.”

Ning Qinghong merely smiled calmly, “Your Majesty?”

He didn’t forbid him from calling him brother or pulling his sleeve. He said nothing, yet his calm smile conveyed his unspoken message.

Wu Jing felt a bit aggrieved.

He sensed a vague crisis, as if he had been brought to someone else’s territory to play and feast, but now it was time to leave.

The territory’s owner still seemed interested and indulgent, yet something was subtly different.

Wu Jing moved closer, squeezing between Ning Qinghong and the desk, getting as close as possible.

He leaned forward tentatively.

The young emperor looked up, clinging to the man in front of him, trying to bury his face in him, calling out with attachment and confusion, “Brother.”

It seemed like he couldn’t understand why Ning Qinghong hadn’t responded after he called so many times.

Wu Jing looked up, meeting Ning Qinghong’s gaze, seeing his unfathomable smile. Only at this close distance did he realize the look in Ning Qinghong’s eyes had changed.

He wasn’t looking at him like a pet cat or dog, or a human-shaped pillow, but was truly looking at him as a person.

Like when Wu Jing saw the little dog in the Imperial Garden or the kitten lost in the bushes, he would pet them without hesitation even if it was their first meeting.

But he wouldn’t do that to a stranger.

Wu Jing held his breath, frozen, not understanding why Ning Qinghong’s gaze was so strange, staring back in confusion.

So bold, yet utterly unaware.

The palace attendants finished preparing the warm chamber. Fu Chen quietly approached and reported, “Your Highness, everything is ready.”

Ning Qinghong smiled, “Wu Wu, be good. If you’re tired, go to sleep.”

Wu Jing instinctively asked, “Brother, will you sleep with Wu Wu?” Wouldn’t he join him for a nap?

Ning Qinghong paused, smiling meaningfully, “Does Wu Wu want to sleep with Brother?”

Wu Jing felt a bit intimidated but still nodded, feeling a bit aggrieved.

Ning Qinghong leaned in slightly, asking softly, “Really?”

Though his voice was soft, Wu Jing felt this question was incredibly important, as if it was his last chance.

He suddenly remembered yesterday when Ning Qinghong said at lunch that he would grant him one condition, anything he wanted.

His mind was a mess, and he nodded hazily.

Ning Qinghong laughed lowly, “Alright.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his fingers.

The palace attendants left in single file, their eyes straight ahead, retreating from the hall.

Only Fu Chen remained at the door.

Ning Qinghong took half a step back, causing Wu Jing, who was holding onto his waist, to move with him. When Ning Qinghong sat on the spring chair, half supporting Wu Jing’s waist, Wu Jing was forced to follow suit.

Just like that day, he fell down.

Wu Jing straddled him, his knees bent awkwardly on the spring chair. The floating gold incense made him even sleepier, and he couldn’t help but find a comfortable position in the familiar embrace, ready to sleep.

As he was about to bury his face, Ning Qinghong lifted his head, smiling teasingly, “Sleepy?”

Wu Jing nodded blankly, “Wu Wu is sleepy.”

Ning Qinghong chuckled, asking deliberately, “Then what should we do?”

Wu Jing was still confused, and when Ning Qinghong leaned closer, their faces almost touching, he opened his eyes wide, hearing Ning Qinghong’s calm breathing.

Ning Qinghong laughed lowly, “Wu Wu can’t sleep yet.” He tilted his head slightly, his lips almost brushing Wu Jing’s face, stopping abruptly at his lips, asking, “Have you learned?”

As if teaching him what to do.

Wu Jing blinked in confusion.

Ning Qinghong laughed helplessly, “Why are you dazed again?”

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The “Eight Immortals Table” (八仙桌, Bāxiānzhuō) refers to a traditional Chinese square or rectangular table that typically seats eight people, symbolizing the Eight Immortals in Chinese mythology. These tables are often used in formal dining settings and are known for their sturdy construction and large surface area, making them ideal for communal meals and gatherings.