Becoming Puppet Emperor of a Paranoid Eunuch - Chapter 51

Wu Jing staggered as he walked, frequently looking back with a confused expression, as if he had no idea what had just happened. His mind was indeed blank at the moment.

 

His pale, tightly pressed lips were a clear sign of his distress.

 

The palace attendants did not shove him; instead, they respectfully supported him. It was Wu Jing who could barely move his legs, unable to take a step.

 

“This place has been tainted. Quickly, take His Majesty back to the Yangxin Hall, lest the Emperor be frightened. Hurry, hurry.”

 

“The Lord is about to come out.”

 

After this announcement, Yan He, who was beside His Majesty, hurriedly ordered the attendants to move the palanquin closer.

 

Wu Jing was still holding a cup of hot tea, but the steam had already dissipated, and the coldness of the cup seeped into his heart.

 

He had wanted to look back, but upon hearing this, he dared not glance at Ning Qinghong, who would soon emerge from the hall.

 

He stiffly sat on the palanquin, bowing his head and curling himself into the thick cloak. Even though he wrapped himself tightly, the suffocating feeling only intensified, making it harder for him to breathe.

 

Wu Jing struggled to breathe, feeling as if he might suffocate inside the cloak. Yet, despite his fear, he couldn’t muster the courage to lift the cloak for a breath of fresh air.

 

The weight was nearly crushing him.

 

Wu Jing almost had the illusion that he was being suffocated, but then a faint scent of golden camellias from the cloak reached his nose. It was Ning Qinghong’s cloak.

 

Wu Jing paused for a moment, then buried his face into the cloak like a small ostrich, sinking his whole face into the soft, furry fabric.

 

He knew that those in power were usually ruthless, but Ning Qinghong had never shown him a cold face or scolded him.

 

Wu Jing thought that the punishments were always for those who made mistakes.

 

He thought that as long as he didn’t make mistakes, he’d be fine.

 

No one would bother with a fool.

 

This was the first time he had seen—or rather, not seen—the other side of Ning Qinghong. In his memory, Ning Qinghong always smiled at him, gently caressing him and asking him questions.

 

He couldn’t imagine that the same person who had just smiled at him a moment ago could, in the next moment, draw his sword, splattering blood everywhere, unpredictable in his mood.

 

It was as if they were two different people.

 

Wu Jing inhaled the scent of golden camellias, his mind a jumble of thoughts that he couldn’t make sense of, no matter how hard he tried.

 

The more he tried to sort them out, the more confused he became,

 

Not knowing where to start.

 

The more chaotic his thoughts, the more frightened he became.

 

Just this morning, before leaving the Yangxin Hall, he had still been lying on Ning Qinghong’s chest, looking at his eyes and brows.

 

“Here we are, help His Majesty down quickly.”

 

Someone beside him spoke.

 

The palanquin stopped, and Wu Jing cautiously raised his face to look around. Only when he saw the familiar entrance of the Yangxin Hall did he let out a small sigh of relief.

 

Yan He helped him down and took the tightly held teacup from his hands, planning to store it away later.

 

Wu Jing couldn’t help but tug at her sleeve. “Sister Yan He.”

 

Yan He had no idea what had just happened; she had only followed orders in the chaos to bring Wu Jing away. Now, she simply bowed and said, “Your Majesty, allow this servant to help you remove your crown and change into your regular clothes.”

 

Wu Jing kept his head down, not responding, as if he couldn’t understand, only holding tightly onto her sleeve and following her. His grip was strong, and he seemed dazed, not knowing where he was or what he was doing.

 

He was led back to his sleeping quarters in a daze, where he was changed into new clothes—the same ones Ning Qinghong had playfully picked out for him last night, asking Wu Jing which one he thought looked best to wear today.

 

It was a tea-white brocade robe with floral patterns, covered by a sheer, wide-sleeved overcoat, and fastened at the waist with a blood-red jade belt woven with red threads.

 

Ning Qinghong had excellent taste.

 

The outfit complemented Wu Jing’s dark hair and fair skin, giving it just the right amount of color.

 

After helping him change, Yan He handed the ceremonial robe and crown to the other palace attendants to put away properly before asking, “Does Your Majesty want to go play in the imperial garden or practice calligraphy in the study?”

 

Afraid that the Emperor might not understand, she repeated the question slowly, “Do you want to play or practice calligraphy?”

 

He didn’t dare go out anymore.

 

He just wanted to stay somewhere familiar, somewhere quiet.

 

Wu Jing shook his head, “No play.”

 

Yan He asked again, “Then shall this servant take Your Majesty to practice calligraphy?”

 

Wu Jing just kept repeating, “No play.”

 

Yan He understood what the young Emperor wanted and guided him to the imperial study. She ordered the other palace attendants to bring tea and snacks, but since Wu Jing was still holding onto her sleeve, she couldn’t leave. Fearing the Lord’s displeasure, she had to pull her sleeve out of his grip.

 

She stood aside, ready to assist if needed.

 

When Wu Jing was with Ning Qinghong, only Fu Chen was allowed to serve closely. The palace attendants waited outside the hall as usual, with two eunuchs from the Inner Guard standing at the door.

 

Inside the hall, Yan He stood by the imperial desk, her eyes downcast.

 

When Ning Qinghong returned, she would be dismissed.

 

Wu Jing sat on the dragon throne, with paper, ink, brushes, and inkstone laid out on the imperial desk before him. But he only sat there absent-mindedly, staring at his hands, not practicing calligraphy.

 

He seemed to be lost in thought.

 

But the more he thought, the more confused he became.

 

Wu Jing glanced at Yan He, then noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a few shelves behind him.

 

“…Secret.”

 

Wu Jing spoke.

 

Yan He, who was nearby, heard the sound and turned to look at him.

 

The young emperor attempted to gesture as he spoke, “Sister Yan He and Wu Wu’s secret, Wu Wu and Sister Yan He’s secret.” He repeated the sentence twice, in reverse order.

 

He hoped Yan He would understand what he meant.

 

He wanted to find the object that Ning Qinghong had mentioned.

 

“Wu Wu will look.”

 

“Sister Yan He, don’t tell anyone—it’s a secret.”

 

Wu Jing played dumb. After he finished speaking, he didn’t wait for Yan He to respond. He subconsciously believed that Sister Yan He was very kind to him and wouldn’t refuse him.

 

This trust seemed to appear out of nowhere—perhaps because of their last secret, when Wu Jing had hidden that ointment, or when they had secretly eaten fish together.

 

Wu Jing jumped down from the dragon throne and moved the armchair that Ning Qinghong usually sat in to the back of the shelf. Knowing how particular Ning Qinghong was about cleanliness, he deliberately took off his shoes and socks before stepping onto the chair.

 

At the highest point on the shelf was a string of human bone prayer beads, while the rest were some rare and valuable trinkets.

 

There was a jade carving of a lifelike qilin, a fan that opened wide, a three-legged lotus jade incense burner, and a few boxes of chess pieces as spares…

 

Mostly, there were variously sized brocade boxes.

 

Wu Jing curiously opened each one. His luck was good—the first item he found was the imperial seal, carved with a five-clawed golden dragon.

 

Realizing what it was, he quickly shut the box, his scalp tingling with fear.

 

The second long box held a rolled-up imperial decree.

 

Wu Jing only glanced at it and didn’t dare to unroll it.

 

The third, arm-length box contained an exquisite sword.

 

He poked at the dull side of the blade with his fingertip, but nothing seemed special. He leaned in closer and noticed that the hilt was also carved with a dragon’s head.

 

The fourth small box held a pair of tiger-shaped bronze and gold tokens.

 

Wu Jing curiously picked them up to examine them before carefully putting them back.

 

Next was the fifth box, which held an ordinary-looking jade token. He played with it for a moment before putting it back down.

 

Wu Jing couldn’t help but feel that these objects were far more precious than his own life. The more he thought about it, the quicker he shut the boxes, afraid that he might damage something and get caught.

 

He couldn’t resist glancing outside the hall.

 

The two palace attendants guarding the door were too far away, still maintaining their bowed posture, unchanged. Only Yan He stood beside him, watching him.

 

Wu Jing opened one box after another,

 

Seeing many curious things whose purposes he couldn’t fathom.

 

He finished with the top shelves,

 

And moved on to the bottom.

 

After pushing the armchair back, Wu Jing put his shoes and socks back on and opened the final layer of brocade boxes. The first box left him frozen in place.

 

It was a golden bronze rod shaped like a ringed needle.

 

Wu Jing recognized it.

 

It was the nine-ring rod he thought he’d kicked off the bed in his sleep, never to be found again, lost in some corner.

 

But now, it had mysteriously appeared in Ning Qinghong’s brocade box.

 

When had it gotten here?

 

And how long had it been here?

 

Wu Jing crouched on the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible, hiding his movements from sight.

 

He held onto the brocade box for a long time.

 

Long enough for his legs to go numb.

 

Finally, he quietly, with trembling fingers, took out the rod. Wu Jing didn’t know why he took it; his mind was blank. Like hiding himself, he hid the rod away.

 

He crouched there for a while longer, then suddenly looked up at the shelves above. Wu Jing swallowed hard, and after a moment, he moved the armchair back to the front of the shelves.

 

He removed his shoes and socks.

 

Wu Jing climbed back up, his mind hazy, and absentmindedly took out the item from the brocade box, realizing only after he had hidden it in his sleeve.

 

He hadn’t meant to.

 

He hadn’t meant to steal anything.

 

As soon as Wu Jing finished taking it, he felt a pang of regret, almost wanting to cry. He wanted to put back the item that wasn’t his.

 

He rubbed his eyes and stood there for a while.

 

“Your Majesty? Your Majesty—?”

 

“Hurry and put your shoes and socks back on.”

 

Wu Jing snapped back to reality and turned to meet Yan He’s gaze. Seeing her looking outside the hall, he followed her line of sight.

 

In the distance, he saw a group of palace attendants carrying memorials, heading toward the imperial study. He heard Yan He say, “The Lord is likely on his way. If Your Majesty doesn’t want to practice calligraphy after playing for so long, perhaps you could go to the imperial garden?”

 

Wu Jing stood still, not moving,

 

He was hesitating over the two stolen items in his sleeve.

 

Yan He had no choice but to step forward and help him put the armchair back in place, then assisted him in putting on his shoes and socks. She repeated her question, “Would Your Majesty like to go to the imperial garden?”

 

Wu Jing clenched his hands, quietly nodded, and said, “Alright.”

 

“I’ll go play.”