Slag Shou Cultivating Manual - Chapter 3

Hearing nothing and feeling nothing, He Lang did not know how much time had passed before he could finally use his body. When he opened his eyes, a young boy’s face appeared before him.

The boy’s features were well-defined, showing signs of handsomeness, though his face still retained the softness of youth. His brows were raised with arrogance, and his dark eyes gleamed with an unusually clear light.

He Lang glanced at him and instinctively looked around. Years of palace life made him immediately recognize that this must be a deep palace somewhere.

Exquisitely crafted decorations were visible everywhere, and not far off were grand palaces. The antique architecture resembled that of his previous world, making him momentarily think he was still in the same place.

“Hey, why are you staring off into space when I’m talking to you, you fool?”

The boy’s displeased voice brought He Lang’s thoughts back. He carefully examined the young boy in front of him.

The boy was dressed in a narrow-sleeved, narrow-waisted brocade robe, with a golden forehead ribbon, and his lower garment featured a dragon pattern. His attire suggested a status of high nobility, and his gaze was as lofty and aggressive as his demeanor.

Looking at himself, He Lang wore a simple green long robe with a crossover collar, made of high-quality satin. Holding a folding fan, he seemed to be a scholar of decent status.

Seeing that He Lang’s attention had returned to him, the boy raised an eyebrow and said, “Did I say something wrong just now?”

Just now? He Lang looked up in confusion, and fragmented memories resurfaced. He quickly realized and spoke naturally, “This is the way to rule passed down by our ancestors.”

The boy seemed to be used to hearing such statements, and his expression turned disdainful as he sneered, “I don’t believe it. It’s all hypocrisy.”

He Lang found the boy’s mature demeanor amusing despite his childish appearance. Although he wasn’t entirely clear about their conversation, he smiled and replied, “If you don’t believe it, then don’t. Just be true to yourself.”

The boy slowly directed his gaze at He Lang, eyes wide as if he was waiting for him to react. His intention was to provoke and see him flustered or panicked, but he was met with a calm and unperturbed response from He Lang, who smiled gently like warm water in a summer lotus pond. The boy was caught off guard and choked on his breath, coughing several times with his face turning red.

The halt in their conversation brought back more memories to He Lang. He remembered that the boy’s name was Zhen Puyang, the ninth prince of the current emperor, who had just turned twelve.

He Lang’s name in this world was He Lang, which was quite close to his original name.

A maid, seeing that neither spoke, came forward to gently persuade Zhen Puyang, “Your Highness, please spare the tutor. Don’t trouble him any further. The Empress Lin will call you for dinner later.” This was a subtle hint to end the discussion.

In truth, Zhen Puyang was no longer angry. Since the servant said so, he haughtily huffed and replied nonchalantly, “No need. Tell my mother I’ll dine with him tonight.” He gestured at He Lang.

The maid was surprised but complied, going to inform the Empress Lin.

Seeing that Zhen Puyang didn’t pay him any more attention, He Lang assumed the prince was just making an excuse and intended to leave. However, Zhen Puyang called him back.

“Why are you in such a hurry? I said I would dine with you.”

He Lang had just arrived in this world, and his mind was still in disarray. He didn’t expect this prince, who usually disliked him, to suddenly want to get close. He bowed and declined, “My status is low. I fear I am not worthy of dining with Your Highness.”

Although Zhen Puyang was refused, he seemed satisfied with the response and muttered with a sense of benevolence, “The tutor is a first-rank official; he is barely qualified to dine with me. Besides, once I make a promise, it is not easily retracted. Are you unwilling to dine with me?” At the end, the boy shot him a cold, threatening look.

Indeed, He Lang found himself in a difficult position and hesitated before reluctantly nodding.

Zhen Puyang smirked, revealing a hint of a small tiger tooth. There was a glint of mischievous innocence in his eyes. For some reason, today, the tutor suddenly seemed less bothersome. The more He Lang tried to push him away, the more Zhen Puyang wanted to stick around, enjoying watching him struggle.

He Lang had expected the dinner to be in the palace and thought he could handle it with a simple social nicety. However, Zhen Puyang insisted on going to his residence.

“The Tutor’s residence is humble compared to the palace and might not offer proper hospitality,” He Lang refused again.

Zhen Puyang, undeterred, showed more interest and asked with apparent concern, “What? Is the salary of a first-rank official that low? Should I report to my father about it?”

“……” He Lang stared at him while the boy returned his gaze with a smile.

“It is an honor to have you visit,” He Lang responded, though he vaguely recalled that Zhen Puyang was nicknamed the Demon King of the Palace.

Indeed, the little demon insisted on visiting his residence. Upon entering the main gate, he looked around disdainfully yet curiously and asked, “Is there really such a small courtyard in the world?”

He Lang looked around at the exquisitely decorated buildings and spacious, meticulously maintained gardens, gaining a new understanding of the prince’s favored status.

Upon learning of the Ninth Prince’s visit, the kitchen hurriedly prepared top-quality ingredients, and a dozen more maids were assigned to attend to Zhen Puyang, surrounding him and waiting to serve.

Despite showing signs of disdain, Zhen Puyang seemed to be in a good mood, perhaps relishing the chance to cause trouble at He Lang’s residence.

With the meal not yet ready, He Lang had to take him on a tour of the residence.

“Why is your residence so shabby?” The boy walked into the main hall, knocking over a few chairs and pushing the plain tea set off the table, scattering it on the floor. The surrounding maids rushed to clean up the mess.

He Lang watched helplessly, knowing he couldn’t stop him and might only provoke him further. He calmly observed the chaos and said without changing his expression, “If you like it.”

Surprisingly, Zhen Puyang did not scold him. His mischievous actions paused, and his smile deepened. He nonchalantly sat in the main seat, legs propped up on the armrests, tearing down the calligraphy and paintings on the walls and throwing them on the floor. “Throw all this away. I’ll reward you with better things another day.”

“Hmm…” He Lang hesitated and pondered, “Then thank you for your gracious gifts, Your Highness.”

Such a stubborn old relic was always known for his rigidity and uprightness, so why was he behaving so unusually today, so tantalizing? Zhen Puyang smiled slightly, tired of the empty hall, and suggested changing the location, “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

Hearing this, He Lang braced himself for the possibility that his bedroom might also be destroyed. To his surprise, this little devil showed restraint. Upon entering the room, Zhen Puyang didn’t smash anything he found unsatisfactory; instead, he curiously looked around, even inspecting the corners of the desk and the teacups with meticulous attention.

“So, this is where you sleep…” Zhen Puyang spoke, his tone softening somewhat.

The room was simply decorated but not lacking in elegance. The writing desk was equipped with complete ink treasures and brushes of various sizes, exuding a strong scholarly aura, fitting for someone like him.

Zhen Puyang lost interest quickly and casually pulled out a chair to sit down. The room was filled with a unique scent, like bamboo leaves—fresh yet with a hint of herbal bitterness. He couldn’t help but take a deep breath, feeling a refreshing sensation.

Perhaps the room was too quiet, the scholarly atmosphere was too heavy, so he wasn’t as rough as he had been in the hall. Besides flipping through some of the books, he didn’t do anything excessive.

Zhen Puyang seemed intent on teasing him. He tried to ruin the ink painting spread out on the desk but found himself unable to make the move after dipping the brush in ink. Under He Lang’s silent gaze, he felt an unfamiliar reluctance and, unable to act, grumbled as he put down the brush in frustration.

“I’m hungry. Does the He Lang residence serve food this slowly?”

He Lang summoned a maid to urge the kitchen, puzzled by this little devil’s sudden arrogance. Even though Zhen Puyang wanted to ruin his painting earlier, he had refrained from stopping him.

During the meal, He Lang noticed how picky Zhen Puyang was, disliking even the meat dishes. The kitchen, not knowing his tastes, had prepared only the finest, but Zhen Puyang still pushed the meat away.

“Not eating?” He Lang couldn’t help but ask. Although he was also a prince in his previous life, his living conditions were not as luxurious as Zhen Puyang’s, and he was unaccustomed to such wastefulness.

Zhen Puyang shook his head decisively.

He Lang glanced at Zhen Puyang’s slender figure with a hint of sympathy or perhaps pity, and said softly, “No wonder…” given his delicate frame.

Although Zhen Puyang was the most favored prince and should have had the best of everything, he seemed rather frail, even a bit thin, due to his picky eating.

“You!” Zhen Puyang paused with his chopsticks, thinking He Lang’s gaze was mocking him, and glared at him angrily.

He was about to retort with a jibe about how a scholar wasn’t impressive, but realizing that He Lang was tall and slender, though not robust, he swallowed the words. He angrily took a few bites of food, thinking he would rise above it and not hold it against this impoverished scholar.

But a thought slowly formed in his mind: one day, he would grow taller than the tutor… then he would see if He Lang still dared to laugh at him.

**Author’s Note:**

Well… take it slow, new world. Although I’ve been lightly criticized for clichés, it’s unavoidable. The author has written quite far ahead and just likes this kind of plot. See if you can accept it~ My fast-wearing stories might be a bit slow and not too dramatic or clichéd.