Slag Shou Cultivating Manual - Chapter 8

In the evening, He Lang was still immersed in the joy of Zhen Puyang’s literary exam victory and warmly invited him to his residence to enjoy his culinary skills.

 

Zhen Puyang’s mood was quite peculiar. Even he himself was not this happy, but He Lang was so enthusiastic and sparkling with joy that it was hard to ignore. He found himself looking even though he didn’t want to.

 

He Lang’s invitation was somewhat inappropriate as it was already late. If he went to He Lang’s residence, Zhen Puyang wouldn’t be able to return to the palace.

 

He Lang glanced at the darkening sky and suggested, “If you don’t mind, Your Highness could stay the night at my humble abode.”

 

“Mind… I mind!” Zhen Puyang was surprised by He Lang’s warmth and retorted loudly.

 

After a few seconds of mutual bewilderment, his voice softened, and he waved his hand dismissively.

 

“However, I am not picky about such details. It would not be inappropriate to lower myself and accept.”

 

He then boarded the sedan chair that He Lang had prepared.

 

He Lang shook his head with a smile, unsure of what Zhen Puyang was thinking, and also got into the sedan chair.

 

With the two men in a small space and the sedan chair swaying, there was inevitable physical contact. On several occasions, He Lang accidentally leaned against Zhen Puyang’s shoulder.

 

The faint fragrance from He Lang’s hair seemed to invisibly touch Zhen Puyang’s mind. Whether it was the swaying of the sedan chair or something else, Zhen Puyang felt dizzy and furrowed his brow.

 

He Lang touched his nose, realizing his unintentional disrespect might have displeased Zhen Puyang, and carefully shifted to the other side to avoid further contact.

 

Zhen Puyang sighed, glanced at him with an expression of displeasure, and closed his eyes, though his brow remained furrowed as if he were deep in thought.

 

Initially, he thought He Lang’s offer to sample his cooking was a joke, but unexpectedly, He Lang was actually busy in the kitchen for half an hour.

 

In appreciation of his effort, Zhen Puyang decided to try the food.

 

Perhaps due to his hunger, Zhen Puyang eagerly picked up his chopsticks and ate in silence, consuming his meal with increasing frequency.

 

Under his focused gaze, he even added another bowl of rice.

 

However, Zhen Puyang wondered how a well-bred gentleman like He Lang, who spent his days reading and writing, could possibly cook.

 

Zhen Puyang’s chewing slowed, and he put down his chopsticks, pondering.

 

Seeing this, He Lang dejectedly said, “Is my cooking so bad that it is difficult to swallow?”

 

Zhen Puyang immediately took a large bite and replied, “I was just wondering how the Grand Tutor learned to cook.”

 

A gentleman is supposed to stay away from the kitchen; aren’t scholars supposed to avoid such things?

 

Zhen Puyang was momentarily at a loss for words and lowered his eyes in reflection.

 

Although he was a prince, he did not have a large entourage of maids like other princes. Even with Huachun as a maid, they supported each other. When Huachun was busy with palace duties, he would cook to fill his stomach.

 

He could not explain this, so he simply said, “I learned for Your Highness.”

 

“……?!”

 

This answer almost made Zhen Puyang bite his tongue, as it was something he had never expected.

 

Even his own mother, the Empress, was high above and had delicate hands that did not perform such tasks. How could He Lang so casually…

 

Zhen Puyang frowned, feeling a mix of unease and sweet satisfaction, and offered to give him the rare horse he won in the literary exam.

 

This impulsive gift made He Lang chuckle.

 

“It’s just a repayment,” Zhen Puyang said with a glance, finishing his meal quickly.

 

As it was getting late, he rested in the guest room of He Lang’s residence and slept soundly, not waking until well after sunrise.

 

Hearing that Zhen Puyang had a notorious temper upon waking, no one dared to disturb his sleep except He Lang, who, unconcerned, entered the inner room without knocking, calling out to the still-sleeping prince with no response.

 

Zhen Puyang’s sleeping face was slightly youthful, calm, and quiet, unlike his usual arrogant and confrontational demeanor.

 

He Lang, unwilling to rudely uncover him, decided to playfully pinch his nose and wait for him to wake up on his own.

 

Soon, Zhen Puyang opened his eyes with a look of anger. He was about to lose his temper, but upon recognizing the intruder, his anger suddenly dissipated.

 

At this moment, several maids quickly approached with a basin and towel for the groggy prince to wash up.

 

Zhen Puyang sat up in silence, allowing He Lang to arrange his hair.

 

A maid holding a jade comb glanced at He Lang and quickly moved forward to assist, but was pushed down by Zhen Puyang.

 

Already in a bad mood upon waking, and with his words not being taken seriously, Zhen Puyang’s temper flared even more.

 

The maid, swallowing back her curses under He Lang’s gaze, still grumbled, “Does His Highness only want the Grand Tutor to arrange his hair? Are you all deaf? Get out quickly and stop being an eyesore so early in the morning!”

 

The frightened maids fled in a hurry.

 

Although He Lang wanted to remind him that it was no longer early morning, he still complied with Zhen Puyang’s wishes, dismissing the others and trying to use the jade comb.

 

His usual hairstyle was simple, and his skills were not very good. After just a short while, he had already pulled out several strands of hair.

 

He Lang’s heart skipped a beat, and he hesitantly withdrew his hand.

 

He remembered that Zhen Puyang had once nearly strangled a maid over a hair-combing incident, showing how much he valued his hair.

 

After much hesitation, He Lang put down the comb and gave up, saying, “I’m clumsy with this. I’ll call a maid instead.”

 

Such a small refusal only made Zhen Puyang angrier.

 

With a stern face, Zhen Puyang snatched the jade comb from He Lang’s hand and threw it aside, where it shattered into pieces.

 

“No more combing!”

 

This roar of anger gave He Lang a headache. He paused, then had to switch to a wooden comb and resumed arranging Zhen Puyang’s hair.

 

Unexpectedly, Zhen Puyang remained frowning with anger, twisting and pulling his own hair back, showing a refusal to cooperate.

 

He Lang gritted his teeth, feeling his patience wearing thin due to Zhen Puyang’s obstinacy. He considered scolding him but convinced himself to stay patient and meticulously continue combing his hair.

 

To avoid pulling Zhen Puyang’s hair, He Lang was as gentle as possible.

 

Evidently, this made Zhen Puyang quite comfortable, his scalp tingling slightly. As He Lang carefully gathered and styled his hair, Zhen Puyang’s furrowed brow finally relaxed.

 

After soothing the “great Buddha,” He Lang reluctantly helped him get dressed and tidy up. Only then did Zhen Puyang seem satisfied and willing to leave for the palace.

 

That day, the news that Zhen Puyang had gifted the rare horse awarded by the Emperor to his tutor spread quickly.

 

Such a gesture was uncommon and demonstrated the high regard the Seventh Prince had for the Grand Tutor.

 

Others saw He Lang’s teaching as commendable and Zhen Puyang’s generosity as a sign of his open-hearted nature, unaware of the frequent clashes between them.

 

For instance, during their regular lessons, whenever He Lang discussed matters related to imperial affairs, Zhen Puyang would become inexplicably impatient.

 

“The way of the emperor involves the art of checks and balances—”

 

He impatiently interrupted He Lang, having never considered pursuing such a position himself. Why was He Lang so naturally trying to instill this knowledge in him?

 

“Why teach me about becoming emperor when I’m not even a candidate?”

 

If He Lang aimed to train an emperor, wouldn’t it be faster to go to the Crown Prince?

 

Seeing his stern expression, He Lang hesitated, realizing he might have revealed his intentions too openly and annoyed Zhen Puyang.

 

Sensing the discomfort, He Lang immediately stopped discussing the topic, changing the subject to invite Zhen Puyang for a drink that evening.

 

Thinking it had been a while since he last drank, Zhen Puyang gladly agreed.

 

After dusk, the moonlight climbed to the tips of the willow branches, and the sky darkened, taking on a deep hue.

 

The moonlight was cold and beautiful, but the silver light cast a sense of solitude.

 

At this moment, the person drinking alongside was their only company.

 

He Lang had intended to bring a jar of plum wine, but Zhen Puyang found such wine uninteresting and brought a jar of aged liquor instead.

 

The liquor was fiery on the tongue, filling He Lang’s mouth with its strong taste, making him wish he could crush his lips to dilute the刺激味。

 

Meanwhile, Zhen Puyang drank with an indifferent expression, watching him with a half-smile.

 

He Lang calmly sipped his drink and admired the moon.

 

Feeling ignored, Zhen Puyang, like a neglected child, became slightly annoyed. “What’s so great about the moon? Does it have even half of my elegance?”

 

He was the one who had invited He Lang and expected some significance, but now he felt neglected, left alone to drink his sorrows.

 

The Grand Tutor, lost in moon-gazing, seemed ethereal, his outline softly illuminated by the silver light, appearing indifferent and as confused as Zhen Puyang.

 

Watching him, Zhen Puyang’s heart gradually calmed. He turned slightly and asked, “What is your intention?”

 

Why treat him so well at times, like a treasured possession, and at other times, be so distant? Why consider his interests while ignoring his wishes, forcing him into the path of power?

 

This Grand Tutor was unfamiliar to him, making him want to keep his distance, but a sliver of resistance came from a fear of this unprecedented danger.

 

Despite knowing that this person wanted him to occupy an uncomfortable position, why did he still feel a compulsive desire to be near him despite his aversion?

 

After each argument and trouble, he found himself unwittingly anticipating He Lang’s scolding and the vivid expression of anger that was solely directed at him.

 

He was reluctant to admit he enjoyed the warmth of He Lang’s indulgence and his reluctant leniency, fearing it might be a toxic poison, causing him to drink the poison of affection.

 

**Author’s Note:**

 

Feels like the little gongzi is still very prideful…?

 

Finally! Please… leave… a comment【plop】