Complaining that I walked too slowly, we rode in a sedan chair for the first time. After a journey lasting a full half-hour, we finally arrived at a magnificent, resplendent grand hall.
Here, I finally laid eyes on my nominal father. He sat high up on a throne as a guard, with many people seated beside him—presumably the entire court of civil and military officials. Everyone was beaming with joy. The strangest thing was the person sitting in the upper-left seat; it seemed everyone was smiling toward him, and even the father I had never met before wore a somewhat ingratiating expression. I vaguely understood that this person must be the backer of my sweet, clueless mother.
Although I did not know whether this backer was reliable or not, I knew that being able to come here today definitely had something to do with him. My mother and I were led to one side and seated. Before us were food and wine of a kind we had never seen before. I only heard them constantly discussing troop deployment matters. Although I didn't understand it all, I got the general gist: they were asking the opposite party to send troops to help them fight a war. But I had the feeling the other side had no intention of sending troops. He kept hesitating and making all sorts of excuses—now that was interesting.
Having truly run out of options, my cheapskate father looked toward us and said with a deeply affectionate expression that if we had any further requests, he would grant them. My sweet, clueless mother was just about to say we didn't need anything when I grabbed her finger and pulled her down to sit.
At this moment, I mustered up my courage, stepped forward, bowed to him, and said, "Royal Father, this son doesn't want anything at all. All I want is to stay alive. If Royal Father doesn't want me, could you please demote me to a commoner and send me out of the palace?"
As soon as these words were spoken, an absolute pin-drop silence fell—it was frighteningly quiet.
The people who had just been chatting and laughing merrily didn't dare to let out a single loud breath. At this moment, the man on the left looked at me with great interest and asked, "Little Prince, what is the meaning of this?"
My royal father also hurriedly chimed in, "Royal son, don't talk nonsense! How could your royal father not let you live?"
I replied, "If Royal Father wants me to live, why is there poison in my steamed buns every single day?"
That really hit home. Even a fierce tiger won't eat its own cubs; for such a matter to be brought out into the open and spoken of, it certainly didn't sound pretty. Although such things frequently happened behind closed doors, no one ever actually brought them out into the light. Only someone like me, who had no fear of death, would dare to say it. I was like a boiled pig that no longer feared scalding water.
I declared, "This Royal City is entirely yours! If you didn't want to kill us mother and son, who would dare to put poison in my steamed buns?"
The more we talked, the more absurd it became, and my cheapskate father lost even more face. He had originally wanted to use us to pull some strings and get the other side to send troops, but it had completely backfired.
It just so happened to give the opposing side a reason not to send troops. My cheapskate father immediately barked, "Someone come! Investigate this at once! Find out who is trying to frame my son!"
He hastily put on the persona of a loving father and walked down from above. When he reached me, he gently took my hand. I had no choice but to go along with it; after all, I was relying on him to stay alive.
At that moment, he asked me what my name was. I was stunned—what was my name? I didn't even know myself! I said, "I don't know!"
He asked, "You don't have a name?"
A prince should have a name three days after birth. That was when I suddenly remembered that a group of people had indeed come when I was just born, only at the time I didn't know what they were doing and didn't understand a word—so they had come to give me a name!
I looked up at my sweet, clueless mother. Surely this woman hadn't forgotten my name, had she? Fortunately, she was still somewhat reliable, saying, "His name is Duoyu."
I was stunned yet again. Is there actually anyone named Duoyu? How much must they have disliked me to name me Duoyu ("Superfluous")?
My cheapskate father forced a grinning smile and said, "Duoyu is good, Duoyu is great! 'Duo' for wealth and abundance, the more the better. Having a surplus and remaining abundance shows our court is prosperous! Good, good! What a great name, what a great name!" He repeated "good" several times.
Even if he wasn't embarrassed, I was embarrassed for him. It was just that no one dared to expose the truth. Seeing that I was a prickly thorn, my cheapskate father hurriedly told my sweet, clueless mother to go cozy up to the man sitting above.
By this time, I had also figured it out. So the one up there was the superior calling the shots, and my mother had also been sent down by that side—no wonder I was so unfavored. Nobody is ever happy to have a 007 corporate spy in the family. Considering the face of my mother, the Imperial Noble Consort—though truthfully, looking entirely at the gift lists brought by my cheapskate father—he had agreed to step forward and mediate, but with zero intention of dispatching troops. He merely said he would find someone to mediate, and that would be the end of it.
We were sent back. Unexpectedly, someone actually came looking for me, telling me to go to school to learn some etiquette.
Damn it, they only thought of me now! It was probably because I was prickly all over that they sent me to study and learn etiquette—which was just a way of making me behave myself.
Since I had no ability to resist, I could only resign myself to fate. Early the next morning, I was sent to my private school. When I arrived, there was no one teaching at all! Damn it, I didn't even have a basic seat; they directly made me stand in the corner. What the hell kind of studying was this? This was clearly having me stand in punishment!
With my little fiery temper, I wasn't going to study for crap. You want me to stand, so I have to stand? Damn it, I just lay straight down on the ground—ah, time for a nap! Besides, the sunlight was just right, making sleep all the sweeter.
As I drifted off, I got hit twice on my buttocks with a ruler, hurting like absolute hell. I was just about to curse out loud when I saw the old man holding the ruler. As the saying goes, a wise man knows better than to fight when the odds are against him, so I swallowed my anger deep down. However, I made a note of him in my little notebook: once young master grows up, I'll definitely snatch your little granddaughter away to be a maid, making her wash my feet and scrub my back every day just to piss you off!
Imagination is beautiful, but it was nothing more than daydreaming.
I never expected that this old man would go and tell on me that very afternoon, reporting that I showed no respect for my teacher, slept in class, and was thoroughly unruly. Unsurprisingly, I was summoned to the study by my cheapskate father.
I thought it was some big deal—just this? In my past life, I had been chewed out in the teacher's office countless times; this was just a drizzle. Anyway, it was all going in one ear and out the other. With, first of all, no textbooks and, second of all, no desk, I was blatantly being targeted. Study my ass!
After a torrent of scolding from my cheapskate father—during which nothing happened to me while he drank three whole bowls of tea, probably tired out from yelling—he told me to go back. Without even looking back, I briskly went home.