It is quite strange, but in his infancy, Murong Fu slept far longer than any infant he had ever known in his previous life.
Ever since the "Old Dim Bulb"—Murong Bo—began his daily routine of either force-feeding him the clan's peerless martial arts or dragging him to the ancestral hall to drone on and on, only to be promptly drenched in urine each time, Murong Fu had taken to sleeping twenty-two hours a day. Murong Fu strongly suspected the Old Dim Bulb had used some underhanded trick, ending his days as a "soaker" and turning him into the King of Slumber. Outside of scheduled feedings, he did nothing but sleep.
What’s that? You, the reader, want to know why he only performed his "soaking" duties on Murong Bo? It’s a matter of conscience! Was it easy for his mother to bear him? And you would soak her? Was it easy for the wet nurse to feed him? And you would soak her? It was definitely the Old Dim Bulb who pulled some strings, causing Murong Fu to drift in and out of consciousness before the age of two; that Murong Bo was treated to a "soaking" was absolutely no injustice.
Time is truly heartless. In the blink of an eye, Murong Fu was two years old. His tongue had grown nimble and his speech fluid—the wet nurse responsible for feeding the Young Master every day could certainly attest to that. His legs had also grown strong—well, strong at kneeling. The floor tiles of the ancestral hall could attest to that. In the Murong Clan, one had to report in every morning and evening, a life more exhausting than any nine-to-five job. The slightest bit of mischief resulted in a session on the ancestral hall floor.
"I’m such a fool. Really. I shouldn't have said 'Ah, that feels good' right after finishing my meal."
"I’m such a fool. Really. I shouldn't have tried to jump out of the wet nurse's arms and bolt the moment I saw the look in the Old Dim Bulb’s eyes."
"I’m such a fool. Really. I shouldn't have pretended to faint after kneeling for only a short while. Damn it, this is a martial arts world; that Old Dim Bulb can use his Internal Energy to check my condition..."
Murong Fu had practically become the "simple-minded son of a landlord," so much so that Bao Butong, a naive child himself, would often hear Murong Fu muttering to himself, constantly lamenting, "I’m such a fool."
"Young Master, you aren't a fool. I won't allow you to call yourself a fool," Bao Butong would always say with dead seriousness, never minding the look Murong Fu gave him—the look one gives a complete idiot.
"God dammit..." Murong Fu always felt his gaze drifting; perhaps he was just tired from rolling his eyes too much. "Just let it all end..."
"That was when I was twelve. I was still being fed by my wet nurse when I suddenly heard Mother calling me, telling me to go to Father’s room. Her face was streaked with tears; she had clearly been crying."
That’s right—I, Young Master Murong, am a man of commitment. I said I wouldn’t stop nursing, and I didn't. I held out until I was twelve. Peaches are just so delicious; how could I ever give them up?
Arriving before the sickbed, the Old Dim Bulb was gasping for air, seemingly on the verge of death. But Murong Fu knew the truth: Murong Bo was faking it.
"Fu'er, you're here. Come closer," Murong Bo whispered, his face deathly pale; it didn't look like an act.
"From now on, the restoration of the Murong Clan and the restoration of our Yan State rest on your shoulders." Those large hands gripped Murong Fu’s small ones tightly, his eyes burning with intensity as he stared at the boy.
Murong Bo looked at his son, truly uneasy, yet he had to die. If he didn't orchestrate his own demise, he would be hunted down by the leader of the martial arts alliance. *If I must die, whether faked or real, is it not better to fake it?*
Murong Fu felt his hands being crushed by Murong Bo’s powerful grip, those wide, intense eyes locked onto his. *Sigh, why isn't this Old Dim Bulb dead yet? Is he waiting for me to make a speech or something?*
Thinking this, inspiration struck. Murong Fu began to wail: "Father! You cannot abandon Mother and me! I am still so young, and Mother is in the prime of her youth—how can you bear to leave us?!"
As Murong Fu spoke, the pressure on his hands increased sharply. The old man's eyes turned cold and sharp; the boy’s hands began to throb with pain. *Old Dim Bulb, you aren't reluctant to leave your son—you’re reluctant to leave my young, beautiful mother!*
He was actually hurting him this much: "Ow! Father, Father! You were invincible throughout your life, how could you succumb to such an early death? Father, you must get better!"
Sure enough, Murong Bo’s expression softened. *My son still cares for his father, after all.*
"Father, the restoration of Great Yan... I cannot shoulder that burden. I am dull-witted. Since I began my studies, I have practiced diligently, yet I have not mastered the craft. If you pass on, how will we, a widow and an orphan, stand tall in Gusu?"
Though the pressure on his hands had eased, it was too late—they were already numb. Murong Fu continued to weep—a genuine performance, for he was truly heartbroken as he watched his small hands visibly swell.
Murong Bo, seeing his son cry, assumed the boy was worried about his health and overwhelmed by the responsibility of the restoration. Contemplating this, his eyes darting back and forth, Murong Bo gritted his teeth and decided to leave behind only one-tenth of his strength.
Murong Bo pulled Murong Fu onto the bed, sat him cross-legged, and pressed his palms against the boy’s back. A surge of heat flowed through Murong Fu’s body. He felt as if a dragon were swimming through his veins, nourishing his meridians and clearing his acupoints. For a moment, Murong Fu closed his eyes, struggling to contain the restless Internal Energy.
When he finally calmed down and opened his eyes to look at Murong Bo, the man had stopped breathing.
Murong Fu froze. *Faking it? That doesn't look like an act...*
*Has this Old Dim Bulb really kicked the bucket? Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for?* Murong Fu covered his mouth. *Could it be? Are the good days finally here? In this ancient world, with the master gone, does this mean I am finally the master of the Murong Clan?*
*Oh, it’s just so—so heartbreaking! Hahaha!*
Thinking of his bright future, Murong Fu was so excited he could barely contain himself. He wanted to push the door open and announce to the world: "I, Murong Fu, am the master of the Murong Clan!"
But when he opened the door and saw the tear-filled eyes of his mother, Madame Wang, Murong Fu’s face crumpled: "Mother, Father... he has passed. Wuu wuu wuu..." His sincerity was profound, his tears genuine—it would have moved anyone to sorrow.
Meanwhile, lying on the bed, Murong Bo gritted his teeth and silently whispered to himself: "Forgive me, my wife and child, but the restoration of the Yan State is the only thing that matters."