Jiang Wu woke once more, well after the sun had already risen high into the sky.
As usual, he laid in bed, waiting for hunger to set in. Perhaps because he exerted so little energy, hunger seemed to come later and later these days. Jiang Wu resolved to train his endurance further, aiming to eat just once a day—or even once every two days.
The bed curtains were drawn open, and Jiang Wu blinked against the sudden light. He heard Yin Wuzhi’s voice: “Since you’re awake, it’s time for your meal.”
After not seeing him for several days, Jiang Wu might have suspected that Yin Wuzhi had fled, were it not for Qi Hanmiao keeping a close watch. Now the young man had returned, appearing calm and collected in front of him. It seemed that during his absence, Yin Wuzhi had prepared himself mentally.
After all, at only nineteen years old, Yin Wuzhi was likely so inexperienced that he had probably never even held a girl’s hand before. It was only natural that he’d be so mortified by what had happened that it brought him to tears.
Jiang Wu slowly opened his eyes.
With the light shining from behind him, he couldn’t quite make out Yin Wuzhi’s expression. But Yin Wuzhi hadn’t left yet. He was likely preparing to bide his time and plot regicide, wasn’t he?
Before Jiang Wu could even open his mouth, he felt Yin Wuzhi’s strong arms lifting his upper body: “Someone, come and wash His Majesty’s face.”
“I want to sleep more,” Jiang Wu murmured.
“It’s time for your meal.”
Yin Wuzhi’s voice was calm, devoid of emotion.
Jiang Wu’s training session was interrupted, and he would have to wait for another opportunity. Leaning limply against Yin Wuzhi’s chest, he felt a maid’s hands wash his face with a damp cloth. Yin Wuzhi’s hands slid down Jiang Wu’s arm, gently lifting his wrist.
As his sleeve was rolled up, his forearm rested in Yin’s palm. Yin Wuzhi’s fingers loosely closed around Jiang Wu’s wrist, noting how delicate and fragile it felt—so thin and pale that it seemed like it could break with just a little pressure.
He was almost possessed by the urge to take the cloth from the maid and wipe Jiang Wu’s face himself, but then quickly snapped out of it and let the others continue with the task.
When the washing was done, Jiang Wu, still as limp as ever, said, “I don’t want to move.”
You never do, Yin Wuzhi thought.
He picked Jiang Wu up and moved him to the table, setting him down and saying, “I’ve prepared some food for you, Your Majesty.”
Jiang Wu replied sluggishly, “I don’t want it.”
Ignoring the protest, Yin Wuzhi opened several clay pots on the table, and the scent of meat wafted out. Jiang Wu became even more resistant: “No.”
“This is chicken soup,” Yin Wuzhi explained. “But since you haven’t had meat for a while, we’ll wait a bit before you drink it.”
“This is minced meat,” he continued. “I personally ground the meat until it became a paste. It’s very tender. I didn’t use much oil or fry it heavily, just steamed it.”
Jiang Wu: “?”
“This one is an egg custard,” Yin Wuzhi exhaled, feeling increasingly like a servile sycophant the more he introduced the dishes. With a stern expression, he scooped a bowl and said, “Start with this.”
The egg custard was drizzled with sesame oil, balancing out the faint hint of egginess. It smelled fresh and appetizing. Most importantly, its soft, yellow form wobbled in the spoon, making it clear it wouldn’t be difficult to eat.
Jiang Wu had seen this dish before, but he didn’t know how it was made. He didn’t always pay attention to the world. When he was feeling particularly lost, he would completely tune out, sometimes for years or even decades at a time.
He didn’t care if he missed the changes in the world, nor if he missed any charming people or delightful things.
Just as he was insignificant to the world, everything in the world was equally insignificant to him.
Nothing mattered.
He asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Yin Wuzhi paused in his blowing on the spoon and pushed it toward Jiang Wu’s lips, speaking seriously, “Don’t misunderstand. This isn’t for the emperor’s health. My father said that as long as His Majesty eats plain porridge for a day, I have to eat it too. So this is for my own sake.”
That was a clear explanation.
Jiang Wu thought for a moment and then reminded him, “You should say that you’re doing this for the emperor, hoping His Majesty can eat a bit more richly.”
Yin Wuzhi’s face slowly reddened. He stared at Jiang Wu and said, word by word, “Absolutely not.”
For Yin Wuzhi, treating Jiang Wu well seemed like a very difficult task. Seizing the opportunity, Jiang Wu asserted his authority and pressed him further: “From today on, I only want to hear pleasant words from your mouth. That means, no matter what you’re thinking, you must flatter me, praise me, and keep me happy.”
“You—”
“Otherwise, I’ll drug you,” Jiang Wu said slowly, “and turn you into a lapdog that only knows how to serve me.”
Yin Wuzhi’s face darkened.
“Ah—” Jiang Wu, having completed his routine humiliation, opened his mouth, waiting to be fed.
The veins on the back of Yin Wuzhi’s hand bulged.
Endure.
One day, he would make this incapable emperor kneel before him and beg for forgiveness.
The egg custard slid down Jiang Wu’s throat. It was his first time eating such a dish, and its smooth texture went down easily, almost without the need to swallow.
He looked at the bowl in Yin Wuzhi’s hand. Yin Wuzhi, who had been gloomily blowing on the spoon, noticed his gaze and turned to look back, eyes dark.
Jiang Wu: “Ah.”
Yin Wuzhi fed him a second spoonful. As the custard slipped down, Jiang Wu opened his mouth for a third.
“…,” Yin Wuzhi frowned as he fed him, asking, “Tastes good?”
“Mm.”
The plain porridge had always felt a bit bland, flowing down the throat in a less satisfying way. Eating this was pure enjoyment.
That soft “mm” inexplicably cleared away the gloom in Yin Wuzhi’s heart. His efforts all morning had not been in vain after all.
Half a bowl of egg custard was soon gone. Yin Wuzhi set down the bowl and said, “Let’s move on to something else.”
“…Alright.”
“This is red bean and millet porridge, also easy to eat.” Yin Wuzhi stirred it and blew it cool before offering it to Jiang Wu. Jiang Wu took one bite, then closed his mouth tightly.
Yin Wuzhi: “What’s wrong? Doesn’t taste good?”
Good or not didn’t matter—what mattered was ease of swallowing.
Jiang Wu said, “I want more egg custard.”
“You can’t eat just that.”
“Egg custard.”
“Try the steamed meat paste.”
The meat paste, wrapped in starch, was smooth as the spoon passed through it. It could easily be mashed, and it was topped with a rich sauce. As it entered the mouth, the minced meat slid down the throat while the sauce lingered on the palate, making one salivate.
Yin Wuzhi coaxed, “If you chew it a bit, it’ll taste even better.”
The combination of minced meat and starch offered a crunchy yet soft texture, truly exceptional.
He watched Jiang Wu’s expression and tentatively asked, “Another bite?”
“No.”
Yin Wuzhi pushed the spoon toward his mouth again.
Jiang Wu reluctantly took it in. “Egg custard.”
Yin Wuzhi insisted, “Chew this, then I’ll give you egg custard.”
He didn’t believe anyone could resist such a texture.
Jiang Wu reluctantly chewed twice.
Yin Wuzhi, his breath tightening slightly, asked, “Tastes good, right?”
“Good.”
Yin Wuzhi’s lips twitched upward, but then Jiang Wu added, “I want egg custard.”
The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Yin Wuzhi’s expression flattened again as he shoved another spoonful of meat paste into Jiang Wu’s mouth.
Jiang Wu: “…”
He turned his head, trying to find someone else to serve him, but no one suitable was nearby.
If resistance was futile, then he might as well accept his fate.
Yin Wuzhi force-fed him half a bowl of meat paste, until suddenly, Jiang Wu let out a small burp.
Yin Wuzhi paused and looked at him.
Jiang Wu burped again.
“…” Perhaps he had fed him too fast.
Yin Wuzhi poured some tea and made him drink a few sips. “Sit up straight. Don’t slump all the time—it makes it harder for the food to digest, and you’ll get bloated.”
Jiang Wu, however, would rather burp to death than move.
Yin Wuzhi sighed and picked him up, thumping him on the back.
Jiang Wu was unceremoniously plopped back into the chair, and sure enough, he stopped burping.
It reminded him of his years as a wandering soul when one day, he passed by a household and saw a washing machine shaking wildly. He sat down to watch it for a long time, wondering when it would stop.
Only later did he realize it was because the clothes hadn’t been loaded properly.
Human stomachs, it turned out, worked the same way.
Yin Wuzhi sat across from him, reflecting on how he’d fed Pessimist too quickly, causing him to choke and hiccup. Feeling a bit guilty, he asked, “How about some egg custard?”
“No.”
Pessimist had used up all his energy for talking today and wouldn’t eat anything else.
Yin Wuzhi brought the spoon to his mouth and softly coaxed, “Just a little more.”
“No.”
“Alright,” Yin Wuzhi set down the bowl and spoon, saying, “Since Your Majesty has finished lunch, shall we head to the imperial study to review the memorials?”
Pessimist asked, “Are they all done?”
“Almost, but there are a few that require Your Majesty’s personal review and some that need your decision…”
“I still want to eat.”
Yin Wuzhi gazed at him quietly, “What would you like to eat?”
“Egg custard.”
Yin Wuzhi picked up the bowl again.
For a rare moment, Pessimist ate until he was full and let out a satisfied burp.
Yin Wuzhi, while feeding himself, glanced at him as if considering whether to lift him up and give him a light thump on the back.
Pessimist stopped hiccupping.
Yin Wuzhi ate quickly and quietly, finishing the remaining food.
After rinsing his mouth with fragrant tea, he lifted Jiang Wu and placed him in the wheelchair.
Jiang Wu didn’t want to go to the imperial study. He told Yin Wuzhi, “I want to go to the imperial garden.”
“For what?”
“Who is the emperor here, you or me?”
Yin Wuzhi paused, then said, “If Your Majesty wishes, you can walk there yourself.”
“No.”
“Then, we’ll head to the imperial study.”
He wouldn’t even walk; he must have been lazy to death in his past life.
As Yin Wuzhi continued pushing him forward, they were almost at the imperial study when Jiang Wu mumbled something.
His voice was so soft that Yin Wuzhi didn’t catch it. “Hmm?”
“My…” Jiang Wu weakly placed a hand over his stomach, his face pale as death, “My stomach hurts.”
Yin Wuzhi moved in front of him and asked, “What’s wrong with your stomach?”
Cold sweat dripped from Jiang Wu’s forehead as he groaned, “It hurts.”
Qi Hanmiao soon noticed and called out expertly, “Someone! Call for the imperial physician!”
In the blink of an eye, Qi Hanmiao stood frozen, “Your Highness! Where are you taking His Majesty?!”
Yin Wuzhi’s face turned even paler than Jiang Wu’s.
Could it be… something wrong with the food?
“… Yin Wuzhi.”
“I’m taking His Majesty to see the imperial physician.”
“No,” Jiang Wu calmly replied, “I need to… relieve myself*.”
* sounds like go out of the palace
“At a time like this, you want to leave the palace?”
“Relieve myself.” Pessimist felt utterly hopeless. Why did people need to eat? If they didn’t eat, they wouldn’t have to suffer the pains of needing to relieve themselves. “I need to use the toilet.”
“Oh…” Yin Wuzhi suddenly felt sorry as he stopped, “Forgive me, but I can’t help with that.”
“I understand,” Jiang Wu clutched his sleeve, tearfully lamenting, “There’s no need for you to feel guilty, my dear minister.”
