Undeterred by repeated setbacks, Ning Xuan forced a smile, doing his utmost to appear gentle and harmless. Shifting his position, he edged over to the other side and, still somewhat shaken, lifted a corner of the blanket. After confirming that what lay before him was indeed the Prince’s head and not some other bizarre part, he finally let out a breath of relief. Relying on his strong sense of responsibility and lofty professional ethics, he piled on a radiant, sunlike smile and, in the softest, gentlest, sweetest voice—so soft it could practically be ignored—called out, “Master, it is a quarter past the Yin hour, time for morning court.”
No response. On the bed, Feng Xuanyi had already been classified by Ning Xuan as a “dead pig”, sleeping with astonishing depth.
Refusing to give up, Ning Xuan steadied himself, rubbing the muscles of his face that had grown stiff from smiling and were beginning to cramp, and continued in a soft, coaxing tone: “Your Highness, it is time for morning court.”
But who could have expected that the only reply he received was a not-too-loud, yet utterly explosive snore…
Damn it! Here I am, being all careful and courteous, humbling myself and kneeling obediently—and all of it is just serving as your lullaby?!
A surge of heat rushed straight to his head, short-circuiting Ning Xuan’s thoughts. He slapped down with force, taking on the full posture of a scolding shrew: “Damn it, are you getting up or not?! If you keep lazing around and miss morning court, when your father punishes you, don’t drag me down with you and say I didn’t warn you!”
He thought back—wasn’t he also human? Back then, he too had lazed in bed, trying to sneak in a few more hours of sleep and skip a class or two. It wasn’t immoral, nor unreasonable—there had even been a cause. He had caught a cold the day before, had a headache, yet was beaten soundly by his mother, who called him weak and useless. In the end, she had even resorted to a spatula. If he hadn’t come to his senses in time and gotten up quickly, he might have suffered all “Ten Great Tortures of the Qing Dynasty” before it ended.
And now, the one refusing to get up was instead treated like an ancestor. Not to mention what dire consequences would follow if the time were missed—just thinking about how he was clearly in the right, yet still had to be so humble and aggrieved, speaking in a low voice, pleading while kneeling stiffly until his knees ached—who exactly was this performance for?! Look at how indulged this bad habit has become!
His good dream disrupted—moreover in such a startling manner—Feng Xuanyi turned his head and opened his eyes. Though they still held a trace of drowsy haze, the sharp, furious gaze within them was in no way diminished. Without a single word, just that one look was enough to remind Ning Xuan who he was, where he stood, and what he was doing—but it was already too late.
Just moments ago, Ning Xuan had been righteous and indignant, brimming with confidence. Yet upon meeting Feng Xuanyi’s raging gaze, he froze, unable to react in time. What kind of madness was this? What kind of anger was this? He was just about to open his mouth and retort when he abruptly stopped. His bright, round eyes darted about before he quickly lowered his gaze, avoiding Feng Xuanyi’s expression—which seemed ready to have him dragged out and executed. Trembling, he glanced at where his palm had landed—and nearly burst into tears of relief.
Fortunately, he had not, in a moment of excitement, followed his mother’s example and slapped that precious imperial head awake. If he had, he might as well have found a fruit knife right then and there to end himself—saving the Prince the trouble and granting himself a quick and clean death.
Although the outcome was ultimately favorable—the Prince rose on time and did not miss the morning court—in the eyes of a prince long accustomed to a life of privilege and unquestioned authority, the method Ning Xuan had employed was indeed far too brutal and excessive…
The instinct to survive is human nature, and Ning Xuan was no exception. Keeping his head lowered, not daring to raise it, he never would have thought that someone like himself—who hadn’t even sorted himself out properly—could actually carry out a task so cleanly and efficiently without a single mistake. Truly, human potential was limitless.
Yet, with his head lowered the entire time, intent only on burying himself in work to make up for his mistake, Ning Xuan did not see the fleeting flash of anger in Feng Xuanyi’s eyes when he recognized him—quickly replaced by a faint, inscrutable smile. Lowering his head slightly, narrowing his eyes, Feng Xuanyi watched with amusement as the same Ning Xuan who had just been bristling with temper now transformed into a meek little lamb. Sitting at the bedside without moving, he stretched out his arms and legs, clearly signaling for someone to come dress him.
Ning Xuan glanced at the neatly layered garments draped over the screen and immediately felt cold sweat gather in his palms. Piece after piece, layer upon layer of fabric—it made his head spin. He had never studied ancient clothing; how was he supposed to distinguish which piece was the inner garment, which was the middle layer, and which belonged to the outer robe? Not to mention the belts—so many of them, inside and out—what a waste of cloth and effort! How was he to know which needed tying and which did not?!
Back then, even getting dressed had been his greatest headache. Even the simple servant’s outfit he wore now had been taught to him by Mo Qi, who had nearly been driven to death by frustration. Only through Ning Xuan’s relentless pestering, coaxing, and stubborn insistence had he barely managed to learn. And what lay before him now was countless times more complicated than what he wore!
Hearing an impatient cough from behind him, Ning Xuan knew there was no escape today. Had he known things would turn out like this, he would have refused the transfer no matter what—even taking a beating until his skin split and flesh tore would have been better than losing his life here. And last night—rather than idly chatting about trivial matters with Yi Xuan, he should have seriously learned the basics. Even if he were to die for incompetence, at least he wouldn’t harbor so much resentment.
With the resolve of a warrior severing his own arm, Ning Xuan gritted his teeth, stomped his foot, and simply gathered all the garments from the screen in one go, piling them all beside Feng Xuanyi.
Feng Xuanyi, who had originally intended to tease Ning Xuan for amusement, was momentarily stunned. Looking at the heap of crumpled clothing, then at Ning Xuan’s resolute expression—as if these garments were mortal enemies—he felt a chill run down his spine, an ominous premonition rising within him.
Adhering to the principle of “taking every opportunity—better to mistakenly act on three thousand than to let one slip”, Ning Xuan successfully managed to put every single garment onto Feng Xuanyi, tying and fastening them all in one chaotic effort. Looking at the finished result, although it was somewhat tangled and messy, Ning Xuan was nonetheless overjoyed. This was his first time tackling such a complex and difficult dressing task, yet he had managed to complete it smoothly in one go—he truly had talent!
Unlike Ning Xuan’s self-satisfaction, Feng Xuanyi’s face had turned green, his lips pale and trembling, his forehead covered in sweat, his entire body drenched.
Not to mention how ridiculous and disheveled the entire outfit looked, nor how many knots and layers were twisted into chaos—some tied incorrectly, some left untied, some entirely forgotten—there were far too many to count. Even the belts were a disaster: some had been used to bind sleeves at the wrists, while actual sleeve ties had been elevated to hang around the waist as ornaments. And just in terms of sheer quantity—everything had been piled on indiscriminately—four full sets of clothing layered together! Even in the dead of winter, it wouldn’t be this warm!
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