Chapter 9: Rebuking the Grand Protector

Sheets stained with ink came flying through the air, landing on the ground. As the papers were spread open, everyone saw the essay written upon them. One by one, they stared in disbelief, as if turned to stone.

Even though they had mentally prepared themselves, knowing that the Crown Prince, Zhao Su, who had been feeble-minded and neglected his studies for three years, could not possibly produce an eloquent essay, a brilliant composition, or a targeted strategy for governing the nation, the sight that greeted them still made the corners of their mouths twitch uncontrollably.

What was that circle supposed to be?

A single round shape, with a mess of crisscrossing lines, four legs, a stubby tail, and a head to top it off.

Heavens above—this could not be endured! How dare he brazenly draw a turtle on an examination paper for statecraft? Outrageous, audacious, an utter disgrace to scholarship…

Everyone present reacted differently. Zhao Yu’s face was twisted with mockery. In his eyes, even if Zhao Su had recovered from his illness, with such a chaotic mess of an essay, he would never be entrusted with the regency—he might even lose his title as Crown Prince on the spot.

The mere thought of his own well-considered strategy for governance being praised by both his father the emperor and the Grand Chancellor made his heart race with excitement, his spirits soaring. He already felt as if the power to rule as regent and the position of Crown Prince were beckoning to him.

Zhao Heng’s lips curled in a fleeting, cold smile before settling into a look of deep concern, as though he were truly worried his eldest brother would be punished by the emperor—an act of perfect brotherly deference.

General Yuchi Wei, upon seeing the nonsensical scrawl littering the floor, felt all hope drain from his heart. Even though he was a military man and could not match the civil officials in his knowledge of the classics, he had read his share of books and his handwriting was passable. Now, seeing his grandson’s characters scrawled like chicken scratches, he knew it was over. The Crown Prince’s position could no longer be saved.

The Grand Chancellor, Li Chengyun, and the Imperial Tutor, Yang Rucheng, exchanged glances, both eyes flashing with ruthless intent. No matter what was said today, they would seize this chance to persuade the emperor to depose the Crown Prince.

“Outrageous! Simply outrageous!” the Prince’s Mentor, Yu Wen Chengshun, fumed, his beard bristling with anger. “You began your studies at the age of three, learning the sages’ teachings for fifteen years. And today, this is what you produce? Our efforts, His Majesty’s and mine, wasted!”

He was, after all, the Crown Prince’s teacher. Now, not only was the prince’s handwriting a mess, like the tracks of a dog, but the essay itself was utterly incoherent, riddled with errors. It was as if a worn-out shoe had been used to slap him in the face—how could he not be furious?

Zhao Su let out a cold laugh, his tone full of disdain. “If you claim to be my teacher, may I ask how many times you’ve visited the Eastern Palace in these three years? How many times have you seen me? Have you taught me anything at all?”

Yu Wen Chengshun was pressed to the point of breathlessness by this barrage of questions, forced to retreat step by step.

Zhao Su continued, “I recall that in recent years you’ve been very close to my sixth brother, entering and leaving his prince’s residence morning and night. If anything, you’re more his teacher than mine.”

Yu Wen Chengshun’s face turned ashen, his body trembling. “That’s only because you were ill these years and unable to study. I had no choice but to tutor the Sixth Prince.”

“Since you admit you haven’t taught me, don’t put on the airs of the Crown Prince’s teacher before me. Whether my essay is good or bad has nothing to do with you.” With a flick of his sleeve, Zhao Su turned his back on him, ignoring him entirely.

He had no intention of indulging this so-called mentor. According to the memories he had inherited, Yu Wen Chengshun’s teaching amounted to nothing more than rote recitation of the classics, and he hadn’t even been diligent, coming and going as he pleased. Since the original Zhao Su fell ill, the mentor had never set foot in the Eastern Palace, instead spending his days tutoring the Sixth Prince.

Now, for this man to berate him so harshly—Zhao Su would not stand for it.

A few words from Zhao Su left the over-fifty Yu Wen Chengshun shaking, gasping for breath. Li Chengyun and Yang Rucheng hurried to his side to steady him.

Zhao Heng, seeing his teacher so questioned and insulted, rushed over as well, tears streaming down his face. “Elder Brother, it was I who pleaded for our teacher to instruct me. None of this is his fault. If you must blame someone, let it be your younger brother. If you wish to punish, I am at your disposal.” With those words, he actually knelt, ready for Zhao Su’s judgment.

“Insolence!” The aging emperor nearly leaped out of bed, slamming his hand on the table in anger, only to be wracked by a fit of violent coughing.

Zhao Su did not wish to agitate this kindly old man, whose fondness for him was clear in his memories. He hurried forward to help soothe him. But just as he reached the bedside, the Fourth Prince, Zhao Yu, shoved past him, seating himself to fawn over the emperor—patting his back while slyly casting aspersions on Zhao Su.

“Father, don’t blame my brother. He has suffered from his affliction these past three years. Perhaps he has not fully recovered even now. It would be best if he were allowed to rest and recuperate.”

At these words, Zhao Su’s anger flared. Rest and recuperate? He had only just regained consciousness after crossing into this world—he had no intention of being dismissed as a madman again.

He knew all too well from novels and dramas about imperial succession: once the Crown Prince was deposed, his fate would be death. Having just arrived in this world, he had no intention of being executed so soon.

With this in mind, he immediately stepped forward and declared, “Father, although my calligraphy may be lacking, when it comes to the art of governance, I have a universe within my breast.”

At these words, the hall filled with sighs and sneers. Things had already come to this pass, yet the Crown Prince still struggled desperately. They all waited to see what statecraft a fool of three years could possibly propose.

Li Chengyun sneered inwardly. Since the prince wished to make a fool of himself, he would gladly oblige. “Your Majesty, I too believe the Crown Prince must have a wealth of wisdom in his heart. Why not have His Highness deliver his thoughts aloud, so we might all be convinced?”

“We concur,” echoed Yang Rucheng and Yu Wen Chengshun, bowing. If the Crown Prince stayed silent, they would find no fault; if he spoke, they could seize on his errors and push for his removal. Since he seemed intent on his own ruin, they were happy to see it.

Yuchi Wei felt a surge of dread—this was clearly the Grand Chancellor’s trap, and he could not allow his grandson to fall into it.

“Your Majesty, this discussion has gone on for some time. Surely you are weary. Might we adjourn for today and resume tomorrow?” he advised, hoping to buy time. If they could delay, he could coach Zhao Su overnight, and perhaps his grandson would have something coherent to say the next day.

But Zhao Su would have none of it. “There is no need to wait. The so-called art of governance is but a small matter—nothing I cannot conjure up at a moment’s notice.”