Chapter 2 – This Prince is a Cannon Fodder at First Glance

Pei Zhuo slowly, very slowly turned his head to meet the gaze of the two people and two horses at the door. One of them had a scandalously indecent expression—it seemed he could understand—and the steed neighed toward the sky, its nostrils flaring with mockery. It was his first time seeing people from ancient times. How abrupt.

Alright, now “okay” was also a blocked word for him. Parental controls were a good thing, indeed—perhaps it was time to apply one to his own mouth as well.

Wait a second—wasn’t this his home? Why could someone open the door from the outside?

Pei Zhuo looked at the handsome man who acted as if this were his own territory, then at the key and chain in the subordinate’s hand—his pupils trembled. What kind of script had heaven arranged for him?

The system interjected, “Host, you seem to be that man’s secret lover.”

Pei Zhuo questioned internally, Who is that man?

The usually chatty system fell silent—it could only load some data and had no ability to recognize faces.

What a useless system.

Pei Zhuo tried to stay calm as he looked at the dignified and dashing man. His gaze then shifted to the fine steed—black with four white hooves—uncertainty flashing in his eyes. A man this good-looking wouldn’t need to keep a secret lover, right? This was ancient times—he could openly take concubines. Or did society look down on men who liked other men, making it unacceptable?

Pei Zhuo’s thoughts spiraled, completely led astray by the system. Why couldn’t he be someone locked up for a crime?

Staring at the man’s noble and righteous face, Pei Zhuo tried to collect himself. As the old saying goes, don’t judge a book by its cover—but when someone was this overwhelmingly good-looking, appearance reflected character. With a face like this, in a modern drama, he’d at least be the chief prosecutor.

Then I’m probably a criminal, about to be interrogated.

Pei Zhuo mentally forced down a calming pill.

Or maybe I’m not anyone at all, just popped out of nowhere.

Pei Zhuo decided to stay still and adapt to any changes. As the two stepped inside, he warily moved behind the lounge chair, revealing only his upper body.

The next moment, Li Ruyi’s words struck like a bucket of cold water over his head.

Li Ruyi frowned. “You’re the beauty Jiang Yugui sent, Pei Zhuo?”

“…”

A gust of wind blew, stirring the thatch on the roof and sending it tumbling between Pei Zhuo and Xiao Xun.

Pei Zhuo’s thin, close-fitting pajamas clung to him, then fluttered open in the mountain breeze, faintly outlining a slender waist. A pair of eyes fell on his loose neckline. In the sunlight, his skin was so pale it reflected light—his collarbones looked like a cluster of snow.

“One moment, let me put something on.” Pei Zhuo turned and ran into the room. He couldn’t let people think he was some wanton, easily tempted person. He had transmigrated straight from his bed—he didn’t even have shoes. Barefoot, he ran inside and spotted a coat on the bed. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and threw it on.

There was a pair of boots by the bed. They were the right length for him, though a bit wide. He stretched his feet, hooked them in, and slipped them on.

Now that he looked more proper, Pei Zhuo still felt something was missing. His eyes swept around and landed on a black veil hat on the table—his eyes lit up. Once he put it on, no one could see his face. Since his single sentence of “I don’t want to” had already offended these ancients, he might as well cover himself tightly to show he truly disliked physical contact.

***

The black steed stood by the door, munching on grass in peace.

In the courtyard, Xiao Xun glanced at Li Ruyi.

Li Ruyi, realizing his blunder, slapped his own mouth. Heaven knew, what he had meant to ask was, “Are you the hidden weapons expert Jiang Yugui sent?” He just got too excited and slipped up. At the heart of it, it was because he genuinely thought this was the classic ploy of sending over a beautiful person in disguise.

They said it was a hidden weapons expert, but when he saw Pei Zhuo’s fingers resting on the chair—tender like soft tofu—even the pampered concubines in the palace weren’t this delicate! How could those hands make weapons? He probably didn’t even know how to use an awl. The commander of Qiangui had gone too far—trying to trick the Eastern Palace with a beauty trap, and even sent someone unwilling!

The crown prince had finally taken a liking to someone… Li Ruyi had noticed earlier—His Highness had immediately stared at Pei Zhuo’s neckline the moment he entered, and also looked at those bare feet.

Tsk, the honey trap might just work.

Li Ruyi looked up again and saw Pei Zhuo emerge dressed entirely in black, just like the first time they received a hidden weapon from him.

Xiao Xun spoke. “Did you make the Pear Blossom Needle yourself?”

Under the veil, Pei Zhuo’s eyes were clear—what was a Pear Blossom Needle? Was this a wuxia world? Logically, there had to be some master hidden in this courtyard who made that thing. But aside from him, there was no one else. His role wasn’t just a gifted beauty being sent over—he was a gifted beauty with secret skills?

Judging by how everyone was seeing him for the first time, maybe he could get away with a little denial?

“I don’t know how to make it.”

Li Ruyi let out an exasperated “Tch.” Damn it, so the Pear Blossom Needle really was made by someone else. Pei Zhuo was just showing off someone else’s work. A few days ago, he had sworn up and down that he made it himself. Now in front of the crown prince, he changed his story, making Li Ruyi look incompetent. He placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “So you’re just an empty shell?”

“I know a little!” Seeing Li Ruyi’s disappointed expression, Pei Zhuo called out to the system, asking it to immediately pull up a blueprint for a hidden weapon that could feasibly be made with ancient-level technology.

The system pretended to be dead.

Pei Zhuo ground his teeth. Clearly, when the system said it would take two or three years to load technological data, it wasn’t exaggerating.

“Know a little”… Li Ruyi felt utterly hopeless. What’s the difference between “knowing a little” and knowing nothing at all? He cupped his hands and bowed deeply toward the crown prince. “I have failed in my duty. Please punish me, Your Highness.”

Xiao Xun said, “Forfeit a month’s salary.”

Li Ruyi replied, “Yes.”

The Pear Blossom Needle was intricate, but Xiao Xun had seen countless clever mechanisms before. At most, it was a matter of whether it ranked first or second tier. The commander of Qiangui hadn’t presented both a skilled expert and a beauty. That meant that, compared to Pei Zhuo’s looks, the weapon was insignificant—a mere pretext. If even Jiang Yugui lacked confidence in the item, Xiao Xun certainly wouldn’t take it seriously.

“Let’s go.”

Pei Zhuo watched, wide-eyed, as the two men came and went as swiftly as a storm. He blinked.

He had bet correctly. The moment they realized he had nothing going for him but his face, they lost interest.

At the door, Li Ruyi asked, “What should we do with this person?”

Pei Zhuo looked up instinctively—just in time for Xiao Xun’s gaze to sweep over him through the slowly closing door.

“Keep him.”

Pei Zhuo heard that serious tone.

The doors closed with a thud. It was only then that Pei Zhuo realized: “Keep him” meant “lock him up here.”

The crisis was over for today, but what about a few days from now? His virtue as a straight man was one thing—but he could get pregnant! He needed to find a way to escape—fast.

The courtyard wall was nearly two meters high. Pei Zhuo huffed and puffed as he moved furniture from inside the house. He started by stacking two kitchen stools, then propped a chair on top. He tied his clothes into a makeshift rope, steadied himself against the wall, and climbed up step by step. Half his body peeked over the wall.

By now, dusk had fallen. For the first time, Pei Zhuo gazed out at the ancient world.

Outside was a narrow alley paved with bluestone. The courtyard appeared to be at the far end—no foot traffic nearby. At the end of the alley was a cross street, where he could just make out common folk coming and going. In the neighboring courtyard, smoke rose from a cooking fire, and the evening breeze carried the aroma of food.

Pei Zhuo’s stomach growled. He clutched it and looked farther out. At the end of the alley squatted three or five beggars with broken bowls, begging and being loudly scolded. His eyelid twitched. In mere seconds, he witnessed officers beating and driving away the beggars.

Ah. He didn’t even know how to beg.

He had nothing—no money, no status. In ancient times, living rough could get you killed. Offending powerful people could get you killed. And with his slightly attractive appearance, he might even be sold to a brothel like the South Wind Pavilion. He had to plan carefully. That man probably wouldn’t come around again for now, so this place was temporarily safe. Tomorrow, he would observe more about survival outside.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from around the corner. Pei Zhuo quickly ducked down, leaving just one eye peeking out. He saw a man in black carrying a food box.

A sudden intuition struck him—was that his prison meal being delivered?

Pei Zhuo scrambled down from the chair and stood by the door, listening closely. A moment later, came the rustle of keys unlocking the door.

Creaaak. The door opened from the outside, and a food box was handed in.

“Your dinner.”

Pei Zhuo replied, “Thank you.”

“Wait, big brother!” Pei Zhuo scratched his head awkwardly and asked, “Has your master married yet?”

If that man was already married, then this whole situation had a moral problem. He’d rather go out and beg—he couldn’t stay here another second.

The man in black replied, “No.”

Last year, the emperor had planned to arrange a marriage for the crown prince, but the prince’s birth mother, the empress, suddenly passed away from illness. The marriage was postponed due to the mourning period.

The man in black said no more. Pei Zhuo wanted to ask more, but the door was already locked again without mercy.

He carried the food box back into the house, lit a candle, and opened the lid. One dish of greens, one dish of tofu, one bowl of rice.

Not bad. Considering it was ancient times, having enough to eat was already decent.

***

At the crown prince’s courtyard.

Xiao Xun usually handled affairs unrelated to the imperial court here in the evenings.

Li Ruyi finished reporting the irrigation projects set earlier in the year. Seeing that the crown prince’s expression remained calm, he couldn’t help but bring up Pei Zhuo. “Li Er said Pei Zhuo attempted to escape, and even asked him about Your Highness’ marital status.”

Xiao Xun didn’t even lift his eyes. “Speak plainly.”

Li Ruyi chuckled. “Since Your Highness is interested, why not just bring him over? We’ve got plenty of empty houses.”

Xiao Xun set down his vermilion brush, his gaze clear and sharp. “Did you notice that the clothes Pei Zhuo wears—there’s not another set like them in all of Great Xuan? The collar style is unusual, and the fabric isn’t native to our land?”

Li Ruyi replied, “Uh… I don’t know much about textiles, Your Highness.”

Xiao Xun asked, “Then did you notice his boots don’t fit properly?”

Li Ruyi gestured. “The length… looks about right.”

Xiao Xun said, “They’re too wide on the sides.”

As if he would’ve noticed that!

Li Ruyi broke into a cold sweat. So the crown prince hadn’t been ogling Pei Zhuo—he had been calmly and thoroughly observing from the start, never once blinded by beauty. And here he was, thinking His Highness was overcome by desire! With so many flaws, this suspicious figure must never be allowed near the crown prince. He asked, “Your Highness means—the one who handed me the hidden weapon that day and the Pei Zhuo we saw today are two different people? Jiang Yugui used a decoy to bait you?”

Xiao Xun didn’t speculate but continued, “Pei Zhuo bears some resemblance to the grand tutor.”

Li Ruyi broke into a cold sweat—turns out he was the one falling for the honey trap! If not for his martial skills, he wouldn’t be qualified to stay by the side of a prince this sharp. He quickly said, “Twenty years ago, the grand tutor returned home to mourn with his family. The journey was long, and his four-year-old eldest son, Pei Xianjue, fell ill and died on the way. Later, we looked into it—another possibility is that the family was separated by roaming refugees.” 

After mourning, the grand tutor was summoned back by an imperial decree and promoted to crown prince’s tutor. From then on, he devoted seventeen years to instructing His Highness, earning praise throughout the court. Many of the prince’s habits—diligence, self-discipline—came from his teachings.

Li Ruyi, overwhelmed, asked, “Then… what should we do next?”

Xiao Xun said, “Leave him for now.”

***

Pei Zhuo, full and with nothing else to do, didn’t want to burn the candle through the night. He went to bed early; this was one nice thing about ancient times. If it were his father Pei Qingxu who had come, he’d still have followed the sunrise-to-sunset routine, grading papers till 3 a.m..

Pei Zhuo called out to the system, “Let’s have a proper conversation.”

4523 beeped quietly.

“You’re going to short-circuit from being bound to me, right? How long until you burn out?”

“I’m in a semi-hibernation state while loading data. It’ll take about 2 to 3 years. Once fully operational, if you don’t have a child to transfer me to, I’ll burn out within a year.”

Pei Zhuo: “…” That short?

He was just one person—no one else around him had a STEM background. He hadn’t even fully powered the system yet, and the tech provider was already on its death countdown. But what if he spent the next two years training a group of science-minded assistants? He could recite elementary to high school science textbooks from memory. But in ancient times, setting up a school required money. The imperial exams didn’t test math or science, so he couldn’t collect tuition; he’d have to subsidize these assistants. Scientific research in ancient times? Also needed money. Just because the system could give him a cement formula didn’t mean he could produce cement overnight—there’d definitely be trial and error. In 18th-century Europe, science blossomed—but most scientists, like Cavendish, came from noble families. Poor people had no access to education or research funding.

In short, he had to first accumulate wealth.

And he needed to latch onto a powerful, capable backer to help him promote science education. Only then could the wheel of progress begin to turn.

The best backers were obvious: the emperor and his successor.

Pei Zhuo asked the system to go over the “promising youths” again.

4523 perked up cheerfully. “The current emperor is the founding ruler, on the throne for twenty years. The crown prince, Xiao Xun, was born in the year of the emperor’s ascension, to great delight, and was named heir immediately.

“The following year, Consort Li gave birth to the second prince, Xiao Fei—he loves socializing, has many strategists under him, favors red clothes, and has striking, uncanny looks.

“Consort Xian gave birth to the third prince, Xiao Zheng—brave and battle-hardened. At fourteen, he followed Dingyuan General in quelling the Three Feudatories; at sixteen, he led troops to reclaim Wusu on his own; at eighteen, he suppressed the Nanjiang rebellion.

“The fourth prince is only seven. Ignorable.”

4523 chimed. “You should just throw in your lot with the crown prince! He’s super diligent! Since childhood, he followed the grand tutor’s routine of waking at 3 a.m. and sleeping at 9 p.m.. Excellent genes!”

Pei Zhuo got a headache just hearing “3 a.m. wake-up,” and argued, “Haven’t you studied history? This crown prince is textbook cannon fodder.”

4523 sharply replied, “You’re just being negative.”

Pei Zhuo counted on his fingers. “You said the emperor is the founding ruler and has ruled for twenty years. Historically, heirs under such powerful emperors often meet bad ends. Just look at Crown Prince Fusu of Qin Shi Huang, Liu Ju of Emperor Wu of Han, Li Jiancheng under Emperor Gaozu of Tang, Zhu Biao under Zhu Yuanzhang, and even the heir under Kangxi… either they died of illness or rebellion, or got taken out by their own brothers.”

Great emperors in old age tend to grow obstinate and suspicious. A young, ambitious heir becomes a prime target.

Pei Zhuo continued, “Xiao Xun has stayed quietly as crown prince for twenty years. It fits historical patterns that he’ll either be deposed or eliminated by one of his more talented brothers—especially since two of them are clearly exceptional.”

System 4523, completely lacking in humanities or historical knowledge, gasped. “Whoa. So, Host, do you prefer the second prince or the third prince?”

Pei Zhuo evaded. “Not sure yet. I’m betting the top three stab each other and the seven-year-old picks up the leftovers.”

“The seven-year-old?” 4523 sounded disappointed—it couldn’t play matchmaker for that. “Still, I think the crown prince is the best.”

Pei Zhuo sneered. Useless system. Still not giving up. He wanted to knock on its head and spell it out: “He’s cannon fodder.”

Forget it. What was the point of reasoning with a science-tree system that never studied history?