Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen Seizing the Opportunity to Claim Everything Back from Him

Chapter 18: I'll Get My Due

Wei San was utterly bewildered, but before he could voice his questions, Wei Zheng had already shed his outer robe and settled onto the bed. Seeing Wei San still standing there dumbfounded, he patted the mattress and said, "What are you still gawking at? It's late; time to rest."

"But this subordinate..." The proper place for him to sleep was the side room.

Just as Wei San's gaze drifted towards the side room, Wei Zheng nonchalantly remarked, "I don't sleep soundly alone. Keep me company, and perhaps I'll fare better."

Wei San then recalled Wei Zheng mentioning his nights were plagued by nightmares, preventing proper sleep. His heart immediately swelled with sympathy, completely forgetting his earlier resolve to maintain a private distance from Wei Zheng. Obediently, he became the human body pillow nestled in Wei Zheng's arms.

As always, Wei Zheng loved to curl Wei San's entire body into his embrace, as if genuinely treating him as a large, warm human cushion.

Resting his chin on the assassin's head, Wei Zheng narrowed his eyes contentedly.

"Alright, sleep now."

Wei San mumbled a soft "Mm," the skin-to-skin warmth making him feel lightheaded, as if that patch of skin had been set ablaze.

Sharing a bed with his master wasn't a first, and though Wei San still felt a degree of restraint, he was no longer as tense as he had been initially, unable to sleep at all. Unfortunately, he still found himself sleepless.

He vaguely sensed that his master's attitude towards him was unusually, even excessively, kind. He simply couldn't fathom what his master saw in him, or why he was singled out for such special treatment.

Could it be because of his face?

Wei San paused, suddenly remembering that his master had a fondness for beauties, especially those who were both pretty and obedient.

Wei San had always known he was handsome. The assassins in the camp often teased him, saying that if he were a woman, they would surely marry him. He had never taken these jokes seriously, but now, reflecting on them, they suddenly seemed plausible.

His master must be exceptionally lenient with him because of his looks.

Convinced he had grasped the crucial point, Wei San's mind was at ease, and he slept soundly until dawn.

This time, Wei San once again dutifully attended to his master's morning ablutions. However, since Wei Zheng was still feigning illness, the rituals of changing clothes and styling hair were omitted.

Wei San assumed Wei Zheng would continue feigning unconsciousness, so after putting away the washbasin, he habitually went to prepare the medicine. But just as he turned, Wei Zheng called out to him.

"No need to brew medicine today."

"After several days of unconsciousness, the Virtuous Prince should now awaken."

Wei San was initially puzzled, but a moment's thought brought clarity to Wei Zheng's meaning.

His master had been biding his time and meticulously planning for so long—it seemed the moment had arrived to reel in the net.

He immediately tensed, a surge of fervor coursing through him. He yearned to return to the assassin camp at once, eager to undertake more missions and alleviate his master's burdens.

Filled with fervent anticipation, he looked expectantly at Wei Zheng, awaiting his instructions. Instead, he watched Wei Zheng open a dressing table drawer, retrieve a box of pearl powder, and beckon to him: "Come here, help me apply some makeup."

Wei San was dumbfounded, stammering, "But this subordinate... doesn't know how."

That was an item exclusively for women. How could a grown man like him know how to use it? Even during his last infiltration of the brothel, it had been Wei Jiu who applied his makeup.

Wei Zheng, however, said indifferently, "It doesn't matter if you don't know. Just powder my face to make it look paler, as haggard and weak as possible."

"That way, it will be easier to win the sympathy of my dear father, won't it?"

This time, Wei San understood. After all the detours, it was still about putting on a show for the old emperor.

Seeing him remain motionless for so long, Wei Zheng lifted the box in his hand and raised an eyebrow at him leisurely. "The sky is already bright. Hurry up."

Wei San placed the washbasin he was holding onto the shelf and solemnly accepted the powder box.

Wei Zheng slightly lifted his chin, waiting for him to apply the powder, feeling quite expectant and already contemplating how to subtly tease the assassin later. But then he watched the assassin, clutching the pearl powder box, rush to the window, prop it open, lean out, and call for Wei Jiu.

Before Wei Zheng could intervene, a dark figure appeared upside-down from outside the window.

"Third Brother, you called me?"

Wei Jiu blinked his confused eyes and, as he spoke, tried to vault into the room, only to meet his master's icy, murderous gaze.

He instantly felt a chill down his spine, his toes slipped from the windowsill, and with a thud, he fell face-first to the ground.

Wei Jiu clutched his bruised nose, not even having time to complain, before hearing Wei San sternly scold him: "Wei Jiu, your martial arts have deteriorated. Have you been slacking off in your training lately?"

Wei Jiu, feeling utterly wronged: "..."

With his master's displeased, almost piercing glare—since his master was disturbed in the midst of something—even if his martial arts were superior, he would still have fallen.

Wei Jiu couldn't argue back and had no choice but to reluctantly accept the blame. He changed the subject and asked, "Third Brother, you still haven't told me why you called me."

Wei San indeed stopped dwelling on whether he had been slacking off and instead urged, "Hurry up and come in. Help our master apply some pearl powder."

Wei Jiu: "???"

He sneaked several glances at Wei Zheng's dark expression, utterly bewildered.

The master, using pearl powder?

He understood each word separately, but put together, they made no sense.

Perhaps impatient at his hesitation, Wei San actually grabbed his collar, lifted him, and dragged the sturdy young man straight into the bedroom.

Inside the room, Wei Jiu was deeply uncomfortable, holding the pearl powder box that had been thrust into his hands as if it were a hot iron.

Wei Zheng sat on the chair, lips tightly pursed, silent and sulking. Even the thick-skinned Wei Jiu sensed his master's foul mood. Yet the oblivious culprit, Wei San, urged, "Hurry up. In another quarter of an hour, His Majesty the Emperor will be here."

Wei Jiu and Wei Zheng simultaneously exchanged helpless, unspoken glances.

"Master, what do you think..."

Wei Jiu truly didn't dare to touch his master's face, holding the pearl powder box, unsure whether to open it or not.

Wei Zheng irritably snatched the powder box back from him. "Forget it, I'll do it myself."

He couldn't bring himself to vent his anger on Wei San, so he could only secretly fume at his denseness, lamenting the squandered opportunity to foster their relationship.

After mulling it over, he still felt unwilling. Gritting his teeth, he shot a glance at Wei San, mentally tallying up his grievances, waiting for the day he would find opportunities to collect them back one by one.

Wei San finally realized, belatedly, that he seemed to have angered his master. Yet he couldn't for the life of him figure out what he had done wrong. He cast a pleading, questioning look towards Wei Jiu, who, however, avoided his gaze, pretending not to understand.

Seeing their interaction, Wei Zheng, now powdered, grew even angrier.

Well, well, flirting with another assassin right in front of him—clearly not taking him, their master, seriously.

Jealous, he threw the pearl powder box back into the drawer and said stiffly, "You may leave. The Emperor should be here soon."

Though his words were directed at Wei Jiu, Wei San thought he was being dismissed as well. He obediently bowed and turned to leave alongside Wei Jiu.

Wei Zheng instinctively frowned, wanting to pull him back, but just then, Zhao Fu’s sharp voice echoed from outside the courtyard.

Wei Zheng shot a glance at the two of them, then quickly lay back on the bed, clutching his chest and coughing weakly, pretending to be too frail to move.

With the main door blocked, Wei Jiu had no choice but to climb through the window again.

Wei San, of course, couldn't leave by the window. After a moment of thought, he rubbed his eyes until they reddened, then pinched the soft flesh of his inner thigh hard enough to squeeze out two tears. Afterward, he slumped beside the bed, biting his lower lip with a mix of worry and tormented conflict.

A beauty with tearful eyes, on the verge of crying, hesitating to speak—even the most hard-hearted person would be softened by his misty gaze.

Though Wei Zheng knew it was an act, he couldn't help but feel the urge to pull him into an embrace and comfort him. Just as he was about to reach out, the door was pushed open, and the old emperor, with weary eyes, stepped inside.

The first thing the old emperor saw was the tender gaze between the two. He paused in surprise, then his expression softened with joy at the sight of his son awake.

“My son is finally awake!”

He hurried forward, nudging Wei San aside, and sat on the edge of the bed, carefully studying Wei Zheng. Seeing his pale and haggard appearance, his heart ached with concern.

Holding Wei Zheng’s hand, he said with genuine emotion, “Seventh, you’ve suffered. You’ve grown thin from illness. Later, I’ll have Imperial Physician Liu prescribe some tonics to help you recover properly. Don’t let this leave any lasting ailments.”

Wei Zheng resisted the urge to pull his hand back and replied in a thread-like voice, “Thank you for your concern, Father. It is my fault for worrying you—I have been unfilial.”

Though his voice was extremely feeble, his words were clear and logical, his attitude humble and restrained. Even in severe illness, he carried himself with the dignified grace of a gentleman.

A spoiled, foolish simpleton would never speak or carry themselves this way. Having lived for decades, the old emperor was a cunning old fox and immediately sensed something unusual.

He glanced at Wei San beside him and said, “You may withdraw. I wish to speak heart-to-heart with Seventh.”

Wei San glanced worriedly at Wei Zheng, who returned a look that told him to stay calm. Only then did Wei San feel reassured and withdraw.

As Wei San left, the bedroom door closed once more, leaving only the old emperor and Wei Zheng, who lay on the bed.

The old emperor stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and began pacing slowly. He remained silent, and Wei Zheng kept his eyes half-lowered, not speaking either, only occasionally letting out suppressed coughs.

“Seventh, has your old ailment healed?”

The joy on the old emperor’s face faded slightly. It had only been a suspicion at first, but when Wei Zheng stared back at him without offering any explanation, he already had his answer.

For Seventh to regain his senses at this time… was not necessarily a good thing.

He twisted the jade thumb-ring on his thumb, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Wei Zheng sneered inwardly—he had long expected this kind of reaction from the old emperor.

When the Virtuous Prince was a fool, the old emperor had no qualms about showering a foolish prince with affection and indulgence. But if this foolish prince were no longer foolish and instead posed a threat to his throne, turning his back on him would take no more than a blink of an eye.

He knew the old emperor all too well. To lower the old emperor’s guard, he had to show weakness.

Wei Zheng secretly circulated his inner energy, forcing himself to cough up a mouthful of stagnant blood. With a pained smile, he asked the old emperor with a mix of sorrow and unease, “Have I done something wrong to upset you, Father?”

The old emperor, who had been weighing his doubts, couldn’t help but step forward to support his swaying son. With an unreadable expression, he said, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The only mistake was recovering from his mental illness.