The next few years slowly trickled by like a trail of cold honey. Suddenly, the small seedling of a prince started to sprout right before the eyes of those watching. At the age of thirteen, this midget of a boy was now a head taller and his form was filling out day by day.
Many even surmised that he'd be far more handsome than his father was in his youth, but beauty couldn't dig a sad boy out of his misery.
During those few short years, Shan Si was forced to focus on his studies. If he wasn't sat in a room with other obnoxious noble children around his age, then he was huffing and puffing out in the training grounds, no matter the season.
And if not on the training ground, then he was forced to meditate against his own boredom.
Not a moment of Shan Si's time, apart from slumber, was free from his father's plan.
But there was a problem. His skills, to his father's fear, weren't extraordinary. They improved through the years, sure, but not in a way that one would expect a celebrated Crowned Prince to act. They were laughable by any noble's standards.
What did that make of his own status?
Left with no choice, Emperor Xingcai had to appoint a common denominator to the problem—Shan Si's mother and that damned Daoist Master, Zhuan.
Pesky, such was the curse of the woman's hand in matters she shouldn't, and now his only capable son was to bear the burden. Now what would become of the future of Jianlai? The emperor sneered at the very idea.
But it wasn't as if he wasn't responsible, either. Yes, if the Emperor hadn't agreed to such matters, who would this soft-hearted, modest son of his be?
A fearsome master of the sword? A gifted scholar blessed by the heavens, crafted by the four arts? A chariot of charisma and social status, loved far and wide?
The possibilities were endless. Had he not agreed to Chancellor Jiangzi's suggestion, then perhaps Shan Si could have lived up to the greatness once prophesied for him, maybe even more. But no matter, he appointed Wan Mie as his chancellor for a reason, and he had to own up to his own, as well.
All messes could easily be cleaned up with enough discipline.
Thus, an imperial decree was established just before Shan Si's eleventh birthday, one that warned against the intervention of his first-born son's future. Any and all arguments spat in the Emperor's direction were nothing but noise to him and had been completely disregarded, citing past successions with such a regime.
The decree went, as said, "Visitation with His Highness, the Crowned Prince, is strictly prohibited. Whether it be the Imperial Mother, past Masters, or even siblings. All available hours of the day must be dedicated to His Highness's upbringing. Should this order be disobeyed, then we will see to a harsh punishment for obstructing the future of Jianlai and all the land under heaven."
When asked about the punishment, it was simple: "Death. Death to free he and his family of their sins."
No one dared to speak another word against the emperor after that. They all valued an unscathed neck. Afterall, what was one suffering child to their own family?
After the enacting decree, Wan Mie, once at the emperor's side, was ordered to raise Shan Si himself. It would be his duty to dedicate his life as Shan Si's personal tutor and caretaker. Should Shan Si not fulfil the emperor's expectations, then it'll only be his life on the line and no one else's.
Many would call it favouritism that Wan Mie's punishment was less severe; one life over an entire family? Unheard of! But he never saw it that way. This order was as good as a carrot dangling a few inches out of reach—a chance to atone for his suggestion in Shan Si's upbringing, and potentially a warning.
Better worded: "Make up for this child's failure and create a monster out of man."
That was when Shan Si noticed his uncle's eyes. They dimmed, seared with hatred aimed toward the emperor. The only reason Shan Si could notice what others couldn't, well, was simple.
His eyes were scorched in the same flame.
Truly, he could empathise with his uncle, which made it a lot easier for both parties to tolerate each other in their forced closeness.
Hell, Shan Si even saw Wan Mie as a father figure at times, even if he was a rather odd and playful individual. The man listened to Shan Si's woes, offering advice from time to time. He didn't even have to worry about the things he said either; Wan Mie always kept them safe.
So, he could curse his own father to his heart's content, and in return, Wan Mie would gladly fuel that fire.
Yet, there was one thing he hadn't told a soul, not even his uncle. This secret was possibly the only reason Shan Si hadn't drowned in misery or thrown himself over a rafter.
A small sprinkle of hope in all that was damned.
This secret, which Little Shan Si carefully kept tucked away from the world, was one that carried him through his strict study hours and painful training sessions. It gave him purpose, reminding him that all of this wasn't for naught.
And yet it was so simple, many would cock their head confused at Shan Si's sentimentality.
Once every few months, Zhuan would sneak her way into the Crowned Prince's palace. She was an exceptional cultivator, and thus her feet were nothing more than a light breeze. With each visit, she'd treat Shan Si to a few of his favourite sweets, update him on his mother, and help him with his cultivation in ways no other tutor—not even Wan Mie—could produce.
It was only in those moments that he felt like an actual child worthy of a mother's care than being treated like a rabid dog under the watchful eye of a bastard owner.
Glancing down at his son, past all the bowing heads, Emperor Xincai squinted. Those mystical black eyes, as deep as the void of an abyss, hadn't once looked upon the throne at his own father, nor at his fellow disciple's echoing sutras and prayers.
The room was packed to the brim with people. From nobles to family, and family to other Daoist priests and worshippers, they all reeked of wealth. But none of it interested this little prince.
In fact, not even the hallowed beat of traditional drums bouncing off the walls of the Palace of Heavenly Purity's Main Hall could wake Shan Si from his stupor.
But what did was stationed on the other side of the hall.
Sneaking a glance or two at his mother, Shan Si's lower lip quivered for only a second. She was knelt between Zhuan and Rucun, both of whom smiled warmly at the individual who led the prayer with great passion.
A prayer that was on well into its third day. To be exact, a ritual done when crowning the next Imperial Preceptor of Jianlai. And boy did Shan Si ever fucking hate it as much as he hated Weng Jing! So, he focused on his mother, fuck the procession.
It was the first time in a long time he'd been in the same room as her, and yet the reason wasn't for him. His mother was always one to save face, and remained gracefully positioned, focused on the ritual, never once sparing a glance in return.
Shan Si couldn't grab her attention, even if he tried.
Agitation welled in his chest; his fingers curled tightly against his knees, making a disgrace of his cleanly ironed robe. Turning his head away, he puffed out a few sullen huffs of air, bit by bit, until his cheeks deflated.
In that moment of grief, every smoothed-out corner in his boyish face completely crumpled. This was misery—sitting in a large hall only half a room of his own mother was misery.
What if I weren't born to someone like her…would I be this miserable? Shan Si began wondering, but immediately discarded the idea. He hastily shook his head.
The blame isn't mother's… Painfully, his brows wrinkled. Then why am I still mourning having been born her child? Wouldn't that be wishing not to be born at all? Wishing she had never been my mother?
Side-glancing, he caught wind of Zhuan whispering a few words to Rucun, and his expression soured even more with a twisted smile.
To be born Master's child... If they ever had a child…heh, I don't know if I could stop myself from acting out of jealousy. Would I kill them or try to preserve them? Shan Si seethed through gritted teeth, his head dipping.
He imagined many things about the hypothetical child's upbringing. Carefree, suffocated with love, raised by two talented cultivators—although he didn't realise it then, this would be the start of a subtle hatred toward what never existed. An obsession, to be precise, one that was steeped in the possibilities of a happy family.
Shan Si scoffed a laugh, I'd probably end up hating that child because of how much I'd want to be them. I guess I'm lucky Master cultivates purity; that way I can't let her down if I ever so happened to hate her child.
Thwap!
His blackening thoughts immediately halted. Eyes widened, Shan Si was just about to yelp out in pain had he not bitten his tongue.
Chapter end.