Chapter 42 Your Highness, whose are you really...?
"Limited opportunities, first come, first served!"
Su Shi shouted at the top of his lungs. Two blushes rose on his fair cheeks, whether from shyness or exhaustion and lack of oxygen, it was hard to tell. The onlookers quickly noticed him and the various prizes and a thick stack of papers on the table in front of him, with something seemingly written on them.
"A limited edition inkstone? Could this be... a Chengni inkstone?"
"It's actually a Chengni inkstone!"
"Really? Let me see?"
The onlookers crowded around to investigate, and one picked up an inkstone and examined it for a moment before exclaiming, "It's actually genuine!"
He then smiled ingratiatingly and said, "Young Master Su, what did you just say? How can we obtain this Chengni inkstone?"
"Senior, you're here early. You only need to fill out this."
Su Shi shook the questionnaire in his hand: "However, you only have a chance if you come early, senior brother. The number of Chengni inkstones is limited. Whoever finishes the questionnaire first will get one. Of course, in addition to inkstones, we also have other rewards."
He pointed to the table in front of him, where the prizes were laid out in a row. Besides the most precious inkstone, there were bags of fine sugar tied up, exquisitely crafted ceramic toys, and so on. Each item was delicate and lovely, suitable for personal use or as a gift.
These were all contributed by Fusu himself.
The Chengni inkstone was a tribute item from the local area. Although Emperor Renzong did not select the best batch for him in order to avoid revealing his identity, its quality was more than enough to attract the students of the Imperial Academy.
They quickly borrowed pen and ink from Su Shi, their eyes fixed intently on the questionnaire, perhaps showing more enthusiasm than they had even during an exam.
Upon closer inspection, they were all stunned.
"Well……"
What kind of questions are these?
—Please state whether the dish "Pounded Rice with Rice" is delicious or not, and give your reasons.
—What types of dishes do you think most need to be added to the dining hall? Why?
—If the cafeteria were to add a paid service window offering higher-quality dishes, would you be willing to pay? If so, what types of dishes would you like to see added to the paid service window?
"What are all these? Su Xiaolang?"
Su Shi said, "It's a questionnaire, a freshly produced questionnaire from our Food Committee. Oh, and over there is a red and black list for rating the taste of each dish. You can vote for it after you finish filling it out."
"No, what I mean is... do you really think we'll adopt your ideas just because we write them down? Is it even useful?"
"Of course it's useful! If you don't believe me, go ask the Chancellor of the Imperial Kitchen. He gave his approval to the reform of the dining hall and even submitted a memorial to the Emperor to report on this important matter!"
Using the official's name is more effective than anything else.
Compared to the allure of participating in major projects related to the government, the Chengni inkstone quickly lost its focus, and everyone crowded around the young Su Shi, vying to ask him how to fill out the questionnaire.
Su Shi was so busy answering this and that that his eyes were blurry, but in a brief moment he caught a glimpse of a smiling figure in the distance.
It was small and short.
Alone and carefree.
He gritted his teeth in resentment: "Zhao Zongsu—"
Don't think he doesn't know; this kid is getting revenge for the times he mocked him before!
The little boy in the distance seemed to have seen his lip movements, and immediately smiled even more brightly.
Oh dear, who told me to be the sponsor of prizes like Chengni inkstones, thus gaining the right to choose sides? And who told Su Shi to be so eccentric that it's terrifying?
If he doesn't do the customer service work, who will?!
Fusu rested his chin on his hand, leisurely counting the red and black tags under the dishes, and flashing a smile at everyone who passed by to vote.
...Then, someone touched his face.
Fusu: "!!!"
Su Shi, who was in the distance, immediately laughed out: "Ha!"
Fusu turned around and glared angrily, then looked to the other side, but the culprit had already drifted away. He could only cover his face with his hands, shrinking back in frustration, while keeping a wary eye on the people walking towards him.
However, what had just happened seemed to have triggered something. The chubby little face was no longer within reach, but the smooth hair was still sticking out. Someone's hand was about to pat Fusu's head and give him a pat; if the latter hadn't reacted quickly, he would have been caught.
"What are you planning to do, sir?"
Fusu simply stopped calling him "senior brother": What's the point? He only lets the Empress touch him when he's in a good mood. Even Miaowu rarely gets to touch such a place. How can a random passerby be allowed to do so?
The passerby senior felt a pang of guilt and gave an awkward laugh: "Well, it's because you, Zhao Xiaolang... are really cute."
After saying that, he ran away in a flash.
Fusu: "..."
He simply hugged his head as well.
After a while, the crowd surrounding Su Shi dispersed, and half of the prizes on the table were gone. Fu Su strolled over: "How many have you collected?"
Just then, someone filled out a questionnaire and handed it to Su Shi, saying, "Here, I've finished writing it for you."
After saying that, he turned and left.
Su Shi shouted at his retreating figure, "Hey! Senior brother, you didn't get your reward!"
The man turned his back, waved his hand, and left with a flourish: "No need, I don't care for such a small amount of stuff."
Su Shi sighed with emotion: "What kind of family is this? They don't even care about refined sugar."
Upon hearing this, Fusu immediately made a mark on the person's questionnaire: "This is a valuable sample; it should be preserved."
"Why?" Su Shi asked.
"Didn't you say yourself that only a minority of people come to eat in the cafeteria? Of course, we should highlight their thoughts."
Su Shi looked thoughtful, then scrutinized Fusu's little head from head to toe. The latter, startled, clutched his head, his eyes filled with wariness: "Su Shi, what are you trying to do?"
You wouldn't want to go astray too, would you? Maybe you should give him a good slap!
"I've been wondering, Xiao Lang, how exactly is your brain structured? How come it seems like you know everything?"
Su Shi's expression suggested that he was truly deep in thought.
"Well..."
Fusu smiled and said, "If you could live three lifetimes, you might be even more learned than me."
That said, he really should thank the Song Dynasty for its veneration of child prodigies. So far, no matter what talent he has displayed, everyone seems to accept that he is simply gifted, rather than suspecting that he has been possessed or something and wanting to dissect his head for an autopsy.
Fusu, as if he had survived a calamity, touched his clever forehead.
They waited a while longer, until the dining hall was empty after lunchtime, before calling it a day. Fusu tallied up his haul for the day: more than one hand's worth of votes and over twenty questionnaires.
A quick flip through revealed that every single page was filled to the brim, unlike the perfunctory work done in later generations. Indeed, the official title was quite effective.
Fusu said with a bittersweet feeling, "Now we've got a lot to sort out."
"After we're all done tidying up, shouldn't we head to the Eighth Prince's Mansion?"
"Yes."
"That's great!" Su Shi rubbed his hands together expectantly. "On our day off, we can go buy dried fish for Dongjun!"
The two returned to Fusu's dormitory, whereupon Fusu immediately squatted down and began maliciously counting the votes. This made him feel as if he were back in first grade, counting numbers with sticks. A similar scene had occurred in his earlier life. Back then, it was vaguely... his father, the Emperor, by his side?
How many is this?
"It's two!"
What about this one?
"three!"
"Then they combine..."
"Five. Father, you're so silly. You actually asked me such a simple question?"
"Hahahahahaha." The young-looking emperor held his tiny son on his lap: "Fusu really does resemble me."
What was his answer again?
Is it "impossible," or "it simply doesn't exist"?
Long-forgotten memories surged forth like a tidal wave, pinning Fusu to the spot. Had it not been for today, he would have almost forgotten that such an old story existed.
"Zhao Xiaolang?"
"Zhao Xiaolang?"
"Still spacing out? Why does Zhao Xiaolang always seem to be lost in thought?"
Su Shi's round eyes darted around, and he said loudly, "Young Master Zhao! You don't mean you can't count, do you?"
"!" Fusu snapped back to reality in an instant.
Even though I've gotten used to Su Shi's sharp tongue, I still can't help but glare at him.
"How could that be?!"
To prove himself, he counted rapidly, like a seasoned accountant.
The results of the statistics were quite unexpected for Fusu.
"It's fine that many people chose 'delicious' for the radish soup... but why do so many people dislike pickled cucumber and salted fermented black beans?"
Almost no one rated these two dishes as "delicious".
Su Shi pouted: "I don't like it either. Eating pickled vegetables all the time makes me feel like I'm going to spoil."
That's right, this is China, not South Korea.
Who doesn't like to eat something fresh?
“My situation is quite surprising as well.”
Su Shi quickly checked the responses on the questionnaire: "Wow, so many people actually support opening a paid window!"
"Huh?"
Logically speaking, aren't all the people who eat in the dining hall poor children?
“Look, it’s true.” Su Shi pointed to a questionnaire: “And they even wrote at the bottom that they wanted to add... mutton to the dishes.”
In ancient times, cattle were important agricultural tools, and laws prohibited their arbitrary killing and consumption. Lamb thus became the most expensive and highest-quality meat, and it wasn't something easily obtained.
Fusu took the questionnaire and flipped through it page by page: "It really is true."
He suddenly remembered something: in this era, literate people had a safety net; copying books or working as tutors, even in poverty, wouldn't lead to a bad life. This excludes extreme cases like Zeng Gong, who had to conserve food and raise over a dozen younger siblings alone.
Therefore, it's not unreasonable for so-called "poor" children to occasionally want to eat a bite of meat.
Fusu said, "Our dining hall really needs to be changed."
He picked up a blank sheet of paper and began to write. Su Shi read aloud, following his handwriting: "Completely abolish the rationing at the pickled vegetable window... Daily raw materials must be fresh vegetables..."
"That will consume a lot of vegetables! Is the cafeteria's budget sufficient?"
Fusu said casually, "If it's not enough, why don't the senior brothers grow their own?"
"Huh?" Su Shi: "Are you serious? You're not joking?"
For scholars, farming was a leisurely pursuit, a refined pastoral experience, and a source of inspiration for idyllic poetry. Have you ever heard the line, "Planting beans south of the mountain, the weeds are lush, but the bean sprouts are sparse"? Who actually goes to the ground to grow vegetables hoping for them to flower and bear fruit?
If word gets out, what kind of image will that project?
Fusu, however, clenched his little fist with great interest and excitement: "After all, everyone will be an official in the future, and agriculture is the foundation of the people and the country. What harm is there in learning about agriculture early on? Write it down, write it down."
"Are you really going to write this to the senior priest? Do you think they'll agree?"
"Write it down first, and we'll see if you agree or not later! Then I'll take another look and write it down for the payment window too. If the food is delicious, people will definitely come to eat. It's better to let the Imperial Academy's dining hall earn this money than let the night market do it."
"Then we need to hire a chef?"
Fu Su, as if channeling a capitalist, uttered cold words: "No need, we can select the best from the dining hall. Whoever performs well on weekdays can go to the pay window to be a cook. Hmm... let Senior Brother Fan and the others worry about the specifics, we're just here to give suggestions anyway."
Su Shi said quietly, "You really don't care whether they live or die..."
Fusu: "Do you still want to go to the Eighth Prince's house?"
Su Shi immediately changed his attitude and joined the ranks of those who would rather die than see their friends die.
"Think and think, come on, hurry up and finish writing. I'm going to my dorm to grab something, I'll be right back!"
"Pfft."
Fusu watched his hurried departure and couldn't help but laugh. After laughing, he looked at the newly drafted proposal in the report. Although it was a fresh idea, the more he thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed—what was going on? As for how to persuade the Chancellor, taking it one step at a time was a lie, just an excuse to fool young Su Shi.
He moved his tiny wrist: I have plenty of ways.
With the matter of the dining hall concluded, Fusu put down his pen and tidied his appearance in front of the bronze mirror. He was about to enter the Prince's residence, so he should at least be presentable as a sign of courtesy, shouldn't he?
He looked at himself from the left and then from the right.
She then made a smiling face at herself in the mirror.
Yes, that should be fine.
The servant who came to meet the Eighth Prince told Fusu that there were nine grandchildren in his household, and each of them wanted a sugar painting, perhaps more than one. Therefore, he should bring plenty of raw materials. As for money, that was no problem; his palace had plenty!
Therefore, Fusu requested a sufficient amount of syrup from the palace.
However, he specifically instructed the palace kitchen to reduce the sweetness a bit, as too much sugar could cause tooth decay in children. The kitchen staff obediently complied, probably assuming that His Highness Prince Cheng wanted to eat it himself?
No, actually, they're all materials for making extra money.
Fusu stirred the syrup expressionlessly: Your Prince Cheng is working hard outside.
"Zhao Xiaolang—are you done yet—"
"Okay, coming right away."
Fusu and Su Shi, each carrying a container of syrup, staggered to the gate of the Imperial Academy. There, people from the Eighth Prince's residence were already waiting for them. Upon seeing them, they quickly took the containers of syrup and held them to their chests.
"You two young men have worked hard."
Fusu smiled and said, "We have a sedan chair to ride in, what trouble do we have? It is you brothers who have gone to the trouble of coming all the way to pick us up, you have really gone to a lot of trouble."
Look at what they're saying.
That's really impressive.
The servants of the Eighth Prince's mansion felt much better.
On second thought, there were plenty of little tyrants in the Prince's mansion, some even older than these two little ones, who were still crying and clamoring for candy, and had even made a scene in front of the Prince.
It's true what they say, comparisons are odious!
"Let's go, let's set off."
Fusu and Su Shi entered through a side gate of the Prince's mansion, which was fine, as they were both commoners. Fusu, having donned a disguise, certainly wouldn't care, and Su Shi, having come for the money, was even less concerned. What piqued their curiosity was the scenery of the Eighth Prince's mansion; taking advantage of the surrounding distractions, they looked here and there.
He also secretly asked Fusu, "Aren't you curious about what the Prince's Palace looks like?"
After saying that, he suddenly realized, "Oh right, yours must be similar."
Fusu remained silent.
Can I say that his house is actually prettier?
To be fair, the scenery at the Eighth Prince's mansion was not bad. It was surrounded by magnificent courtyards and white walls, with winding streams, covered corridors, and rockeries. However, after taking a few quick glances, Fusu spotted a man's figure in a pavilion in the distance. He was surrounded by a crowd and was clearly the master of the mansion.
Because of the distance, Fusu couldn't be sure whether the person was the prince himself or his son. But he still lowered his head warily, his hands instinctively pressed together against the seams of his trousers, trying to hurry across the road.
Hurry up, hurry up.
Hurry up!
Only when the servants led him to his destination, and through a wooden door he could still faintly hear the restless, noisy voices of a few children, did his heart finally settle down.
Okay, no need to worry about being exposed.
-
The Prince of Zhou was named Zhao Yuanyan. He was the younger brother of Emperor Zhenzong and the eighth in his family, hence he was known as the Eighth Prince.
He is the current emperor's uncle, of high seniority and close blood relation. He was the one who exposed the mother-son relationship between Empress Zhangyi and the emperor, earning the emperor's deep trust and remaining the undisputed number one figure in the imperial clan.
Despite his noble and esteemed status, Zhao Yuanran was not as arrogant as many people imagined. On the contrary, he not only cultivated self-discipline but also disciplined his children, earning him a very good reputation among civil officials and censors.
Even though he had heard that the Puwang Mansion's momentum was growing stronger and stronger, and that it was showing signs of overshadowing him, Zhao Yuanran showed no signs of getting anxious or upset, and remained calm and composed at home.
Well, he's already this old. He had a serious illness before the New Year, barely escaping death, which made him see things in a more detached way. Anyway, his children have no worries about their future, so he's happy to spend his days fishing at the pavilion and enjoying his retirement.
Today, he was fishing in the pavilion when he suddenly saw a group of people surrounding two little kids of different heights, unfamiliar faces he had never seen before.
Who are those two people?
The servant immediately stepped forward and replied, "Your Highness, those two are students from the Imperial Academy, here to make sugar paintings for the young gentlemen."
Sugar painting?
Zhao Yuanran had heard about this matter.
His dozen or so children cried day and night, making it hard for him to sleep at night. When he asked what was wrong, he learned they wanted to find a sugar painting craftsman. Zhao Yuanran immediately ordered his servants to go and find one. A few days later, they said they had found one, but it was a secret technique of two students from the Imperial Academy. He didn't take it seriously.
—But you didn't say they were two such small ones?
The students at the Imperial Academy were generally there for the imperial examinations, and the youngest were already teenagers. As for those who looked like toddlers, Zhao Yuanyan only knew two: one was Su Xiaolang, who had contributed to the peace talks between Song and Xia, and the other was the child prodigy who had dragged Prince Pu into the eye of the storm.
A member of the royal family, a grandson of his, came to his house to show off his skills to his grandson.
If this gets out, it will cause a huge problem!
If someone with ulterior motives were to add fuel to the fire, wouldn't this become a show of force by the Zhou Prince's Mansion to provoke the Pu Prince's Mansion?! And the Pu Prince is currently favored by the Emperor. Honestly, he has absolutely no intention of harboring any dissatisfaction with the Emperor!
Zhao Yuanran stopped fishing and immediately got up, instructing his servants to take him to the location of the two Imperial Academy students.
Throughout the journey, he kept thinking about how to handle the situation.
Of course, driving them away is not an option.
Then giving him a generous reward... that doesn't sound good either. Oh well, let's just treat it as ordinary kinship. At worst, he can apologize to the Prince of Pu's mansion later and turn hostility into friendship.
The plan is in place, and we've arrived at our destination.
Even through the door, Zhao Yuanyan could hear the laughter and chatter on the other side, almost enough to shake the courtyard. His temples throbbed involuntarily; he really hoped his sons would treat the other person well and not offend them.
"The Prince has arrived!"
Silence fell on the other side of the door.
Zhao Yuanyan felt he couldn't just show up like that; people might think he was there to interrogate him. He forced a kind smile, pushed open the door himself, but his eyes kept darting around, searching for the unfamiliar little boy, who looked to be about three years old.
Found it.
But, but...
How could this be!?
Zhao Yuanyan's eyes bulged out: "Yes, yes...!"
What I'm seeing must be an illusion, right?
Otherwise, how could one see Prince Cheng, who was pampered and cherished by the emperor, and who was granted the title of First-Rank Prince at the age of three and whose future position as Crown Prince was a sure thing, appearing in his house and helping others coax children?
Oh, it's his child.
This is utterly contrary to the principles of Heaven and Earth.
Zhao Yuanyan's knees buckled, and he almost stumbled. But then he saw the familiar three-year-old boy see him, give him an awkward and helpless smile, and put his little finger to his lips in a "shh" gesture.
"..."
No, someone tell him what's going on.
Zhao Yuanyan made a weak hand gesture and smiled feebly, saying, "I just came to check on things. You guys continue playing."
Fearing that his grandchildren had been turned on as if a switch had been flipped, they continued to laugh and joke around Fusu and Sushi.
"Goldfish again? Aren't you tired of them yet?"
"A big carp! I want a big carp!"
Fusu hurriedly said, "We agreed to take turns, so come one by one. I'll draw for you all one by one."
"good--"
Zhao Yuanyan: "..."
And then they reversed the natural order, making a five- or six-year-old a chatterbox when the three-year-old was already a chatterbox. Is that right?
He coughed and cut in line with an air of authority: "What is this thing? It looks like glass and smells sweet and fragrant. It seems interesting. Hmm, shall I try it?"
He seemed to be deep in thought: "What good shape should I make?"
He then looked at his grandchildren and said, "Alright, you young ones are familiar with this, so you can decide."
The crowd immediately began to chatter, almost escalating into an argument. Amidst the chaos, Zhao Yuanran leaned closer and whispered to Fusu, "...How did you end up here..."
He did not reveal Fusu's identity on the spot.
Fusu mouthed, "Life is hard, so I have to go out and perform for money."
Zhao Yuanyan's vision went black: "..."
If King Cheng had a difficult life, the kingdom would probably no longer belong to the Zhao family.
"...So what exactly are you now...?"
What's going on?!
Fusu's gaze flickered for a moment, then he pretended not to hear: "Have you decided what you'll do for the Prince?"
hateful.
I was given the runaround.
But I was even more curious about what was going on.
Zhao Yuanyan's heart felt like it was being scratched by a cat: what exactly was the relationship between the Prince of Cheng, the Emperor, and the Prince of Pu?
And, Your Highness, whose child are you?
-----------------------
A note from the author: Belated Dragon Boat Festival greetings.
This chapter includes 20 red envelopes~
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