Chapter 5

Of course, the swimming didn’t happen.

When the Qin Emperor carried the little one out, Zhao Gao was blocking the young prince Huhai.

The ten-year-old boy stood at the palace entrance with teary eyes, a stubborn expression, his chin raised high in a mix of anger and defiance, hands on his hips. “Uncle Gao, I want to see Father!”

“And what do you want with me?The boy was startled by his father’s imposing voice. Looking up, he saw the emperor walking toward him, holding a little dumpling in his arms.

He choked for a moment, instinctively nervous and afraid.

Born as heaven’s favored child, with the most powerful ruler in the world as his father and the strongest nation as his homeland, there was no one in the world who could make him afraid—except one person: the father he both revered and feared.

The boy shrank his shoulders, his bravado deflating as he muttered weakly, “I… I came to ask Father about my studies…”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help but sneak a glare at the little ball in his father’s arms. This little rascal had been stealing his father’s attention since birth! He swore he’d never get along with her!

Just then, the Qin Emperor caught his glare, and the boy quickly lowered his head to stare at his toes.

The man repeated, “Studies?”

Zhao Gao couldn’t help but take a few subtle steps back. Of all the excuses the young prince could have chosen, why pick studies? Wasn’t that just asking for trouble?

It was a joke—everyone in the empire knew Prince Huhai hated studying!

If not for his status as the emperor’s son and the most doted-upon prince in the palace, no tutor would have been willing to teach him. The senior officials responsible for his lessons were fed up with him, constantly reporting to the emperor about the prince’s latest antics.

When it came to books, Huhai seemed to have a natural enmity with them. On the rare occasions when the Qin Emperor, annoyed by the officials’ complaints, summoned his youngest son to test him, the boy would flee faster than a rabbit!

And now he wanted to discuss his studies?

The Qin Emperor smirked coldly. “Have you learned to write the characters assigned by your tutor last month?”

Compared to the eldest prince Fusu, Huhai was practically the worst of the worst when it came to academics. Even now, he hadn’t mastered the basic characters from his early education—maybe he recognized them, but he certainly couldn’t write them.

Hearing his father’s relentless questioning, the boy’s face fell in dismay. He cursed his own cowardice for letting his father intimidate him into bringing up his most hated subject.

Stammering, the boy twisted his hands together like a little pretzel and mumbled, “M-maybe I can…”

Still stubborn.

Distracted by his father’s interrogation about his weakest point, the boy’s earlier fury evaporated. He even forgot why he had come in the first place, wishing he could roll away and escape his father’s notice.

Just then, a soft, cooing sound broke the silence. The boy looked up to see the little ball in his father’s arms had turned her head at some point, stretching out a chubby little hand—her tiny, barely distinguishable fingers pointing at him… and raising a soft middle finger?

Her innocent, sleeping face was turned toward him, blowing milk bubbles as she snoozed peacefully.

Huhai: “……!”

The boy was furious, clenching his fists. Blood relation or not, this was war!

From that moment on, Huhai resolved to make this little fatty suffer. How dare she look down on him?!

He would be a good older brother—oh yes, he’d teach her what it meant to respect her elder. A good little sister should behave, stop stealing their father’s attention, and learn to revere her brother. That was how it should be.

And who was the Qin Emperor? How could he not notice the silent battle between his children?

The chubby little one pretended to sleep in his arms while still acting mischievous, nearly driving Huhai, who was experiencing being an elder brother for the first time, to the brink of explosion. If he hadn’t been there, this little bull calf would have surely thrown a tantrum.  

Even so, the Qin Emperor couldn’t help but think that this little brat, as a boy, had far too narrow a temper and too small a heart—clearly spoiled. He ought to be taught what it truly means to be a good man, a good elder brother.  

Huhai, having failed to win his father’s favor and unable to teach the little rascal a lesson, ended up being scolded by the emperor himself. With reddened eyes, he stormed out of the palace, determined to find his eldest brother—to seek justice, to have Fusu stand up for him!  

The little eunuch trailing behind called out, “Young Prince, slow down! Aren’t you going to ride your horse?”  

Indeed, relying solely on his legs to run out was a bit too much for the lazy-limbed little Huhai. He turned back to fetch his horse, but the eunuch added, “His Highness Fusu has been assigned duties by His Majesty recently and is quite busy. If you go now, you might disturb him, and if His Majesty finds out…” Well, he’d probably scold you again.  

Huhai’s loud, tearful voice wailed, “None of your business! This prince demands justice from Big Brother!”  

Wuuu, Father doesn’t love me anymore! The more Huhai thought about it, the sadder he became, spurring his little red pony into a gallop.  

When silence finally settled, the Qin Emperor pinched the little chick’s tiny nose and let out a breath—half a scoff, half a laugh. “He’s gone now. Still pretending?”  

The little one’s eyes darted around before finally opening, meeting the gaze of the man who was still pinching her nose.  

This was the first time the Qin Emperor had properly seen the little creature’s eyes open. He couldn’t help but narrow his own—for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a ripple of golden light in those eyes, majestic and beautiful.  

That deep, instinctive sense of familiarity surged again—an inexplicable closeness, recognition, guilt, and affection. As if… as if this child was truly his own, his flesh and blood.  

But the illusion passed quickly. Those big, round eyes were clear and innocent, black and white, staring unblinkingly at him as if confirming something.  

After a moment, the little one turned her head away. The Qin Emperor swore he wasn’t mistaken—was that a flicker of disdain in her eyes?  

Disdain?  

Was Qin Emperor Ying Zheng not handsome enough? Not imposing enough? She dared disdain him?  

Sometimes, being flattered by sycophants (his courtiers) for too long could breed arrogance in a ruler, and the Qin Emperor was no exception. Privately, he considered himself the finest man in the world—not only fit to be this child’s father, but even her ancestor would be an honor for her!  

And yet, this little brat disdained him?  

The Qin Emperor turned the chubby little face back toward him, leaning in with a hint of menace. “Call me ‘Imperial Father.’”  

“Or… ‘Father.’”  

The little one pressed her lips tightly together, refusing to speak.  

Unfazed, the emperor lowered his head, muttering to himself, “Perhaps she doesn’t know how to speak yet? Well, a newly hatched little chick wouldn’t know how to talk. I’ve been too hasty.”  

Whether it was the emperor’s dismissive tone or the term “little chick” that provoked her, the next moment, the Qin Emperor heard a clumsy, soft, stuttering sound—sweet and tender, like the softest glutinous rice dumpling.  

“Fa… Fafa.”

The Little Dragon Cub’s previous attempts at crossing over had been poorly timed. Descending to the mortal realm alone without being reborn, she had never learned the human language, let alone how to speak it. Though she had heard it countless times, she could manage a few phrases of dragon tongue and draconic roars—this was an inheritance from her father’s bloodline.  

Thus, when speaking for the first time, she silently mouthed the words over and over before stumbling through them haltingly. Even then, she wasn’t satisfied, her tiny brows furrowed tightly in displeasure.  

The Qin Emperor, however, mistook the Little Dragon Cub’s frustration for shyness.  

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, the sound unrestrained and full of joy. It had been a long time since he had felt such exhilaration—merely hearing the clumsy utterance of “Father” from the little one had delighted him as if he had obtained a rare treasure.  

It was as though… in some forgotten corner of his soul, the regrets, debts, and longings buried deep within his memories were being filled, one by one.  

It left him content, happy.  

Outside the hall, Zhao Gao and the palace attendants were startled. The Emperor was laughing? And with such unrestrained, booming laughter?  

They instinctively glanced up at the sky, sensing the unpredictability of fate. Ever since the little princess had made her first sound today, how many times had the Emperor laughed? How many exceptions had he made? This was the most exaggerated yet.  

He pinched the little one’s cheek—this time, the gentlest touch yet. “It’s fine if you can’t speak properly. Father will teach you later.”  

The Little Dragon Cub felt mocked by her Dragon Father and huffed in displeasure, turning her little head away.  

At sunset,  

Zhao Gao entered to invite the Emperor for dinner and saw a small bamboo cradle placed beside him, inside of which the little princess slept soundly, her cheeks rosy and her tiny fists clenched tightly above her head.  

Lowering his voice, he asked, “Your Majesty, shall we proceed with dinner?”  

The man set down his brush and lifted his gaze from the desk, glancing at the cradle beside him. The little one inside was already deep in slumber.  

Frowning, he muttered, “She sleeps this much?”  

The little cub was clingy. At noon, when he had to review memorials, she had stubbornly clung to his sleeve, refusing to let go. In his good mood, he had ordered the attendants to bring a cradle and placed her beside him to sleep.  

Zhao Gao smiled faintly. “The princess is still young and needs plenty of sleep. Your Majesty need not worry.”  

After dinner, the Qin Emperor returned to his chambers. The little cub was still asleep, so he instructed the wet nurse to keep milk ready in case she woke, but he didn’t disturb her, letting her sleep naturally. The small cradle was placed beside his grand bed, and as he breathed in the faint, sweet scent of milk, the Emperor unexpectedly fell asleep quickly—and slept deeply.  

Until, in the middle of the night, a weight pressed down on him, and tiny chubby hands squeezed his face.  

Before even opening his eyes, his instincts made him reach for the blade at his bedside. By the time he regained full awareness, the knife was already pressed against the neck of the little cub sprawled on his chest.  

A deafening infant’s wail erupted from the Emperor’s chambers, startling the night attendants awake. Moments later, thunder rumbled across the sky, and heavy raindrops began pattering down.  

The cub had been scared into tears.  

The Qin Emperor froze.  

For the first time, his iron-hard heart felt a strange twinge of guilt and remorse. The ever-present blade was flung far away as he offered a stiff explanation: “It was the knife’s fault. I’ve already thrown it away…”  

But the cub continued wailing loudly, her cries full of sorrow.  

Having never comforted anyone before—let alone a soft, fragile, and timid little cub—the Emperor frowned, his expression growing even fiercer. He tried to get her to stop. “How about… you hit the knife?”  

“Or I can beat it up for you.”

A tiny little bundle of a child clung to the Qin Emperor, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath. After a while, her muddled baby voice emerged from his chest, “Hi-hit… dada.”

The next moment, a soft little palm landed on his face—twice in succession. The little one had quite a sense of symmetry, only speaking between hiccups after finishing her assault: “A-all done.”

Her baby voice carried faint satisfaction of vengeance accomplished.

Ying Zheng: “…”

The Qin Emperor—who had never comforted a child in this life, nor allowed anyone to ride on him, let alone been “hit” across the face—felt this little creature was about to turn his world upside down.