Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 91: Hatred and Ruthlessness

   “Father!” Seven-year-old Yuan Chunwang cried, “Don’t leave me behind!”

The road stretched endlessly ahead, filled with an equally endless stream of refugees. Some could still walk; others had collapsed by the roadside, never to rise again.

The ground was a sickly yellow, without a trace of green. Even the grass roots buried deep in the soil had been dug up and eaten. When hunger reached its extreme, people turned into beasts. Several refugees staggered toward Yuan Chunwang, drool spilling from their mouths—as if what stood before them was not a child, but a tender, white lamb.

Just as Yuan Chunwang was paralyzed with terror, a gaunt, skeletal woman suddenly rushed out from behind them, scooped him up, and ran.

“Mother!” Yuan Chunwang clung to her neck and sobbed.

“You… why did you bring him back again?” a similarly emaciated man sighed. “We can barely keep ourselves alive—how can we take care of him too?”

Along the way, the man secretly abandoned him five times, but each time the woman found him and carried him back. Kindness received no reward. In the end, the man slipped away alone. The woman, clutching the boy, stumbled and staggered all the way to the capital—only to catch an epidemic. On her deathbed, she gripped his hand and said,

“After I die, go find your real father.”

Yuan Chunwang was stunned. “Real father?”

“I’m not your real mother either.” The woman coughed twice. “Back then, the Emperor Yongzheng was being pursued and hid in a farmer’s house. He had you with the daughter of that family… Child, you are not an ordinary person. You are an imperial prince!”

Yuan Chunwang was so shocked he couldn’t speak.

“Your poor birth mother had a bitter fate. After the Emperor Yongzheng returned, he never sent anyone to look for her. A woman alone with a child—how could she remarry? So she gave you to me.” With trembling fingers, the woman took out a string of sandalwood Buddhist prayer beads from her bosom and slowly slipped it onto Yuan Chunwang’s wrist. “Take this with you. Go find your birth father and let him…”

Before she could finish, her hand fell limp.

“Mother!” Yuan Chunwang pushed her, but she didn’t move. No matter how he cried or called, she never opened her eyes again.

Afraid that starving refugees would eat his foster mother’s body, the young Yuan Chunwang used his two small, bleeding hands to dig a shallow grave in the earth and buried her.

Afterward, with both hands dripping blood, he walked through the city gates.

The city gates were easy to enter, but the gates of the Forbidden City were hard to pass through. After enduring countless hardships, he finally found a richly dressed Noble Lady who agreed to send him into the palace.

But who would have thought—that person was actually his eighth uncle. After losing the struggle for the throne against Yongzheng and harboring deep resentment ever since, upon discovering that his rival had left behind an illegitimate son in the folk, for some dark and twisted reason, he had this nearly seven-year-old child sent to the cleansing chamber. With one swift stroke of the knife, Yuan Chunwang went from being a little prince to a little eunuch.

After that, he was assigned to the Princess Academy to serve his half-brother—Eighth Prince Fuhui.

Not only had Yuan Chunwang lost his manhood, he had also lost that string of rosewood prayer beads. Without this token of identity, he could no longer reveal the truth to Yongzheng. Then again… even if he still had the prayer beads in his hand, would Yongzheng ever acknowledge a little eunuch as his son?

He could only remain in the humble role of a servant, quietly standing by the side, watching with full envy as Yongzheng held Fu Hui in his arms and patiently guided his hand to write characters.

“I don’t want to write anymore!” Fu Hui petulantly tossed the brush aside. “Imperial Father, I want to ride a horse!”

With that, he scrambled down from Yongzheng’s lap and ran in front of Yuan Chunwang, pointing at him and ordering: “Quick, squat down—I want to ride a horse!”

Yuan Chunwang froze for a moment. The senior eunuch behind him immediately forced him down to the ground without a word: “The Eighth Prince wants to ride—didn’t you hear him? Get down!”

Why should I? I am the Emperor’s son—am I not also the Emperor’s son? A surge of rage rose in Yuan Chunwang’s heart. Just as he was about to stand up, he felt a weight on his back—Fu Hui had already climbed onto him.

Fu Hui laughed and shouted excitedly: “Imperial Father, look—your son is riding a horse! Giddy-up! Giddy-up! Faster! Faster!” Yongzheng burst into hearty laughter: “Fu Hui, be careful—don’t fall!”

Yuan Chunwang gritted his teeth and crawled forward on the ground, deeply lowering his head so they wouldn’t see the pain and hatred twisting across his face.

As Yongzheng’s most beloved son, Fu Hui lived freely and without restraint. Day after day he treated Yuan Chunwang like a horse to ride, growing accustomed to his silent obedience—so accustomed that he came to believe real horses shared the same temperament. As a result, during one riding lesson, he fell off.

“How are you all taking care of the Eighth Prince? A bunch of useless trash!” Yongzheng roared with fury inside the Prince Academy, pointing at the palace maids and eunuchs kneeling on the ground. “Drag them out—thirty heavy strokes each!”

Yuan Chunwang was among them.

Thwack, thwack, thwack—the rods struck flesh. All around came cries of pain, yet he clenched his fists tightly and endured in utter silence.

That night, Yuan Chunwang limped into Fu Hui’s chamber. His gaze fixed blankly on the sleeping boy in the bed. Then he slowly broke into a smile.

Since his foster mother’s death, he had not smiled once.

Today was the first time he smiled—a dazzling, venomous smile, like a brightly patterned poisonous snake being born amid the schemes and cruelty of the Forbidden City. Then, without a sound, he walked to the window and flung it open. The biting winter wind rushed in. Behind him, Fu Hui gave a small cough.

Still smiling, Yuan Chunwang went around and opened every single window in the sleeping chamber…

“After Fu Hui died of illness, all of us who served him were punished and sent to the Cleansing Division.” In the dim storeroom, the candle flame flickered weakly; the candle had already burned down halfway, casting unsteady shadows. Yuan Chunwang gently stroked Wei Yingluo’s hair and murmured, “I don’t regret it. I only feel hatred.”

Hatred toward his eighth uncle—who, after failing in the succession struggle, vented all his bitterness on a child not yet seven years old.

   Hatred toward Yongzheng—who had his own flesh and blood standing right before him, yet remained blind to it.

   Hatred toward Fu Hui—though they shared the same blood as brothers, he forced him to live like an ox or a horse.

   “…What I hate most is this ridiculous world.” Yuan Chunwang suddenly let out a low, bitter laugh, the sound heavy with lingering gloom. “What did I do wrong? Why did every misfortune have to fall on me? We are close blood brothers, yet they stand high above while I crawl on the ground, reduced to the lowest, most despicable slave in the world!”

A single tear slipped from the corner of Wei Yingluo’s eye.

In truth, she had woken up midway through his story. She had kept her eyes closed, quietly listening to Yuan Chunwang reveal a past no one else knew.

“Yingluo, Heaven’s way is unjust, the world is heartless. If you don’t want to become fish on someone else’s chopping block, you can only hold the knife and board yourself!” Yuan Chunwang lowered his head to look at her and gave a gentle smile. “But don’t be afraid. Big brother will protect you—because you are me, and I am you. In this world, only you and I share the same misery, and only you and I can warm each other, pity each other.”

After saying this, he lowered his head and softly kissed away the teardrop on her face.

Wei Yingluo was startled.

She hadn’t opened her eyes before, and now she was even less willing to open them.

She could only continue pretending to be asleep, letting the other person press his lips against her eye. That cold pair of lips gradually took on the warmth of her tears.

Little did she know that Jinxiu had come searching for the warehouse and, by sheer coincidence, witnessed this exact scene. She froze at the doorway, her eyes surging with barely suppressible jealousy and hatred…

STORY OF YANXI PALACE CHAPTERS HOME