I’ve Got this Cannon Fodder’s Back

138: 137 138: 137 Upon hearing of the new punishment, Prince Yi, who had come to take responsibility, was so moved that he nearly shed tears on the spot.

The subordinates, who were dutifully blocking the people inside the house, clearly had no intention of letting anyone else out.

Lu Deng stood at the door for a while, finally dismissing the thought of asking if copying books could be changed back to corporal punishment.

With a haughty flick of his sleeve, he snorted coldly and left in a rush.

The arrogant young prince strode forward with large, quick steps, his robe billowing in the wind.

If you didn’t look closely, you might not notice that his left leg had a slight limp.

Retracting his gaze from the figure’s back, Gu Ai smirked silently inside the room and casually dropped the curtain.

Sending a subordinate out to speak while secretly peeking from behind the curtain.

If word got out, this feared minister’s reputation might not be necessary anymore.

Piles of documents had reached the floor, and the work to be done had already formed a mountain.

Gu Ai cleared his mind, returned to his desk, and began correcting documents one by one.

Upon leaving the Imperial Academy, Lu Deng was carefully helped into a carriage by his household servants.

His injuries were no light matter.

His left shoulder had broken bones, his waist was severely strained, there were countless scrapes, and neither his elbows nor knees were spared.

After all, he had fallen off a horse in the street.

If he hadn’t reacted quickly, that child would either have been gravely injured or even killed, or he himself would have broken his waist or legs.

Now, with his injuries in this state, the elderly physicians at the Imperial Hospital could only repeatedly call it a stroke of luck.

The system, feeling distressed, began to glitch and threatened to fight with the protagonist’s system.

Lu Deng patiently calmed it down, looking at the screen full of teardrop emojis.

Eventually, he resorted to using the painkillers he usually avoided.

He wasn’t actually afraid of pain.

Pain, though unpleasant, at least made one feel truly alive.

While his current body data couldn’t be immediately adjusted back to his own, and the environment he was in was relatively safe, he still felt an instinctive unease before he fully familiarized himself with controlling the body.

Not to mention that using painkillers would interfere with his already limited ability to sense and respond to movements.

He hadn’t yet met the person in question.

Gently stroking the wooden plaque in his hand, Lu Deng thought of the recently altered punishment and couldn’t help but feel a headache, sighing softly.

If this were a math problem, the system might have been able to help.

But when it came to copying books, it was something he had to do himself.

Lu Deng held onto a slim hope and asked the system in his mind, “Is my character… someone who’s particularly rebellious and doesn’t do homework?” System: .

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(≧□≦) .

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Lu Deng: … That probably meant it couldn’t be avoided.

As he thought about it, during the late emperor’s reign, Gu Ai had nearly unparalleled power, second only to the emperor.

Even the crown prince wasn’t exempt from punishment for breaking the law.

Now, two years into the new emperor’s reign, Gu Ai’s authority remained unshaken, and he was still the cornerstone of the imperial court, his word easily followed.

Everyone feared and respected this iron-faced minister, and Lu Chengru was no exception.

While his personality was rebellious and domineering, he wasn’t suicidal.

Being able to change a beating for book copying was something to be grateful for, given his character.

In the end, it was only ten days of house arrest, and there was nothing to do at home.

Recently, he hadn’t been assigned any tasks in the ancient world, and he hadn’t practiced his calligraphy with a brush for a long time.

He might as well treat this as calligraphy practice at home.

Lu Deng comforted himself, feeling the engraved characters on the wooden plaque before placing it back close to his body.

These plaques were based on laws handwritten by Gu Ai, and carpenters from across the city had meticulously carved each character into them.

Sealed with red lacquer, the plaques were used to publicly declare punishments.

This was just a trial, but it was said that once the laws were finalized, they would be carved on iron plaques.

Even the nobility would have to bow their heads in submission if they received such a plaque.

It sounded impressive.

Lost in thought, Lu Deng’s lips involuntarily curled into a slight smile as he lifted the curtain and looked outside.

Fearing that the injured young prince might suffer further, the carriage moved slowly.

Outside, the endless stretch of red palace walls blurred before his eyes.

At this time, Lu Chengru was not yet of age and couldn’t leave the palace to establish his own residence.

The so-called Prince Yi’s residence was located in a remote corner of the palace, a place where no one would bother.

Lu Chengru had always found it too quiet there and was reluctant to return, choosing instead to mingle with the playboys outside the palace.

But at night, he was still bound by the rule set by Gu Ai that members of the royal family couldn’t stay outside the palace before coming of age.

Resigned, he had no choice but to stay at the cold and lonely prince’s residence.

As dusk approached, the carriage slowly passed through most of the palace city.

They went by the bustling Purple Dawn Hall and the solemn and quiet Yan Yi Pavilion.

The carriage circled the vast imperial garden before finally exiting through Linhua Gate and stopping outside a secluded courtyard in the rear garden.

Lu Deng was carefully helped out of the carriage, and he looked up at the prince’s residence where he was currently living.

Though it was in a remote location, the late emperor had not skimped on treatment for his younger brother.

The residence was just as grand, with carved beams and painted rafters, and the spacious rear garden was eerily vast.

The courtyard was sparsely lit, with only a few scattered lanterns glowing.

The rest were dark, with nothing visible in the blackness.

The place housed a prince not yet of age, without a family or household, and according to the new laws, no more than fifty servants were allowed.

While fifty people were more than enough to serve one person, filling such a massive palace with only fifty people was far from sufficient.

The empty prince’s residence, which was even larger than an entire estate in the modern era, lay before him, its people spread out.

With night falling, there was barely a sign of life.

Lu Deng took a cautious step back, a rebellious urge bubbling up inside him; to steal a horse, avoid the patrolling guards, and arrogantly jump over the wall to escape.

“Host, I’ve already tidied up the inside.

It’s not uncomfortable to stay in!” The system quickly spoke up, projecting a map of the residence in detail.

“Your bedroom is over there, with the study right next to it.

The servants mostly stay close by, so you won’t be scared when you go inside.

The kitchen doesn’t light fires; the palace’s Imperial Kitchen sends your meals… Since you’re the Imperial Uncle, you get all the best food!” “Thank you… That make it sounds much better.” Lu Deng chuckled, thanking the system warmly.

He suddenly realized that he had forgotten to act in character earlier when he was helped down from the carriage, causing his heart to clench.

He quickly checked his score, but found that no points had been deducted, “Doesn’t this count as out of character?” “You’re injured, so it’s natural that you’re not in the mood to throw a tantrum.” The system flipped through the backend, reciting the scoring standards.

“As long as it can be logically explained, it won’t count as out of character.

Don’t worry, if something doesn’t make sense, there will be a warning beforehand.

You won’t lose points without notice.” Hearing this assurance, Lu Deng felt slightly relieved.

When a servant cautiously approached to help, he didn’t push them away, but instead maintained a stern expression, allowing himself to be assisted back to his bedroom without a word.

In this imperial palace, Lu Chengru was almost a complete outsider.

He had no part in the power struggles, nor was he involved in the games of flattery and betrayal.

Neither the princes vying for the throne nor the scheming consorts in the harem paid him any attention.

If it weren’t for the occasional royal family banquet during the holidays, they might have completely forgotten about his existence.

The servants were also aware of this.

Serving a young prince was far easier than attending to a consort.

While there were no special benefits, they wouldn’t lose their lives in the unpredictable storms of the palace.

So no one really cared about him.

Whether Lu Chengru was recklessly riding his horse in the street, going to the Imperial Academy to accept punishment in person, or, like now, injured and in need of medical care but refusing to eat or allow anyone to serve him, the servants wouldn’t ask questions.

They just did their job to ensure the young prince was comfortable and left without a word.

Once the servants were gone, Lu Deng finally breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed onto the soft bed that the system had specially prepared for him.

The bedroom had been modified by the system, with effects added to make it look like a hard, old-fashioned carved wooden bed with smoky braziers.

In reality, it was as comfortable as a modern air-conditioned room, which was perhaps the only consolation.

Lu Deng secretly bought two limited-edition skins for the system, lay in bed for a while.

After feeling a bit more energized, he got up and headed to the study room.

This world had caught him off guard, he hadn’t fully adjusted to the slight discomfort that came with transitioning between worlds.

The persistent fatigue and his still-unfamiliar body were pressing issues he needed to deal with.

He didn’t have much of an appetite, only wanting to fall asleep as soon as possible.

But the homework still needed to be done.

Gu Ai hadn’t specified when the punishment of copying the books needed to be completed.

If he wanted to exploit a loophole, ten days or ten years, everything would count as doing it.

Such a basic oversight shouldn’t exist in someone as meticulous and unyielding in enforcing the law as Gu Ai.

It meant that Gu Ai truly believed he would complete the task earnestly.

His lover no longer remembered him, but even this subtle trust warmed Lu Deng’s heart.

He recalled the words of the official who passed the judgement along, “My Lord said he would come to inspect soon,” and a soft warmth spread within him.

Picking up a brush, he slowly began grinding ink with one hand.

If Gu Ai were to come and check, at least he’d see that he had been diligently doing his homework… The tip of the brush soaked up the ink, and graceful characters began to appear on the paper one after another.

Lu Deng’s waist was still injured, and he had to write while sitting, which affected his handwriting somewhat.

Nevertheless, he tried to keep his writing neat and tidy.

After a few pages, his eyes grew tired, and he couldn’t help but rub them gently, stifling a yawn under the oil lamp.

That inevitable wave of fatigue that accompanies homework certainly hadn’t changed despite the change in dynasties.

At the Imperial Academy, the oil lamps had also been lit.

Gu Ai finished reviewing the official documents, and the meal was carefully brought in and placed on the low table that had been cleared.

Without looking up, Gu Ai casually asked, “What time is it?” “It’s the Wu Hour (between 7-9 pm.), my lord.” A subordinate respectfully responded as he laid out the meal.

After a slight hesitation, he added, “About the matter you asked me to investigate…” Gu Ai lifted his gaze, his eyes flashing briefly.

“Speak.” “Yes.” The subordinate stood upright and dutifully reported, “Today, several sons of court officials incited Prince Yi to ride recklessly.

Leading them was the young master of the Ministry of Revenue, along with a few other prominent noble families’ sons—” He hesitated again, but unable to hide the truth, he continued, “I questioned many witnesses present at the time, and they said that Prince Yi’s fall from his horse was not an accident.

The horse in front had frightened a passerby, causing them to drop their child.

Prince Yi followed closely behind, and in order to avoid harming the child, he reined in his horse abruptly.

Due to the urgency of the situation, he accidentally fell.” Prince Yi had always had a poor reputation, widely regarded in the capital as reckless and unruly.

The subordinate couldn’t believe he would do such a thing.

But with so many witnesses, he dared not conceal the truth and could only report it honestly.

Gu Ai’s brows slowly knitted together, and he placed his chopsticks down beside him.

“Even so, you did not punish him wrongly.

Prince Yi did indeed ride recklessly in the streets, and should be punished.

Simply ensure that the others involved receive their due punishment as well.” Over the years, having witnessed the success of the reforms firsthand, the subordinate had developed deep admiration for Gu Ai.

He couldn’t help but straighten his posture and speak firmly, “Prince Yi acted on impulse, and reining in his horse showed that he still possesses some conscience.

However, merit cannot offset wrongdoing.

If he committed a wrong, he should be punished.

If there is merit, he should be rewarded separately…” “Rewarded for what?” Gu Ai raised his eyes and spoke softly.

The subordinate was startled and instinctively fell silent.

Gu Ai said no more.

Rising from behind his desk, he walked to the door and lifted the curtain.

The punishment had not been wrong.

Riding recklessly in the streets was indeed punishable by law, and the law did not allow for leniency.

He did not think his decision at the time had been wrong.

Yet that wasn’t what was weighing on his mind.

A young boy, egged on by the noble sons, had chosen to risk falling off his horse rather than harming an innocent child.

He must have been a good boy, but no one would teach him what to do or not to do.

No one stood up for him to argue his case, no one would patiently explain what he did wrong or what he did right.

No one would pat his head and tell him that riding recklessly was wrong, but able to stop the horse in time to save someone made him a kind-hearted child.

He had walked all the way to the door, but why hadn’t he gone out and asked the boy what had really happened?

Gu Ai lowered his gaze, pondered for a moment, then returned to his desk and picked up a small paperweight, weighing it in his hand before slipping it into his sleeve.

“Prepare the carriage.” The subordinate dared not speak further and hurried off to make the preparations.

Gu Ai called after him in a low voice, “Identify the rest of the boys who rode recklessly, send the plaques to them, and have them report to the Ministry of Justice to receive their sentences.

Add ten extra strokes for the ringleader.” “Yes!” The subordinate’s eyes lit up, and he ran off to make the necessary arrangements.

Gu Ai stood in the room for a moment longer, then decided the paperweight wasn’t appropriate.

He set it down, walked around the room, picked up a book he had personally copied, and slipped it into his sleeve.

After straightening his attire, he left for Prince Yi’s residence.

That evening, the deserted Prince Yi’s residence unexpectedly welcomed an esteemed guest.

The servants were unprepared for such a visitor, scrambling around to find the steward and respectfully usher Gu Ai inside, while also rushing to inform the prince.

In the hall, a cold meal lay untouched—an ordinary palace meal, clearly untouched by a single chopstick.

Gu Ai frowned slightly, stopping in his tracks.

“The prince hasn’t eaten?” The steward quickly bowed and replied, “Your Excellency, the Prince said he wasn’t feeling well today and didn’t want to eat…” Gu Ai’s frown deepened, and his voice grew stern.

“And so you didn’t give him any food?” This was how they had always served him, and nothing had ever gone wrong before.

The steward’s heart skipped a beat, and he lowered his head, afraid to speak further.

“How is his injury?

Has the medicine been applied?

Has the decoction from the Imperial Hospital been prepared and taken?

Did any of you check?

If he doesn’t eat now and gets hungry in the night, what will you do?

You let the Prince be willful, but if he falls ill or his injuries worsen, who will be held accountable?” A strange anger welled up in Gu Ai’s chest, and his tone grew harsher.

The desolate state of the residence had struck him deeply, making it impossible to sit still.

“Forget it, don’t bother informing him.

I’ll see the prince myself.” The servants were too frightened to respond, and Gu Ai, without waiting for further instructions, followed the steward’s directions to the prince’s bedroom.

The door was tightly shut and silent, but the study still showed signs of candlelight.

Gu Ai’s heart stirred slightly.

He knocked softly twice but received no reply.

Carefully, he pushed the door open.

There, sitting at the desk, was the figure of the young prince.

The brush had already fallen to the floor, its ink staining the sleeve and paper.

The young prince had fallen asleep at the desk, his face softened and peaceful, the harshness of the day completely melted away.

His delicate features were bathed in the soft glow of the candlelight, casting a faint, thin shadow on the wall.

Gu Ai’s steps slowed, but his heartbeat inexplicably quickened.

In all these years, he had dedicated himself entirely to the reforms, believing that the law could not be compromised by personal feelings.

He had been determined to turn his ideals into reality, even at the cost of his life.

Never had he doubted his decisions or shown any hesitation over the sentences he handed down.

This time was no different.

He did not regret the punishment he had given, nor did he waver.

It was the law, after all, and justice must not be swayed by personal interests.

If one’s heart was clouded by bias, then fairness would be lost, and people would no longer trust the law.

He Gu Ai rarely felt this sort of inner conflict.

Pressing a hand to his temple, he finally couldn’t resist moving quietly toward the boy, carefully avoiding his injuries as he lifted the sleeping prince from the desk.

Lu Chengru slept deeply, not waking even as Gu Ai handled him.

Perhaps feeling cold, he instinctively curled closer, coughing softly.

Gu Ai quickly removed his outer robe.

Before he realized it, he had already wrapped the young prince in his own outer robe and gently laid him down on the warm couch beside him.

It seemed that the young prince had been writing until he fell asleep.

His face was pressed against his arm, leaving a red mark, and his clothes were stained with ink from the fallen brush.

Even his fair face had a few smudges of ink.

Unable to help himself, Gu Ai’s lips quirked upward slightly as he straightened the boy out, but then he wasn’t sure what to do next.

Should he wipe his face?

Check his injuries?

He circled the couch in anxious confusion, suddenly feeling at a complete loss.

Just as Gu Ai, the feared prime minister of the empire, dipped his sleeve into some tea to wipe the ink from the young prince’s face, Lu Deng, still in deep sleep, was jolted awake by the system’s alert.

Lu Deng was naturally a light sleeper, and with his lover no longer by his side, he had grown even more alert.

Startled by the cold sensation on his face, he instinctively opened his eyes.

Gu Ai: “…” The empire’s most feared minister figured he could probably explain this situation.

Perhaps due to the cold, even after waking up, the young prince continued clutching Gu Ai’s outer robe tightly, his large, dark eyes staring up at him with a mixture of wariness and confusion.

“Your Excellency!

Prince Yi is not in his bedroom; he may have gone out to play.

Please wait a moment while we search for him—” The flustered steward came running to report but abruptly stopped when he saw what was happening in the room.

His voice trailed off, and he stood frozen at the doorway, speechless.

Gu Ai stood there in silence for a moment.

After a deep breath, he finally calmed his turbulent emotions and placed the book he had brought on the table.

“Prince Yi, while under house arrest, should make use of the time to read more books…” Lu Chengru blinked at him, his eyes shimmering slightly, but beneath that, they were as calm as still water.

Gu Ai had never been the kind to speak kindly to others, and now, for the first time, he found himself at a loss for words in front of the boy.

He wanted to offer gentle words of encouragement and comfort, but feared startling the recently awakened young prince.

He also wanted to warn him not to act recklessly in the future, but any way he phrased it seemed too harsh.

Caught in this dilemma, the empire’s most stern and cold-hearted prime minister instinctively reverted to his usual demeanor.

His aura became once again sharp and imposing as he turned to leave the room, addressing the steward in a voice that returned to its usual icy tone.

“Take better care of the prince.

He still has fifteen strokes of the cane left.

If his condition worsens and delays the punishment, you’ll be held responsible!”