Chapter Thirteen: It Was Aunt Xiu’er Who Arranged This!

Dinner time arrived swiftly, though the meal was far from lavish—just some rice and a few simple meat and vegetable dishes, the usual fare. Zhu Zhanhe noticed that his mother kept casting sharp, unfriendly glances at his father, who in turn avoided her gaze with equal intensity. After watching for a while, he saw his mother smile warmly at him, while his father sipped his wine without even raising his head.

What puzzled Zhu Zhanhe most at the table was a strange soup. It smelled fragrant, with a hint of wine, yet looked like pure milky white broth, devoid of any visible ingredients—not even a leaf or any garnish to add color.

His father clearly seemed tempted by the soup, his wise eyes glancing at it repeatedly but each time quickly turning to look at his wife, as if a child pleading permission to eat a treat.

“Aunt Xiu’er, what kind of soup is this? It looks odd,” Zhu Zhanhe asked with curiosity, turning to Aunt Xiu’er, who was busy pouring wine for his father. He had never seen such a soup at home before.

“Hmm… this is…” Aunt Xiu’er began to reply, but was promptly cut off by his mother.

“This is a special ginseng soup made just for you. Since you’ve just returned from the battlefield, you need to nourish yourself properly!” Princess Wei spoke first, smiling brightly as she took an empty bowl, rose, and served a bowl of the soup to Zhu Zhanhe.

“Thank you, Mother!” Zhu Zhanhe took the bowl without hesitation.

“Wife, I just got back too,” said the Prince of Han, his eyes darting repeatedly toward the ginseng soup in the center of the table, filled with longing. He looked at his wife with a somewhat pitiful expression.

“Hm?” Zhu Zhanhe looked at his father with confusion, then glanced at his mother again. Taking a sip of the soup, he found it truly aromatic, carrying notes of wine and medicinal herbs. As the warm liquid flowed down, a rush of heat spread instantly from his stomach through his entire body.

“Ah, ha,” Zhu Zhanhe exhaled long and deeply after drinking, instantly feeling invigorated, a wave of heat rushing up to his forehead.

The Princess of Han looked on expectantly at her son drinking the soup. Seeing his reaction, she broke into a satisfied smile.

“Son, how does it taste? Is it good?” she asked eagerly.

“It’s delicious, very good, thank you, Mother,” Zhu Zhanhe replied, drinking a large mouthful. He still found it strange, wondering why his father looked so eager for the soup, as if he had never tasted it before.

“Xiu’er, serve some soup to our Prince of Han. He’s really learning—now competing with his own son for the soup!” Princess Wei noticed her son’s frequent glances toward the Prince of Han and saw the latter’s covert looks. She shot her husband a glare and, with a hint of reproach, ordered Aunt Xiu’er to serve him a bowl.

“Yes,” Aunt Xiu’er replied, shooting the Prince of Han a sharp look before turning to fill a bowl for him. The Prince of Han accepted it without complaint, preparing to drink it down eagerly.

“This is for me?” The Prince of Han, Zhu Gaozhu, looked at the single mouthful of soup in his bowl with irritation—it was truly just a single mouthful, nothing more. He glanced at Aunt Xiu’er behind him, then at his wife. Caught by her fierce glare, he lost his temper and instead drank it slowly and cautiously, like savoring wine.

“Father, what’s going on here?” Zhu Zhanhe’s puzzlement deepened. What game was his mother playing? Just one mouthful of soup, and his father was being glared down for drinking it?

“Zhanhe, let me explain. This soup was started cooking the moment you came home today. It contains a nearly hundred-year-old mountain ginseng, a mature old rooster, and other precious medicinal herbs, all specially prepared to strengthen your body. Your unreliable father, at his age, has eaten everything imaginable, yet he still tries to compete with his son for the soup. Truly shameless!” Princess Wei scolded, clearly displeased that her husband was trying to claim her son’s soup.

Indeed, the soup was made with that rare century-old ginseng and other precious ingredients, and it was nourishing—there was no doubt about that. But the real purpose was far greater: Princess Wei had prepared this powerful restorative to mark her son’s coming-of-age ceremony that very night.

The Prince of Han was well aware of this, which was why, fresh from the battlefield, he was trying to sneak some benefits for himself and relive some youthful passion that night, despite his wife’s watchful eyes. Aunt Xiu’er was oblivious to the tension, much to the Prince’s frustration. Yet, despite his inner grumbling, the Prince maintained his dignity outwardly, eating calmly but betraying his desire with furtive glances.

By the end of the meal, the Prince of Han had only managed that single mouthful of soup; the rest had been consumed entirely by his heir apparent.

After dinner, Zhu Zhanhe felt unusually warm. Sweating profusely, his whole body, especially his lower abdomen, burned intensely, leading him to wonder if his years of practicing breath control had suddenly improved. As he ate, he tried regulating his breathing as the old Taoist master had taught, which helped somewhat but couldn’t quell the burning heat.

“Father, Mother, I’ve finished eating and will go rest now. You two please continue,” Zhu Zhanhe said, his face flushed red, body visibly overheating. If anyone could see beneath his clothes, they would surely feel the searing heat radiating from him. He was on the verge of collapse and quickly made to leave.

“Go ahead, go ahead. You’ve had a long day; get some rest early,” Princess Wei smiled warmly, putting down her chopsticks. Seeing her son’s condition and the effects of the soup, she showed no hesitation in letting him go, her expression full of motherly affection.

“Go on. I’m not full yet; I’ll eat some more,” the Prince of Han said, not even putting down his chopsticks as he urged his son to leave. Having been through this before, he knew what to expect next.

“I take my leave,” Zhu Zhanhe said, unable to stay any longer, feeling as if his body might explode. After bidding farewell to his parents, he hurried away without looking back.

“Wife, is there any soup left? I want some too,” the Prince of Han asked eagerly, setting down his chopsticks and looking at his wife with small excitement.

“No time for you. Go check the kitchen yourself. I left a bowl for you,” Princess Wei shot him a fierce look, her eyes telling him to get lost.

“Alright, I’ll go see,” Zhu Gaozhu said, ignoring her tone. He lifted his robe and hurried toward the small kitchen.

Watching the departing Prince of Han, Princess Wei showed no reluctance and turned to Aunt Xiu’er.

“Has everything been arranged?” she asked.

“Rest assured, Your Highness. It’s all set. Yun’er and Jian’er are prepared. I will personally oversee things outside!” Aunt Xiu’er replied firmly, earning a nod of approval from Princess Wei.

Meanwhile, Zhu Zhanhe felt as though his whole body was aflame, unbearably hot. He hurried back to his room, and upon entering, was greeted by a faint fragrance that only intensified his heat. Paying it no mind, he called for his attendants to prepare his bath.

“Jian’er, Yun’er, I’m burning up and need to wash. Prepare a medicinal bath for me quickly,” he commanded loudly, unable to face the puzzled looks of his maidservants.

“Young Master, you’ve had a long day. You should rest early. The bed is already made, incense lit, and the covers warmed,” replied Yun’er from inside the room, her voice trembling slightly.

Curious, Zhu Zhanhe turned to the inner room and saw his bed neatly prepared, the covers puffed up as though someone was already inside, warming them. The little maid’s head was buried beneath the covers.

“You little maid! You’ve already warmed the bed, but I need to bathe first,” Zhu Zhanhe said, walking over and looking at the puffed-up covers with mild irritation. He reached to pull the covers off her, but they wouldn’t budge.

Puzzled, he plunged his hand beneath the covers, instantly feeling something smooth and slippery. Instinctively, he moved his large palm around.

“Young Master!” Yun’er’s trembling voice rang out, making his head buzz as if about to explode.

“What’s going on?” Zhu Zhanhe, feeling as if he was about to combust, sat down beside the bed and continued probing beneath the covers, his voice trembling.

“It was arranged by Aunt Xiu’er,” Yun’er answered, her voice trembling with his movements but still steady.