Chapter 25: He Just Looks Mature for His Age

Because of Ji Xiaoxiong’s high status, the two of them sat directly in the front row upon arrival—the seats closest to the emperor. Ji Huo only had to glance up to see the old emperor himself.

From his many years of classroom experience, Ji Huo could tell that being elevated on a dais meant the emperor could see every one of them with perfect clarity, not even leaving them the chance for any mischief.

Ji Huo had just wanted to find a quiet corner to enjoy the imperial cuisine in peace, but before he could slip away, Ji Xiaoxiong caught him by the arm.

“Stay here and behave yourself. You’re not going anywhere.”

Ji Huo protested at once, “But this spot’s too close to the front! I get nervous! And when I’m nervous, I need the bathroom!”

“Then wet your pants. I’ll make sure everyone knows and your reputation is ruined,” his father retorted without missing a beat.

“…You win,” Ji Huo muttered, glancing around. Noticing that many ministers had brought their own sons, he asked, “Dad, what kind of banquet is this? Why did everyone bring their families?”

“It’s nothing special,” Ji Xiaoxiong explained. “His Majesty often holds such dinners, inviting the court officials to bring their sons along, just to foster some goodwill. I used to bring Junhong too. Since you’ve just arrived, I figured I’d let you experience a state banquet for yourself.”

“That’s all?” Ji Huo squinted suspiciously.

“Of course.”

“I can’t help but feel you’re setting me up.”

“Hahahaha! How could that be? And even if I were, what could you do about it? If you ever manage to get the better of me, I’d be thrilled! But do you have what it takes, you rascal? Do you?”

Ji Huo could only chuckle dryly, already scheming in his mind about ways to trip up his own father.

“But I must say, these banquets are growing duller every year,” Ji Xiaoxiong went on. “Most of the time it’s just eating in awkward silence. The younger generation these days is so shy—no one talks during meals. It’s always us old fogies carrying the conversation. We argue all day at court, and even seeing their faces during dinner kills my appetite.”

He eyed the ministers around them with distaste. “Ugh, just looking at them makes me queasy.”

“Ahem! Lord Protector, watch your words—we can all hear you,” came a pointed cough from the Grand Preceptor Li Xiu, seated barely two meters away.

“Exactly. You think your bearded mug helps us eat?” another chimed in. “If it weren’t for His Majesty’s summons, I’d be home in my wife’s arms. Why bother sitting across from your old face?”

Several elders joined in, not caring a whit for rank or decorum after years of squabbling together.

“You leathery old ravens, I’m just speaking the truth here.” Ji Xiaoxiong fired right back. “Sure, my face is scruffy, but with a little grooming, I’d still be a handsome man. As for you lot, those wrinkled faces look like wilted chrysanthemums—revolting! And you there, with your eighteen concubines—how do you even choose who to dine with? Can you hug them all at once?”

He launched a full barrage, utterly unfazed by their status.

The officials fired back immediately.

“Handsome? You should take a good look in the mirror! Shameless!”

“I was ten times better looking than you in my youth, you old fossil!”

“Eighteen wives is my own achievement. Jealous? Why don’t you come over and I’ll show you the real meaning of ‘eighteen caresses’ next time!”

Wedged between them, Ji Huo looked left and right, marveling at their bickering. Even the Grand Preceptor, usually so refined and scholarly, had a biting tongue; his spittle was practically flying into Ji Huo’s face. He glanced at the sons seated with these officials—every one of them sat in silent misery, eyes downcast, looking every bit the model child. Ji Huo could tell at a glance they were used to this; their minds were far from the present scene.

The younger generation of Zhou seemed rather unimpressive. They hadn’t even entered service, yet already acted like seasoned officials. How could they be so absent-minded in such a solemn place as the imperial palace?

Ji Huo pursed his lips, noting that these youths all bore the air of scholars, but were physically quite frail. Perhaps that was simply the atmosphere in Great Zhou. After all, this wasn’t a court session—no need for restraint. Everyone was free to argue and curse as they pleased, tempers flaring.

It reminded Ji Huo of his old days as a corporate drone, always ready to rail against the world. Clearly, the work pressure in Great Zhou was immense—he had seen Tie Ying earlier looking half-dead, as if he’d been forced to work overtime for a month straight.

With the emperor not yet present, the hall grew rowdy and lively as banter flew back and forth. Was this the leadership team-building of Great Zhou?

Just then, several newcomers entered through the main doors, their arrival immediately quieting the bickering. Those in the front row, oblivious, continued their verbal sparring, but those seated further back hurriedly cleared their throats with exaggerated coughs, and soon the whole assembly fell silent, eyes fixed on the new arrivals.

Ji Huo glanced back to see several men in strange formal attire ascending the steps. The one in front was young, smartly dressed, his hair in a braid, carrying a folding fan, and even from a distance, a pungent scent wafted over.

Following just behind was a burly man with a proud, almost confrontational air, as if everyone owed him money. He looked oddly familiar.

Wait—wasn’t that the man from Liang he’d kicked into the wall yesterday?

Ji Huo quickly turned away, lowering his gaze to the table. If that man saw him and called him out, things would get awkward indeed.

To his chagrin, the envoys from Liang ended up sitting quite near him, with the young man and the burly fellow side by side, their attendants standing behind as bodyguards.

“Hmph!” The burly man lifted his chin, nostrils flaring at the assembled officials, his contempt for the crowd written all over his face.

The sons of Zhou’s officials flushed red with anger, yet not a single one dared speak.

“Dad, who are those two?” Ji Huo whispered.

“Envoys from Liang,” Ji Xiaoxiong replied quietly. “The young one is called You Zhuo, the burly one is Hu Fu. Both are disciples of that fool Fei Lian—the younger is the senior apprentice, the burly one the junior.”

Ji Huo eyed the burly man, recalling the intelligence he’d heard from Twenty-Three the day before. “Is that the one who all but has ‘come fight me’ written on his face—the second disciple of Fei Lian who single-handedly beat eighteen of the capital’s best, leaving the younger generation in disgrace?”

“That’s the one,” Ji Xiaoxiong confirmed. “What you heard was just his tally from yesterday. Today, I hear he’s taken down several more.”

“He looks at least thirty! That still counts as the younger generation?” Ji Huo exclaimed.

“Hu Fu just looks older than he is,” Ji Xiaoxiong replied, giving Hu Fu’s mature face a scrutinizing glance before adding, “Fei Lian and I are of the same generation, and since Hu Fu is his disciple, technically he counts as the younger set.”