Chapter 20: Mad, Completely Mad

Inside the grand hall.

At the center stood a refined man, his age past thirty, clad in a national scholar’s robe of blue silk, a cool sash at his waist, his feet shod in official boots of blue satin and felt soles, all beneath a robe of red and blue silk.

His face was like polished jade, features dignified and handsome, black eyes deep as an ancient well. He uttered not a word, yet his entire being seemed shrouded in an aura of coldness.

Clearly accustomed to positions of power, the mere act of standing there radiated an unmistakable authority, impossible to hide.

Cheng Guang looked at the figure in the hall, the man's name surfacing in his mind.

Cheng Zhihai.

When Cheng Zhihai saw Cheng Guang appear, the coldness in his gaze softened, the icy mask on his face melting away, revealing a look of paternal affection.

“You little rascal, what mischief have you gotten into this time? Your mother told me all about it—your involvement in Wu Ling’s ascension as Crown Prince.”

Cheng Guang, seeing this, merely curled his lip, refusing to answer and instead shot back, “Why have you come back so early?”

Cheng Zhihai’s tone faltered. He had intended to admonish Cheng Guang, to tell him he should not have openly supported Wu Ling and aided the Emperor in making her Crown Prince, but he had not expected Cheng Guang to question his early return first.

Cheng Zhihai shook his head with a helpless smile, long since accustomed to his son’s brusque manner.

“This time I’ve found a new remedy. I brought back many rare herbs from a secret realm outside. There’s hope yet to heal the damage to your very foundation…”

“No need.”

Cheng Guang cut him off before he could finish.

“Ah, Guang’er, I know the healing process is painful, but you don’t want to be trapped in this residence forever, do you? Or do you really want your father to protect you all your life?”

Cheng Zhihai pleaded earnestly, gone was the imposing air of a high official, replaced now by the concern of a nagging father.

Cheng Guang raised an eyebrow, impatience growing more evident on his face. “So what if you do? Can’t you protect me my whole life?”

The Heir had always treated Cheng Zhihai this way.

Since childhood, he had suffered under Cheng Zhihai’s hands—not out of malice, but in attempts to heal his wounds. Yet those years had left indelible shadows, and even as an adult, the Heir’s manner toward Cheng Zhihai was never warm.

Cheng Zhihai hadn’t expected such feeble words from Cheng Guang. Caught off guard, he stood there, at a loss, stammering awkwardly:

“Of course I can protect you all your life, but a man’s ambition should span the world. You’re still the sole heir to the Duke Protectorate. If you remain cloistered, how can you command respect?”

Cheng Guang said nothing, only snorted coldly.

He played the part of a willful, arrogant youth to perfection.

Even Cheng Guang was a little impressed by himself—his acting had improved by leaps and bounds without him realizing it.

Cheng Zhihai understood his son's temperament: he had always harbored resentment and rarely offered a kind word, but as his own flesh and blood, Cheng Zhihai was tolerant.

Cheng Guang’s injury had always been a source of heartache for him.

Had he not insisted on marrying into the Wu family, Cheng Guang would not have been born with royal blood, thus subjected to cruel punishment at birth—the forced removal of his royal lineage.

Had he been a commoner’s child, such calamity would likely have cost him his life.

But in the Duke Protectorate, life could be preserved, though the effects of losing royal blood could never be fully erased.

Not only was spiritual cultivation impossible, even his martial talent was severely stunted—he might spend his entire life as a mortal.

With no other option, they sought to forcibly graft another royal scion’s bloodline into Cheng Guang, fusing it with his own.

This way, he could tread the path of the spirit.

Yet they had underestimated the laws of heaven and the dominance of royal blood.

Apart from those born with it, forcibly merging another’s royal blood was almost impossible.

Even after decades, despite exhausting uncountable rare treasures in his effort to suppress the rejection within Cheng Guang’s body, Cheng Zhihai had achieved little—he could at best maintain a fragile balance, preventing the foreign blood from running rampant.

After long reflection, Cheng Zhihai could only sigh in guilt.

“Guang’er, let me try once more. If it doesn’t work this time, I’ll seek other solutions and won’t trouble you so often again, all right?”

In his usually imposing eyes, there was now a tinge of pleading.

It caught Cheng Guang off guard.

The man who commanded the storms outside, leader of the Lampbearer Division, known for his iron will and ruthless decisions, was now begging his own son.

Such humility was almost inconceivable, not just to Cheng Guang. If the world knew, it would be deemed even more impossible.

Cheng Zhihai’s love for his son far surpassed Cheng Guang’s imagination.

But it was not surprising.

In the future, Cheng Zhihai would even offer his own life to suppress the bloodline rejection and heal his son, so that the Heir could begin his path of cultivation.

To use his own life so his son could step into the world—Cheng Guang had thought he would remain indifferent, but now his feelings were far more complex than he had expected.

If Cheng Zhihai ever discovered he was a stand-in, and intended to usurp the rightful place, his fate would be worse than death.

But as long as he wasn’t found out, having such doting parents was a rare fortune.

Now that he had chosen this path, there was no turning back. He could only press on.

Once he fully replaced the Heir, it was not impossible to truly regard Wu Yuemei and Cheng Zhihai as his own parents.

Cheng Guang suppressed his tangled thoughts and shook his head.

“No need.”

At these words, Cheng Zhihai’s brows furrowed deeply, the authority in his eyes dimming, tangled with indecision. He was about to continue persuading when Cheng Guang spoke again.

“My wounds… seem to have healed.”

The words fell like thunder.

Cheng Zhihai jerked his head up, eyes wide, a terrifying pressure emanating before he hastily reined it in.

He stared at Cheng Guang in disbelief.

“Guang’er, what did you say!?”

The youth stood straight, his gaze steady.

“I said, my wounds seem to have healed.”

Cheng Zhihai suspected Cheng Guang was speaking nonsense, but nevertheless reached out, drawing Cheng Guang near, and gently probed his body with his vital energy.

Like a warm current, his energy flowed through Cheng Guang’s meridians, causing no discomfort.

Cheng Zhihai’s control was perfect, causing no harm, and in a flash, he had a clear grasp of Cheng Guang’s condition.

He froze.

The imposing eyes were now dazed, his broad hand trembling, eyes moist with tears—tears of joy, as if in a dream.

“What… what is this…”

“How did it suddenly heal…”

“I’m not dreaming, am I? How could it suddenly be healed…”

Cheng Zhihai muttered to himself, unable to believe it, checking again and again, his mind reeling at this miracle.

A wish he had yearned for day and night was suddenly, effortlessly granted, leaving him in a state of surreal disbelief.

To be sure this was truly his son and not some imposter, he scrutinized every detail.

But it was unmistakable—this was indeed his son.

His countenance, his aura, nothing was amiss.

“How did you get better?” Cheng Zhihai, overjoyed, rushed forward, gripping Cheng Guang’s arms tightly.

Cheng Guang shook him off impatiently. “It just happened. I checked some books in the library, tried a few prescriptions, and somehow, I got better.”

“Things like vermilion fruit, dragon-tongue grass, just mixed them up and drank a bit. Suddenly, it was gone.”

His explanation was vague.

The true resolution of the rejection could not be explained, nor was a full explanation needed—just a plausible reason would do.

Throughout the land, no perfect solution to forcibly merging royal blood had ever been found. Even if Cheng Zhihai wanted to verify his story, it would be near impossible.

Cheng Zhihai was stunned.

He never imagined the answer would be so simple.

Yet, according to his information, Cheng Guang had indeed been frequenting the library, and every meal and drink he had consumed these days was known to him.

He simply hadn't expected that ordinary-looking ingredients, casually combined, could resolve the rejection of royal blood so perfectly.

The shock was akin to hearing that common materials like glass sand and lime could be made into superconductors, shaking the world.

He was utterly beside himself.

He was dumbfounded, rooted in place.

He could not verify Cheng Guang’s claim—he could hardly abduct another royal scion, strip his bloodline, and risk universal condemnation just to test it.

He could only believe.

But there was still one thing left to confirm.

He needed to see whether the blood in Cheng Guang’s veins was truly royal blood.

If it was not, there would be grave implications.

First, the person before him might not be his son.

Second, Cheng Guang’s recovery might be due to the disappearance of his royal blood.

Either outcome was unacceptable.

With a heart full of apprehension, Cheng Zhihai pulled Cheng Guang toward a secret chamber within the hall.

…