Chapter One: The Mischievous Child Drives Zhu Biao Mad

Autumn, the fourteenth year of Hongwu.

In the Eastern Palace of Yingtian Prefecture—

“Your Highness the Crown Prince!”

“Your Highness…!”

An elderly man, his face ashen with fury, stormed forward, his every step fueled by anger. He made his way from the teaching hall toward the main chamber, roaring all the while—each shout louder than the last.

Upon seeing Crown Prince Zhu Biao, he immediately hurled the Analects in his hand to the ground. “Your Highness! This humble servant finds himself utterly unfit for the post of instructor in the teaching hall! You had best find someone more capable!”

Zhu Biao was taken aback. The teaching hall had been specially set up in the Eastern Palace to enlighten his children, and he had invited his learned father-in-law—this very man—to serve as their mentor. Everything had been well until today. What on earth had happened?

Wait—why was his father-in-law’s robe soaked through, leaving a trail of water behind him?

Before he could inquire, his seven-year-old son Zhu Xiongying came striding over, swinging his little legs with an air of utter indifference.

Lu Ben, upon catching sight of him, instinctively tried to dodge out of the way.

Zhu Biao quickly pieced the situation together. Frowning sternly, he put on a severe face. “Xiongying, did you anger your teacher so? Apologize to him at once!”

“No need! Your Highness, please rescind your decree at once…” Lu Ben’s expression shifted drastically as he waved his hands in alarm. “If the Imperial Grandson apologizes today, who knows what I’ll find in my hat tomorrow—a snake, a few birds, or heaven knows what else!”

“What?” Zhu Biao was utterly bewildered. He could hardly believe it—this son was the most well-behaved of all his children. How could he possibly do such things?

Meanwhile, the other children were approaching as well. Zhu Yunwen, pale as snow, seized the opportunity and spoke up, “Father, not only did Big Brother put a frog in Teacher’s hat, he tricked him into eating eggs boiled in boys’ urine, and then filled his teapot with the stuff as well. That’s why Teacher is so angry!”

“What?” Zhu Biao’s jaw dropped; he could have fit an entire egg in his mouth. Glancing at his father-in-law’s damp robe, he began to understand, a hint of distaste flickering across his face. He looked sharply at Zhu Xiongying, who was struggling to suppress a laugh.

In truth, Zhu Xiongying’s transformation had its reasons. The body of this seven-year-old now housed the soul of a man in his twenties.

That’s right—he was a transmigrator, having arrived in the Ming dynasty just half a month ago.

At first, learning he had become the infamous short-lived Crown Grandson of Ming, Zhu Xiongying, he was filled with despair. Fortunately, as novels had promised, transmigrators must be given a system. And so, he awakened the “Mischievous Child’s Life-Extension System”!

As the name implied, he had to keep causing mischief if he wished to survive. Otherwise, according to history, he would not last three months—come the following spring, the fifteenth year of Hongwu, he’d be dead and gone.

Since his arrival, the one he’d dealt with most was Lu Ben. So Zhu Xiongying decided to test the waters with him first.

Trip Lu Ben with a hidden cord—five days of extra life!

Shave off Lu Ben’s beard—ten days!

Hide his shoes so he had to walk home barefoot and become a laughingstock among the commoners—another month!

Through repeated mischief, he’d already extended his life by half a year.

Seeing his son in such a state, Zhu Biao had to force down his anger. He decided to placate his father-in-law first, then deal with this rascal later.

With an apologetic smile, he said, “Honored Father-in-law, Xiongying is young and unruly. I will discipline him and make sure he behaves himself. These children are still small; they must learn the teachings of Confucius and Mencius.”

“The teachings of Confucius and Mencius?” At this, Lu Ben could only laugh in disbelief. “Come, come! Imperial Grandson, why don’t you explain to His Highness what ‘Do not do unto others what you do not want done to yourself’ means?”

“If I don’t want something, I’d rather throw it away than give it to someone else!” Zhu Xiongying replied crisply, fiddling with his fingers.

“Pfft—!” Zhu Biao had just sipped his tea to calm his nerves and immediately spat it out.

This rascal! In nearly thirty years, he’d never heard such an interpretation!

“Your Highness, there’s more…” Lu Ben pressed on, “What about ‘A gentleman is not respected unless he is dignified’?”

“If a gentleman fights, but doesn’t fight hard enough—if he doesn’t beat the other till he wins—then he has no dignity!” The little fellow responded in a childish lilt, without a moment’s hesitation.

Zhu Biao was on the verge of exploding.

“‘Since you are here, settle in’?”

“Since you’re here, you might as well be buried here!”

Zhu Biao began scanning the hall for a suitable weapon.

“‘A gentleman is not a tool’?”

“To take you down, I don’t even need a weapon!”

Zhu Biao pulled off a boot, gripped it by the heel, and swung it at the little miscreant.

Fortunately, Zhu Xiongying was nimble enough to dodge, ducking his head just in time.

With a nimble leap, he darted out of the hall.

Beyond the room was a courtyard, where a large jujube tree stood. Beneath it were stone tables and stools. Zhu Xiongying stepped on a stool, hopped onto the table, then vaulted into the tree, climbing higher and higher.

Now Zhu Biao was powerless, brandishing his shoe and shouting threats, “Just you wait till you come down—I’ll break your legs!”

“Let’s see who dares lay a hand on my eldest grandson!” came a cold, commanding voice.

A man strode in, clad in a five-clawed golden dragon robe and a jade belt—the ruler of Ming himself, Zhu Yuanzhang.

Everyone knelt at once.

After the formalities, Zhu Biao spoke helplessly, “Father, if we don’t discipline this boy, he’ll be hopeless. He doesn’t even understand the teachings of the sages—how can he avoid disgracing the royal family?”

“Who says I don’t understand the teachings of Confucius and Mencius?” Before Zhu Yuanzhang could speak, Zhu Xiongying, perched in the tree munching on dates, interjected.

Zhu Yuanzhang’s lips curled into a fond smile as he gazed at his grandson. “Oh? Then tell me, what are the teachings of Confucius and Mencius?”

“Father, don’t listen to his nonsense, he’s just—”

“Did I ask you?” Zhu Yuanzhang shot him a glare. Zhu Biao fell silent.

So be it—come what may!

“Grandfather, to truly understand the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, you must first comprehend the Way of Kings and the Way of Tyrants.”

“Oh? Then tell me, what is the Way of Kings and what is the Way of Tyrants?”

Zhu Yuanzhang was intrigued. Even Zhu Biao was surprised by his son’s apparent seriousness.

“The Way of Kings is this: if your opponent refuses to obey, you beat him until he does.”

“The Way of Tyrants is this: even when your opponent obeys, you beat him anyway.”

“As for the teachings of Confucius and Mencius…”

“Well?”

“Before you beat him, you tell him first!”

“Hahaha…!”

Zhu Yuanzhang, a farmer by birth who had fought his way to the throne with his fists, found this reasoning most agreeable.