SFP - Chapter 8

It all began, as many strange and history-defying events in the palace do, with a sneeze.

Lin Xiao had situated himself in his favorite spot—a shaded nook under a flowering plum tree near the quiet eastern wall of the garden. With a gentle breeze brushing over his cheeks and a plate of candied chestnuts beside him, it was the perfect setting for his favorite activity: doing nothing.

He lay there sprawled on a thin bamboo mat, limbs akimbo, resembling a particularly lazy cat that had just eaten far too much fish. One hand reached lazily toward the plate of chestnuts. It was just out of reach. Stretching an inch more, he finally managed to grab one and pop it into his mouth. Triumph.

Then—

He sneezed.

A sudden, unceremonious, thunderous sneeze. And with it came a sharp jolt of pain down his back.

“Ack!” Lin Xiao hissed, stiffening like a plank. “Oww…”

He blinked at the sky, eyes full of betrayal.

“This is it,” he muttered to the clouds. “This is how I go. Slain by ambition.”

He remained frozen, half-lifted from the mat in a half-crunch position, looking more like a tossed rag doll than a noble prince. He lay back slowly with the posture of someone surrendering to fate.

“Eunuch Zhao,” he called out weakly, as though summoning a priest for last rites.

From behind a screen of bamboo stalks, the ever-faithful Eunuch Zhao appeared, as if he’d been expecting this exact moment. He held a cup of steaming ginger tea as usual, because with Lin Xiao, drama came on a predictable schedule.

“Your Highness,” Eunuch Zhao said calmly, kneeling beside him. “You seem to be in distress. Again.”

“I am dying,” Lin Xiao declared, voice filled with theatrical agony. “I have been betrayed by my lumbar region.”

Eunuch Zhao raised an eyebrow. “Shall I summon the royal physicians?”

“No, no.” Lin Xiao waved his hand faintly. “This isn’t something that can be fixed with needles or medicine. This is a sign from the heavens.”

The eunuch tilted his head. “A sign of…?”

Lin Xiao pushed himself up slightly, winced, then slumped sideways with the grace of a melting snowman.

“A sign that this world is too hard,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. “Literally. I was not made for hard mats and straight-backed chairs. No. I was meant for comfort. Plushness. Support!”

Eunuch Zhao made a neutral humming sound, which in servant-language translated to: “Here we go again.”

The young prince’s eyes lit up. “I need to build a sanctuary. A true haven. A place that understands the sacred art of reclining!”

Eunuch Zhao waited.

“I shall build a private garden,” Lin Xiao whispered, as though the idea had just been delivered to him by divine inspiration. “And in every corner, there shall be… a reclining bed.”

By the next morning, Lin Xiao was a man possessed. Not by spirits or ambition, but by the irresistible urge to nap better.

He summoned the palace garden planner with great ceremony. The poor man was still in his sleep robe and halfway through a bowl of rice porridge when he was pulled into the courtyard.

The southern courtyard had been abandoned for years. Once reserved for senior officials to take tea in the afternoons, it had fallen into disuse, overtaken by tall grasses, dragonflies, and a particularly arrogant squirrel who had claimed the largest rock as his throne.

Lin Xiao stood in the middle of the courtyard, arms crossed dramatically. Behind him fluttered silk banners painted with odd diagrams and dreamy clouds. Eunuch Zhao stood to one side holding a scroll titled “Vision: Recline or Die.”

“We shall build the Garden of Four Reclines,” Lin Xiao declared. His voice rang out with the solemnity of someone announcing the start of a great cultural revolution.

The planner opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

“Your Highness, a… garden of reclines?”

“Yes,” Lin Xiao said. “A place to elevate the soul by lowering the spine.”

The planner looked confused.

“In the north,” Lin Xiao continued, pacing like a philosopher in deep thought, “there will be a cedar bed covered in soft velvet. For noble reflection. It will face the rising sun, but at a slanted angle, so I am never blinded.”

“Cedar… velvet… angle…” The planner scribbled notes, bewildered.

“In the east,” Lin Xiao said, raising a hand toward the sun, “a swing bed suspended by silken ropes. For elevated naps. Gentle rocking motion required. If I swing too much, I shall vomit. If I swing too little, it’s not a nap—it’s a torture bed.”

“In the west,” he gestured flamboyantly, “a marble platform lined with embroidered cushions. It must face the koi pond. The fish bring tranquility. Very important for nap harmony.”

“And in the south?” the planner asked, already feeling the budget shudder in his coin pouch.

Lin Xiao smiled with a dangerous kind of serenity.

“A sunken bed,” he said. “Low to the ground. Warm stone base. Heated by the sun during the day. Ideal for deep meditation naps. And perhaps afternoon snack consumption.”

Eunuch Zhao handed over a scroll to the planner with sketched-out designs. They were rough, mostly childlike doodles of beds with smiley faces.

“And plants?” the planner asked weakly.

“Ah yes.” Lin Xiao snapped his fingers. “Only the laziest plants. Ferns that water themselves with dew. Bamboo that grows just enough and then stops. No trimming. I don’t want gardeners traipsing through and disturbing my slumber.”

The planner nodded slowly. “And what shall we call this garden, Your Highness?”

Lin Xiao closed his eyes and whispered with great reverence:

“The Garden of Ultimate Rest.”

Eunuch Zhao coughed. “Or possibly: Prince Lin Xiao’s Resting Realm.”

“I like that too.”

Word of the garden spread like spilled tea in the inner court.

The Minister of Rites nearly choked on his morning melon seeds when he heard.

“A reclining bed… for philosophy? Heresy! Next he’ll ask for silk robes embroidered with clouds to wear while meditating on fish!”

The Minister of Finance turned a peculiar shade of gray.

“Silken ropes? Imported cedar? Velvet?” he gasped. “Does His Highness think the imperial treasury grows from a tree that waters itself?”

Even the Crown Prince got involved.

“He wants to put beds in the courtyard?” Lin Yu asked, expression tight.

“No,” replied Eunuch Zhao politely, “His Highness wants to put four types of beds in four directions, each with unique philosophies of rest.”

Lin Yu stared. “I see. So it’s not just lazy—it’s artistically lazy.”

Despite the uproar, His Majesty the Emperor gave his reluctant approval.

“If the boy wants beds, let him have beds,” the Emperor muttered. “At least he’s not plotting something again.”

And so, construction began.

Carpenters arrived, blinking at strange blueprints covered in clouds and doodles. Weavers cried quietly as they were handed color palettes titled “dream fog,” “moonlit moss,” and “blushing lotus.”

Lin Xiao supervised the process from a chaise lounge beneath a parasol. Occasionally, he pointed with a fan.

“That bed’s angle is one degree too upright. I can feel it judging me.”

A squirrel joined him, offering moral support—and bits of walnut.

By the time the last cushion was fluffed, the garden had transformed into a sanctuary of tranquil laziness, so beautiful even the skeptical officials began to peek in.

On the day of the unveiling, flute players performed a lullaby suite. Lin Xiao entered in robes that resembled a drifting cloud and proclaimed, “Behold! The revolution of repose!”

Cautiously, ministers stepped forward. The velvet bed… soothing. The swing… dangerously fun. The koi-facing platform… oddly reflective.

By dusk, even the Crown Prince was flat on the sunken bed, murmuring, “Why is this so effective?”

Lin Xiao, reclining in the northern cedar quadrant, smiled.

“Eunuch Zhao,” he whispered, “I have saved the nation from chronic tension.”

And thus, the empire rested.

Not with the weighty silence of political treaties or the grand clang of victory drums, but with the sigh of silk robes against velvet cushions and the soft rustle of leaves in a breeze designed by feng shui experts. In every wing of the palace, ministers lay sprawled in elegantly improper angles, muttering vague philosophical thoughts about koi fish and the curvature of clouds. Guards dozed beside their spears, scholars cradled scrolls like body pillows, and even the imperial cats looked more smug than usual.

For the first time in generations, peace didn’t arrive by sword—but by softness. And in the heart of it all, beneath a canopy of plum blossoms, Lin Xiao reclined like a lazy emperor of serenity, smugly victorious in his campaign of comfort.

SFP - Chapter 7

It was not a particularly remarkable morning in the southern courtyard. The dogs were yawning. The plum trees were lazy with dew. A butterfly gave up halfway through a somersault and landed, defeated, on a teacup.

And Lin Xiao? He lay sprawled across a bamboo mat like a fallen starfish, one slipper dangling off his toe, a half-eaten plum resting on his chest. The shadows of plum blossoms danced across his robe, silk woven with the kind of detail only imperial hands could afford—and only Lin Xiao could manage to wrinkle so completely.

He was, by all accounts, in his natural habitat: reclined, unbothered, and three degrees away from napping again.

“Your Highness....” Eunuch Zhao whispered from behind a stone lantern, his whisper only slightly louder than a drifting breeze. He looked nervous, the way one does when waking a sacred beast or, in this case, a 13-year-old prince known to quote ancient philosophy in defense of skipping bath time.

“Shouldn’t you be at morning rites?” Eunuch Zhao asked again, voice edged with the quiet dread of someone who had tried to reason with a marble statue. Repeatedly.

Lin Xiao didn’t open his eyes. He raised one finger, slowly, deliberately, like a sage preparing to deliver a profound truth.

“Too many syllables in the prayers,” he murmured. “Let Heaven understand my silence instead.”

“But the Crown Prince—”

“Let him pray for two. He enjoys being productive. It’s his spiritual hobby.”

A pause.

Eunuch Zhao opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed—deep and slow, like someone exhaling the remains of a once-promising military career. Somewhere deep within the palace, a ceremonial bell tolled its eighth and final note.

Lin Xiao rolled over, carefully adjusting the plum so it didn’t roll off his chest. “Ah yes. My favorite chime: The One I Shall Ignore.”

Moments later, he tucked his sleeves beneath his cheek and resumed what he called ‘restorative stillness’—what everyone else just called napping.

But fate, as always, had other plans.

Crown Prince Lin Yu had many admirable traits: a memory that never forgot a slight, a sword hand sharper than most imperial blades, and patience cultivated from years of putting up with Lin Xiao.

But even mountains wear down.

“Again,” Lin Yu snapped, pacing before his military tutor, “Again I am told the cooks are now balancing steamers on their heads ‘for inner harmony.’”

The tutor bowed deeply. “It is... the young prince’s influence, Your Highness.”

“Yes,” Lin Yu growled. “It’s always his influence. I should have known something was wrong the moment the war horses started receiving foot massages.”

He stormed out of the strategy room, dragging a scroll of battle formations behind him like an abandoned tail. Aides trailed after him, eyes wide and fearful. One of them tried to suggest tea. He was immediately assigned to latrine detail.

The southern courtyard shimmered in the distance, deceptively peaceful. Lin Yu approached like a general marching on a battlefield.

He expected resistance. He expected evasion. He *did not* expect to find Lin Xiao surrounded by three servants seated cross-legged, their hands in odd positions and their eyes half-closed.

Lin Xiao, the villain of discipline, was calmly saying: “...and if you inhale through your left thumb, you’ll feel your regrets loosen.”

“Brother!” Lin Yu barked, voice sharp as a commander's.

“Ah,” Lin Xiao said, blinking dreamily. “Welcome, Crown Prince. Have you come to center your spleen?”

Lin Yu’s expression resembled that of a man watching someone gently place oranges on the imperial seal.

“Explain. Now.”

“Mindful folding,” Lin Xiao replied. “We fold our regrets into invisible origami. It’s very calming. I’ve named this one the 'folded bureaucrat.'”

“You skipped rites!” Lin Yu snapped. “You insulted General Huo by calling his eyebrows ‘tense.’”

“They *were* tense. Like two angry caterpillars.”

“You’re turning the court into a teahouse!”

Lin Xiao tilted his head. “Isn’t that preferable to a battlefield?”

Lin Yu opened his fan slowly, threateningly. “I will bury you under scrolls.”

Lin Xiao smiled peacefully. “Make sure they’re soft-bound.”

Eunuch Zhao quietly lit incense behind them, just in case.

News of Lin Xiao’s ‘teachings’ spread through the palace like a dropped dumpling rolling downhill—fast, inevitable, and somehow amusing.

In the Hall of Records, scribes began writing while lying on their sides. One claimed it improved the flow of calligraphy; another insisted it reduced wrist fatigue. They invented the term “horizontal documentation.”

The royal kitchens, long a realm of clangs and roars, adopted ten-minute meditation breaks between stir-frying and steaming. A junior cook developed a soup that allegedly aligned your chakras. It tasted like cabbage and possibility.

Even the imperial cat, a notoriously haughty creature named Snowball the Third, adopted a new seated pose resembling a dumpling in mid-thought. The Empress herself mistook it for a sign of divine enlightenment.

Meanwhile, Eunuch Zhao found himself roped into facilitating a new daily ritual: “The Morning Lounging.” Held in the plum garden, it involved cushions, lukewarm tea, gentle flute music, and Lin Xiao reciting absurd metaphors with the confidence of a man inventing wisdom on the spot.

“Life is like steamed buns,” Lin Xiao intoned one morning, eyes closed. “You only appreciate them when they’re gone. Or cold.”

One official nodded so vigorously he pulled a muscle.

“Do we act upon it?” asked another.

“No,” Lin Xiao said. “We sit. And we chew. Slowly.”

Eunuch Zhao wrote that one down. He had a scroll now titled *The Art of Supreme Inactivity.*

The monthly imperial banquet began like all others: with stiff protocol, ceremonial scrolls, and enough standing to cause a rebellion of knees. Ministers stiffened in their robes like overcooked dumplings. The musicians plucked their zithers nervously. The Crown Prince hovered by the entrance, checking his fan for cracks.

Then Lin Xiao arrived.

He wore robes the color of daydreams—soft grey and lavender—and slippers embroidered with yawning clouds. He carried no scroll, no assistant, only a small tray with what he called “philosophy salad.” It appeared to contain lotus petals, tofu cubes, and possibly a single grape. Possibly.

Ignoring the seating chart entirely, he settled himself cross-legged at the very center of the grand hall, beneath the imperial phoenix mural.

“I offer you clarity,” he said, unfolding a napkin with priestly gravitas.

Whispers rippled. A court painter dropped his brush.

Lin Xiao took a sip of lukewarm tea. “All suffering,” he began solemnly, “stems from tight belts, cold feet, and early mornings.”

A low cough. Someone nodded.

“Loosen your robes,” he continued, “warm your toes. Sleep in.”

Someone clapped. The Minister of Agriculture.

“And national defense?” asked General Huo, arms crossed.

Lin Xiao pointed at him. “You look tense. Nap first. Invade later.”

The Emperor laughed.

“Very well, Fifth Son. Clarify us.”

Lin Xiao did.

That evening, the southern courtyard was drenched in lazy moonlight. The koi had ceased yawning and now floated contemplatively. Fireflies blinked in sync. The air smelled of plums, tea, and unfulfilled ambition.

Lin Xiao reclined once again, head resting on Eunuch Zhao’s emergency brocade pillow. He nibbled on candied lotus root with the disinterest of a monk chewing enlightenment.

“Fifth Prince...,” Eunuch Zhao asked softly, watching the breeze flirt with lantern tassels, “do you ever wonder what your legacy will be?”

Lin Xiao thought. Slowly.

“I hope they remember me as a prince who never stood unless absolutely necessary.”

A servant, crouched nearby with ink and brush, nodded fervently.

“And perhaps,” Lin Xiao added, blinking at the stars, “as someone who taught a nation the sacred art of lounging.”

And in the palace archives, someone quietly began a new scroll.

SFP - Chapter 6

The moon had barely cleared the crimson-tiled rooftops of the Yuan Palace when Lin Xiao made a bold declaration to the stars:

"My body doesn’t believe in sweating before midnight."

Eunuch Zhao, standing a respectful distance behind the prince’s lounging chair, adjusted his expression into the blank serenity of long-suffering servitude. It was nearly the second watch of the night, and Lin Xiao had just finished his third bowl of almond pudding.

“Your Highness, this proclamation seems—if I may— somewhat irrelevant.”

“It is completely relevant,” Lin Xiao said, waving his spoon like a philosopher’s fan. “Tomorrow’s swordsmanship session threatens the delicate balance of my evening rest.”

"You’re not resting yet," Eunuch Zhao said with a dry tone.

“I am preparing for it,” Lin Xiao corrected, then yawned grandly. “One must court sleep with grace, not sneak up on it like some sweaty martial artist.”

At that very moment, distant clanging echoed from the martial barracks. Lin Xiao flinched.

“That was a warning bell,” Eunuch Zhao noted.

“More like a death knell for comfort,” Lin Xiao muttered. “And lo! The heavens weep.”

By the time the palace roosters crowed and the first light bathed the vermilion corridors, Lin Xiao had already begun staging his most ambitious escape yet. He did not fear battle—but he absolutely loathed physical exertion, particularly before tea.

“This is not just evasion,” he told Eunuch Zhao, who was gently helping him tie a silk sash over his sleeping robe. “This is art. No, this is... theatre.”

First, the decoy: Lin Xiao arranged his bed with uncanny precision. Several rolled-up scrolls—borrowed, perhaps permanently, from the imperial archives—were wrapped in a quilt, given a touch of perfumed powder, and arranged with two black beans balanced delicately as ‘eyeballs’ peeking out.

Second, the sound illusion. He placed a small hand-operated bellows beneath a silk cushion near his pillow. Every few minutes, it released a rhythmic, snore-like puff, just convincing enough to fool an inattentive servant—or, with any luck, a sleepy instructor.

“Marvelous,” Lin Xiao whispered, beaming. “He snores better than I do.”

Third, and most crucially: the canine bribe. Palace Dog Number Five, affectionately nicknamed Buns, was lured with sweet rice cakes and a pat on the head. Buns had been trained (or rather, opportunistically fed) to bark furiously anytime someone neared Lin Xiao’s chambers. Today, that same energy would become his defensive perimeter.

With the final piece in place, Lin Xiao turned to Eunuch Zhao. “I’m escaping through the laundry corridor. I’ve timed the rotations of the maids. There’s a fifteen-second window between their second rinse and first folding. It’s surgical.”

“You’ve spent more energy avoiding this lesson than completing it,” Eunuch Zhao observed.

Lin Xiao slipped on his softest slippers—the ones made of velvet, designed for tiptoeing and looking morally superior—and gave a slow nod. “History shall thank me for conserving energy.”

The two of them glided through shadowy corridors like shadows in silk. They emerged at last into the southern courtyard, an underused part of the palace known mostly for being the final home of misplaced ceremonial umbrellas and one mildly vengeful peacock.

Here, among overgrown grass, patches of lavender, and sun-warmed stones, Lin Xiao flung out his arms.

“Welcome to base camp, Eunuch Zhao,” he declared. “Henceforth, this sacred land shall be known as... the Fortress of Avoidance.”

Eunuch Zhao stared at a squirrel hanging upside down from a branch above them. It seemed to be judging them.

“Let the record show,” he said, “that I am merely an accomplice under duress.”

“Noted and appreciated,” Lin Xiao replied. “Operation Avoid Sharp Objects is now in motion.”

Then, with a theatrical flourish, he unfurled a rolled mat and laid it down in a patch of filtered sunlight. “We begin with a warm-up. Or in our case—a nap-down.”

Lin Xiao did not waste time. Well, actually, he did—but he wasted it with theatrical precision. With his mat rolled out on a flat stone warmed by morning light, he dropped into what could only be described as an enthusiastic collapse.

“Eunuch Zhao,” he intoned gravely, “do you feel it?”

“Feel what, Your Highness?”

“The subtle awakening of muscles previously known only to philosophers and concubines.”

“I feel a mild breeze and creeping regret,” Eunuch Zhao replied.

Lin Xiao twisted, bent, arched, and breathed in deeply through his nose, as though the sun itself had kissed his ribs. “I call this one the 'Imperial Sigh Reaches the West Pavilion.'”

At first, there were only squirrels and silence. But then—voices.

A maid carrying a tea tray paused. Another girl joined her. By the time Lin Xiao was balancing on one foot and reaching dramatically toward a patch of sky like a tragic willow tree, there were five onlookers mimicking him.

And thus, his fraudulent freedom transformed into an accidental phenomenon…

Meanwhile, in the martial training courtyard, sword instructors grew increasingly irate.

“He’s late,” grunted Commander Qian, whose shoulders could be mistaken for a city wall.

“He’s not coming,” Instructor Ji muttered. “Last time, he claimed his inner chi was allergic to steel.”

A young page raised a timid hand. “Yesterday, he said he’d caught the ‘soul of poetry’ and could only write couplets all week.”

There was a pause. Then, all three instructors let out a groan of professional anguish.

The palace, however, was beginning to hum with other reports.

“He’s bending like a reed, with all the grace of a dumpling,” whispered a court lady.

“Did you see the ‘Lazy Dragon Flop to the East’ pose?” a junior attendant gushed.

In just one morning, Lin Xiao’s ridiculous contortions had sparked imitation among servants, courtiers, and even a few curious scholars.

Summoned by imperial decree, Lin Xiao arrived at the Hall of Heavenly Discipline not with guilt, but with a cushion tucked under one arm.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow.

“My son,” he began slowly, “I was told you’ve... led a spiritual awakening?”

Lin Xiao bowed deeply. “Indeed, Father Emperor. I have transcended mere muscle. I now dwell in the realm of enlightened idleness.”

The Empress stifled a chuckle behind her fan. Eunuch Zhao cleared his throat and added diplomatically, “Several courtiers report improved digestion and clarity of mind.”

The Emperor studied his son’s unbothered expression. “And sword practice?”

Lin Xiao raised a hand in solemn protest. “Swords are for the body. What I offer... is liberation of the spine.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, the Emperor waved him off. “Very well. But tomorrow—you train.”

Lin Xiao bowed again. “Then I shall bend... minimally.”

Morning found Lin Xiao at the martial courtyard.

He wore embroidered robes far too elegant for exercise, a headband that served no purpose, and a look of preemptive exhaustion.

Commander Qian glared. “Why are you barefoot?”

“To feel the Earth’s grievances,” Lin Xiao replied serenely.

The instructor barked commands.

“Left strike!”

Lin Xiao moved as if underwater. “Flow like soup,” he murmured. “Deflect like tofu.”

“Right block!”

Lin Xiao turned, stretching leisurely. “Ah yes, the ‘Sleeping Ox Rolls in the Dust.’”

By the end of training, the only thing Lin Xiao had cut was a cucumber during the snack break.

His eldest sister, Princess Lin Xue, confronted him that afternoon.

“You told Concubine Yun that your stretches ward off nightmares?”

“I merely said they invite better dreams,” Lin Xiao replied from his mat.

Third Brother Lin Heng sat beside him. “Teach me the one where you twist like a steamed bun.”

Even the Crown Prince was caught trying the ‘Stoic Scholar Collapses on a Scroll’ behind a pillar.

Word spread. Ministers, eunuchs, even the palace cat tried a version of ‘Lazy Imperial Curl.’

By week’s end, a scroll arrived from the Southern Garrison.

To His Highness Prince Lin Xiao: Your movements have been adopted for post-training recovery. Soldiers report fewer injuries and greater morale.

We call it: The Way of the Gentle Spine.

Lin Xiao rolled onto his side, grinning.

“Eunuch Zhao, prepare more cushions. My ministry of restfulness has begun.”

Eunuch Zhao bowed. “Shall I inform the scribes to inscribe your teachings?”

“Only if they write it lying down,” Lin Xiao replied.

And thus, from a singular act of avoidance, the Salted Fish Prince accidentally became the founder of the most relaxed discipline the empire had ever known.

SFP - Chapter 5

The rooster crowed. Then it crowed again. Then it crowed once more, as if it were personally offended that someone was still asleep.

Inside the eastern wing of the Fifth Prince’s residence, chaos trembled just beneath the tranquil silence. Silk curtains fluttered lazily in the breeze, the scent of osmanthus tea wafted faintly through the carved sandalwood windowpanes, and somewhere in the vast compound, a junior eunuch tiptoed as if sneezing might get him exiled.

In the middle of it all, Lin Xiao snored.

He snored like a noble beast at peace, sprawled diagonally across his massive bed with one leg dangling dramatically and one arm clutching a rolled-up scroll as if it were a bolster. His royal robe had become a makeshift blanket, his hair pins were poking out from under the bed, and a long drool trail had made a diplomatic alliance with his embroidered pillowcase.

The scene was, in a word, art. In another word, disgraceful.

"Eunuch Zhao, he still refuses to wake!" a maid whispered, her hands clutching a tray of morning pastries so tightly the steamed buns had developed new dents.

Eunuch Zhao, who had long since ascended into the realm of eternal patience, gave a gentle wave of his fan. “I shall try. Again.”

He approached the bed with the solemnity of a man about to wake a sleeping tiger cub armed with sarcasm and pillow-related violence.

“Your Highness,” he called softly.

A snore answered him.

“Your Highness, the morning court has already begun.”

The scroll-bolster was pulled tighter.

“Your Highness, the Empress has sent you a new silk inner robe with golden koi embroidery.”

One eye cracked open.

“Your Highness, the kitchen has prepared sweet lotus seed porridge, four treasures congee, and chilled lychee jelly.”

Both eyes opened. Lin Xiao sat up like a revenant summoned by sugar.

“I’m awake. Physically. Spiritually, I am still napping. But continue.” Lin Xiao’s voice was gravelly with sleep and reluctant responsibility.

Eunuch Zhao bowed slightly, already relieved they had bypassed the phase involving strategic bed flips. “Today, you have been summoned by His Majesty to present your academic progress.”

Lin Xiao squinted. “I’m being graded?” he asked, as if the idea of evaluation had personally insulted him.

“Yes, Your Highness. On your learning and application of state affairs.”

Lin Xiao exhaled the way only a man who had once studied ancient tax reform while upside down in a hot bath could. “What if I fail?”

Eunuch Zhao blinked. “You will disappoint the Emperor, and the Empress might personally attend your next study session.”

Lin Xiao paled. “Get the robe. The koi one. And add extra jelly.”

An hour later, the Fifth Prince appeared at the Emperor’s study, dressed in koi and dread.

The Emperor was already seated, dressed in a stately robe of deep indigo and gold, sipping tea with the air of a man both powerful and perpetually bemused by his children. The study was lined with books, maps, scrolls, and a faint scent of sandalwood incense that lingered with every word uttered within those walls.

“Come, Xiao’er,” the Emperor said with a smile that spelled fatherly affection mixed with emperor-grade scrutiny.

Lin Xiao bowed low, then muttered, “Your Majesty Father. If I faint, it’s not because I’m overwhelmed. It’s just a new method of mental escape.”

“Duly noted,” the Emperor said. “Tell me, what did you learn this week at the Academy?”

Lin Xiao straightened. “That one must never stand between a noble and his bean cake. That sun-drenched courtyards induce naps. And that if you repeat Confucius quotes slowly and with enough gravitas, everyone assumes you’re a scholar.”

The Emperor raised a brow.

“And also,” Lin Xiao added quickly, “the foundational structures of governance are taxation, public trust, and ensuring no minister is ever hungry enough to plot rebellion.”

A pause. The Emperor laughed.

“Your wit is sharper than most blades in the arsenal,” he said. “Very well. You’ve passed.”

Lin Xiao beamed. “Does this mean I can return to my salted fish cultivation?”

“No,” said the Emperor. “It means you’re attending the Mid-Autumn Festival banquet planning committee.”

Lin Xiao deflated. “Bureaucracy is cruelty in silk robes.”

And so began Lin Xiao’s unexpected descent into event planning.

The Banquet Planning Committee met in what was arguably the most cursed room in the imperial palace—Room Sixteen of the South Administration Wing, also known by staff as the Room of Eternal Scheduling.

Here, scrolls stacked higher than dignities, and each meeting smelled faintly of old ink and older frustration. The walls were lined with scroll racks detailing past banquets, weather records, moonrise timings, and even reports on ministerial wine tolerances.

When Lin Xiao arrived, he was greeted by the Grand Steward of Ceremonies, Lord Fei, who had the eyes of a man who once tried to balance ten porcelain vases while blindfolded—and succeeded only in achieving trauma.

“Fifth Prince,” Lord Fei said with tight decorum, “we are honored by your presence.”

Lin Xiao blinked. “That’s the most polite way someone’s ever said ‘Why are you here?’” he replied, already sliding into a chair.

The room of ministers coughed in collective panic.

“I’ve come to observe and contribute in the laziest possible yet socially acceptable way,” Lin Xiao continued, folding into a chair that made a loud creak of protest. “Proceed.”

Lord Fei twitched.

First topic on the scroll: Lantern themes.

A junior official rose. “We propose a motif of phoenixes rising over lotus ponds. Elegant, symbolically rich, and poetic.”

Lin Xiao tilted his head. “What about lazy cats on rooftops under moonlight?”

Silence.

“Symbolically rich,” Lin Xiao explained. “The cat represents grace. The rooftop, aspirations. The nap, peace.”

Another pause. Lord Fei opened his mouth. Closed it.

A scribe in the back slowly wrote it down: *Prince’s Suggestion: Feline Tranquility in Lunar Reflection.*

Then came the issue of seating arrangements. A matter that might seem simple—until one realized that misplacing one minister next to a lower-ranked cousin of a noble lady from a rival prefecture three years ago had nearly caused a tea shortage.

Lord Fei gestured to a sprawling parchment map of the banquet hall.

“We must ensure proper balance. No one above Third Rank should be seated to the east unless paired with someone of equal status on the western platform. Also, we must maintain the seating feng shui.”

Lin Xiao leaned in. “What if we drew names from a hat?”

“Your Highness!” Lord Fei gasped.

“A brocade hat. Embroidered with peonies. Dignified chaos.”

There was a strangled sound from Minister Yu, who looked ready to chew the hem of his sleeve.

To everyone’s relief—or horror—Lin Xiao continued, “Or… everyone sits based on their favorite type of soup.”

Silence.

“No? Fine. Proceed with your precious scroll of stress.”

Lord Fei, sweating, moved on.

Next on the list: Entertainment.

A solemn-looking official with a scroll as long as a laundry list stood up. “We have scheduled five classical opera performances, including ‘Moonlight Over River Ji’ and ‘The Tragedy of Scholar Deng.’”

Lin Xiao perked up. “Is there a comedy?”

The official faltered. “Comedy… Your Highness?”

“Yes. Perhaps ‘How the Chicken Outsmarted the Magistrate’ or ‘That One Time the Ox Got Drunk’?” Lin Xiao said.

A eunuch in the corner snorted before coughing furiously.

Lord Fei was pale. “That’s… unorthodox, Your Highness.”

“Exactly,” Lin Xiao nodded. “Nothing livens up a banquet like unpredictable poultry and satire.”

The meeting stretched on. Time became a vague concept measured only by how many times Lord Fei’s left eyebrow twitched and how many pastries Lin Xiao had filched from the offering tray near the window.

“Next,” said Lord Fei, voice tight like a bowstring, “we must decide on the entertainment lineup for the Mid-Autumn banquet. Acrobats? Fire dancers? Perhaps the Jiangnan String Ensemble?”

Lin Xiao perked up, mid-mooncake. “What about a dramatic reading of tragic poetry by officials who have not taken a single vacation in three years?”

A few ministers shifted uncomfortably.

Lord Fei coughed. “That may be… too real, Your Highness.”

“Exactly. Catharsis and realism. Tragic tears are an underrated delicacy,” Lin Xiao said, taking another bite of lotus seed filling. “Pair it with wine and you’ve got a night.”

Minister Yu, an aging scholar with a reputation for having memorized every major treatise on etiquette and still managing to look bored at parties, cleared his throat.

“If I may… while His Highness's… *interpretation* is artistically adventurous, perhaps a classical dance from the Ministry of Music would suffice?”

Lin Xiao waved his hand magnanimously. “Very well. But I reserve the right to insert a surprise performance. Possibly involving puppets.”

Lord Fei looked as if he aged three years in five seconds.

“Your Highness, there is a… decorum to follow.”

“Decorum,” Lin Xiao echoed thoughtfully, “is just societal peer pressure wrapped in brocade.”

A stunned silence.

The scribe in the back dutifully wrote: *Prince’s Reflection: Brocade Peer Pressure – Pending Review.*

After the meeting, Lin Xiao wandered out into the palace garden, mooncake crumbs on his sleeves and ink smudges on his fingers. Every step he took rustled against the gravel path that led beneath arches of fragrant jasmine and early-blooming osmanthus.

The moon had not yet risen, but the sky was beginning to turn the soft lavender of evening.

He flopped under a plum tree and sighed.

“System,” he murmured.

A mechanical chime echoed in his mind. [System Activated. Please confirm user request]

“I need to send the poor me something.”

[Specify parallel-world transmission. Inventory ready]

Lin Xiao stared at the horizon. “Send him… a full Mid-Autumn care package. Lanterns. Mooncakes. A plan for a festival. Make it ridiculous. He needs joy.”

[Upload initiated]

Somewhere, across space and time, another Lin Xiao—the struggling monarch in a world with no golden koi robes or sassy eunuchs—would open a wooden box and find mooncakes shaped like sleeping cats, a hand-drawn festival schedule with doodles in the margins, and a note:

"Eat well. Sleep more. Don’t forget to enjoy the moon."

Lin Xiao chuckled to himself.

“He laughed. Genuinely. For the second time this month. As he ate warm rice with braised pork and sipped tea that reminded him of spring, he murmured, 'This guy… really doesn’t care about thrones. But somehow, he’s protecting mine.'”

And in a way, across space and time, the two Lin Xiaos—one salted fish, one struggling monarch—stood back to back, each guarding the peace of their worlds in their own way.

SFP - Chapter 4

It was a quiet morning in the palace, the kind of calm only achievable after a night of heavy rain and heavier sleep. Birds chirped like it was their job (which it was), and servants bustled through corridors like ants with embroidered trays. The sun had barely peeked out when Eunuch Zhao tiptoed into Lin Xiao's chamber, his expression a practiced blend of hope and dread.

"Your Highness... it's time," Eunuch Zhao called out softly, inching closer to the massive bed.

A lump stirred beneath a mountain of silk blankets. Then, a soft groan.

"No, it isn't," came Lin Xiao's muffled protest. "Time is a social construct." His voice was thick with sleep and philosophical resentment.

Eunuch Zhao exhaled patiently. "Today is your first day at the Royal Academy."

The lump swore. Loudly. And added a pillow toss for dramatic effect.

Fifteen minutes later, Lin Xiao was dressed like a proper prince—reluctantly. His ceremonial robe was slightly crooked, his hair only half-tied, and his expression that of a man wronged by fate and forced out of bed far too early. He leaned on Eunuch Zhao as if gravity had suddenly increased around him.

"Why must I study what I already know I’ll ignore?" he asked while chewing on a sesame bun with all the enthusiasm of a sloth forced to jog.

"It’s imperial protocol, Your Highness. Also, the Empress personally requested you attend," Eunuch Zhao said with a careful tone, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.

Lin Xiao paused, eyes narrowing. He considered the political implications of disappointing the Empress. Then he sighed.

"Fine. But only if they have cushions. I refuse to let my buttocks suffer in the name of Confucius."

The Royal Academy of Yuan was a majestic building of jade pillars and golden roof tiles. Its gates opened with the kind of slow, regal creak that suggested even the hinges were educated. Rows of young nobles in crisp robes stood in attention as Lin Xiao's carriage rolled in.

A hush fell.

A duck quacked.

Lin Xiao stepped out, fan in hand, expression blank. He looked around like a man facing exile. "Greetings, fellow victims of academic torment," he announced solemnly.

Several students gasped. One bowed. Another whispered, "He speaks like a retired philosopher who’s given up."

Lin Xiao took a long, slow look around. "Is there a nap chamber or must I create one with desk arrangements?" he asked, voice utterly sincere.

His assigned seat was near the window—a strategic location for cloud watching and potential escape. The lecturer, a strict-looking man with a beard shaped like a question mark, began with Confucian classics.

"The path to wisdom begins with respect," the lecturer intoned.

Lin Xiao, scribbling lazily in his notebook: Path to wisdom = paved with snacks and naps

Eunuch Zhao, seated behind as an observer, coughed violently, clearly regretting his existence. The lecturer asked a question to the class: "What is the foundation of governance?"

Lin Xiao raised his fan. "Food security and afternoon naps."

A pause.

"Would you care to elaborate, Prince Lin Xiao?" the lecturer asked, trying to remain composed.

"Governance begins with not being hungry or sleepy," Lin Xiao said, deadpan. "No rebellion ever started after a nap and a bowl of noodles. Unless someone stole the noodles."

The class broke into muffled laughter. One student tried to hide behind his book as his shoulders shook.

The lecturer blinked. Then slowly… nodded. "Unexpected... but valid."

By lunch, Lin Xiao had somehow gathered a small following. Three noble sons sat around him under a plum tree, listening intently as he described his philosophy of minimal effort, maximum peace.

"But what about the throne?" one whispered, eyes wide.

"Let it be a shelf," Lin Xiao replied, sipping tea. "Put nice things on it, admire from afar. Never climb. Unless you’re cleaning dust."

Another student clapped. A third bowed and muttered, "Master Lin has ascended."

Eunuch Zhao, watching from a distance, sighed. "He’s founding a cult of comfort."

The duck, pecking at Lin Xiao’s leftover rice, quacked approvingly and hopped onto his lap. Lin Xiao casually fed it a pickled plum.

"See? Even the duck understands me," Lin Xiao said, gently patting the bird's head as though he were conferring a scholarly degree.

The next class involved calisthenics and sword stances. Lin Xiao stood stiffly with the others as the instructor barked out instructions.

"Bend your knees! Lower stance!"

Lin Xiao whimpered. "I bent them yesterday. They're still emotionally recovering."

The instructor glared. "Again!"

Lin Xiao slowly sank into a shallow squat, making exaggerated creaking noises with his mouth. "Ehhhhh... gruuuh... My noble lineage is disintegrating with every squat."

A fellow student fell over laughing. Eunuch Zhao covered his face with both hands.

That evening, reports reached the Emperor.

"Your Majesty, the Fifth Prince attended all classes, submitted his scrolls, and led a peer discussion on the political benefits of shared nap times."

The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "...And the outcome?"

"He has been nominated as Student Representative for Innovative Thinking."

The Emperor leaned back. "Xiang'er’s child is strange. But effective."

Meanwhile, Lin Xiao, back in his chamber, sprawled on a bamboo mat, looked up at the stars.

"They made me class leader," he mumbled, in disbelief.

Eunuch Zhao gasped. "Truly? Your Highness, this is a great honor!"

"Yeah..." Lin Xiao yawned. "Next thing you know, they'll ask me to reform the school. Or worse, attend meetings."

[System Alert: Side Quest Complete – "Disrupt Education Gently"]
[Reward: Prestige +500 | Blueprint Unlocked: Lazy Desk Arrangement – Sent to Parallel World]

Far away, in the drought-stricken world, the other Lin Xiao received the desk blueprint and used it to build shaded study corners for village children.

They called it the "Wisdom Nook." He smiled.

And somewhere, across space and time, two salted fish kept swimming in different directions—but with the same laid-back heart.

SFP - Chapter 3

There were few things in the world that Lin Xiao truly feared. Rainy days without tea. Stairs. And the words “public appearance.” Unfortunately, one of those was now scribbled in bold brushstrokes on the ceremonial scroll laid before him.

“Fifth Prince Lin Xiao shall attend the Mid-Spring Blessing Ceremony as royal witness, accompanied by his siblings and attendants.”

“...A royal witness?” Lin Xiao repeated blankly.

Eunuch Zhao nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“So I just… stand there?”

“Correct.”

“Do I need to say anything?”

“No, Your Highness.”

Lin Xiao leaned forward suspiciously. “Then why does this sound like a trap?”

Zhao looked confused. “Trap, Your Highness?”

“Whenever someone says ‘you don’t need to do anything,’ I always end up doing something. Last time, they said I was just going to observe archery practice, and somehow I ended up as the target!”

Zhao coughed. “A misunderstanding, surely.”

“They taped a bullseye to my back!”

“…That eunuch has since been reassigned.”

“To the stables?”

“No, the moat.”

Preparing Lin Xiao for his royal outing was like preparing a cat for a bath. Three attendants were needed just to coax him out of bed. Two more to keep him from crawling back in. By the time they got him upright, washed, and robed, it looked less like a prince being dressed and more like a hostage situation.

“Your Highness, lift your arm.”

“Why?”

“To fit the sleeve.”

“I like my arms where they are.”

“Your Highness, this is a formal event.”

“And this is a human arm. It bends for naps, not brocade.”

Eventually, Lin Xiao stood, dressed in shimmering pale green robes, his hair combed back with an elegant jade pin. He stared at his reflection in the polished bronze mirror. “I look... competent,” he whispered in horror.

Zhao clapped his hands. “Your Highness, you look magnificent!”

“I look like I have responsibility!” said Lin Xiao.

At the main palace gate, the imperial procession was already assembling. The Crown Prince stood tall in white and gold, flanked by the Second Prince Lin Yan, Third Prince Lin Qifan, and Fourth Prince Lin Rui—all gleaming like model citizens.

Then came the sisters: Princess Lin Mingyue in cool lavender, and Princess Lin Huixin with a fan that said “Yes, I’m judging you.” 

When Lin Xiao arrived, five heads turned. Then blinked. Hard.

“…Is that Lin Xiao?” Huixin asked.

“I thought he was a myth,” Qifan murmured.

“I thought he was dead,” Lin Yan said honestly.

Fengyuan, the Crown Prince, narrowed his eyes. “No. He’s… dressed.”

Lin Xiao shuffled forward like someone who had just learned what pants were. “Don’t make this weird.”

“You combed your hair,” Huixin pointed.

“It was combed for me,” Lin Xiao corrected.

“Are you okay?” asked Mingyue. “Blink twice if someone is forcing you.”

“I’m here as a witness,” Lin Xiao said, voice flat. “I will witness. Then I will flee.”

Fengyuan chuckled. “Just don’t fall asleep during the ritual.”

Lin Xiao’s expression didn’t change.

“No promises.”

The Mid-Spring Blessing Ceremony was a time-honored tradition. There were prayers, incense, officials dressed like walking tapestries, and an unnerving amount of fruit pyramids. Lin Xiao’s job was simple: stand there and look princely.

He stood for ten minutes.

By minute eleven, his knees trembled.

By minute twelve, he yawned loud enough for three ministers to flinch.

By minute fifteen…

He sat down.

Right in the middle of the platform. Cross-legged. Like a kid at story time. A collective gasp ran through the court. Lin Xiao rubbed his eyes. “I’m witnessing,” he said defensively.

Fengyuan pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Minister of Rites started sweating.

Someone dropped a ceremonial gourd.

And then it got worse.

Because just then, a duck—an actual duck, fat and yellow—waddled up the stairs onto the platform. Lin Xiao blinked. “Commander Quack?” The duck quacked and sat beside him.

There was silence.

Then Lin Xiao, with all the poise of a man who had nothing left to lose, reached into his sleeve and pulled out a rice cracker. “Want one?” The duck accepted.

He fed it.

Right there. In front of three foreign envoys, the imperial family, and a very confused Empress Dowager.

Later that day, court gossip exploded. “Did you hear? The Fifth Prince communicates with ducks.”

“They say he’s inherited the lost art of beast-speech.”

“I heard the duck bowed to him!”

“No, no, it was a spiritual pact!”

“My cousin’s friend’s nephew said the duck flew from the heavens and chose him!”

Lin Xiao, sipping tea in his courtyard and feeding breadcrumbs to his new duck companion, listened to the rumors with one eye half-closed. “Should I correct them?” he asked lazily.

[System Alert: Reputation +10 – 'Mystic Lazy Prince']

[Title acquired: ‘Duck Whisperer’]

“…I like this system.”

“Your Highness… what exactly did you do at the ceremony?” Eunuch Zhao asked with a trembling voice, his hands quivering as he poured tea. He had served many masters, but never one who shared rice crackers with sacred animals during state rituals.

Lin Xiao shrugged lazily, propping his feet on a cushion and gently flicking away a leaf that had landed on his sleeve. “I witnessed. I sat. I fed a duck. That’s three more things than I intended to do.”

Zhao pressed a hand to his chest, wheezing like a punctured bellows. “The ministers are in chaos! The Minister of Rites fainted. The Left Grand Secretary has written an eighty-seven-line poem about spiritual ducks!”

“Good for him,” Lin Xiao replied, chewing leisurely on a roasted chestnut. “Sounds like he finally found a hobby.”

The duck beside him quacked approvingly, its beak full of crumbs.

In the royal study hall, meanwhile, things were considerably less peaceful.

“Have you read this?” Fengyuan, the Crown Prince, slapped a stack of papers on the table, glaring at his brothers.

Lin Yan picked up a scroll and squinted. “The Fifth Prince’s Divine Duck Pact?”

“That’s not even the worst one,” Lin Rui muttered, flipping through another. “This one says he’s an enlightened monk who descended into royal flesh.”

Lin Qifan snorted. “And here I thought I was the dramatic one.”

Huixin, fanning herself at the side, grinned. “I don’t know. I think it’s refreshing. At least our little brother has upgraded from ‘comatose liability’ to ‘mystical duck prophet.’”

Mingyue sighed, adjusting her silk sleeve. “We were all supposed to impress the envoys. Instead, they think we’re hiding a reincarnated sage disguised as a lazy child.”

“They want to offer him a golden meditation seat!” Fengyuan snapped, throwing his hands up.

Everyone paused.

Then Huixin giggled. “Can you imagine Lin Xiao meditating for more than ten seconds?”

“I’d pay to see it,” Qifan said, chuckling.

Fengyuan scowled. “They want to assign him an official role. Something ‘spiritually aligned.’ Like an agricultural consultant.”

Yan blinked. “He barely knows how rice grows.”

Rui looked up. “He once asked me if wheat came from chickens.”

“…That tracks,” Qifan murmured.

Back in Lin Xiao’s courtyard, a new notification buzzed in his head.

[System Alert: Foreign Envoys request agricultural consultation from Host. Title proposed: ‘Blessed Prince of the Grain Path.’]

[Accept?]

Lin Xiao stared at the words blankly while petting his duck. “Is this about the cracker?”

[Possibly.]

“…Do I get paid?”

[In influence, glory, and the trust of the people.]

“…Boring. Decline.”

[Decline recorded. Title downgraded to ‘Silent Guardian of Seeds.’]

“Still too much responsibility,” he muttered, tossing a cracker to the duck.

An hour later, a nervous servant arrived at his gate.

“Your Highness,” the boy stammered, bowing low, “there’s a… minor issue in the eastern villages. A rice shipment has gone missing. The officials—uh, that is, the Emperor—wonders if you might advise.”

Lin Xiao narrowed his eyes. “Because of the duck?”

The servant hesitated. “…Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’m not a grain ghost,” Lin Xiao replied flatly, turning over on his side and pulling a silk blanket over his legs. “Tell them I’m busy.”

The duck quacked.

“Extremely busy,” Lin Xiao clarified.

The servant looked at the duck, then at Lin Xiao, then at the tea table holding nothing but cake crumbs and half a scroll titled “101 Ways to Nap Without Moving.”

“...Understood, Your Highness.”

But things did not stay peaceful.

That evening, the Empress herself sent a royal decree—not in anger, but in radiant praise.

“To the Fifth Prince, spiritual witness and miraculous bringer of serenity—we commend your noble silence and ask humbly that you bless the eastern region with your presence, to awaken the sleeping fields.”

Lin Xiao read the scroll three times.

Then threw himself face-down into his pillows. “Awaken the sleeping fields? I’m not a plow!”

Zhao peeked in nervously. “Your Highness, if you do not go, the nobles may think you are refusing a divine calling…”

“I am refusing a divine calling,” Lin Xiao grumbled, muffled by his mattress.

“Then they will think you are transcendent.”

“I’m just lazy!”

Zhao hesitated. “Which is also a form of enlightenment?”

Lin Xiao sat up. “Is this how religions start?”

Two days later, he found himself inside a luxurious carriage, surrounded by guards and silk cushions, en route to the eastern provinces. His duck sat beside him, enjoying its own personal water bowl.

“I feel betrayed,” Lin Xiao muttered, rubbing his temple. “How did I get roped into this?”

[System Notification: Side Quest Triggered – ‘Sleep Through a Crisis!’]

[Goal: Solve regional rice issue with minimal physical effort.]

“…That’s more like it.”

Meanwhile, in the eastern village of Gaoliang, elders gathered in a small town hall.

“I heard the Fifth Prince is coming,” one old man whispered.

“Isn’t he the one with the sacred duck?”

“They say he can talk to crops.”

“No, he talks to ducks. The crops just listen in.”

A small child ran in holding a fan with Lin Xiao’s sketch—mostly his big sleepy eyes and a cracker in his mouth.

“I want to see the Duck Prince!”

“Line up with the others,” his mother said proudly.

Outside, dozens of villagers prepared offerings of rice cakes, feathers, and—bizarrely—several painted eggs. They built a stage with a throne made of straw. In the center, they erected a giant wooden duck.

Lin Xiao, peeking out of his carriage window as they arrived, nearly choked on a candied chestnut.

“…Did they build me a shrine?”

Zhao, eyes wide, nodded. “They… think you are a grain spirit.”

“I literally asked for a nap and some buns,” Lin Xiao whispered.

The duck quacked.

Lin Xiao stared at it.

“You’re not helping.”

The carriage door creaked open. Lin Xiao stepped out slowly, one slipper at a time, blinking at the blinding sunlight. His face was half-covered with a wide fan, more to hide the yawn than any sense of mystery.

Cheers erupted the moment his foot hit the ground.

“LONG LIVE THE DUCK PRINCE!”

Lin Xiao froze mid-step, turning his head ever-so-slightly toward Eunuch Zhao. “They actually… call me that?”

Zhao gave an apologetic smile while holding up a tray with his royal shoes. “The title has... gained traction, Your Highness.”

Lin Xiao sighed, slipping his feet in and walking like someone reluctantly dragged from a very soft bed. “At this rate, the duck’s going to get a temple before I do.”

The duck quacked in smug agreement.

The village square had transformed into something straight out of a ridiculous dream. Children wore duck masks. Elders held banners with “Feathered Wisdom Brings Fortune.”

One man held up a roasted goose as an offering, which caused some confusion but plenty of applause. And right in the middle stood the throne of straw—throne was generous; it looked like someone had reassembled a haystack using ten glue sticks and too much faith.

“Is… is that for me?” Lin Xiao asked, staring at it like it might explode.

A village elder in flowing robes stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Most reverent Fifth Prince! Your presence graces our humble soil!”

Another elder clapped. “Please, ascend the Seat of Fertile Winds and awaken our fields!”

“…The what now?”

“The Seat of Fertile Winds!” repeated the man proudly, clearly unaware of how odd it sounded out loud.

Lin Xiao blinked. “That’s not a throne. That’s a sneeze waiting to happen.”

Still, the villagers looked so excited that Lin Xiao had no choice but to play along. He stepped up slowly, fanning himself with theatrical grandeur. The hay crackled under his weight.

He sat.

A hush fell.

The duck hopped up beside him and settled down like it was born for this role.

“Commence the Grain Awakening Ceremony!” cried someone in the crowd.

“Wait, the what—” Lin Xiao began.

But it was too late.

Drums started.

Children sang a rhyme about ducks bringing rain.

A boy threw confetti made of corn husks.

A line of farmers stepped forward, each holding rice plants.

“Your Highness,” the head farmer said reverently, “please bless our rice.”

Lin Xiao looked at the bundle. Then at the farmer. Then at his system screen.

[System Tip: Use ‘Barter’ function to exchange unused system items for rice fertilizer.]

[Item Suggested: “Cucumber Mist Face Spray – Moisturizes and Encourages Plant Growth”]

“…That’s for skin,” Lin Xiao muttered under his breath.

[Correction: It works on leaves.]

He sighed. “Fine. One spritz.”

Reaching into thin air, he pulled out a glowing green bottle. A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Lin Xiao gave a single, disinterested spray over the rice plants.

The leaves shimmered with dew.

The crowd lost it.

“HE SUMMONED MIST FROM HEAVEN!”

“THE DUCK WINKED!”

“THE RICE IS BLUSHING!”

Before Lin Xiao could defend himself, an envoy from the local governor burst into the square.

“STOP THE CEREMONY!” the official shouted, eyes wide. “We must not make a mockery of—”

He paused mid-yell.

His gaze locked on Lin Xiao, seated like an immortal, sunlight catching on the mist, his duck munching serenely on seeds at his feet.

“…Oh,” the man whispered, kneeling immediately. “My deepest apologies, Blessed One.”

Lin Xiao raised a brow. “You're late. The rice has already achieved spiritual awakening.”

Zhao coughed discreetly, trying to hide his laughter.

The envoy groveled harder. “We shall distribute the news of your miracle immediately! Please, allow us to record your agricultural philosophy for future enlightenment!”

Lin Xiao blinked. “My what now?”

And thus began the most confusing interview of Lin Xiao’s life.

“What are your primary beliefs in crop cultivation, Your Highness?”

“Sunlight. Water. Hope. Don’t forget snacks.”

“What tools do you recommend?”

“Anything with a long handle and low emotional damage.”

“How should a farmer behave during planting season?”

“Like me. Calm. Full of snacks. Never running.”

The official nodded furiously, writing down every word like it was gold.

Zhao leaned over. “Your Highness, you’re going to become a textbook.”

Lin Xiao sighed. “I was aiming for a footnote. Just a small one. On page ninety-nine.”

When they finally left the village, they were followed by cheers, baskets of food, and three attempts by someone to adopt the duck as a spiritual totem.

Lin Xiao, slumped in his carriage, buried his face in a steamed bun. “That… was exhausting.”

Zhao beamed. “You brought peace, food, and inspiration to the people!”

“I told a farmer to believe in snacks.”

“And now they’ve declared next month ‘Serenity Harvest Festival’ in your name.”

“…What.”

“They even named a rice field after you—‘Prince Duck Field.’”

Lin Xiao stared at the carriage ceiling. “When I said I wanted to leave a legacy, this is not what I had in mind.”

The duck quacked in contentment, clearly pleased.

[System Notification: Side Quest Completed – “Sleep Through a Crisis!”]
[Reward: Lazy Prince Prestige +500. Unlock New Title: “The Still-Walking Miracle”]
[New Unlock: Basic Field Blueprint for Parallel World – Sent.]

Far away, in a drought-ridden corner of the alternate kingdom, the original Lin Xiao received a glowing scroll, opened it, and blinked.

“…Why is there a recipe for ‘Lazy Duck Rice Cakes’ on the back?”

He smiled softly, rubbing his slightly sunburned neck. “That guy… really doesn’t care about thrones. But somehow, he’s protecting mine.”

And in a way, across space and time, the two Lin Xiaos—one salted fish, one struggling monarch—stood back to back, each guarding the peace of their worlds in their own way.