The court gathering was scheduled for the afternoon, which gave Yu Jingming exactly three hours to do something about his appearance. He looked like death warmed over—pale, thin, with dark circles under his red eyes that made him seem more ghost than prince.
Couldn't have that. Not today.
He spent the morning eating everything Xiao Mei brought him, even the stuff that tasted like seasoned cardboard. This body needed fuel, needed to rebuild muscle and fat that had wasted away during the original Yu Jingming's illness. Between meals, he practiced basic martial stances, movements so simple they'd taught them to children in his previous life, but this body struggled with them anyway.
His legs shook after ten minutes. Pathetic.
"Young master, are you sure you should be—I mean, after your illness—" Xiao Mei hovered nervously in the doorway, watching him attempt what was essentially a squat and nearly fall over.
"I'm fine," he grunted, forcing his legs to hold steady. "Just... out of practice."
That was an understatement. This body had never been in practice. The original Yu Jingming had apparently spent most of his time reading poetry and feeling sorry for himself. Cultivation training? Minimal. Physical conditioning? Nonexistent.
Well, that was going to change. Slowly, carefully, but it would change.
By the time he needed to get ready for the gathering, he'd at least managed to put some color back in his cheeks through sheer exertion. He washed, changed into formal robes—deeper blue this time, with gold embroidery that caught the light—and studied his reflection again.
Better. Still too thin, still obviously weak, but better. He looked like someone who might survive a stiff breeze now.
The gathering was being held in the Eastern Pavilion, a smaller venue than the main hall but still plenty ostentatious. This particular event was semi-formal, meant to introduce visiting nobles from some allied kingdom to the royal family. Yu Jingming didn't care about the specifics—he just needed to be present, be seen, and ideally not embarrass himself.
Though maybe a little embarrassment would be strategic. Keep expectations low.
He arrived fashionably late, not because he was trying to make an entrance but because this weak body moved so damn slowly. The pavilion was already full of people—princes and princesses in their finest, nobles from various families, the visiting dignitaries clustered near the king and queen. Servants moved through the crowd with trays of wine and delicacies.
Yu Jingming grabbed a cup of wine from a passing servant and found a spot along the wall where he could observe without being too noticeable. This was his preferred position anyway—on the edges, watching, learning.
"...heard the seventh prince was dying, but there he is."
"Doesn't look much better, does he? Still pale as paper."
"Probably won't last the year. Weak constitution runs in his mother's family."
The whispers weren't even subtle. Two young nobles, maybe eighteen or nineteen, standing just a few meters away. They hadn't noticed him yet, too busy gossiping and sipping their wine.
Yu Jingming smiled slightly and took a sip from his own cup. Let them talk. Information flowed both ways—while they spread rumors about him, he learned what people were saying, what they believed.
"Seventh brother! There you are."
That voice. Yu Jingming turned to find Prince Yu Tianlong approaching, accompanied by two other princes and a handful of young nobles. His entourage. His audience.
This was going to be one of those conversations.
"Third brother," Yu Jingming said neutrally, inclining his head just enough to be respectful without being submissive. "You're looking well."
"Of course I am." Yu Tianlong's smile was all teeth, no warmth. "Unlike some of us, I haven't been bedridden for weeks. Tell me, how did you manage to recover? Father's personal physician couldn't figure out what was wrong with you."
The implication was clear. They'd expected him to die. Someone might've been helping that expectation along.
"I suppose I'm just harder to kill than people think," Yu Jingming said mildly, taking another sip of wine. "Surprising, isn't it?"
Yu Tianlong's smile tightened. "Indeed. Very surprising."
The other princes were watching now, sensing drama. Good. Let them watch. Yu Jingming had spent fifty years navigating palace politics in a cultivation world where one wrong word could get you assassinated by someone who could literally tear apart mountains. This? This was nothing.
"I notice the visiting delegation is from the Northwind Kingdom," Yu Jingming continued, shifting the topic smoothly. "Their trade routes run through the Frozen Pass, don't they? I imagine this visit is about negotiating toll adjustments for the winter season."
Complete silence. Everyone was staring at him now.
Because the original Yu Jingming wouldn't have known that. Wouldn't have cared about trade routes or political negotiations. He'd been too busy sulking about his lack of talent to pay attention to actual kingdom business.
Yu Tianlong recovered first, but there was confusion in his eyes now. "You've been... studying politics?"
"I've been bored," Yu Jingming said with a shrug that looked casual but was carefully calculated. "When you're stuck in bed for weeks, you read a lot. Father's library has some interesting texts on trade and diplomacy."
It was a reasonable explanation. Believable, even. The waste prince, desperate to be useful, reading books about subjects he'd never understand anyway. Pitiful, really.
Except Yu Jingming had just demonstrated he did understand. Completely.
"That's..." Yu Tianlong seemed to be searching for words. "That's very diligent of you."
"I thought so," Yu Jingming agreed cheerfully. He glanced past his half-brother toward where the Northwind delegates were standing with their father. "The tall one with the scar is Lord Feng, their trade minister. The shorter man beside him is his son, Feng Hai, who's apparently quite talented at military strategy. Spiritual World realm at age twenty-five, which is impressive for a minor kingdom."
More staring. One of the other princes—Yu Jingming thought his name was Yu Zhiming, fifth prince—actually had his mouth slightly open.
"How do you know all that?" Zhiming asked.
Yu Jingming turned to look at him, his red eyes catching the light. "Like I said. I read. And I listen. People forget I'm in the room sometimes, which makes for interesting conversations."
That was actually true. The original Yu Jingming had been so irrelevant that people often discussed sensitive matters in his presence, assuming he was too stupid or too unimportant to care.
Yu Tianlong was watching him with something new in his expression now. Not quite suspicion, but close. Wariness, maybe. The realization that his pathetic seventh brother might not be quite as pathetic as assumed.
Perfect.
"Well," Yu Tianlong said slowly, "perhaps you're not entirely useless after all. Father might appreciate having another son who actually understands kingdom affairs."
It was meant to be dismissive, but there was an edge to it. A recognition that the dynamics had shifted, just slightly. Yu Jingming was no longer completely beneath notice.
"I doubt I'll ever match your talents, third brother," Yu Jingming said, and he almost meant it. Yu Tianlong was decent enough at politics, probably would make an adequate king if he inherited. Not brilliant, but competent. "But I can try to be less of an embarrassment to the family."
"See that you do." Yu Tianlong gestured to his entourage, and they moved away, back toward the center of the gathering where the important people mingled.
But Yu Jingming noticed several of them glancing back at him. Reassessing. Wondering.
He finished his wine and was reaching for another cup from a passing servant when someone else approached. An older man this time, maybe forty, with the dignified bearing of a high-ranking official. Minister Wei, the memories supplied. Responsible for internal affairs, very close to the king.
"Prince Yu Jingming," Minister Wei said, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. You've been studying trade and diplomacy?"
"Among other things," Yu Jingming replied carefully. This man was dangerous—not in combat, but politically. Someone who could make life difficult if he wanted to.
"Your assessment of the Northwind situation was accurate. Surprisingly so." Minister Wei studied him for a moment. "Tell me, what do you think our kingdom's response should be to their toll adjustment requests?"
A test. Right here, right now, in front of witnesses.
Yu Jingming could've played dumb, could've backed away from the challenge. That would've been the safe move, maintaining his persona as a harmless waste prince who'd happened to memorize some facts.
But he was bored of being safe. And besides, this was an opportunity.
"They're going to ask for a twenty percent reduction, citing decreased traffic during winter months," Yu Jingming said, projecting his voice just enough that nearby nobles could hear. "We should counter with a ten percent reduction but offer to extend the duration of the adjusted rate through early spring. That gives them flexibility for the worst weather while maintaining our revenue stream, and it positions us as generous partners rather than rigid negotiators."
Minister Wei's eyebrows rose. "And if they push for more?"
"Then we mention the possibility of joint patrol agreements in the pass. They've been having bandit problems in their northern territories. We offer military assistance in exchange for maintaining current toll rates." Yu Jingming paused, taking a sip of his wine. "But we let them suggest the military angle first. Makes them feel like they're winning the negotiation."
Complete silence in their immediate area. People had stopped talking to listen.
Minister Wei stared at him for a long moment, then started laughing. Actually laughing, head thrown back, the sound echoing through the pavilion.
"Your Majesty," he called toward where the king was standing, "you should hear this!"
Oh no.
King Yu Zhen turned, his expression curious. The entire gathering seemed to pause, everyone looking first at Minister Wei, then tracking his gaze to Yu Jingming, who suddenly felt very exposed standing there against the wall with his wine.
"What is it, Wei?" the king asked, his voice carrying that natural authority of someone used to being obeyed.
"Your seventh son just proposed a remarkably sound strategy for the Northwind negotiations. I think you should hear it directly from him."
The king's eyes locked onto Yu Jingming, and for the first time since the reincarnation, father and son truly looked at each other. King Yu Zhen's expression was unreadable—surprise, maybe? Suspicion? Interest?
"Approach," the king commanded.
Yu Jingming's legs felt weak, and not from his earlier training. This was exactly the kind of attention he'd been trying to avoid. Too much, too soon, too visible.
But he couldn't refuse. Not without looking disrespectful in front of visiting dignitaries and half the court.
He walked forward, moving carefully through the crowd that parted for him. People were whispering again, but the tone was different now. Confused. Curious. The waste prince was doing something unexpected, and nobody quite knew what to make of it.
He stopped at an appropriate distance from the king and bowed properly. "Your Majesty."
"Minister Wei says you have thoughts on the Northwind negotiations." King Yu Zhen's voice was neutral, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. "Speak."
So Yu Jingming did. He repeated his analysis, his suggested strategy, even added a few details about potential secondary benefits of establishing joint patrol agreements. He kept his tone respectful but confident—not arrogant like his previous personality would've been, but not weak either. The tone of someone who'd done their homework and knew what they were talking about.
When he finished, the silence stretched out uncomfortably. The king was still staring at him, and Yu Jingming couldn't quite read his expression.
Then King Yu Zhen turned to Lord Feng, the Northwind trade minister. "What do you think of my son's analysis?"
Lord Feng looked uncomfortable, which was answer enough. "It's... quite accurate, Your Majesty. Those were indeed the terms we were planning to propose."
"Of course they were." The king's smile was sharp. "And the joint patrol suggestion?"
"Also... something we would be interested in discussing."
King Yu Zhen turned back to Yu Jingming, and now there was definitely something in his expression. Surprise, yes, but also a calculating quality that made Yu Jingming's instincts scream danger.
"You've been studying," the king observed.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I had time during my illness."
"So I see." The king studied him for another moment. "Perhaps you would be interested in attending the negotiation sessions. As an observer, of course."
That was not a suggestion. That was an order disguised as an invitation.
"It would be my honor, Your Majesty," Yu Jingming said, bowing again.
"Good. Minister Wei will inform you of the schedule." The king turned back to Lord Feng, dismissing Yu Jingming without another word.
Yu Jingming retreated back to his position along the wall, but the damage was done. Everyone was looking at him now, reassessing, whispering. The waste prince who'd suddenly demonstrated unexpected knowledge, unexpected competence.
He caught Yu Tianlong's expression across the room—and it wasn't pleased. Not at all.
Great. Exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. Too much attention, too quickly.
But as he stood there, sipping his wine and pretending not to notice the stares, part of him—the part that was still Ye Fan, arrogant and brilliant and used to standing at the peak—couldn't help but feel satisfied.
Let them wonder. Let them worry. Let them start to realize that maybe, just maybe, the seventh prince wasn't quite what they'd assumed.
The gathering continued for another hour, but Yu Jingming barely participated. He stayed against his wall, observing, occasionally exchanging bland pleasantries with nobles who suddenly found him worth acknowledging. Several minor officials made a point of introducing themselves, clearly calculating whether this unexpected development meant he was worth cultivating a relationship with.
Politics. Same games, different world.
By the time he finally escaped back to his quarters, his body was shaking with exhaustion and his head was pounding. Too much social interaction, too much performance, too much controlling every word and gesture to maintain the careful image he was crafting.
Xiao Mei took one look at him and immediately brought tea and medicine. "Young master, you look terrible."
"Thank you, Xiao Mei. That's very encouraging."
She actually smiled at that, just slightly. "Should I bring dinner to your room?"
"Please. And... Xiao Mei?"
"Yes, young master?"
"From now on, I'll probably be getting more visitors. Important people. Can you make sure the room stays presentable? And if anyone asks questions about what I do in here, you don't know anything. I read, I rest, I cultivate. That's all."
She nodded seriously. "I understand, young master."
Good. At least one person he could trust, even if that trust was built on fear and gratitude rather than genuine loyalty.
After she left, Yu Jingming collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. Today had been... complicated. He'd shown too much, revealed too much competence. The smart play would've been to stay silent, stay unnoticed.
But that conversation with Yu Tianlong had irritated him. The assumption that he was worthless, the casual dismissal, the veiled threats. Old habits died hard—when someone challenged Ye Fan, he didn't back down. He proved them wrong.
Even when proving them wrong was strategically stupid.
"I need to be more careful," he muttered to the empty room. "Can't let pride override planning. That's how people get killed."
He'd learned that lesson the hard way in his previous life. Being the youngest Rank 1 Alchemist, being third in the Heaven and Earth rankings—that had painted a target on his back. Everyone wanted his techniques, his formulas, his secrets. And someone had succeeded in killing him for them.
He couldn't make the same mistakes this time. Couldn't let arrogance blind him to danger.
But as he lay there, feeling this weak body's exhaustion, part of him whispered that maybe—just maybe—drawing some attention wasn't entirely bad. If people were watching him, taking him seriously, that meant access to better resources. Better opportunities. Ways to advance faster without arousing too much suspicion.
It was a dangerous balance. Visible enough to matter, invisible enough to stay safe.
He'd figure it out. He had to.
Because somewhere out there, whoever had killed Ye Fan might still be watching, still searching. And if they realized he'd returned...
Yu Jingming closed his eyes and began circulating his qi again, using the pain to focus his thoughts, to remind himself why control mattered more than pride.
Survive first. Revenge later. That was the plan.
He just needed to stick to it.