So Anxious, Why Hasn’t Ninth Royal Uncle Arrived Yet

As dawn broke, Ninth Royal Uncle remained calm and unhurried, not the least bit anxious—while the Eastlyn officials waiting outside the city were nearly driven mad with worry. The agreed time to enter the city was almost here, yet Ninth Royal Uncle still hadn’t appeared. What were they supposed to do?

"His Highness hasn’t arrived yet—could something have happened to him?" For days now, these officials had been on edge, terrified that Ninth Royal Uncle might run into trouble in Westlyn and simply vanish, never to return.

"Your Highness, this is the imperial capital—the imperial capital! Before, we could bluff our way through, but how are we supposed to do that now? Step into the palace and we’ll be exposed instantly." It wasn’t just the Westlyn officials; even Ninth Royal Uncle’s personal guards were growing frantic.

"Go check ahead—see if there’s any sign of the shadow guards." Ninth Royal Uncle’s open and covert guards were separate units, but they did communicate privately.

Soon, the scouts returned with even worse news: "Ninth Royal Uncle didn’t show up at the appointed time, and he didn’t leave the city last night either." In other words, they’d lost contact with him. Whether something had happened to him, they had no idea.

"Could something really have happened?" The guards were uneasy, looking anxiously toward the city gate, their hearts full of worry.

"Your Highness, please show up soon! If you don’t, we’ll really miss the deadline." The Ministry of Revenue officials were so anxious they were spinning in circles around Ninth Royal Uncle’s sedan, pacing back and forth.

"Lord Chen, stop spinning—you’re making me dizzy."

"No matter how much you pace, Ninth Royal Uncle won’t just appear out of thin air."

"I’m just anxious, so anxious! The hour is almost here and Ninth Royal Uncle still hasn’t shown. Before, when we met with county magistrates and officials, we could always say His Highness was tired and didn’t want visitors. But now? We’re already in Westlyn—how are we supposed to say His Highness doesn’t want to see anyone?" Lord Chen tugged at his little mustache, the stubble so sparse now that after days of pulling, only a few scraggly hairs remained.

"Why not just say it? If His Highness doesn’t come, we’ll claim he’s tired and doesn’t want visitors. Either way, this market opening benefits Westlyn most—Westlyn wouldn’t dare challenge us." Another official slapped his thigh, pleased with his own suggestion.

Lord Chen shot him a glare. "Do you think the Westlyn people are idiots? Even if they don’t dare challenge us, if they don’t see Ninth Royal Uncle at all, won’t they get suspicious? The more we refuse to let them meet him, the more they’ll suspect something’s wrong. If Westlyn insists on investigating and finds Ninth Royal Uncle missing, we’ll be in real trouble."

Eastlyn isn’t so powerful that Westlyn wouldn’t dare fight back. If we insult Westlyn’s national dignity, they’d go to war with us even if they had to sell off their country and melt down their iron. Even if they couldn’t win, they’d still bite off a chunk of Eastlyn’s flesh.

"So what do you suggest?" the man asked, sounding hesitant.

"What else can we do? Pray, I guess—pray to heaven that Ninth Royal Uncle shows up soon, or we’re all doomed." Lord Chen gave his last tuft of mustache a hard yank, pulling out a few more hairs.

A guard stood outside the door, listening to the officials’ conversation. He let out a quiet sigh, then entered and said, "Please, sirs, don’t wait any longer. His Highness still hasn’t left the city—it’s time to think of another plan."

"What?" The officials all spun around at once, shouting in unison at the guard: "You’re saying His Highness hasn’t left the city? Has something happened to him?"

Lord Chen was trembling, his face twitching uncontrollably—he was clearly terrified. The lesser officials were even more dramatic; one of them fainted on the spot from fright.

If something happened to Ninth Royal Uncle, it meant disaster for all nine branches of their clans. Of course they were terrified.

"No idea. After His Highness entered the city, he disappeared." The guard understood that hiding the truth now would help no one—they were all in the same boat, and had to work together to get through this crisis first.

"What—what are we supposed to do now? What are we supposed to do?" Those who hadn’t fainted were on the verge of tears. At this point, Lord Chen actually seemed the calmest; he gave his last few mustache hairs a hard yank and asked, steady-faced, "No news from Ninth Royal Uncle doesn’t necessarily mean something’s happened, right?"

"Right," the guard answered without hesitation. They knew full well how capable Ninth Royal Uncle was—very few in Westlyn’s capital could threaten him. Most likely, he’d just been delayed.

"Good." Lord Chen nodded firmly. "If nothing’s happened to Ninth Royal Uncle, that means he’s still in the city—just hasn’t found a chance to come out yet. In that case, we’ll go ahead and enter the city."

"Enter the city? How? His Highness isn’t here—who’s going to meet with the Westlyn officials?" The other officials were despondent, muttering that it was all over.

"We’ll have someone impersonate Ninth Royal Uncle. Once we’re inside the city, he’ll be able to meet up with us soon enough, and all our problems will be solved." Lord Chen boldly proposed the plan. Someone timid asked, "What if Ninth Royal Uncle still hasn’t come back after we enter the city?"

"Shut your crow’s mouth!" Lord Chen smacked him. "We’re already at Westlyn’s city gate, and the agreed entry time is almost here. We’ll just have to take things one step at a time and get through this crisis first."

"Lord Chen’s right," the guard agreed, echoing his opinion. No one else could think of a better idea, so they had no choice but to accept it. But then a new problem arose...

"Who’s going to impersonate Ninth Royal Uncle?" This was no easy task—most people wouldn’t dare.

"Heh heh..." Lord Chen gave a sly grin, his eyes landing on the guard. The guard sensed trouble and tried to slip away, but Lord Chen grabbed him: "Don’t go, General. Ninth Royal Uncle is skilled in both civil and martial arts, tall and imposing—not like us scrawny scholars. Please, General, don’t refuse."

"No, I—" The guard started to protest, but was immediately cut off by a swarm of Ministry of Revenue officials. With their infamous silver tongues, they talked circles around him until, dazed and confused, he found himself dressed in Ninth Royal Uncle’s ceremonial robes.

Looking down at the ceremonial robes of the Eastlyn Regent Prince draped over him, the guard was in tears: Civil officials really were terrifying. Deal with them for a moment and you’d get sold out—and end up helping them count the money.

"Not bad, not bad—you actually look the part." Lord Chen stroked his last few mustache hairs, his eyes squinting to slits. "Stand tall, act proud, be cold and aloof. Don’t move your mouth, don’t blink too much, and keep your face expressionless. Straighten your back... When you look at people, use your chin—act arrogant, it’s fine."

After Lord Chen’s crash course, the guard actually started to look the part. From a distance, with those robes, he could just about fool anyone who didn’t know Ninth Royal Uncle personally.

"If His Highness ever finds out, will he kill me?" The guard wanted to look convincing, but was terrified he’d look too convincing.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. Ninth Royal Uncle is wise and perceptive—he’ll understand your loyalty. Don’t worry, he won’t blame you." Lord Chen clasped his hands, face full of admiration. The guard’s lips twitched; he wanted nothing more than to smack Lord Chen flat.

Lord Chen could talk big—he wasn’t the one impersonating Ninth Royal Uncle, so of course he wasn’t worried.

Waaah... Civil officials are way too cunning. I need to stay far away from them in the future!