In stark contrast to the bustling excitement that filled the streets and alleys of the Imperial Capital, the Earl's mansion was cloaked in silence. No grand feasts, no celebratory rites, not even a modest gathering with wine.
Even the planned ceremony—where a thousand soldiers, drawn from the expeditionary fleet, were to march through the city for the citizens' admiration—was left to a deputy's command. The moment Earl Raymond stepped off the docks, he hurried back to his estate, politely declining a stream of visitors. His excuse to the outside world? After years of leading armies, the Earl needed a moment of solitude to soothe the lonely heart of his beloved wife.
Though this lofty pretext disappointed many who had painstakingly prepared to flatter the Empire's newest hero, it won universal approval. Who could argue with such a noble sentiment?
Yet, within the grand halls of the Earl's mansion, the triumphant hero of the Imperial Navy now sat face-to-face with his own flesh and blood—his son. Earl Raymond's gaze was heavy, tinged with melancholy and a swirl of complex emotions.
If not for his unwavering trust in his wife's virtue… the Earl's first thought upon seeing the boy before him would have been: Is this truly my seed?
The child's appearance was worlds apart from his own.
The men of the Rowling House were renowned for their towering, heroic stature—broad-chested, thick-armed, with square jaws and straight noses, the very picture of rugged valor. Earl Raymond himself embodied this ideal. Tall and imposing, he had been the talk of the Imperial nobility in his youth, a paragon of masculine splendor.
But this… this speck of a boy?
Though only three years old, for a family famed for producing strapping warriors, he was far too pale, too frail. Well… they say he fell gravely ill a month ago, the Earl mused. Perhaps that's why he's so weak.
The future heir of the Rowling House, Du Wei Rowling, stared back at his father with an impassive expression. Unlike other children his age, he didn't wail with robust cries—a fact that displeased the Earl immensely. Tradition held that the louder a child's cry, the stronger their vitality.
This boy, though, was unnervingly quiet. He sat on the bed, hands resting on his knees, head tilted upward, studying his father with eyes that seemed to flicker with curiosity… or perhaps scrutiny.
The Earl shook his head inwardly. I must be mistaken.
How could a three-year-old's gaze carry such depth, such intricacy?
Yet, while the Earl wrestled with his unease, Du Wei Rowling's heart churned with even greater turmoil.
The gentle warmth of the beautiful Countess, with her motherly devotion and the tender care she'd shown him a month prior, had softened Du Wei's guarded heart.
But this man—this so-called "father" who'd appeared out of nowhere?
Hmph. Where did he even come from?
"Does he… still not speak?" Earl Raymond's voice was grave as he glanced at his wife. Seeing the tears welling in her eyes, his heart softened. He'd been at sea for three years, leaving her alone. Even when she was with child, in her most vulnerable moments, he hadn't been there. And now, their only son was… like this. He couldn't blame her. His tone gentled. "There, my love. If he cannot speak, we'll hire the Empire's most learned scholars to teach him. He'll find his voice in time. But his body—it's far too frail. The Rowling House has always stood on martial glory. My son will follow in my footsteps, a general of the Empire. Such weakness won't do… Hmm, he's three now. It's time to find him a tutor. What of Alpha? My most loyal guard captain, skilled in the martial arts, devoted to our House. Starting next month, Alpha could begin teaching Du Wei the basics of physical training."
At the thought of her frail son enduring such rigor so young, tears spilled from the Countess's lovely eyes. "But… he's still so small."
"Precisely because he's weak, he must begin early to forge his strength!" The Earl, tempered by years of military command, was resolute. With a wave of his hand, the matter was settled.
The next day, after an audience with His Majesty the Emperor in the palace, Earl Raymond received his third Imperial Medal of Valor, pinned to his chest by the Emperor himself during a grand ceremony. In front of the assembled court, His Majesty proclaimed Raymond's promotion to Vice-Commander of the Imperial High Command—a position second only to the Empire's highest military authority.
After a private audience with the Emperor, Raymond relinquished his title of First Admiral of the Imperial Navy, handing over his military authority. Emerging from the palace, he brushed aside congratulations from colleagues, declined countless banquet invitations, and even politely refused summons from the high priests of the Temple of Light. With haste, he returned home.
It was no secret in the Capital that Earl Raymond's son was… deficient.
Even at the medal ceremony, those who caught the faint shadow of sorrow on the Earl's face—friends of the Rowling House—felt a pang of sympathy. Naturally, his political rivals couldn't help but gloat in private.
Back at the mansion, the Earl faced his son once more. This time, the tender Countess was absent. At his side stood Alpha, his loyal guard captain of nearly two decades—a First-Rank Swordsman of the Empire, whose "Blazing Flow Sword" was renowned as one of the finest blade techniques in the Capital.
For reasons he couldn't quite name, Raymond found himself uneasy around his son. The boy's gaze wasn't merely vacant; it seemed to carry a subtle defiance. Surely I'm overthinking it, he told himself. A three-year-old—what could he possibly understand? Besides, Raymond had been away since the boy's birth, never once holding him. It was only natural for the child to regard him as a stranger.
Alpha stepped forward, performing the formal single-knee salute of a House retainer before lifting Du Wei from the bed. With meticulous care, he stripped the boy's clothes and examined him, his hands probing from head to toe, assessing every bone and muscle.
Du Wei squirmed, clearly uncomfortable with being handled so by a man, but the strength of a First-Rank Swordsman was not something a child could resist.
"Hmph…" Alpha's expression was grim as he set the boy down. He bowed to the Earl before rising, his voice low. "My Lord, I…"
"Alpha, you're my most trusted man. Speak freely." Raymond sighed.
"Young Master Du Wei's body is frail—too frail. There's… a congenital weakness. His bones are delicate, his heartbeat uneven. His constitution is weaker than even an ordinary child's. If he were to train in martial arts…" Alpha gritted his teeth. "I fear he'd achieve little."
"And your counsel?"
"I believe martial training isn't the best path for the young master. Perhaps we should seek other fields where his talents might shine."
At those words, Earl Raymond's face darkened.
Chapter 2: Neither Scholar Nor Warrior (Part 2)
The dashed hope of martial prowess left Earl Raymond brooding for days. Yet, under the tender comfort of the lovely Countess, he rallied his spirits. After all, this was his only son.
Though the Rowling House had built its name on martial valor, history wasn't without exceptions. The family had produced a handful of brilliant strategists—men not skilled with swords but gifted in intellect, orchestrating campaigns from afar, commanding armies to victory thousands of miles away.
A great general need not charge into battle with peerless skill. A master of strategy could still add luster to the Rowling legacy.
If martial arts were beyond him, then let him pursue scholarship!
But how could a child who didn't even speak learn the ways of letters? Even the most erudite scholars required a pupil who could at least talk.
Unlike the Countess, whose motherly heart brimmed with gentle faith, Raymond harbored a nagging suspicion: his son wasn't unable to speak—he was unwilling.
The more he observed Du Wei, the more convinced he became. This wasn't some witless child, oblivious to the world. No, the boy seemed to reject it. Those eyes, watching him with estrangement and defiance, weren't the vacant stare of a fool—they brimmed with unspoken emotion.
A hefty reward spurs bold action.
The Earl announced a bounty across the Capital: be they noble scholar or humble farmer, anyone who could make his son speak would claim a thousand gold coins.
The news spread like wildfire, drawing a motley crowd to the mansion. Some blew flutes before Du Wei for hours, others clanged gongs by his ear, and a few tried startling him with sudden shouts. One audacious soul even suggested tossing the boy into a river, claiming fear would force him to cry for help. That man was promptly dragged out by the Earl's guards, his legs broken for his insolence.
Joke? Even if my son's a fool, he's my fool! Throw him in a river? I'll throw you in first!
As the Capital buzzed with this novelty, the greatest challenge was solved—not by a scholar or poet, but by a humble servant of the mansion.
That servant was Marde, the man Du Wei had unwittingly "named" in his fevered dreams. Once a stablehand, Marde was an honest soul with a kind heart. His idea was simple: take the young master to see the stables. Most children, he reasoned, found animals delightful. Though plain, the plan was worth a try, and the Earl agreed.
So, Marde carried his young master into the stables…
As fate would have it, the new stablehand, replacing Marde, had slacked off that day, leaving the stalls uncleaned. The moment Marde pushed open the door, a rancid wave of manure hit them, so potent it nearly knocked him off his feet.
In that instant, little Du Wei, almost reflexively, muttered under his breath:
"Gods, it stinks!"
The aftermath was swift. Marde received his thousand gold coins, and even the lazy stablehand escaped punishment, pocketing twenty coins for his accidental role.
But as Raymond looked at his son, now sulking like a defeated rooster, one truth solidified in his mind: This boy's been holding his tongue on purpose.
•
"From today, he is your teacher." The Earl gestured to an elderly man in a white robe, addressing his son. "This is Mr. Rosia, holder of the Imperial Astrologer's title and a scholar versed in history. He will be your mentor."
At first, Mr. Rosia excelled in his task.
Within a year, young Du Wei, barely four, could write the Empire's script—a feat not extraordinary for most children but notable for one deemed deficient.
Even the Earl, who'd never warmed to his son, felt a spark of hope. Could my boy be a prodigy after all?
Yet, when Du Wei reached five and a half, even the capable Mr. Rosia hit a wall.
One evening, in the Earl's study, the scholar lingered late in discussion…
"My Lord, I beg you to find another," Mr. Rosia said, his face etched with defeat. "Your son is bright, but an old man like me lacks the vigor to guide such a disciple…"
The Earl's heart sank. Even a fool could see through the scholar's polite claim of "brightness." Is my son truly hopeless? For a man as learned as Rosia to fail…
"Mr. Rosia—" Raymond began, his voice tight.
"No, no, my Lord," the scholar interrupted, flustered. "I implore you, don't press me to stay. This task… it's beyond me."
His resolve was unshakable, leaving Raymond with only a bitter smile. Is teaching my son truly such a daunting burden? If even a scholar of Rosia's caliber faltered, what hope was there for others?
Unbeknownst to the Earl, Rosia's heart quaked with fear.
If it were merely childish oddities—like calling the sun and moon "great orbs"—he could dismiss them as whimsy. But when a boy not yet six declared that "the concentration of imperial power breeds corruption," Rosia nearly felt his heart stop.
Having taught Du Wei for a year, the scholar knew his pupil wasn't the "idiot" of rumors. Far from it—the boy was sharp, sharper than most his age. But no child, however gifted, should ponder the intricacies of imperial authority.
Rosia could only conclude that such radical ideas stemmed from the Earl himself, carelessly voiced at home and parroted by an innocent child. Raymond held immense power, second only to the High Command, with deep ties in the Navy. For such a man to privately criticize the Crown… it hinted at dangerous discontent.
A frail scholar like Rosia had no desire to be entangled in political storms. Better to flee while he could.
With the Earl's reluctant consent, Rosia packed his belongings and left the mansion as if escaping a plague. Raymond, watching him go, could only muster a wry smile.
Is my son truly beyond saving?
Du Wei stood silently at the attic window, gazing down as his teacher of over a year boarded a carriage and vanished into the distance.
"Young Master," Marde ventured, noting the boy's somber expression. Since coaxing words from Du Wei's lips, he'd become the young master's personal attendant.
"Marde," Du Wei said without turning, his voice tinged with melancholy. "Do you think ignorance might be a kind of bliss?"
"Er?" Marde faltered. The former stablehand's mind wasn't built for such questions. Ignorance? Is the young master troubled by himself? But such topics were far beyond his grasp, and he dared not reply.
"Forget it." Du Wei turned, a faint smile flickering across his young, weary face.
Compared to this world, I know too much.
I know why the sun and moon hang in the sky, why day yields to night, why seasons shift, why spring fades to autumn…
And yet, it's this knowledge that burdens me. Perhaps, in this world, ignorance truly is bliss.