The sunlight caught on the edge of the glass just right.
Chengyu paused, leaned slightly to the left, and wiped a thin streak until it vanished. Perfect.
He stepped back to inspect the hallway window, eyes scanning for flaws. None. The cloth in his hand—still usable—was flipped to its clean side as he moved to the next panel.
This was… acceptable.
Repetitive. Quiet. Peaceful.
And above all, satisfying.
There was a strange kind of satisfaction in returning something neglected to order, especially in a place like this.
The Second Prince's estate had once looked like a war crime against architecture. Now, it was gradually transforming into something bearable, something organized.
But even so, this is far better than his previous work. At least here, he doesn't have to deal with customers.
He crouched to dust the baseboards, eyes narrowing at a stubborn speck of grime near a decorative molding. His fingers twitched with irritation. Unacceptable.
Then, as always, came the background noise.
Whispers behind the column. Maids again.
"…I heard it was true. The Second Prince is bad luck," one of them said, voice low but urgent. "Three of his personal guards quit within a week. And no one's seen the old steward since last month."
"I thought he transferred?"
"Yeah. That's the official story. Just like with the second consort."
A pause.
Chengyu's hand didn't stop moving, but his eyes flicked briefly toward the voice.
"Didn't she fall ill and die suddenly? They say her family isn't even allowed in the capital anymore."
"And the Crown Prince won't even visit this estate. Rumors say that the energy here makes him sick. No one's confirmed anything, but…"
"…They say His Highness wakes up screaming some nights."
"And when he's in a mood, you don't want to be near. One wrong look, and that temper—"
Chengyu lightly tapped the brush against the molding, knocking out a fleck of dust.
'They're persistent.'
Yesterday he caught someone else's talk about those rumors again rather than doing their work.
Chengyu carefully wiped the base of a marble bust. Its nose had been chipped, probably due to poor handling long before his time.
He straightened, cloth folded neatly in his hand. His gaze lingered on the beam of sunlight slicing across the corridor.
Rumors, huh?
He'd heard better. Twitter threads had more substance.
'The prince has been courteous enough that these gossips still have their tongues.'
'Though they should be careful. Defamation of a royal family usually ends with a funeral. Theirs.'
He clicked his tongue.
'And they think he's the dangerous one.'
He reached up to adjust a crooked painting, his posture calm, movements precise.
Let them talk.
He didn't care if Arsene Von Albrecht had a violent temper, a haunted past, or a secret hobby of swording people in half. Chengyu wasn't here to solve the mystery of the scary prince.
He was here because he needed something to do.
Something in his control.
And if the rumors were true?
Well… he'd probably still survive...
If Prince Arsene turned out to be a knife-wielding lunatic, he'd just be the first man to polish the marble floors while dodging flying furniture. He'll make sure there's no blood will be left in this room.
'Isn't this medieval era? Wasn't those kinds of rumors are normal?'
For now, the east wing still needed to be clean.
And he had exactly four more windows to make it spotless.
"it's you..."
Chengyu, mid-swipe across the windowpane, paused. His gaze shifted subtly. He turned areound, though the motion held a certain instinct—like he had, somehow, heard the whisper from across the hallway.
And sure enough, the rumored second prince was there standing behind him.
"Good morning," he said simply, nodding in that neutral way that could be either respectful or indifferent.
Then a beat passed.
And another.
Chengyu blinked.
'…Wait. That was too casual, wasn't it?'
He was so used to living in China, offering an automatic "good morning" to just about anyone who walked into a room—including mailmen, food delivery drivers, and the cat from the convenience store.
But this wasn't a neighbor or a passing co-worker.
It was a literal prince.
His mind caught up a second too late, but his voice followed smoothly, not missing a beat.
"…Your Highness."
Arsene stared at him.
Still pale. Still standing half-stunned in the middle of a hallway that had apparently decided to turn into a palace overnight.
Now that Chengyu looked at him properly, the prince didn't just look dazed—he looked drained. Pale skin, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his hairline, and slightly sunken eyes that didn't quite belong to someone who'd had a restful night.
Morning sickness?
No, wait.
Chengyu tilted his head slightly, calculating. "Did you drink last night?"
Arsene blinked again, clearly still catching up to the speed at which this interaction was unfolding.
Chengyu continued, completely unfazed. "You're pale, sluggish, and your gait was uneven. If you're hungover, a hot soup might help. Salty broth and something mild. Not too greasy."
The second prince, Arsene's mouth opened, but nothing came out at first.
'Soup?'
That was the first recommendation the prince had received for years. And it did not come from a doctor's mouth or anyone he knew.
"…Actually," Arsene muttered, dazed, "maybe I am drunk."
His eyes narrowed in faint realization.
"Could you… serve me some soup?"
Chengyu didn't smile, but the tiniest tilt of his head gave the prince the impression that he might be pleased somewhere deep, deep inside.
"Very well," Chengyu replied "Please return to your room. I'll bring it shortly."