The Prime Minister is Pregnant with Dragon's Seed - Chapter 6

Meng Zhou stood before the mirror, putting on his disguise. He darkened his face, thickened his brows, made his nose look less straight, and added a few dark moles. In his past life, he had to wear makeup almost daily, so this was second nature to him.

Heart aching, he counted over and over from the remaining five hundred taels, finally drawing out a hundred taels as his gambling funds.

Let’s hope he wouldn’t lose too badly.

The Tianjiu Gambling House was tucked inside a narrow alley off a bustling market street. The eaves were low, a piece of dark blue cloth hanging at the entrance—but inside, it was surprisingly spacious. The closer he got, the clearer the frenzied shouts of gamblers became.

Meng Zhou frowned, clearly displeased by the atmosphere. It reminded him of the days before he entered the entertainment industry in his previous life—sharing a basement apartment with all sorts of messy people. Dilapidated residential buildings, the public security was chaotic, people on the street constantly yelling or looking for a fight.

His brows lifted slightly, and in the next second, his expression had changed completely. His face showed curiosity and eagerness to try out what it was like to enter a casino for the first time. His lips half-curved, eyes shining brightly, practically screaming, “I’m rich! Come fleece me!”

Soon, someone led him to a table where the minimum bet was ten taels. The gambling games in this world weren’t complicated—mostly betting big or small. Meng Zhou pretended to be stingy as he reluctantly fished out ten taels and placed them on the table, drawing a round of jeers from those nearby.

In the midst of the heat and chaos, the silver taels in front of him began to pile up. When he noticed someone quietly slip away, his eyes flashed. Pretending he was done, he gathered the silver into his pouch and grinned broadly, teeth showing: “I’m done for today. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He had barely taken two steps outside when two burly men blocked his path. “Sir, our boss would like you to play a couple more rounds.”

Meng Zhou shook his head. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s food and drink inside,” one of the men replied. Without further discussion, they dragged him into the inner room.

Meng Zhou shouted theatrically, “I’m done gambling! Help!”—all while scanning his surroundings, trying to detect anything unusual about the place.

Boss Huang wasn’t around today. A tall, skinny middle-aged man with a goatee was watching over the house. He gestured for Meng Zhou to take a seat.

“I really don’t want to gamble anymore. My wife’s waiting at home.”

The kind of burly, domineering man who’d have to kneel on a washboard if he got home late.

“Oh?” The goatee man’s eyes narrowed. Following his gaze, Meng Zhou saw a row of glinting swords and knives standing to the side.

His eyes froze, as if he was stunned by the sight.

“I’ll—I’ll gamble!” Meng Zhou shrank his shoulders and trembled. His hands shook so hard he accidentally knocked over the dice cup, sending dice clattering to the floor. The noise made his face go pale as he scrambled to pick them up, clearly terrified of being fined.

The goatee man looked on with satisfaction at his timid performance. Sure, there might be lucky novices in this world, but never at Tianjiu Gambling House.

They played ten rounds. Meng Zhou lost everything.

He didn’t really understand the game anyway—he was simply certain there was foul play involved. After observing the gamblers for a while, he identified a shill and followed the eye signals exchanged with the dealer to decide whether to bet big or small.

His face was deathly pale. When the goatee man said, “That’s it for today,” Meng Zhou’s eyes filled with reluctance, neck veins bulging.

“You still have silver?”

“No,” Meng Zhou growled.

“Then get out!”

Meng Zhou struggled a bit, then collapsed to the ground and clung to the table leg. “No! I can’t leave through the front! So many people saw me come in with money just now—how embarrassing! How will I ever show my face here again?!”

He deliberately changed his voice to a hoarse, screechy wail that grated on the ears. The goatee man waved his hand in irritation, signaling for the guards to throw him out the back door.

Tianjiu still had a business to run, so such a request was easily granted. Taking advantage of his blunders and shamelessness, Meng Zhou surveyed every corner of the gambling house, hoping to find a clue.

Unfortunately, aside from the unexpected display of weapons earlier, all he discovered was that all the house’s tools bore a black coin emblem. He didn’t recognize it and couldn’t tell whether it was just a money-related symbol or something else.

Meng Zhou smirked. The weapons alone were enough to raise suspicions.

Before the founding of Great Wei, warlords fought and raised armies of their own, forging weapons freely and turning their blades on each other. Since the dynasty’s founding, the court had outlawed private weapon manufacturing. Offenders were charged with treason. If civilians needed weapons, they had to register and buy them through the government.

Standardization was enforced across the empire: roads, language, and even weapon specifications—making it easier to replace arms on the battlefield.

Spears: 14 feet.
Halberds: 1.6 feet.
Blades: 8 feet.
Long swords: 21.3 inches.
Short swords: 15.2 inches…

Jiang Yao had left behind many military texts from the Jiang family. Meng Zhou would flip through them when idle. They contained detailed descriptions. The moment he saw the gambling house’s weaponry, he could tell—none of them matched the official specs.

If weapons of non-standard sizes appeared in bulk within Great Wei, they were either privately manufactured or imported.

Either way, good luck explaining that to the ever-suspicious Emperor Tianyuan.

Meng Zhou liked to stroll when thinking. On the way, he passed by the Jiang residence and saw Jiang Xin practicing martial arts. Then, he accidentally passed by the Huaiwang Mansion. There were towering walls and red gates. The guards at the door were as tough and upright as stone lions.

A sudden thought struck him: why had Prince Huai appeared at the General’s estate that day? Was he involved in Jiang Xin’s case? Could the gambling house be connected to him?

While mulling this over, Meng Zhou spotted Ajuan’s mother taking her to the clinic. He quickly followed and pretended to wait outside, listening in.

“Doctor Ji, I brought Ajuan to change her dressing.”

“Ajuan’s mother, sit over there, please wait a moment.”

…

“Thank you, doctor. We don’t have much at home… please accept these eggs.”

“Prince Huai already paid for Ajuan’s treatment. How could I dare take a second payment?… Take care, remember to return in five days.”

Meng Zhou strolled slowly, deciding to trust Chu Huaiyin’s character. With half the empire’s military under his control, he had the molds and the manpower—there was no need for him to produce substandard weapons. The Jiang family, though fallen, was still a legend in the military. Supporting them to win hearts made perfect sense.

On the contrary, those weapons at the gambling house posed a threat to Chu Huaiyin.

Meng Zhou quickly concluded that he and Chu Huaiyin were on the same side. He couldn’t uncover this alone—but Chu Huaiyin had just returned to the capital and already uprooted Minister Wang…

It was obvious what needed to be done.

He walked from one end of Chang’an Street to the other without being recognized. He sat down calmly at a small stall and stretched his legs to rest. In the gambling room, Meng Zhou took advantage of several times to bend over and stamp his feet, and quietly stuffed some silver into his boots. Although the money was taken away by the goatee in the end, he had already hidden the principal, and even had a surplus. He, Meng Zhou, never did business at a loss.

As usual, he ordered a bowl of soy milk and two steamed buns.

Nearby, a teahouse storyteller was passionately describing Chu Huaiyin’s heroics on the battlefield. Especially now that Right Minister Wang had fallen and news of embezzled military funds was spreading, new tales were cropping up.

No one can match the divine soldier sent from heaven, handsome and elegant… When the storyteller reached the part where “an 89-year-old granny tore apart her seventy-year-old embroidered wedding quilt so the soldiers of Great Wei could survive the snowy mountain”, Meng Zhou didn’t feel touched at all—in fact, he wanted to offer to write the script himself.

Free of charge.

Meng Zhou often came here for meals and almost every time he could hear the storyteller in the teahouse playing the tune of Chu Huai Yin, the God of War, but everyone liked it except him.

Biting into a bun with a cold expression, he recalled his childhood in the orphanage. During holidays, kind bun shop owners would donate treats. Being small and scrawny, he always got the plain buns with no filling. Those were the most delicious steamed buns he had ever eaten. Later, when there were delicacies from land and sea before him, he still favored them.

He suddenly felt a strong stare and looked up. A skinny little girl with a sallow face was staring intently at his bun from a meter away, silently, without moving closer.

Meng Zhou’s heart softened. He waved her over and ordered a steaming basket of meat buns with thin skins and juicy fillings, placing them in front of her. “Eat.”

The child’s big eyes darted about. Her fingernails were packed with grime. She swallowed and pointed at Meng Zhou’s other bun. “I’ll just have that one.”

He handed it over. She was so hungry, yet still remembered to say “thank you” before taking a bite.

Suddenly, a commotion rose in the teahouse. A crowd rushed to the doorway, craning their necks to look out. The sound of hooves passed—it was Prince Huai, entering the restaurant next door.

Meng Qi thought carefully, were his fans in the past ever so old and crazy?

He happened to have something to tell Chu Huaiyin anyway. Just as he stood, he froze slightly. He had just agreed to let Chu Huaiyin handle the casino business. If the other party knew that he had been disobeying his promise again, he would settle all the old and new accounts together…

Meng Zhou looked at the child eating seriously across from him and had a flash of inspiration.

Why go himself?

Everything was just his guess—why not test Chu Huaiyin’s attitude first?

Meng Zhou borrowed paper and pen from the teahouse. Then he wrote with his left hand, summarizing his observations and guesses in a few words.

He signed it “The Mad Ranter”—a name chosen randomly, which makes it very credible. People are funny that way—when others openly lie, they are willing to believe it.

Before folding the paper, he paused. He almost forgot that Chu Huaiyin had already seen the character for “侜”¹ once. If he signed another name similar in meaning, he might be found out.

He needed a name that sounded mysterious and aloof, like a wandering sage.

In the end, four characters appeared in the bottom left corner:

— Haruki Murakami²

When Chu Huaiyin exited Shixiang Tower, he was met with the sight of a dirty little girl staring straight at him, like he was a plate of drunken chicken wings.

Ordinary people weren’t allowed to approach the prince. The girl didn’t come closer, but her bright eyes reminded Chu Huaiyin of someone.

He keenly spotted the paper in her hand and signaled for his shadow guard to retrieve it.

After reading its contents, Chu Huaiyin’s eyes darkened slightly, though his expression didn’t change. Casually, as if chatting about the weather, he asked the child where she came from.

She clutched her bun tightly and said nothing.

Steamed bun… Chu Huaiyin glanced toward the nearby stall. Aside from the busy boss, there were no suspicious customer. He waved for the guard to take the girl into the restaurant for a good meal as thanks. With a flick of his wrist, the paper scattered into dust.

Meng Zhou, sitting among the listeners in the teahouse, watched as the girl was seated at the same table Prince Huai had just left.

She had a good temperament. Next time he saw her, he’d buy her another meat bun.

So Meng Zhou thought.

Inside Shixiang Tower, the capital’s most prestigious restaurant, the staff treated the prince’s “honored guest” with great enthusiasm. The dishes served were exactly the same as earlier. Shixiang tower’s had ten famous dishes, which were a combination of the best dishes from all over the Wei Dynasty. They were delicacies served on jade plates, and they were the most delicious food in the world, but they were very expensive, so expensive that Meng Zhou had only heard of them but never seen them.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… eight, nine, ten.

All dishes were served.

Meng Zhou silently counted with his fingers.

His stomach let out a poorly-timed growl.

Clutching his belly, he glanced one more time at the little girl now enjoying her feast, Chu Huaiyin walking off elegantly, and the half-dry bun in his own hand—feeling the full sting of class inequality.