If you die, I will be able to inherit your cultivation.

Fifteen years have passed in the blink of an eye, and the Eighth Prince has reached the age of twenty.

In those fifteen years, Emperor Renzong only visited the Eighth Prince once, on the day of his full moon celebration.

In front of a group of palace servants, the prince was given a name, Chu Yuan.

After that incident, Emperor Renzong never saw the eighth prince again.

Everyone in the palace knew the reason behind it.

The Eighth Prince, Chu Yuan, was born mentally challenged.

At the age of three, while other children could run around freely, Chu Yuan was still unable to walk on his own and needed the help of palace servants to move his body with difficulty.

By the age of six, while children his age were already able to speak fluently, Chu Yuan still spoke unclearly and could not form complete sentences.

When he was twelve years old, the palace found a teacher to teach him to read. Despite repeated instruction, Chu Yuan was still illiterate and could not recognize even a few simple characters.

Yet this seemingly simple-minded prince possessed luck far surpassing that of others.

Not only was Chu Yuan himself incredibly lucky, but even his birth mother, Consort De, became healthier day by day after giving birth to him.

For fifteen long years, almost no one heard that Consort De had fallen ill; her health remained stable and good throughout the year.

In addition, the endless scheming and framing within the palace repeatedly fell upon the mother and son, each time escaping thanks to various coincidences.

When Chu Yuan was ten years old, a eunuch with malicious intentions planned to push him into the palace pool when no one was paying attention.

The eunuch quietly approached Chu Yuan, seized the opportunity, and pushed Chu Yuan directly into the pool.

Chu Yuan's body swayed, and as he wished, he fell into the pool.

Who would have thought that a huge rock would appear in the pool at some unknown time?

The surface of the stone was covered with a thick layer of moss, the color of which almost blended into the pool water.

Standing on the shore and looking down, all you can see is a pool of emerald green water; you can't detect the huge rocks hidden underwater.

After Chu Yuan landed, his feet landed right on the boulder, and he stood straight in the water, only the hem of his clothes getting wet.

On the other hand, consider the eunuch who pushed the person.

Under the clear blue sky, without any warning, a bolt of lightning struck out of nowhere, hitting the eunuch squarely.

A flash of lightning, followed by a deafening roar, and the eunuch was instantly reduced to ashes.

This incident caused a stir throughout the entire palace.

The palace eunuchs, maids, and even many concubines were terrified upon hearing this news.

Within the palace, people gradually reached the point where their expressions would change drastically at the mere mention of the Eighth Prince's name.

Rumors began to spread quietly everywhere, with everyone saying that the Eighth Prince was secretly protected by a real dragon.

Anyone who harbors malicious intentions towards the Eighth Prince and plans to harm him will not have a good end.

Many palace servants, with nothing else to do, began to secretly dig into past events.

They started their investigation when Consort De was pregnant with Chu Yuan, painstakingly gathering every clue left behind from that time.

Their in-depth investigation uncovered some previously unknown secrets.

As rumors from all sides converged and were embellished by many, the stories became increasingly vivid and exaggerated, spreading far and wide.

With such a big incident happening in the harem, and someone daring to lay a hand on a prince, Emperor Renzong naturally could not sit idly by.

The imperial edict was issued quickly, and the harem was soon teeming with people.

From the day this matter was resolved, no one in the harem dared to provoke the Eighth Prince, Chu Yuan.

Everyone deliberately kept their distance from the mother and son in the side hall of Jingyang Palace, unwilling to get involved, for fear of bringing trouble upon themselves.

Inside the courtyard of the side hall of Jingyang Palace.

Fifteen-year-old Chu Yuan stood in the courtyard.

He has grown taller, almost reaching the height of an adult male.

However, this guy's mental capacity was completely disproportionate to his tall stature; his mental capacity was only equivalent to that of an eight- or nine-year-old child.

He usually only thinks about having fun and playing around. He often drags a group of eunuchs in the palace to wrestle and play with them, practicing his martial arts.

However, Chu Yuan was not entirely without merit.

Although he was mentally dull, he possessed an extremely high talent for martial arts.

The palace has a special martial arts training ground where instructors teach the other princes martial arts.

Whenever he had free time, Chu Yuan would go to the edge of the martial arts arena to watch.

When taught to demonstrate moves, he only needs to watch once to be able to imitate the moves, and he can master them to a high degree.

Right now, Chu Yuan is holding a wooden sword in his hand and practicing repeatedly in the courtyard.

Every time he raised his hand to strike, his movements were crisp and powerful.

Chu Yuan's constant martial arts training over the years has given him firm muscles and a robust physique.

Sweat dripped down his cheeks, soaking his coarse cloth clothes.

His attention was entirely focused on the wooden sword in his hand, his eyes fixed straight ahead, repeating the thrusting motion over and over again without any intention of stopping to rest.

A wooden chair was placed on the side of the courtyard, and Consort De sat on the chair, holding a needle and thread in her hand, and bowed her head to sew new clothes for Chu Yuan.

Over the years, the palace has not cut back on the food and clothing supplies for the mother and son in the side hall of Jingyang Palace; their daily rations have been delivered on time.

However, over the years, Emperor Renzong did not bestow any additional treasures or fabrics upon the mother and son.

Without extra supplies, the two were not well-off, and their lives were naturally not considered affluent.

Chu Yuan enjoys practicing martial arts, wrestling, and wielding a sword. His movements are extremely exaggerated, and his clothes are easily worn out and torn.

Often, the clothes would wear out after only a few days, requiring repeated mending or the making of new clothes.

Consort De held the needle and thread, her gaze occasionally rising to look at Chu Yuan, who was practicing swordsmanship in the courtyard.

Her hands moved swiftly, the silver needle piercing through the fabric, pulling the cotton thread, slowly sewing stitch by stitch.

Her expression was calm as she looked at her son, who was constantly brandishing his sword in the courtyard. She couldn't tell whether she felt worried or relieved.

My child is not as mentally capable as others, but he is naturally strong and learns martial arts very quickly.

Over the years, she had been secretly plotted against countless times in the palace, but each time she recalled it, she still felt a lingering fear in her heart.

For so many years, since His Majesty met Chu Yuan at the full moon, he has never set foot in the side hall of Jingyang Palace again.

Even after arriving at Jingyang Palace, they were not summoned, as if they had already forgotten about the mother and son.

In the imperial court and the inner palace, everyone regarded Chu Yuan as a fool, fearing the strange rumors surrounding him, and dared not approach him.

Consort De raised her hand, tucked a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead behind her ear, and lowered her head to continue her needlework.

Occasionally, after Chu Yuan finished practicing a round of sword moves, he would stop, turn his head to look at Consort De sitting there, and grin foolishly twice.

Without saying anything more, he picked up the wooden sword again and began practicing once more.

The courtyard was quiet, with only the sound of the wooden sword being swung and the soft rustling of needle and thread through the fabric.