The Tyrant's Silly Tuntun - Chapter 1

I am a Western Roe Deer.

I used to live on the great grasslands of the Wala Kingdom without a care in the world, hopping around and eating grass every day.

Then, the year I turned three, the Tyrant had just ascended the throne. Filled with grand ambitions, he waved his hand and decided he was going to conquer Wala. He brought a whole swarm of people with him and surrounded the hill where I grazed.

That day, dark clouds blotted out the sky. Rain poured in sheets, and thunder boomed over my head.

All the fierce beasts ran deeper into the mountains. Only I, far too curious for my own good, stood on the mountaintop in the pouring rain, tilting my head as I watched the Tyrant lose his mind.

That battle went extremely smoothly for the Tyrant. After all, the Wala Kingdom had no real combat experience.

Its people were like me. They loved hopping around on the hills, and as long as there was food to eat, basically no one bothered thinking about brain-draining things like how to fight a war.

After all, our hill had plenty of grain.

So the moment the Tyrant fought his way into the mountains, they very sensibly raised white headscarves in surrender. They had only one condition.

“Don’t ruin the grain on the mountain.”

The Tyrant found this boring. He had come to establish glorious achievements. What right did these people have not to resist?

He did not understand, nor did he try to. Instead, he led his men hunting through the mountains.

The idea was, since they had come all this way, they ought to bring back some spoils of war.

The fierce beasts of our grassland might not have had many other strengths, but they really could run.

At the time, the wind suddenly rose, and the grass whipped wildly.

One shadow after another shot past my eyes with a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

And then the whole mountain was left with only me and the grass, both of us a mess in the wind…

The Tyrant rode his horse slowly up to me. He leaned lazily against the saddle, one brow raised, a smile hanging at the corner of his mouth that no one could quite read.

After staring at me and my tilted head for a while, he suddenly turned back and sneered at everyone.

“This stupid thing? Even a dog wouldn’t want it.”

Then he picked me up and left, casually adding, “Since you’re this stupid, from now on, you’ll be called Slowpoke.”

I bumped and jolted all the way from the vast grasslands to Bodhi Palace with the Tyrant.

Why was it called Bodhi Palace?

The little palace maid who fed me grass said it had not originally been called that. Later, a Daoist priest entered the palace and told the Tyrant’s fortune when he was still the Crown Prince.

The general meaning was that this brat would become a Tyrant in the future, the kind where, when the Son of Heaven flew into a rage, a million corpses would fall. So they should give the palace a name with a little Zen flavor to steady his temperament.

When the Late Emperor heard this, he waved his hand and said to change it.

Though it was completely useless.

Ever since I arrived at Bodhi Palace, the Tyrant basically killed someone every few days.

A palace maid threw herself at him. Beaten to death with rods.

A minister threatened him. Beaten to death with clubs.

An assassin came to the palace. Executed by slow slicing.

In short, everyone had their own way to die. No need to compare.

But to be fair, the Tyrant treated me pretty well.

Every time he finished killing someone, he would come feed me grass and ramble for a while while he was at it.

“Tuntun, I killed someone again today. That palace maid had body odor. She almost stank me to death.”

“Tuntun, stop eating. You’re almost as fat as a pig. I beat an old thing to death today. That old thing secretly joined up with a bunch of senior ministers and tried to seize my military power.”

“Tuntun, someone tried to assassinate me again today. It was all instigated by those old things. They think I’m young, so they refuse to behave. Slowpoke, life is so hard for me.”

…

But the Tyrant would never say these things to anyone else, because he thought it would make him lose face.

I was different. Aside from eating, I did not care about anything at all.

In the years that followed, the Tyrant grew more and more brutal, stirring the entire capital into constant fear.

Tannu said quite a few senior ministers wrote their wills at home every morning before attending court, settling their final affairs before they dared go in.

Oh, Tannu was the little palace maid who fed me grass. Usually, she was in charge of feeding the horses in the stable, and she fed me while she was at it. She was a very gentle and adorable girl.

After killing too many people, the Tyrant started having nightmares.

Once, he came to the shed looking for me in the middle of the night, his hair loose and disheveled.

I had been asleep at the time. When he appeared like a ghost, he scared me so badly I stretched my neck and howled for half the night.

The Tyrant looked at me thoughtfully, then picked me up and carried me toward the inner hall.

He said, “Tuntun, I never expected you to sound so terrifying when you howl. With a cry like that, even ghosts probably wouldn’t dare come near.”

And so, from a little companion who kept him company while he rambled, I became his bedmate.

And that arrangement lasted nearly ten years, sleeping me straight from a Silly Roe Deer into a grown young lady.