Chapter 1: What’s Wrong with Being a Treacherous Official? Part 2

The late Emperor, moved by his story, had summoned him to the capital and bestowed titles upon him—a living proof that loyalty would be rewarded.

Now, Zhou looked like a monster. His collapsed nose and severed tongue made him a grotesque sight. Bloody saliva sprayed as he continued his muffled, incoherent cursing.

“You… corrupt… official! Money… is all you see! The relief funds for Jiangzhou… all in your pocket!”

“The people of Jiangzhou are eating dirt to survive! While you feast on delicacies! That is why I had to kill you! I am doing Heaven’s work! Kill me if you dare!”

Gu Huaiyu felt an itch in his throat. He turned his head and gave a light cough. “Is that all?”

As the words left his lips, he pressed a silk handkerchief to his mouth and began to cough violently. When he pulled it away, a smear of scarlet stained his lips like vivid rouge.

Zhou paused, then burst into a ragged laugh. “A sickly ghost with rotting innards… you won’t live much longer!”

Gu Huaiyu wiped the blood from his lips, watching Zhou with an unreadable gaze.

Zhou grew more emboldened, his speech slurred but relentless. “You have no merit! Yet you rise like a rocket to control the court! What were you back then? Nothing! Just a boy whose fox-spirit sister climbed into the late Emperor’s bed! That is the only reason you have this power!”

“My Great Chen has been infested by a thief like you! You dare ask why I tried to kill you? You slaughter the loyal, oppress the Emperor, and sow chaos in the government! Every single one of your deeds deserves death!”

Zhou’s voice grew louder, his bloodshot eyes bulging as he glared at Gu Huaiyu. His impassioned speech caused the jailers in the room to involuntarily clench their fists.

In today’s Great Chen Dynasty, Gu Huaiyu blocked out the sun with a single hand. Very few dared to speak the truth.

The heat from the brazier began to draw a faint scent of scorched skin from the human footstool beneath Gu Huaiyu’s feet, yet the attendant did not dare move a muscle.

Gu Huaiyu remained calm, as if the insults weren’t directed at him. “Since you refuse to speak the truth, there is no need for you to speak at all.”

He stood up, taking the hand-warmer back into his palms. “You seek death so desperately? I think I shall deny you that pleasure.”

“Sever the tendons in his wrists and ankles.”

Gu Huaiyu was an expert at dealing with men like Zhou. Torture was useless against them; they were thick-skinned and unafraid of pain. To break them, one had to strike at their dignity and psyche.

What “hero” could endure becoming a cripple who couldn’t even hold chopsticks? He would let the man live—watching himself needing servants to clean his own filth, enduring the pitying looks of former friends and subordinates.

The burly man, who had been cursing for nearly an hour, suddenly went silent. His face turned pale, and his muscles began to tremble violently.

The jailers felt a chill run down their spines. There were many tortures in the Zhao Prison, but none were as soul-crushing as the Lord Chancellor’s creative cruelty.

Tears welled in Zhou’s eyes. He gave one final, desperate shout: “Gu Huaiyu! You traitorous villain! You will die a horrible death!”

Gu Huaiyu had given him one last chance to tell the truth, and Zhou had wasted it.

He stepped closer to the commander, leaning in to whisper so only the two of them could hear: “A traitorous villain might die a horrible death… but what about a spy?”

Zhou’s pupils shrunken in shock. His entire face changed.

Seeing that expression, Gu Huaiyu knew his hunch was correct. He let out a soft, mocking chuckle and turned to leave without a second glance.

In a way, the accident in the carriage had been a blessing in disguise. That blow to his head had triggered a flood of strange yet familiar memories. They were so vivid it felt as if he had lived them—or more accurately, as if he had “read” them.

He finally understood why he had been so precocious since childhood—speaking at three, reading at five, and writing masterful prose at seven. It was because he was a “transmigrator” living a second life.

He was in a world from a novel he had read in his previous life. Those memories had been locked away for years, only to be shaken loose by the injury.

Outside the prison, the golden-red light of the lanterns reflected off the carriage curtains. An attendant bowed. “My Lord, please enter.”

Gu Huaiyu suddenly smiled.

Who would have thought that he, a man of such immense talent and intellect, was destined to be the hated villain of the story? A man who rose on his sister’s skirts, embezzled funds, and ruined the country, only to end up decapitated with his corpse left in the streets.

He thought of the novel’s protagonist, Pei Jingyi. A man with the Nine Li bloodline, immune to all toxins, capable of healing even fatal wounds…

In the original plot, Commander Zhou’s assassination attempt failed, and he was thrown into the Zhao Prison. Pei Jingyi then disguised himself to infiltrate the prison and lead a daring jailbreak. During the chaos, Pei Jingyi took a blade for Zhou to protect him.

The guards witnessed his wound healing before their very eyes. Terrified, they reported the miracle upward.

And Gu Huaiyu, who suffered from a chronic Cold Poison that agonized him every month, had been searching for a cure. The imperial physicians had told him: “Only the blood of the Nine Li can neutralize all toxins.”

From that moment on, Pei Jingyi’s secret was exposed.

One was a man of destiny with miraculous blood; the other was a dying, treacherous official. Their fates became entwined by blood. To stay alive, Gu Huaiyu had hunted Pei Jingyi, drinking a bowl of his blood every month and systematically murdering his comrades to keep him under control.

But how could a villain truly keep the protagonist’s “sacred blood” for long? By the time Gu Huaiyu died, he realized Pei Jingyi’s true identity, but by then his power had crumbled, and he was left alone to face the hero’s vengeance.

Gu Huaiyu leaned back against the soft cushions of his carriage. His white cloak made his skin look almost translucent. The late autumn chill was biting. He pulled his collar tight, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

So what if it was destiny? Since he knew the future, why not use it to his advantage?

Commander Zhou had to be broken. Not just for the Nine Li blood, but because in the original book, this “loyal and righteous” commander would be the one to fire a lethal arrow into Pei Jingyi’s back three months from now. Only then was it revealed he had been a double agent for Eastern Liao for years.

Since he was destined to drink Pei Jingyi’s blood, he might as well find a more interesting way to do it.

For instance… what if he made Pei Jingyi offer it to him willingly?