Chapter 13: A Mad Dog Is Still a Mad Dog Part 1

Gu Huaiyu let out a low, mocking chuckle. He sat up abruptly, his slender fingers reaching out to hook under Pei Jingyi’s chin, forcing it upward. “Is General Pei still feeling so… stiff?”

The veins on Pei Jingyi’s hands, clenched tightly against his chest, bulged with suppressed fury. He forced four words through gritted teeth. “This official is… thoroughly convinced.”

A glimmer of amusement danced in Gu Huaiyu’s downcast eyes. He seemed satisfied for now. “And tell me, what skills does the General possess?”

Without waiting for a response, he added, “Can you lead a horse? Can you hold a stirrup?”

Pei Jingyi had joined the army as a teenager, rising from the lowest ranks to become a general. He had done such menial labor countless times, yet he answered without a moment’s hesitation, “I cannot.”

“Then you shall learn.”

Gu Huaiyu patted the General’s cheek lightly. “The Chancellor’s Manor happens to be short of a mounting block. Your frame seems quite suited for the task.”

Pei Jingyi looked up, his gaze fixing on the Chancellor like cold iron tempered in fire. “This official does not mind. I merely worry for the Lord Chancellor’s health. Are you even fit to ride a horse?”

Gu Huaiyu leaned in closer, his face inches from the other man’s, their noses nearly touching. “If I were you, I would pray for my long life and health. Otherwise, if something were to happen to me… just imagine what would become of your family’s name.”

The faint, elegant scent of incense wafting off Gu Huaiyu hit Pei Jingyi’s senses. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he instinctively tilted his head back an inch.

Gu Huaiyu leaned back, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. He was spent. “Dismissed. I expect to see you at the Chancellor’s Manor tomorrow at the Hour of the Rabbit.”

Pei Jingyi stood. He looked down at the man reclining in the chair, his gaze tracing over that pale, exquisite face and the frail, thin body.

The flickering candlelight cast murky shadows in the General’s eyes, hiding something deeper, something darker. He cupped his hands in a formal salute. “This official takes his leave.”

Once the footsteps had faded into the distance, Gu Huaiyu touched his aching neck, tracing the faint blue bruises left by the General’s grip. He let out a sharp, derisive snort. “A mad dog is still a mad dog.”

But a mad dog was only worth taming if it was useful.

He knew better than anyone that the absolute power he held was fragile. The dominance of a consort’s kin was ultimately subject to the Emperor’s whims.

Right now, that little animal Yuan Zhuo was still young and feared him in his heart. He could still suppress the young tiger for now, but in a few years? That was another story. The Pure Stream faction in court was practically counting down the days until his downfall.

Power without military backing was a pavilion built on air; its collapse was only a matter of time.

Therefore, he had to have the authority over the Northern Frontier Army. He would not give up on the Nine Li Blood, either. Who said one couldn’t have the sharpest needle and the sweetest cane? He intended to have it all.

But if he wanted everything, he needed someone to do the biting and the snatching for him.

And right now, he had no one he could truly use.

As the protagonist of this world, Pei Jingyi naturally had brothers-in-arms and talented eccentrics willing to follow him to the death.

In contrast, he, the Great Chen’s Chancellor, was surrounded by the so-called “Gu Faction”—a pack of sycophants and spineless flatterers. They spent their days singing his praises, useless for anything other than fawning.

The only one worth a damn was Shen Jun, and that man hated him to the bone, spending every waking moment plotting his death.

As for that future Top Scholar… he was a decent prospect.

Gu Huaiyu thought of the Heyue Restaurant, remembering how Xie Shaoling had insulted him until he wasn’t worth a copper. He actually laughed out loud.

If that brat ever found out he was actually Master Plum, he’d probably gnash his teeth so hard they’d shatter, wishing he could grind Gu Huaiyu’s bones to dust.

To be the head of the imperial administration and have not a single soul to trust…

How pathetic.

***

The following day, according to the schedule of the Imperial Academy, it was the turn of Qin Zijin, the Minister of State Ceremonies, to enter the palace for the Classics Lecture.

The Classics Lecture was an ancestral tradition of the Great Chen Dynasty. On every tenth day of the month, a learned official was chosen to lecture the Emperor on history and the classics. On the surface, it was an academic discussion; in reality, it was a vital opportunity to showcase one’s talent before the throne.

If a lecture pleased the Emperor, a promotion could follow in an instant.

Inside the Hall of Chaste Government, sandalwood smoke curled lazily.

The boy Emperor sat behind the imperial desk. His bright yellow dragon robes reflected against a handsome face, but his eyes were cold and silent.

Qin Zijin stood before a small table where a copy of the Book of Han lay open. He looked the part of a refined, elegant scholar—the kind of man who commanded immediate respect.

“Today, your servant shall lecture Your Majesty on the ‘Biography of Huo Guang’.”

As he knelt, the jade pendant at his waist remained perfectly still, a testament to the impeccable etiquette drilled into sons of noble families.

The boy Emperor remained indifferent, his expression showing no ripples of emotion as he signaled for Qin Zijin to rise.

Since Yuan Zhuo had ascended the throne, he had maintained this same facade regardless of whether officials were flattering him or insulting him—a noble, distant aura that was impossible to read.

No one in the civil or military service dared to underestimate this boy.

Even though he was only fifteen, those bottomless eyes reminded everyone of the late Emperor Rui. One could never guess what was truly happening in his mind.