Officials of the Gu faction huddled in small groups under the corridor, warming themselves by charcoal braziers while they awaited the Lord Chancellor’s arrival.
This was the daily routine, yet today felt different. The newest member of their clique was currently kneeling on the stone steps, his back ramrod straight and a plain silk handkerchief clenched between his teeth.
The night frost had frozen into icicles on his shoulders. As the sun began to rise, they melted, dripping rhythmically onto the stones.
It appeared he had been kneeling there the entire night.
The men who followed Gu Huaiyu were all exceptionally sharp. Even if their hearts were churning with shock, they knew better than to look at what shouldn’t be seen or speak of what shouldn’t be mentioned. They didn’t even dare to dwell on it in their thoughts.
Gu Huaiyu stepped out of his sedan, leaning on a eunuch’s arm, and immediately caught sight of the kneeling figure. He casually adjusted the collar of his heavy cloak and walked slowly toward the steps.
Pei Jingyi looked up at him, a brow arched slightly. He was a general of formidable constitution; even after kneeling through a late autumn night, he seemed perfectly composed.
“Did the handkerchief ever touch the ground?”
Gu Huaiyu leaned over to look at him, but the question was directed at the Iron Eagle Guard standing behind the general.
The guard, who had watched Pei Jingyi all night, replied truthfully, “It did not, my Lord.”
Gu Huaiyu nodded slightly. He reached out to pull the handkerchief from Pei Jingyi’s mouth.
However, he felt a sudden resistance at his fingertips. Pei Jingyi bit down harder, as if he were clamping down on a mortal enemy’s throat.
The silk, having been held in his mouth all night, was damp. The moisture seeped into Gu Huaiyu’s palm, sparking a flicker of perverse amusement. He let out a soft, mocking laugh. “General Pei, have you not had enough of playing fetch?”
The moment the words left his lips, Pei Jingyi abruptly let go.
The sudden release caught Gu Huaiyu off guard. His hand jerked back as the tension vanished, and in that split second, something cold and damp brushed against his palm.
It was Pei Jingyi’s lips.
Pei Jingyi instinctively licked his lips. Warm, fragrant, and delicate. His hands really are soft.
Gu Huaiyu dismissed it as a mere accident. He lazily crumpled the wet silk into a ball. “Since General Pei is so sensible, how should I reward you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he leaned down and yanked open the General’s collar, stuffing the damp handkerchief into the opening. He gave the firm muscle beneath a sharp, condescending pat. “Consider this your reward.”
The gesture was demeaning—exactly how one might tip a common catamite in the pleasure districts.
Pei Jingyi looked down at the silk, then met Gu Huaiyu’s gaze with eyes that had turned icy. “Gu Huaiyu, may I stand now?”
“You may.”
Gu Huaiyu turned and headed toward the Chancellery. His voice was leisurely, yet it drifted back clearly to the man on the steps. “General Pei need not attend to me today. You’ve served well enough by kneeling through the night. Go back and rest.”
Pei Jingyi stood up with a dark expression, rolling his shoulders and twisting his torso to work out the stiffness.
Damn him. Does he really think he’s training a dog?
To the watching officials, however, the scene carried a completely different meaning.
Vice Minister Chen’s gaze was glued to the corner of the silk peeking out from Pei Jingyi’s chest. He spoke with a voice dripping with spite. “I’ve followed His Excellency for four years, and he’s never gifted me a single thing. This man has only been here two days…”
Another director from the Privy Council sneered. “You? I’ve followed the Chancellor for six years. Last year, I had the misfortune of being sick in front of his sedan while drunk, and I was beaten half to death for it. When has His Excellency ever been so… gracious?”
“Tell me, just how highly does the Chancellor regard this General Pei?”
“Regard?” Vice Minister Chen snorted. “I’d say he’s taken quite a liking to him.”
“What ‘good fortune’ indeed.”
The officials exchanged looks, each seeing the same blend of mockery and jealousy in the others’ eyes.
They had bowed and scraped for years, offering their hearts and souls just to catch Gu Huaiyu’s eye, and had largely failed. Yet this General Pei had only been around for two days and already received a personal token and a “gentle” look.
He was young, sturdy, and handsome—the type that naturally charmed people, they supposed.
Their voices weren’t loud, but Pei Jingyi’s hearing was far too keen. He heard every word.
This is bloody ridiculous.
“Do you gentlemen want it?”
Pei Jingyi turned around, casually pulling the silk handkerchief from his collar. The officials fell silent instantly, their expressions shifting as no one dared to answer.
A charcoal brazier stood nearby, where the officials had been warming themselves. As Pei Jingyi approached, they all stared at the cloth in his hand.
A smile began to form on Vice Minister Chen’s face as he prepared to offer a familiar greeting, but Pei Jingyi didn’t even bother to look at him. He gave the cloth a casual toss.
The plain white silk traced an arc through the air before landing precisely in the roaring charcoal fire.
With a sharp sizzle, the edges of the silk instantly curled and blackened. A cold fragrance mingled with the rising smoke as it burned brightly.
The officials turned pale. Two of them even stumbled back a half-step in shock.
To publicly humiliate a gift from the Lord Chancellor was a capital offense!
Pei Jingyi simply flicked some stray ash off the toe of his boot, as if he had just burned a piece of scrap paper.
He met their horrified gazes and suddenly grinned, flashing a row of stark white teeth. “If the Chancellor asks, please tell him the truth.”
“Tell him that I—more than anything else—hate being trained like a dog.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving them standing there in stunned silence.
