On the day the Eastern Liao delegation entered the capital, the sky had barely begun to gray before five districts were sealed and all areas within the nine gates were placed under martial law.
A guard every thousand paces, a sentry every hundred—the air was thick with the chilling tension of an imminent battle. Shops were shuttered, and the commoners were forbidden from leaving their homes or even stealing a glance outside.
In truth, these official measures were redundant.
Even without the constraints of the guards, the citizens of the capital had already bolted their doors. Who didn’t know the nature of those foreign barbarians? If they saw a handsome man or a beautiful woman, they would seize them regardless of their background or reputation.
Years ago, when the tribute envoys entered the city, countless attractive youths had vanished. To this day, not even their bones had been recovered. Now that a full delegation had arrived, anyone who dared to set foot on the street was simply tired of living.
As for reporting it to the authorities? Everyone knew that Great Chen feared Eastern Liao like a pack of wolves. Those high-ranking officials would practically wet themselves at the mere mention of Eastern Liao; they wouldn’t dare utter a word of protest.
The commoners hadn’t been living in Great Chen for just a day; they understood all too well. The officials were more than happy to let the barbarians vent their lust on the citizenry if it meant avoiding their wrath themselves.
Expecting the imperial court to stand up for the people? One was better off hoping their children were lucky enough not to be noticed by those Eastern Liao dogs.
Rumors claimed that Eastern Liao’s demands were even more ruthless this time. Beyond demanding “Annual Brides” and extorting gold, they had brought a “Marriage Decree.” They demanded that the Emperor of Great Chen marry Eastern Liao’s Princess Mingzhu and name her his Empress.
Princess Mingzhu was nearly thirty years old. Her husband had died long ago, and her palace was filled with a swarm of male consorts. She was said to have a temperament as cruel as a jackal’s, and rumors persisted that she had once flayed a Great Chen maidservant alive.
How did the people view this?
While the scholars in the court were filled with righteous indignation and the officials suffered in silent humiliation, the commoners merely sneered.
“The Emperor? What do his humiliations have to do with us?”
“We can barely stay alive as it is. Who has the energy to care if he loses face?”
If the Son of Heaven didn’t care for the lives of his people, he couldn’t blame the people for not caring about his dignity. In Great Chen today, the commoners trusted only themselves.
According to protocol, when a foreign delegation entered the capital, the Chancellor was supposed to lead the civil and military officials to greet them three miles outside the city gates. This was already considered a reduction in standard. In the past century of relations between Great Chen and Eastern Liao, the Emperor himself had always graced the city gates to show “hospitality.”
It was still early when Pei Jingyi entered the Chancellor’s Estate with practiced ease. The central courtyard was empty—no carriages, no ceremonial guards. He crossed his arms, a brow arching slightly, and quickened his pace toward the inner quarters.
Yun Niang stood guard before the bedchamber. Behind her, a line of maidservants stood with lowered heads, their trays laden with snow-white silk undergarments, gold-threaded shoes, jade hairpins, rhinoceros-horn crowns, and pearl-encrusted sachets—all the finery Gu Huaiyu would soon wear.
Pei Jingyi’s gaze swept over the items. He had always known Gu Huaiyu was meticulous, but this surpassed his expectations.
“The Chancellor hasn’t risen yet?”
“General Pei.” Yun Niang curtsied, blocking his path. “The Chancellor is currently bathing.”
Pei Jingyi’s eyes flickered. He reached out to take the tray holding the clothes. “I will go serve him.”
The maidservant holding the tray froze in shock. Yun Niang frowned. “His Lordship never allows others to attend his bath.”
Pei Jingyi lowered his head, burying his face into the silk undergarments on the tray, and took a shallow breath. The silk was soft, carrying that familiar, cold fragrance that clung to Gu Huaiyu.
He looked up, his expression perfectly composed. “The Chancellor told me to wag my tail properly. This is an excellent opportunity to please him. I must trouble you to let me through.”
Yun Niang found his actions strange—there was an indescribable air of intimacy about them—but it never occurred to her that someone would dare harbor such desires for the Chancellor. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.
She led Pei Jingyi to the doors of the bathhouse and spoke softly through the carved wooden panels. “My Lord, General Pei wishes to attend your bath.”
There was a moment of silence from within before Gu Huaiyu’s lazy voice drifted out. “Enter.”
Hearing that single word made Pei Jingyi’s throat go dry. He didn’t consider himself an inexperienced boy; in his years in the military camps, what kind of crude talk hadn’t he heard? What kind of scenes hadn’t he witnessed? Yet, as he pushed the door open, his hands felt stiff, and his movements were faster than usual, betraying a touch of raw nerves.
