His voice was barely a whisper. “I beg of you… in the future, could you… stop killing people so indiscriminately?”
Gu Huaiyu’s eyes flickered.
Yuan Zhuo immediately added with urgency, “When I was little, Huaiyu Gege always taught me: ‘The way of the gentleman is rooted in benevolence and righteousness; treat others with sincerity, and conduct oneself with integrity.’ I have kept those words in my heart and never dared to forget them.”
“I only hope that Huaiyu Gege can be like he was back then…”
A trace of mockery surfaced in Gu Huaiyu’s eyes. He slowly withdrew his hand from the Emperor’s grasp. “Your Majesty also once claimed you wanted to marry me as your wife. Should I take that seriously as well?”
That was back when he first entered Prince Rui’s manor. Yuan Zhuo was a five-year-old child who knew nothing of the world. Seeing that Gu was beautiful and kind to him, he had said he wanted to marry him.
A child’s words carry no weight. He was ignorant then, but surely he knew better now?
A man cannot be a wife.
Just like the things he had said in the past—none of it could be taken seriously.
Yuan Zhuo’s face flushed a deep crimson instantly. He felt the blood rush to his head. As he scrambled to stand up, he banged his head against the roof of the carriage, but he ignored the pain, stammering, “Back then, I…”
The imperial carriage came to an abrupt halt.
Pei Jingyi’s cold, grim voice came from outside the curtain. “Your Majesty, Chancellor. We have arrived.”
Damn it, what on earth are they talking about?
If they keep talking, who knows where it’ll lead?
Yuan Zhuo practically fled the carriage, but as he turned, he slammed right into Gu Huaiyu’s arms.
Gu Huaiyu was briefly stunned. The young Emperor suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around that slender waist, pressing his cheek into the other man’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. He whispered, his voice like the hum of a mosquito, “Even now, I still…”
Still what?
Gu Huaiyu looked down, seeing only a pair of bright red ears. He felt Yuan Zhuo’s heart racing and his body temperature rising unnaturally. The boy was even trembling slightly.
Is he that frightened because I brought up his childhood desire to marry me?
I suppose shouting that you want to marry a man as a child is quite a terrifying memory.
He reached out and naturally patted the youth’s back, offering a rare bit of considerate comfort. “A child’s words carry no weight.”
Pei Jingyi watched Yuan Zhuo acting like a spoiled child, his teeth itching with irritation. He said crossly, “Your Majesty, Chancellor, the Eastern Liao delegation is waiting.”
Yuan Zhuo reluctantly let go of Gu Huaiyu. His face was flushed to the roots of his hair. He licked his lips forcefully but said nothing.
***
Inside the Hall of Sublime Virtue.
Yelü Chi’s silver cup stopped at his lips.
The moment the palace doors swung open, the first thing he noticed wasn’t the Emperor, but the expressions of the Great Chen officials. It wasn’t fear, nor was it flattery. It was something he didn’t understand at all.
“The Chancellor arrives—!”
With that herald’s cry, the entire Hall of Sublime Virtue seemed to suddenly wake up.
Old ministers scrambled to their feet, knocking over tea sets in their haste. Young generals instinctively straightened their uniforms. Even Cao Can, who had been humiliated to the point of fainting, struggled to prop himself up. With one hand still clutching his torn robes, he used the other to tremblingly attempt a formal salute.
Yelü Chi narrowed his eyes. This isn’t right.
He had seen plenty of submission—tribes on the grasslands, governors of southern cities surrendering, fleeing princes. When they submitted, their eyes held only one thing: fear.
But these people… they didn’t even look afraid.
As the slender figure walked slowly from the end of the corridor, Yelü Chi’s breath hitched.
He was more beautiful than any woman Yelü had ever seen. Brows like a painting, lips red and teeth white. Exquisite, fragile, yet carrying a kind of chilling aura that brooked no desecration.
A pity he’s so thin, Yelü thought. A frame like that wouldn’t last a second against the weakest warrior in Eastern Liao.
And yet, as this man took each step, the room seemed to sink an inch lower. The crowd became a fraction more reverent.
“I apologize for keeping you all waiting.”
the voice was light, but it made the hair on the back of Yelü Chi’s neck stand up.
It wasn’t a threatening tone. It didn’t carry the familiar scent of bloodlust he knew, yet it made even the boisterous Wu Wei fall silent.
What he understood even less were the eyes of the people.
As Gu Huaiyu passed, some secretly wiped their eyes with their sleeves. When Gu Huaiyu reached out to steady Cao Can, the old Censor-in-Chief burst into tears like a child who had finally found his protector.
Even Pei Jingyi, standing to the side—the only man in Great Chen that Yelü Chi acknowledged as a true powerhouse—had fingers that trembled as they rested on his sword hilt. It wasn’t the tremor of fear, but a kind of excitement Yelü couldn’t fathom.
This wasn’t submission.
At least, it wasn’t the “submission” Yelü Chi knew.
Yelü Chi’s silver cup tilted. Wine spilled over his fingers and dampened his sleeve, but he didn’t notice.
To an outsider, he looked just like the rest of the delegation—dazzled by the Chancellor’s beauty.
On the grasslands, power came only from fear: the Khan’s saber, the noble’s whip, the warrior’s hooves.
But now, he was seeing something that transcended his understanding.
This thing seemed more terrifying than fear.
Because it made people follow him of their own free will.
What is it?
