The first was at an inn, where two Liao warriors approached them under the guise of drunken revelry. Pei Jingyi snapped their necks and stuffed them into the stables. The second was on a forest path; five cavalrymen pursued them, but Pei Jingyi seized a bow and sent five arrows through their throats.
The third was the most dangerous. Trapped in an alleyway, Pei Jingyi fought them all alone, his blade cutting down every enemy in a flurry of silver light.
Finally, they reached the border. Banners snapped in the wind atop the battlements, and the guards were dense. Crossing the gate openly was a fool’s dream. They had to retake the path they came by—the secret trails used by smugglers—slipping across the border under the cover of night to return to Great Chen.
The night in the desert wasn’t pitch black; the bright moon cast a silver sheen over the dunes. Hooves thudded against the fine sand with a muffled rhythm.
Gu Huaiyu was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. He had only slept an hour or two over the last several days. His face was pale as paper, and he leaned entirely into Pei Jingyi’s embrace, unable to stop yawning.
Pei Jingyi held the reins with one hand and steadied Gu Huaiyu’s waist with the other. Seeing him so weary, he whispered, “If the Chancellor is tired, sleep for a while.”
Gu Huaiyu shook his head. He forced himself to pull a map from his robes. “Let me see… how much longer until we reach Bingzhou?”
Pei Jingyi glanced at it, then felt the horse’s neck to gauge its stamina. “We’ll be there before dawn.”
Gu Huaiyu let out a long sigh and tucked the map away. Only when he was back on his own turf could he truly sleep soundly.
Pei Jingyi looked down at Gu Huaiyu’s trembling eyelashes and suddenly asked, “Master Shen and the Top Scholar are so devoted to the Chancellor, heart and soul. Does the Chancellor not find it troublesome?”
“I do not.”
Gu Huaiyu had barely spoken when the arm around his waist tightened. Amused, he continued, “They are both pillars of the state whom I cultivated personally. They will be the foundation of the court. Compared to the vast lands of the empire, why should the trivialities of romance be a burden?”
Pei Jingyi arched an eyebrow. “And His Majesty?”
Gu Huaiyu closed his eyes, thinking for a moment. “The matter of ‘affection’ is not something I can control. I only hope he can let it go in the future.”
Pei Jingyi suddenly leaned close to his ear, his warm breath ghosting over the skin. “My dear Chancellor…” His voice turned coaxing. “What about me?”
Gu Huaiyu’s eyes flew open. He stared at the rolling dunes in the distance, feigning composure. “You? You never act with any sense of propriety. You annoy me to no end.”
“The Chancellor wrongs me.” Pei Jingyi loved this cold, aloof act. He deliberately tightened his grip, pulling Gu Huaiyu deeper into his chest. “I’ve been trained by the Chancellor to be like this, yet you still find me annoying.”
Gu Huaiyu rolled his eyes. “If you didn’t have that mouth of yours, you wouldn’t be half as irritating.”
Pei Jingyi pressed his lips against Gu Huaiyu’s snowy earlobe, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive rasp. “But if I didn’t have this mouth, how could I make the Chancellor feel so good that he grabs my hair and trembles all over?”
Gu Huaiyu’s ears began to burn. In a fit of pique, he raised a hand and delivered a sharp—but not overly hard—slap to Pei Jingyi’s face.
Pei Jingyi laughed as he took the blow. He was about to tease him further when his muscles suddenly locked tight. He jerked the reins back with a sharp tug—
Awooo—!
The shrill, mournful sound of a scout’s whistle pierced the night sky.
Gu Huaiyu spun around. A squad of black-clad riders had crested the dune behind them, the moonlight glinting off their arrowheads. The thunder of their hooves rapidly closed the distance.
Pei Jingyi let go of the reins and snatched his iron bow from the saddle, plucking three arrows from the quiver in one motion. He spun around on the galloping horse, his robes fluttering as he drew the string to his ear.
“Chancellor, take the reins!” Before he even finished speaking, the bowstring hummed.
Silver light streaked through the air. The lead rider was thrown from his horse, while the other two arrows buried themselves in the throats of the pursuers.
Gu Huaiyu grabbed the reins. After these weeks of travel, his horsemanship had become quite adept. He squeezed the horse’s flanks and whispered, “Be careful.”
The rest was an unspoken understanding between them.
Oddly, though the black-clad riders carried bows, they didn’t use them. Instead, they drew curved sabers. Dozens of blades gleamed like crescent moons as the dark tide of riders surged forward.
The hoofbeats were like thunder. Gu Huaiyu heard nothing but the howling wind and the occasional thrum of the bow behind him. But the quiver was limited. He heard Pei Jingyi curse under his breath, “Dammit.”
The arrows were gone.
The pursuers seemed to know no fear. Despite losing more than half their number, they didn’t slow down.
Gu Huaiyu looked back, the rough reins biting into his palms. A faint smile touched his lips as he raised his voice against the wind. “Is General Pei afraid now?”
Pei Jingyi tossed the bow aside and wrapped both arms around Gu Huaiyu’s waist, his chest pressing firm against Gu’s back. His laughter was a warm puff of air against the Chancellor’s ear. “Afraid? To go to the Yellow Springs with the Chancellor as a pair of ghostly lovers—what could be more delightful?”
The tension in Gu Huaiyu’s chest snapped. He reached back and patted Pei’s arm. “I won’t let you die here.”
