Chapter 3

When Gu Lianzhao was around, Liu Yuanxun trembled in fear.

The moment Gu Lianzhao left, Liu Yuanxun stopped feeling afraid, and his mind cleared up considerably.

The imperial decree granting their marriage had come out of nowhere. From the moment it was issued until now, Liu Yuanxun hadn’t been clear-headed for long, nor had he had the energy to ponder deeply the Emperor’s intentions.

But he knew one thing: his Imperial Brother had never been a superstitious man. The talk of “bringing good fortune to ward off calamity” was nothing more than a pretext for the marriage. Was forcing a ger to marry him a deliberate jab because the Emperor knew he hated gore? Or had the Emperor pegged Gu Lianzhao’s ruthless nature, hoping to provoke him into taking Liu Yuanxun’s life by his own hand?

Liu Yuanxun couldn’t figure it out, and he was too lazy to try.

He would die sooner or later anyway, but Gu Lianzhao was innocent. The world was unfair enough as it was; a ger whose purity had been ruined ranked even lower than the courtesans in a pleasure house. With the marriage sealed, Gu Lianzhao would never be able to marry anyone else in his lifetime.

Liu Yuanxun was indeed terrified of the fierce aura cloaking Gu Lianzhao, but even in his fear, he understood clearly: Gu Lianzhao was an innocent caught in the crossfire, a tool his Imperial Brother wielded against him.

If this were just an object, he could let it go.

But this was a person. No one’s life should be so easily destroyed.

Liu Yuanxun had already made up his mind. Once he was dead, the man in the palace would probably calm down. Then he could request a verbal decree, perhaps even some commendation—it wouldn’t be for nothing that Gu Lianzhao had suffered through this disaster.

His body had only just broken the fever, so even though he was awake, he was still weak. After saying a few words, drowsiness overtook him again. He closed his eyes and drifted off in a haze, falling asleep once more in no time.

In his muddled consciousness, he vaguely heard Ling Ting’s voice, but he couldn’t make it out clearly. It felt more like a dream.

With Ling Ting there, Liu Yuanxun felt at ease and slept even more deeply.

…

He awoke to another pitch-black night.

Perhaps the medicine forced down his throat had finally taken effect. Liu Yuanxun felt much better, and with his spirits lifted, the sleepiness faded away.

Propping himself up, he sat against the headboard. He noticed that Ling Ting, who had always attended him personally, was nowhere in the room. Instead, Gu Lianzhao sat at the bedside, eyes closed as he leaned against the wall.

Huh? Why was this man here?

Hadn’t Ling Ting arranged a room for him?

The shift in Liu Yuanxun’s breathing alerted Gu Lianzhao right away, but he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it, so he kept his eyes shut. Then came the rustle of movement from the bed, followed by the sensation of a gaze fixed upon him.

As a child, Gu Lianzhao hadn’t realized how beautiful he was, but his natural perceptiveness had let him sense the covetous stares and malice from others even before he understood the world. Later, as he rose through the ranks with ruthless methods, such looks faded away. Aside from superiors, few dared to stare at him openly.

So his first instinct upon noticing Liu Yuanxun’s gaze was to snap his eyes open and glare right back without mercy.

But his scowl was met with a smile utterly devoid of menace.

Those eyes gazing at him shone clearer than moonlight, pure and free of any selfish desire. The darkness hid his pallor and frailty, while his long, straight black hair cascaded like a waterfall, accentuating features as finely painted as a portrait, warm and refined as jade.

Gu Lianzhao froze for a moment, the hostility in his eyes unconsciously dissipating.

Seeing the shift in Gu Lianzhao’s expression, Liu Yuanxun redoubled his efforts to project goodwill. “Why stand or sit there against the wall? There’s a soft couch over there—have a seat. Sit down, and let’s talk.”

Gu Lianzhao didn’t budge. He simply held his imperial Embroidered Spring Knife, lowering his gaze to fix on Liu Yuanxun. His eyes remained cool, but they were far less vicious than when he’d first opened them.

Liu Yuanxun was remarkably good at reassuring himself. Even though Gu Lianzhao hadn’t said a word, Liu Yuanxun took the softening of his gaze as a sign of reconciliation. He plunged ahead with his question. “Didn’t Ling Ting arrange a room for you?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the resentment Gu Lianzhao had bottled up all night surged back up. But Liu Yuanxun clearly knew nothing about it, so there was no reason to take it out on him.

Gu Lianzhao squeezed his eyes shut fiercely, forcing down his emotions. When he opened them again, he had regained his initial calm detachment, reciting in a near-numb tone, “Eunuch Feng mentioned it when he left. He said, ‘The Seventh Prince’s health is frail, and he needs someone to attend him closely. Servants are too clumsy, while a spouse is far more considerate. So I’m relinquishing my duties— you’ll stay by the Prince’s side, sharing his chamber and caring for him day and night.'”

Before the wedding, Gu Lianzhao had clung to a shred of hope that he could still report for duty even after marrying into the prince’s residence. But Eunuch Feng’s words crushed that final illusion.

Even though he’d reined in his anger, Liu Yuanxun could still hear the bitterness and unwillingness in his voice.

Gers didn’t hold high status, and reaching such a position hadn’t been easy for him. To have it stripped away with a single sentence—anyone would be furious.

Gazing at that ethereally beautiful face, Liu Yuanxun let out the softest of sighs and adopted his gentlest tone. “Don’t worry about the position. I’ll speak to my Imperial Brother on your behalf. As for the marriage, just think of it as switching dormitories. I sleep like the dead and don’t move around much. There’s still the soft couch in the bedroom—you can pretend I don’t exist.”

Of course, things weren’t that simple.

The forced marriage was shameless enough, but to shove them together day and night? Because it was a decree from the Emperor, it had become an inescapable shackle.

Since there was no escaping it, Liu Yuanxun stopped resisting in vain. He could accept it, but the ger before him might not.

Gu Lianzhao said nothing, his eyes flickering with shifting emotions as he weighed his thoughts. The current Emperor and the Seventh Prince were on excellent terms. If the Prince spoke up, preserving a Fourth-Rank position wouldn’t be hard.

The question was whether those words were sincere or just empty platitudes. Was he truly willing to plead with the Emperor for a mere male concubine?

If it were any other official, Gu Lianzhao could easily investigate their character through the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s channels. But matters concerning the Seventh Prince were taboo, and the Emperor had explicitly forbidden any probes into him. With his poor health keeping him secluded, even the all-knowing, all-seeing Embroidered Uniform Guard knew little of his exploits.

Whatever he thought inwardly, Gu Lianzhao chose to believe it on the surface. He dropped to his knees and kowtowed, his voice steady. “This official thanks Your Highness.”

Liu Yuanxun took that as agreement and continued with his harmless smile. “Since the matter can’t be undone, why not discuss how to make it more bearable?”

“Come sit…” Out of habit, Liu Yuanxun patted the edge of the bed, but as his hand touched down, he realized this wasn’t someone to trifle with. His wrist jerked awkwardly toward the nearby soft couch. “Sit there. Let’s talk it out properly first.”

Gu Lianzhao saw through his intentions, but nursing his grudge, he pretended not to notice the Prince’s reluctance. With one stride, he reached the bedside and sat down right next to Liu Yuanxun.

The instant Gu Lianzhao sat, the noble Seventh Prince went rigid as a board, stiff as a corpse.

Gu Lianzhao huffed a silent laugh to himself, his mood lifting considerably.

“Y-You… how old are you?” Liu Yuanxun struggled to stay composed.

“Eighteen,” Gu Lianzhao replied offhandedly.

Liu Yuanxun started, his voice steadying. “Actual age?”

“Nominal age,” Gu Lianzhao said again.

That meant just seventeen—five years younger than him.

With age on his side and his status superior, Liu Yuanxun felt his confidence swell. He was less afraid now and found his tongue, praising freely, “Eighteen and already a Pacification Commissioner. Your future’s limitless.”

Gu Lianzhao responded calmly, “Kill enough people, and you rise fast.”

Liu Yuanxun instinctively recalled the bloody scene he’d witnessed on the main road, nearly choking on his breath. He inched subtly away from Gu Lianzhao before looking up again, just in time to miss the mocking glint in Gu Lianzhao’s eyes.

“Do you have someone you love?” he ventured.

“No,” Gu Lianzhao said.

Liu Yuanxun breathed a sigh of relief, choosing his words carefully to soften the blow. “I know you’ve been wronged, but it’s a direct decree from the Emperor. I can’t think of a way around it right now. It’s my debt to you, so I want to ask if there’s anything you want—money, power. Name it, and I’ll do my utmost to make it up to you.”

He hurried to add, “I’m not trying to insult you with these things. I don’t know you well, so rather than foist useless stuff on you, better to ask directly. So…”

“This isn’t an insult.” Gu Lianzhao cut him off, his tone as still as a deep well. “What Your Highness offers is exactly what I desire most.”

Insult?

If he weren’t sitting right under Liu Yuanxun’s nose, Gu Lianzhao might have laughed outright in sarcasm. Though the son of a minister, he’d never known a good day in his life, neither before nor after being acknowledged by his family. For someone like him, scraped from piles of corpses, he’d done anything to survive—even snatched moldy mantou from wild dogs’ jaws. What right did he have to treat money and power as insults?

He was a prince, after all. Only someone raised in luxury like him could view rewards of wealth and authority as humiliation.

Gu Lianzhao wasn’t mocking him inwardly; he suddenly grasped a crucial truth, one that let him finally relax completely: The Seventh Prince had no interest in him. Not just no interest—they were from different worlds, unable even to communicate properly.

With the greatest hurdle cleared, Gu Lianzhao saw it all clearly.

As the Prince said, treat it as changing rooms, gaining a roommate. Beyond that, he stood to lose nothing—perhaps even gain a chance to climb higher.

Reputation? Dignity? He didn’t care a whit. What he hated was being treated like meat on a chopping block, being forced into submission, reaching this height only to still lack control over his own fate.

With that shift in mindset, Gu Lianzhao’s attitude changed. He took the initiative. “What does Your Highness plan to grant me?”

They’d reached this point of open discussion, meaning the knot between them was truly untied. Liu Yuanxun relaxed and spelled it out in detail. “That depends on what you want. Money? Name your price. A transfer? Not hard. But advancing further in the Northern Pacification Division would take some plotting.”

The Embroidered Uniform Guard answered solely to the Emperor, independent of the inner and outer courts. Gu Lianzhao’s rank was already high, and at his young age, he’d surely rise to Deputy Commanding Officer someday, maybe even become a trusted imperial aide. For Liu Yuanxun to meddle there would be tantamount to treason.

He understood that; as an Embroidered Uniform Guard, Gu Lianzhao understood it even better.

But Gu Lianzhao’s sole value and skill in his eighteen years had been killing. A transfer held no appeal. As for money, he cared even less. As the Tianyong Emperor’s sharpest blade, no one dared accept cash from the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Having tasted power, he knew full well that before authority, gold was just a number.

Of the three options, the one he wanted was the hardest for Liu Yuanxun to deliver.

Silence fell for a moment. Getting no reply, Liu Yuanxun turned to look at Gu Lianzhao’s face, meeting the gaze directed right back at him.

As their eyes met, Liu Yuanxun suddenly noticed that Gu Lianzhao had a pair of deep, chilling eyes, their gaze piercingly intense. Even though Liu Yuanxun had nothing to hide, that look still sent a chill through his heart.

Gu Lianzhao stared fixedly into his eyes, not missing a single detail. In a probing tone drawn out deliberately slowly, he asked, “What if I said I wanted the position of Commanding Officer of the Northern Pacification Division?”

It was difficult. Extremely difficult.

Especially for an emperor who had lived through the brutal struggle among the five princes for the throne. For Liu Yuanxun, as a prince, to interfere in the internal promotions of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was tantamount to telling the emperor, “Replace your trusted aides with my people.” One misstep, and it could cost him his head.

No matter how favored he was, he was still just a prince. His life and death hung on the emperor’s whim. Among the seven princes of old, two had died, two had been confined, and one had passed from illness. One more disappearance wouldn’t raise eyebrows.

Yet Liu Yuanxun merely smiled faintly, agreeing with perfect composure. “Very well. Though it will be difficult, so you’ll need to wait a bit.”

That coveted position, the envy of all men, had been granted so easily. Gu Lianzhao’s pupils contracted for an instant before returning to normal. He laughed too, his tone light as he said, “I was only joking, Your Highness. Some silver would do just fine.”

His smile melted the ice and snow, stunningly beautiful.

Liu Yuanxun had seen many beauties, but Gu Lianzhao was the first whose mere smile left him breathless in awe.

He had wanted to praise him from the heart, but considering their respective statuses—and Gu Lianzhao’s overly sensitive nature—he swallowed the genuine compliment and said instead, “If I’ve promised it, that means I can deliver. As long as you’re willing to wait, I can provide it.”

He didn’t elaborate on the reasons. Instead, he glanced at the moonlight, gauging the time, and added, “It’s late. Time to rest.”

The bedroom had a soft couch where one could sleep with just a quilt. Gu Lianzhao nodded slightly and rose to wash up.

Faint sounds of running water drifted from the wash area. Liu Yuanxun listened intently for a moment, then swiftly closed his eyes and pretended to sleep just as the water stopped flowing.

Gu Lianzhao didn’t need to look up. The irregular breathing from the bed told him the other man was awake. He walked silently to the couch, removed his clothes, and draped them over a nearby screen. Wearing only a simple cotton nightshirt, he lay down.

Liu Yuanxun had only just woken and naturally couldn’t sleep.

Gu Lianzhao’s wariness ran deep, leaving him without the slightest hint of drowsiness.

A moment later, Gu Lianzhao suddenly spoke. “Why is Your Highness compensating me?”

In terms of status, one was a lowly official, the other an imperial prince.

In terms of identity, one was a male concubine, the other the head of the household.

Whether a debt was owed or not had always been decided by those in power. Liu Yuanxun could compensate him or take out his anger on him. He could even vent the humiliation of being forced to marry a male concubine by treating Gu Lianzhao like a mere servant to be disposed of at will.

Yet he had done none of that.

Not only had he yielded half the room, but he had also made promises to Gu Lianzhao. From start to finish, he had addressed him by his official title, never treating him as a concubine.

Gu Lianzhao hadn’t intended to ask. But his impoverished early life had never exposed him to someone like this. As night deepened, his thoughts wandered in the darkness, and the question slipped out unbidden.

Once spoken, there was no taking it back. Gu Lianzhao closed his eyes in mild regret, only to hear a soft voice from the bed: “Because you’re innocent.”

“Innocent…” Gu Lianzhao rolled the word around on his tongue, as if sneering coldly—or perhaps just exhaling unconsciously.

Liu Yuanxun said no more.

He disregarded status and class. He only knew that, tracing the matter back to its origins, Gu Lianzhao was nothing more than a pawn the Imperial Brother had dragged into this out of spite toward him.

The quarrels of the imperial family could bring catastrophe upon ordinary folk. Gu Lianzhao had been a promising Pacification Commissioner with a bright future ahead. In the blink of an eye, he had been reduced to a male concubine in the prince’s mansion. The bloody path he had carved out was crushed to dust, and all his hard-won prospects vanished.

If their situations were reversed, Liu Yuanxun suspected he would hate so fiercely that his teeth would shatter. How could Gu Lianzhao not be innocent?