The medicine stored in the bedside Secret Cabinet was in limited supply—one pill used meant one less. A few days earlier, to save Gu Lianzhao’s life, one had been consumed, leaving just four remaining.
Should he take it?
Liu Yuanxun felt somewhat dazed.
This medicine had been given to him by the divine doctor who had treated his illness, right before the doctor died.
At the time, he had asked, “If you have a life-saving divine medicine, why not use it to save your own life?”
The divine doctor had replied, “People don’t always die when their lifespan runs out. They die when life loses all meaning.”
Liu Yuanxun hadn’t understood then, but now he vaguely did.
As he listened to the sounds of laughter and play coming from outside the window, Liu Yuanxun murmured to himself: Better to keep clinging to life for now. At the very least, he needed to determine whether there was anything suspicious about Liu San’s death. He also had to make arrangements for the Ling siblings. And moreover… he still had his Consort Mother.
He pulled out the red stopper, shook out a single pill, placed it in his mouth, and slowly chewed it up before swallowing.
…
By the time Gu Lianzhao returned, Liu Yuanxun was already able to sit up and feed himself. This illness had left his already frail body even more emaciated, and even wrapped in thick robes, he seemed as thin as a sheet of paper.
Liu Yuanxun turned his head aside and coughed twice. Then he lifted a hand to point at the spot beside him. “Sit.”
The room felt overly warm to Gu Lianzhao. He shrugged off his outer robe but still found it stifling. All the same, aware that he was a ger, he restrained himself and endured.
He was just about to share his findings when Liu Yuanxun slid a plate of pastries his way. “Eat something first. Have some tea to line your stomach. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Liu Yuanxun wasn’t in any rush, so Gu Lianzhao felt no urgency either. Starving as he was, he polished off the delicate plum blossom pastries in no time flat.
Not to mention anything else, but the cuisine at the prince’s mansion alone made Gu Lianzhao feel he’d gotten his money’s worth in this marriage.
He shared no bonds with the Gu Family. Being acknowledged as one of them had come entirely through his own machinations. Lord Gu, forced to claim such a son, had naturally harbored resentment and tormented him mercilessly. Had Gu Lianzhao not leveraged the Gu Family’s influence to secure a post with the Embroidered Uniform Guard as Commanding Officer, he likely would have been locked away in the back courtyards and slowly worn down to nothing.
Since joining the Guard, he hadn’t set foot in the Gu Family again. He ate and slept in the Imperial Prison. There had even been occasions when he’d tortured a prisoner between bites of his meals—the food there could hardly be called good, let alone compared to the prince’s mansion.
With the pastries and tea warming his belly, a hint of satisfaction crept onto Gu Lianzhao’s otherwise cold and impassive face.
They were feeding him, after all. Naturally, he owed them a return on their hospitality. After a brief pause, Gu Lianzhao grew serious. “Your Highness, Liu San’s death was no accident. It was murder.”
Liu Yuanxun had half-expected as much, but hearing his suspicions confirmed still sent his heart sinking for a moment. “Explain.”
“The scene had been tampered with. At a glance, it does look like a case of robbery gone murderous. But the surroundings don’t add up.” Gu Lianzhao dipped a finger into the tea in his cup and sketched on the tabletop. “The area is all dense forest—a prime spot for bandits to lie in wait for travelers. But Liu San was a veteran of the roads. He knew better than to flaunt his wealth. Other than that horse, he carried nothing worth a second glance. And that’s where the problem lies.”
“That’s a fine mount—far beyond what ordinary bandits could dream of owning. It means that if they’d simply crossed paths with Liu San out riding, they never would have caught him. He could only have been vulnerable if he’d dismounted right there to rest, giving them an opening to strike.”
His explanation was concise yet thorough, painting a vivid picture. Even without having visited Tonglu County himself, Liu Yuanxun could reconstruct the scene from those few sentences.
He nodded, approval clear in his eyes as he listened with rapt attention. “Go on.”
Under that intent gaze, Gu Lianzhao shifted uncomfortably. He turned his head aside, cleared his throat, and continued. “But I asked around. Liu San had stopped to eat and rest at a post station over ten li from the site.”
Once a man on an errand had filled his belly, he would press on with haste. He wouldn’t dawdle along some side path like a sightseer or laze about after leaving the station. For bandits to halt a charging warhorse on a forest trail, they’d have needed a proper ambush in place.
“Either a skilled archer picked him off while he rode, or they strung a trip rope across the path, snapping a hoof and throwing the rider. However…” He usually held eye contact when discussing serious business, but Liu Yuanxun’s gaze was strangely disconcerting. Those bright, shining eyes left him tongue-tied, his words stumbling.
Gu Lianzhao coughed dryly and dropped his eyes to his fingers. He began to doodle idly on the table, his hands moving without relation to what he said.
“However, first, Liu San had no arrow wounds. Second, a horse’s hooves are delicate. At full gallop into a trip rope, the hoof would shatter outright, turning the beast into so much useless meat. No bandit would kill for a broken-down nag.”
Ling Qing grew anxious. “Then how exactly did Liu San die?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Liu Yuanxun let out a quiet sigh. “The precise method of his death is irrelevant. All I need to know is whether it was an accident or murder.”
There were a thousand ways a man could die. Pinpointing the exact cause wouldn’t advance the larger truth. The details Gu Lianzhao had provided were enough to confirm one thing: an expert had done this.
He just didn’t know if that expert worked for the same people who had sent the Zither Score.
If so, then someone was deliberately toying with him—dangling a puzzle while cutting off his path to solving it.
If not… then things grew far more tangled. One faction trying to pass him the Zither Score and its secrets. Another stepping in to block him from the answers. What sort of mystery, then, did that score conceal?
“Master…” Ling Ting had stayed silent until now, but he spoke up then. He licked his lips and said in a low voice, “This affair had nothing to do with you to begin with. Why not focus on recovering first, and deal with it later…”
Liu Yuanxun knew Ling Ting meant well. He even agreed with the sentiment on principle. But everything had changed with Liu San’s death.
“If this was aimed at me, I’d have no interest in such trifles. A Zither Score is just a Zither Score—no matter how amusing, once it starts draining my energy, I’d sooner burn it. But Liu San is dead.”
Liu Yuanxun spoke calmly. “He carried out my orders and died in the course of my business. His aged mother was reduced to ashes in a single blaze. If I cannot bring him back to life, then I owe him justice at the least.”
With any other justification, Ling Ting might have pressed the point. But this one left him speechless.
There were four people in the room altogether.
Aside from Liu Yuanxun, the other three were all born servants.
Ling Ting and Ling Qing had been fortunate enough to encounter Liu Yuanxun, earning themselves a second chance at life. They could never bring themselves to dismiss Liu San with words like “he’s just a servant.”
Had Liu Yuanxun not treated his servants as people, they would never have reached this day.
Liu San was already gone. If not even justice could be won for him, then the two lives of the Liu family would rank lower than a stray dog’s.
The room fell quiet for a moment. Liu Yuanxun, squarely in the center of three pairs of eyes, touched the tip of his nose and asked in some puzzlement, “Why are you all staring at me?”
The three reacted differently.
Ling Ting promptly ducked his head and looked away. Ling Qing scooted closer to Liu Yuanxun with a smile, heaping praise on him as she went. Gu Lianzhao, who had been staring fixedly at the table, finally raised his head. His gaze was dark and inscrutable. After a long pause, he lowered his eyes again.
…
Only when night fell did Liu Yuanxun find the time for a proper talk with Gu Lianzhao.
“I’ve been laid up these past few days and haven’t received any visitors. Ling Ting mentioned that Eunuch Hong came by twice, asking after your whereabouts. As I instructed, Ling Ting told him you were away on my business. Eunuch Hong didn’t press the issue.”
Liu Yuanxun’s voice lacked strength. If they sat too far apart, even speaking grew taxing for him. So instead, the two settled together on the edge of the bed.
Gu Lianzhao nodded, gesturing for him to go on.
In the warm glow of the candlelight, Liu Yuanxun’s eyes shone with sincere gentleness. “Gu Jiu, it’s nearly been a month since we met. Be honest with me: do you truly not mind about the Virginity Mark?”
What was there to mind? He wished the damn thing would vanish. If it were truly such a boon, why not mark men with it too?
Every time he saw that Virginity Mark, he felt like some shrink-wrapped commodity awaiting unpacking. If only he could remove it himself—he would have done so long ago.
But such were his private thoughts. He couldn’t voice them aloud. His own loathing was one thing, but since the world placed value on it, he might as well make use of it while it lasted.
Gu Lianzhao bowed his head slightly, baring the elegant line of his neck. Even pitched a touch lower, his voice carried a hint of docility. “No ger could fail to care about their Virginity Mark. But all things must be weighed by priority. Compared to my position, it matters far less.”
The details of their recent time together had begun to overlay the horrifying memory of Gu Lianzhao killing in the street. Liu Yuanxun’s gaze brimmed with pity. He had no inkling that his own kindness was being exploited. “Have you ever thought about marriage?”
At the sound of that voice so near his ear, Gu Lianzhao nearly sighed aloud.
The Seventh Prince was altogether too easy to read. For all his intelligence and insight, his innate gentleness prompted him to lower his guard around those he saw as vulnerable, meeting them with unguarded sincerity.
At first, the Seventh Prince had regarded him like some apparition, desperate for them to live out their days without ever crossing paths. But once he’d learned of Gu Lianzhao’s age and background, that fear and wariness began to fade.
Then he’d witnessed the beatings, seen him shivering in the cold outside, learned of Eunuch Hong’s threats… Whatever defenses had lingered vanished entirely.
The same seat. The same distance…
The first time he’d sat beside the Seventh Prince, the man had gone rigid with naked terror in his eyes. Now, though, those eyes brimmed with pity, as though gazing upon a helpless kitten bereft of any means to protect itself.
Gu Lianzhao lowered his gaze to his own immaculate fingers and drifted into a momentary daze. Did the Seventh Prince realize these hands had just snapped Meng Yuanfeng’s neck clean through? He was no fragile, helpless ger. Everyone who had ever wronged him would pay dearly, given the slightest chance.
His prolonged silence led Liu Yuanxun to misunderstand.
If he cared so much about the Virginity Mark, then naturally he’d thought about marriage.
“It’s my fault. I’ve dragged you into this.” Liu Yuanxun’s voice was soft. “But rest assured—everything I owe you, I’ll make good on.”
That gaze brimmed with too much gentleness, those eyes too yielding and kind. In an instant, Gu Lianzhao was thrown back to that moment in the Taichang Temple, when the Seventh Prince had applied medicine to him.
But he gathered himself quickly.
Everything he’d said in front of Eunuch Hong had been lies—save for one truth. The Seventh Prince might be kindhearted, but he extended that kindness equally to cats, dogs, and people alike.
Even so, anyone graced by even a fleeting moment of his warmth could not help but feel it keenly.
“You owe me nothing,” Gu Lianzhao said, lifting his eyes to meet Liu Yuanxun’s. His own gaze was steady and serene. “I did it all of my own free will.”
This ploy of retreating in order to advance had worked wonders. Liu Yuanxun gazed into those serene, tranquil eyes, a fierce pang of pity surging in his heart. Even the scene of him chopping off the horse’s head right there in the street now had its justification: Zhu Hongli had been a major corrupt official from the start. He had spurred his mount into a wild gallop down the crowded avenue in his bid to escape, injuring who knew how many innocent bystanders along the way. Swiftly cutting him down had been entirely justified.
“Are you sure about this?” Liu Yuanxun asked, confirming one final time. “Once the Virginity Mark disappears, there’s no way to restore it.”
“Yes. Please apply the medicine for me.” Gu Lianzhao lowered his gaze and drew back his sleeve, revealing a forearm with sleek, flowing lines of muscle. A single spot of deep crimson rested quietly there, and beneath the dim, flickering candlelight, it inexplicably stirred a hint of ambiguity.
