Chapter 10: Assassination

Jiang Sheng loved sweets above all things.

The small kitchen’s servants stood anxiously by the door, watching the Prince bring the man in—the two of them actually crowding around the stove, nibbling Milk Cake.

The Prince showed none of his usual aloof grandeur.

Jiang Sheng, mouth stuffed full, mumbled, “Still warm. Smells so good. Sweet sweet.”

Lu Yan let himself be fed a piece—sweet enough to cloy—but nodded and played along. “Delicious.”

Jiang Sheng asked sweetly, “Is your wife good to you?”

Lu Yan thought it over. The cakes were made by the cook; the trip to the kitchen was because Lu Yan carried him here. In what way had Jiang Sheng contributed?

But saying that out loud would mean another world-class tantrum, so Lu Yan answered honestly, “My wife is very good.”

Like some bachelor who’d finally won himself a wife—meek and dutiful, not daring an extra word, deferring to his wife in everything.

Jiang Sheng was delighted.

His husband was so easy to please.

One piece for himself, one piece for Husband, one for himself, another for himself…

Over half a plate of cakes ended up in Jiang Sheng’s stomach, and if Lu Yan hadn’t intervened he’d have finished the lot.

Kitty, satisfied, departed. Pat pat, little belly.

Lu Yan laughed and rubbed it for him. Carrying him back to their rooms, he lifted the hem of Jiang Sheng’s robe just slightly—Shengsheng’s little belly was so soft, stuffed full of sweet cakes. He badly wanted to bury his face in it and breathe deep—wonder if it smelled sweet too.

Say it, do it.

The man buried his face there and inhaled deeply against Jiang Sheng’s belly.

Ahh. Delicious.

Jiang Sheng was a bit flustered by the maneuver, but as an obedient wife, he simply cradled Lu Yan’s head and hummed him a song.

What a tender, honeyed scene.

Seconds later, Lu Yan couldn’t take it and lifted his head. “Stop singing…”

A demon’s melody, circling his ears.

Jiang Sheng pressed his head right back down and kept singing.

“Ahh~~ sleep now~~”

“…”

Somehow he survived until evening. Lu Yan walked out of the room looking dazed, his steps actually unsteady; Cheng Jing hurried to steady him. “Your Highness? Are you all right?”

Lu Yan took a moment, then looked up, pressing a finger to his ear. “What did you say?”

Cheng Jing choked. Before he could speak, the door burst open again and Jiang Sheng came charging out. “Out to play, out to play!”

Like a little cannonball he shot out and hit Lu Yan’s arms with unerring accuracy, gathered up tight in the man’s embrace.

Lu Yan helplessly pinched his cheek, then frowned at his outfit. “Too little. Add a cloak.”

A servant hurried to fetch one.

A scarlet cloak, collar trimmed with a ring of fur, impossibly soft. Lu Yan shook it out and draped it over Jiang Sheng, nodding in satisfaction. “Pretty.”

Jiang Sheng was fair-skinned; red suited him beautifully. Lu Yan suppressed the urge to kiss him, tightening the cloak’s ties instead. “Let’s go.”

The carriage was already waiting at the manor gates.

The lantern festival drew huge crowds, and Lu Yan had warned Jiang Sheng repeatedly not to wander, to stay close.

Jiang Sheng went “mm-hmm, mm-hmm” while his heart had already flown out the window, curtain lifted, head craned to see everything.

Lu Yan sighed inwardly—pity there were no modern child-leash harnesses here; no way to keep his wife tethered at all times.

For the Lantern Festival, the main street would be closed to traffic, pedestrians only. Lu Yan had meant to hand Jiang Sheng down, but the man couldn’t wait, hopping straight off the carriage himself.

Lu Yan frowned. “Aren’t you afraid of falling?”

Jiang Sheng couldn’t hear a word now, eyes round as saucers at the whole glowing street—blazing lanterns, roaring crowds.

He’d visited plenty of those faux-ancient tourist streets before, but they were fake—identical snack stalls, cookie-cutter.

This was different. Like stepping into a full-scale live-action mystery scenario, real beyond real.

Only now did Jiang Sheng truly feel the reality of his transmigration.

“Wow, Husband, let’s look over here!”

“Husband, look! Pouches for sale—these must all be hand-stitched!”

“Husband, Husband, is this bead bracelet pretty?”

“Husband, they don’t sell fridge magnets here.”

Cheng Jing and Cheng Yu trailed behind, declaring righteously, “The Jiang Family really did treat the Master abominably.”

Why did the Master act like he’d never seen a town in his life?

Jiang Sheng wanted to buy everything he saw; before long, everyone following him had arms full.

Cheng Jing grumbled inwardly that none of it was worth buying—shoddy work, cheap goods; any single item from the manor’s storeroom could buy out this whole street.

Then again.

Whatever their Master wanted, who was to say no?

Half a street of eating and drinking later, Jiang Sheng stopped at a stall selling masks—grotesque in shape, the designs rather ferocious.

The stall owner explained these were ancient fierce beasts; wearing such a mask warded off evil.

Jiang Sheng picked one up at random and held it to his face, turning to Lu Yan. “Husband, do I look good?”

Lu Yan regarded the ferocious monster before him, jaws gaping wide, and fell silent.

Jiang Sheng said, displeased, “You said you’d love me no matter what I looked like.”

Lu Yan pressed a hand to his temple. “You look great.”

“Okay!” Jiang Sheng beamed and strapped the mask on. “Then I’m wearing this all night.”

Lu Yan wanted to speak and stopped—it would make kissing his wife inconvenient—but Jiang Sheng was having such a wild, happy night that Lu Yan couldn’t refuse him a single wish.

“Wear it then, little monster.”

Taking Jiang Sheng’s hand, Lu Yan walked on, a smile threading his voice. “Don’t worry. Even in a crowd of monsters, I’d pick out my wife at a glance.”

At the bridgehead they ran straight into the dragon parade—everyone hoisting lanterns aloft, flames flickering, phoenix flutes sounding, jade cups turning, fish-and-dragon dances dancing all night.

Jiang Sheng, delighted, was about to ask Lu Yan to lift him up to touch the dragon’s head—when someone suddenly shouted “Fire!” and the crowd around them erupted.

The next instant, a tremendous BOOM.

Jiang Sheng’s eyes flew wide.

He saw flames jet from the parade dragon’s eyes.

Lu Yan reacted faster. His gaze swept the area in a flash, locking onto figures closing in on him from the shadows.

Face darkening, he turned and ordered Cheng Jing, “Stay with the Master.”

Years of routine assassination attempts had half-inured Lu Yan; he handled it with composure. But Jiang Sheng wasn’t used to any of it—watching the blade-wielding men close in, he panicked and tried to call Lu Yan’s name, but the chaos swallowed his voice.

Cheng Jing threw propriety aside and grabbed Jiang Sheng’s arm. “Master, we have to get out of here!”

He ran with Jiang Sheng at speed, but the bridge was jammed, bodies pressed body to body.

Several times Cheng Jing glanced back and saw the Master obediently following, mask still on, and quietly relaxed.

Only after forcing through the bridge did Cheng Jing ease up, turning to say, “Master, let’s get to the carriage—more guards over there. Don’t worry about His Highness.”

The words fell—and the person before him simply stood there, motionless.

Something was wrong.

Cheng Jing’s alarm spiked. The figure still wore the same mask, but the build seemed off…

He whipped out his sword and slashed; the figure dodged swiftly. In the chaos, Cheng Jing’s panic mounted—he’d actually lost the Master. Holding nothing back now, he drove a single thrust through the figure’s chest, then yanked off the mask: a stranger’s face, a tattoo blooming on the chin.

Cheng Jing’s face went grim, and he cursed under his breath.

Where was the Master?!

…

“Let go of me!”

Jiang Sheng had been struggling the whole way.

But the man gripped him brutally tight; Jiang Sheng felt his arm about to wrench from its socket. Furious past bearing, he lunged and bit down hard on the man’s wrist.

The man actually stilled, eyes glaring at him from beneath the mask.

Jiang Sheng bared his teeth right back. “I suggest you let me go home.”

The man was livid. “Little brat’s got sharp teeth. Learned to bite, have you?”

Jiang Sheng eyed him warily, saying nothing.

The tone was familiar—not like someone come to kill him. More like someone who’d known the original owner.

He quietly backed up a step, pressing his lips together.

“There’s no way to take you out today.”

The man glanced left and right, cursing, “Damn Lu Yan. He hits too hard.”

The men he’d brought were nearly all dead.

He clapped Jiang Sheng’s shoulder. “The manor’s guarded too tightly—your gege can’t get word to you. And lately their people have been watching me too. I know you’ve suffered all these years. Don’t worry—your gege will arrange it soon, and I WILL get you out. Endure it in the manor for now. The North-Guarding Prince… whatever he wants to do to you, just agree for now. Your gege will avenge you later, I swear.”

Jiang Sheng: “?”

The whistle of arrows grew nearer. Out of time, the man stuffed a pouch into Jiang Sheng’s hands and fled swiftly.

Jiang Sheng’s head was spinning. Before he could even react, he turned—and a dark figure came flying at him, crushing him into a fierce embrace.

—His ghost-of-a husband.

Lu Yan had survived countless assassination attempts, circled the gates of hell more times than he could count, yet never once had he been this terrified. When Cheng Jing had dropped to his knees before him, reporting that Jiang Sheng was lost, Lu Yan’s mind had gone blank; he’d actually felt dizzy.

But now Lu Yan released him just as quickly, turning him over and over, checking him. “Are you hurt? Any injuries?”

Jiang Sheng shook his head obediently. “Not hurt.”

He glanced at the pouch and handed it over sweetly. “I even got a bag of gold. For Husband.”

Face smudged with grime—the very picture of a delinquent coming home from causing trouble, yet still remembering to bring his husband a gift.

Lu Yan: “…”

No time to question Jiang Sheng—home first. He bent, scooped the man up, and strode back.

Two steps in, Lu Yan suddenly paused, voice a little hoarse. “Baby, close your eyes.”

Corpses everywhere. He didn’t want Jiang Sheng to see.

Jiang Sheng obeyed sweetly, burying his face in the hollow of Lu Yan’s neck, shallow breaths puffing against it, ticklish.

Lu Yan held him tighter, as if one careless loosening of his grip and Jiang Sheng would vanish.

Expressionless, he carried his wife across the field of the dead and back to the carriage.

Afraid Jiang Sheng would be frightened, he kept patting his back gently. Only once the carriage was rolling did Jiang Sheng poke his head out of the man’s arms, studying his husband earnestly. “Are you okay?”

Lu Yan said quietly, “I’m fine.”

Jiang Sheng pouted, then suddenly tightened his arms around Lu Yan’s neck, whimpering.

Lu Yan assumed he’d been frightened and moved to coax him—then heard Jiang Sheng say, small-voiced:

“They all bully you.”

So quiet that Lu Yan nearly thought he’d misheard. “What?”

Eyes red, Jiang Sheng complained, “Why do they keep trying to assassinate you? Is it always like this?”

Lu Yan almost laughed at the question, but what he felt most was a sourness spreading through his chest. In this whole world, only Jiang Sheng ached for him.

“Don’t worry. Your husband doesn’t let anyone bully him for free.”

Lu Yan lifted Jiang Sheng’s hand and kissed it.

Those people would only die far more miserably.

Back at the manor, Lu Yan stripped Jiang Sheng bare and checked him over front and back, only relaxing once he confirmed not a single wound.

Jiang Sheng babbled through the whole story of being carried off.

Fingering the gold in the pouch, he said offhandedly, “He said he’s my gege. Is that real?”

In his memories, Jiang Sheng did have an older brother—same father, same mother—except the boy had enraged Old Master Jiang when Jiang Sheng was very small and been cast out of the household; they hadn’t seen each other in over a decade.

Lu Yan sat to the side, slowly stroking Jiang Sheng’s hair, eyes darkening.

These past two days, Cheng Yu had already been investigating the Jiang Family’s eldest son—but the man had left the Capital too early; the trail was hard to follow.

And today he’d shown himself.

But why assassinate him? Bought by Commandery Prince Ying’s Manor?

Jiang Sheng counted his gold and added, offhand, “Oh, and he said he’d take me away.”

Lu Yan’s face went cold.

The reason no longer mattered.

This so-called older brother of Jiang Sheng’s had to die!