Chapter 1: What’s Wrong with Being a Treacherous Official? Part 1

“Gu Yu! I’ll curse your ancestors for eighteen generations, you spineless leech!”

“You climbed your way up on a woman’s skirts! If you’ve got the guts, come and kill me yourself!”

Deep within the capital’s Zhao Prison, the air was damp and oppressive. A single oil lamp flickered against the wall, casting a dim, sickly light on a blood-soaked figure suspended from a rack.

Black iron chains pierced through the man’s collarbones. As he struggled, the metal scraped against bone, producing a stomach-churning screech.

Two minor jailers stood nearby, their expressions souring as the prisoner’s insults grew cruder. One of them finally lost his patience and barked, “Shut your filthy mouth! Is the Lord Chancellor’s name something a piece of trash like you is fit to speak?”

The man didn’t seem to care. He spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm directly onto the jailer’s face. “When I was slaying enemies in Eastern Liao, Gu Yu was still in swaddling clothes, sucking his mother’s milk!”

The jailer’s face turned purple with rage. Before he could retaliate, the sound of rhythmic footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The heavy prison doors creaked open. A beautiful young girl in a light, flowing gown descended the stairs, holding a delicate glass lantern. A line of attendants followed her in single file.

The floor of the cell was blackened by layers of old, dried blood. Without a word, two attendants stepped forward, unfurling a thick, snow-white camel-hair carpet over the filth.

Others followed, bringing an incense burner wafting emerald smoke, a brazier filled with glowing coals, a side table laden with fruit, and finally, a grand armchair draped in tiger skin. They arranged everything precisely in the center of the gruesome cell.

Once the furniture was set, the attendants moved with the synchronized grace of puppets. They knelt on the stone stairs, pressing their bodies together to form a living staircase of human backs, bridging the gap from the corridor to the cell floor.

The person at the front of the line raised his hands in a cupping gesture, and a pair of boots embroidered with golden crane motifs stepped onto his palms.

“Be careful, My Lord. There is blood everywhere. We wouldn’t want it to stain your boots,” the girl with the lantern murmured.

Witnessing this display, the prisoner bared his teeth in a mocking laugh. “What a grand show this dog of an official puts on! Why bother pretending in front of me? If you’re a man, let me go and face me with a real blade!”

The newcomer was young, his frame lean and seemingly fragile. Beneath a snow-white cloak, the hint of a vermillion robe embroidered with pythons was visible. He held a gilded hand-warmer between his palms.

His hands were exceptionally pale, possessing the translucent quality of polished jade. His fingers were slender and elegant, the joints tinged with a faint peach-pink—like delicate butterflies turned to stone.

Gu Huaiyu took his seat in the tiger-skin armchair. Immediately, an attendant crawled to his feet, kneeling submissively to serve as a human footstool for the man who held the empire in his grasp.

The girl did not offer tea immediately. Instead, she knelt at the edge of the carpet, meticulously brushing non-existent dust from the hem of Gu Huaiyu’s robes.

As the prisoner finally got a clear look at Gu Huaiyu’s face, his expression twisted. He resumed his tirade. “You’re a rot-filled corpse wrapped in gold! You even embezzled the disaster relief funds! You’ll die a miserable death!”

Gu Huaiyu acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. He rested his foot casually on the back of his human footstool and studied the man. “Commander Zhou. I’ve heard much about you. Seeing you in person is quite a different matter.”

Clang!

The chains in Zhou’s collarbones pulled taut as he lunged forward, his face contorted with a feral desire to tear Gu Huaiyu apart with his teeth. “I have bled for the Great Chen Dynasty! I have achieved great things on the battlefield! And you? You’re nothing but a pretty-faced boy who sold his sister for glory! You only eat and drink well because of that fox-spirit sister of yours!”

Gu Huaiyu could tolerate insults directed at himself, but not a single word against his sister.

He raised a sleeve to cover his nose and gave a quiet command. “Yun Niang. Discipline him.”

The girl, Yun Niang, drew a heavy iron ruler from her sleeve. She offered Commander Zhou a bright, sweet smile before swinging the metal bar in a brutal, diagonal strike.

Crack!

Zhou’s left cheek split open instantly. The barbs on the ruler tore deep grooves into his flesh, sending spray of blood and tissue flying across the cell.

Before he could even scream, the ruler fell again. Two incisors flew from his mouth. One of the barbs caught his tongue, tearing a thin line of gore as it pulled back.

Zhou’s face was a mask of red. He could only make a wet, gurgling sound in the back of his throat.

The final strike smashed across the bridge of his nose. The bone collapsed instantly. Blood erupted from every facial orifice, mixing with shattered teeth to bloom like a crimson flower across his chest.

Yun Niang held the dripping iron ruler and gave Gu Huaiyu a graceful bow. “My Lord, the task is complete.”

Gu Huaiyu had come for business. He sat up slightly, resting his hand-warmer on the tensed back of the attendant serving as his footstool. “Commander Zhou, why did you attempt to assassinate me?”

The incident had occurred three days ago.

That night, Gu Huaiyu was returning to his manor. The darkness was heavy, and the streets of the capital were silent. As his carriage passed through a narrow alley, several masked assassins leaped from the shadows. Their leader was none other than Commander Zhou.

A veteran of the Northern Frontier Army, Zhou was a formidable warrior. His goal had been clear: a single strike to kill the man inside the carriage.

Unfortunately for him, Gu Huaiyu had countless enemies. Every time he left his home, the Twelve Iron Eagle Guards cleared the way, and his carriage curtains were woven from gold thread reinforced with black iron.

The assassination lasted only moments. Zhou was subdued and bound before the carriage.

While the assassins failed to kill him, the violent jolting of the carriage caused Gu Huaiyu to strike his temple against a metal bolt. The resulting wound had soaked half his sleeve in blood.

Already physically frail, the injury had left Gu Huaiyu unconscious for three days. Today was the first day he could leave his bed, and he had come personally to interrogate this “hero.”

Commander Zhou, now in his forties, was a man of legendary reputation. Years ago, as a mere soldier, he was captured by the enemy. He had endured seven days and nights of torture without uttering a single word.

The enemy general, impressed by his defiance and resilience, had tried to recruit him, even offering his own daughter’s hand in marriage. But Zhou’s loyalty to his country was unshakable. He feigned submission for years in Eastern Liao before finally seizing the chance to escape back to the Great Chen.