“Since we shall settle this on the battlefield—”
Gu Huaiyu paused for a beat and raised his hand, clapping twice.
Immediately, attendants filed into the hall carrying sandalwood desks. They set out brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones with a practiced efficiency that suggested they had been prepared for this moment for quite some time.
The atmosphere grew solemn.
The civil officials adjusted their robes and caps, while the military officers instinctively straightened their backs.
The Eastern Liao delegation exchanged uneasy glances. They were clearly blindsided by this sudden “finalization” of terms.
Gu Huaiyu sat back in his chair, cradling a hand warmer and turning it slowly. The polished copper reflected the sunlight, casting a warm glow over his slender, pale fingertips.
“The Annual Tribute shall remain as established by precedent, not a penny more,” he said, his fingertip lightly tapping the metal casing with a rhythmic clink. “As for the Annual Brides, there was never an agreement to begin with. We respectfully decline your demand for a thirty-percent increase.”
That single, nonchalant sentence allowed the entire court to breathe a collective sigh of relief.
A matter of state significant enough to cause other officials to argue for three days and nights was handled by him as simply and decisively as routine paperwork.
Without needing a prompt, Dong Danyu seized the opportunity to prove himself. He beat Shen Jun to the punch, seating himself at a desk and taking up a brush to begin writing.
In truth, Gu Huaiyu didn’t want to give up a single copper coin. However, to soothe the tempers of the court’s elder statesmen and prevent those old men from pestering him later, he had to ensure everything was handled with “impeccable etiquette.”
“It would be unseemly for your distinguished envoys to return empty-handed after traveling such a long distance,” Gu Huaiyu added.
“Record this: A gift of ten crates of Jiangnan Tea, twenty bolts of Cloud Brocade, thirty pieces of Celadon…”
With every item he announced, the lead envoy’s expression darkened a shade further.
These items sounded prestigious, but they were essentially Great Chen’s “local specialties”—noble in name, but worth very little in actual gold. Yet, they were presented so formally that one couldn’t find a single flaw in the etiquette.
The delegation members looked at one another, their faces turning a shade of green as if they had just swallowed a fly.
They had schemed and fought to secure this lucrative mission. In years past, who among them didn’t return from Great Chen with pockets overflowing? Between the “tokens of appreciation” slipped to them privately by Great Chen officials and the priceless return gifts, a single trip was enough to buy ten of the strongest steeds on the plains or sustain a common herder for a decade.
But now…
Forget about secret bribes; even the official gifts were insultingly meager!
Yelü Chi turned a deaf ear to his subordinates’ resentment. He brushed a finger against his lip, his gaze never wavering from Gu Huaiyu. Compared to these trivial gifts, he was far more concerned with something else.
Gu Huaiyu looked toward the delegation, his courtesy so perfect it was chilling. “The Yuanxi Lantern Festival is approaching. On that night, ten thousand households will be lit as bright as day.”
“If you have the inclination, you are welcome to stay and enjoy the lanterns.”
With the mention of “enjoying the lanterns,” the matter was officially settled.
The ministers in the hall froze, looking at each other in disbelief.
That’s it? It’s really… over?
No ceded territory? No political marriage? Not even an extra cent added to the tribute?
Eastern Liao—the same power that had ground Great Chen into the dirt for two hundred years—had been sent packing with just a few sentences?
The Pure Stream scholars who had once cursed Gu Huaiyu as a “treacherous sycophant” at the Drunk Immortal Pavilion now found themselves unconsciously drifting half a step closer to him.
When Grand Preceptor Dong taught them to swallow their pride, they comforted themselves by writing poetry about “enduring humiliation for the sake of the nation.” They used flowery prose to paint their broken spines as “unyielding integrity.”
Yet the man they had decried as a “villainous minister” was the one who had actually allowed them to stand tall.
Cao Can’s old face flushed a deep red, a mix of shame and indignation. He had been the one who hated Gu Huaiyu most, calling him “Gu the Cat” at every opportunity. But today, if not for this “cat,” he would have suffered such a disgrace that he might have had to hang himself upon returning home.
Meanwhile, the man in question had already risen gracefully. He didn’t show even a hint of pride or arrogance, acting as if turning the tide and intimidating a foreign enemy was nothing more than a mundane errand.
The moment the palace doors swung open, the civil and military officials rose as one to see him off.
The members of the Gu Faction followed naturally, but even the aloof Pure Stream scholars and the independent “lonely ministers” followed silently behind him. The generals stood in a row, bowing their heads and clasping their hands in solemn respect.
Cao Can hesitated, then gritted his teeth and chased after him, finally catching up outside the hall.
“Chancellor Gu!” he called out, his voice hoarse.
Gu Huaiyu didn’t stop or turn his head. “There is no need to dwell on it.”
“You are an official of Great Chen. Protecting you is simply part of my duty.”
Cao Can stood frozen on the steps. Having drifted through the treacherous currents of the imperial court for thirty years, it was only in this moment that he truly tasted the bitterness of shame.
It turned out that when this man said he stood “neither with the civil officials nor the military, but only for Great Chen,” he actually meant it.
The midday sun flickered through the cracks in the carriage curtains, dancing as the horses trotted along.
After the banquet, the Eastern Liao delegation began their journey back to the diplomatic hostel. The atmosphere was far heavier than it had been upon their arrival.
Inside the carriage, the silence lasted for several moments before the Vice-Envoy finally broke it. “Chancellor Gu seems entirely different from the rumors.”
“I thought he was just a power-hungry traitor, but his presence… his resolve…” He lowered his voice. “He looks like he’s at death’s door, and yet… the strangest thing was when I mentioned going to war.”
“The other civil officials of Great Chen were terrified,” Yelü Chi noted, his voice low and calm. He had observed everything with the predatory instinct of a hunter. When the Vice-Envoy had mentioned war, not a single one of those pampered officials had failed to show fear.
“Except for Chancellor Gu.”
The carriage fell silent.
These envoys had dealt with countless Great Chen officials. They were men who spoke grandly at banquets and grew impassioned at poetry gatherings, but the moment they heard the words “Eastern Liao Iron Cavalry,” their knees turned to jelly. No matter how fierce their words, their bones were soft.
Yelü Chi narrowed his eyes, his gray-blue pupils sharpening like a wolf’s.
