Pei Jingyi remained crouched, his posture not shifting an inch. He looked up, a mocking tilt to his lips. “Your Majesty, it will take time for a sedan to arrive.”
“The air is biting. The Chancellor’s health is delicate. It is faster and easier if I carry him. We wouldn’t want to delay Your Majesty’s return.”
He spoke with an air of seriousness, but he lingered on the words “delicate” and “I carry him” with deliberate provocation. To the young Emperor’s ears, it sounded like: Kid, don’t meddle in things between adults.
Caught between the two, Gu Huaiyu had no interest in their petty power plays.
He assumed Yuan Zhuo’s “kindness” toward Pei Jingyi was an attempt at recruitment; that “loyal and valiant” bit sounded quite sincere. The little beast was clearly worried about a “loyal general” being mistreated.
As for Pei Jingyi… Gu Huaiyu had just disciplined him recently. Acting like this in front of the Emperor was likely his way of showing loyalty: See? I don’t even care about the Emperor; I only have eyes for the Chancellor.
Regardless, this senseless bickering was wasting his time.
“There is no need to trouble yourself, Your Majesty. It is only a few steps.”
With that, Gu Huaiyu stepped directly into the slush. His gait remained composed and graceful as he walked straight through.
Pei Jingyi stood up and followed immediately. As he passed Yuan Zhuo, he glanced back, a brow arched in a look of pure ridicule.
Seeing that Pei Jingyi hadn’t gotten his way either, Yuan Zhuo felt a momentary surge of satisfaction. But that small pleasure was instantly replaced by worry.
Ignoring Pei Jingyi, he hurried after Gu Huaiyu. “Wait! Slow down! Be careful, it’s slippery!”
It wasn’t until Gu Huaiyu finally boarded his carriage that this awkward chess match came to a clumsy end.
***
Meanwhile, at the Court of State Ceremonies.
Wu Wei had been bedridden for five full days before he could finally manage to stand.
When had the Eastern Liao delegation ever suffered such humiliation?
Their main envoy had been flipped onto his face like a dog in front of the entire court, losing all dignity in a single move. For the past few days, his face had been swollen like a pig’s head, and he could barely swallow a few mouthfuls of porridge.
And what of the Great Chen court?
Forget a formal apology; they hadn’t even sent a symbolic gift of recompense.
That Chancellor Gu hadn’t just refused the extra tribute; he had been aggressive and sharp-tongued in court, even rejecting the marriage proposal outright.
Worse still, not a single official had come to mediate or offer comfort. It was as if the delegation were nothing more than beggars at the door, too dirty even to be kicked.
The mood within the delegation was foul.
“Lord Wu Wei, are we really going back empty-handed?”
One of the warriors showed Wu Wei his empty coin pouch. “The brothers were counting on the rewards from this trip…”
These “prairie wolf cubs” were brimming with suppressed rage. In the past, whenever they entered the capital, the Great Chen officials would pamper them, and their bags would be overflowing with gold and jewels. Now, they hadn’t gained a single scrap, nor had they been shown a single ounce of respect.
“Empty-handed?”
Wu Wei might not have been the brightest, but he wasn’t a total fool. Returning to Eastern Liao with nothing would mean he could never hold his head up on the plains again. “Even if we were to kill someone in the streets, would the Great Chen court dare move a single finger against us?”
He grabbed a waterskin and took a heavy swig of wine. “Pass the word. Tell the boys to go out and have some fun.”
Their status as “Envoys” was their shield—the capital was their playground. Even in times of war, one did not kill the envoy. How could Great Chen, a nation that feared Eastern Liao like a tiger, dare to touch them?
It started small: breaking a few dishes in a tavern, where the shopkeeper would merely bow and scrape, not daring to ask for payment.
Then it escalated to snatching fruit and meat from the market and walking away. Yesterday, three drunken Eastern Liao men had galloped through the streets, their horses trampling nearly a dozen stalls.
The common folk thought of reporting it to the authorities.
But everyone knew the truth: the yamen guards couldn’t do anything to the barbarians, but they could certainly do something to a commoner. If one dared to report the crime, they would likely be beaten with staves or, worse, thrown in jail for “inciting diplomatic conflict.”
And so, as the Eastern Liao men smashed shops and stole goods, the people could only grit their teeth and swallow their anger, treating the losses as a sacrifice to ward off a plague.
Everyone prayed for these “gods of pestilence” to leave the capital so life could return to normal.
But this silent endurance only emboldened the barbarians. Their arrogance grew, and eventually, it sparked a far greater disaster.
