Gu Huaiyu lowered his voice, his tone as tender as if he were coaxing a child. “Does Your Majesty wish to see for himself?”
Yuan Zhuo realized something then. A chill raced up his spine.
If it were a member of the Pure Stream faction, Gu Huaiyu would never be this solemn.
His heart constricted. His eyes trembled, and his voice came out raspy. “…I want to see.”
Gu Huaiyu looked toward the hall doors and commanded, “Bring him in.”
Moments later, four Iron Eagle Guards entered, carrying a body covered by a white cloth. They placed it gently in the center of the hall.
A limp hand slipped out from beneath the shroud.
Yuan Zhuo looked at it instinctively.
The hand was pale and elegant. On the thumb sat a jade ring—one he knew all too well.
Clang!
He stumbled back several steps, his back knocking over a golden candlestick. He whipped his head around to stare at Gu Huaiyu. “Are you… joking?”
Gu Huaiyu’s expression didn’t flicker. He stood and walked toward him. “Prince Xian was an Eastern Liao spy. I have marked his crime as rebellion. Since we are at war with Eastern Liao, it was best to settle this quickly to avoid public panic.”
He reached out, intending to take Yuan Zhuo’s trembling hand—
But the moment he touched him, the young Emperor jerked his hand away and recoiled. “You’ve killed my father’s brothers and sisters… my aunts, my uncles…”
A weak sob escaped his throat. “And now, my last uncle is gone.”
Gu Huaiyu narrowed his eyes. “A member of the imperial family who commits treason deserves death.”
Yuan Zhuo suddenly ripped the golden crown from his head. It hit the floor tiles with a sharp, ringing crack.
“Do you take me for a three-year-old child?”
“Prince Xian lived in peace with the world for twenty years! What could Eastern Liao possibly give him? Tell me, what was he after!”
Gu Huaiyu remained silent for a moment before saying with forced patience, “If Your Majesty does not believe me, you may summon Pei Jingyi to testify.”
This sentence acted like a spark to a powder keg.
“Pei Jingyi?!”
Yuan Zhuo burst into laughter. Strands of hair stuck to his sweat-slicked forehead, and his face was hauntingly dark.
He kicked the golden crown across the floor in a fit of rage. Amidst the clatter of gold on jade, he screamed his frantic questions: “Him again! Zichen Hall, the Chancellery, the Chancellor’s Estate, and now—”
“My very own Hall of Chaste Government!”
The young Emperor’s throat bobbed. His eyes were bloodshot as he bit his lip hard. “You are inseparable from him all day long…”
He choked mid-sentence, suddenly crying out, “Brother… where exactly do you place me?”
Gu Huaiyu frowned. Weren’t we just discussing Prince Xian’s rebellion?
Yuan Zhuo didn’t wait for an answer. He clenched his fists, tears spilling from his tightly shut eyes. “Is power really that wonderful?”
Gu Huaiyu’s frown relaxed. Answering this question was the easiest thing in the world for him. “Power is indeed wonderful,” he said smoothly.
“It makes ten thousand armies bow. It makes the purple and crimson robes of the court bend their backs.”
“It lets those who should die, die; and those who should live, live.”
Yuan Zhuo snapped his eyes open. Though they were red, he stubbornly refused to let more tears fall. “If it were between power and me, which would you choose?”
Gu Huaiyu gave a light chuckle, his brows not even twitching. “Is there even a need to ask?”
Of course, I choose power.
Tears began to roll uncontrollably down Yuan Zhuo’s face again. He wiped them away harshly, his voice raspy and broken. “Eunuch Xu!”
Eunuch Xu wasn’t deaf; he had heard the shouting from the doorway. He scrambled inside, looking down to see the kicked-over crown.
He rushed to pick it up, his voice trembling. “Your Majesty, please calm yourself… Please…”
But Yuan Zhuo only stared at Gu Huaiyu. His gaze was as cold as if he were looking at a total stranger. His chest heaved with the pain of breathing. Two words squeezed through his gritted teeth: “Draft a decree.”
Eunuch Xu hurried to the imperial desk, spreading out a sheet of bright yellow silk and dipping the brush into cinnabar ink.
Yuan Zhuo clenched his fists, trying to stay calm even as his nails dug deep into his palms. One word at a time, he dictated: “By the Mandate of Heaven, Ruler of the Realm.”
“Regarding Chancellor of the Secretariat, Gu—”
The first stroke of the character “Gu” had barely touched the paper before Eunuch Xu’s hand froze. It was as if he had been struck by lightning. His face turned deathly pale.
How could he not know what Yuan Zhuo was doing?
“Your Majesty!”
He collapsed at Yuan Zhuo’s feet, weeping and pleading. “Please reconsider! You mustn’t! The Chancellor… he…”
“Keep writing!” Yuan Zhuo kicked him away without a hint of hesitation. “I told you to keep writing!”
Gu Huaiyu lowered his eyes and couldn’t help but laugh. His shoulders shook slightly. Without any sign of panic, he smoothed his robes and sat back down on the brocade couch.
Eunuch Xu lay on the floor, terrified to look up, and even more terrified to write that decree. This scene was far more horrific than when the Emperor had confessed his love for Gu Huaiyu. That had been a private matter—
But dismissing the Chancellor was a matter of state.
