Shen Jun scanned Pei Jingyi, scrutinizing this new addition to the “Gu Faction.” For reasons he couldn’t quite name, the more he looked at the man, the more irritating he found him.
Gu Huaiyu’s gaze remained fixed on the gentle, brownish ripples of his tea.
He knew exactly what kind of man Shen Jun was. The Director was a cold blade—one that left its scabbard without shedding a drop of blood, accustomed to hiding its edge and killing without leaving a trace. When Shen Jun respected you, his sense of propriety was flawless; he never overstepped by a hair’s breadth.
So why the sudden change? The elaborate setup, the tea service, the concern laced into every word—it was as if he were a different person entirely.
Gu Huaiyu understood perfectly. This display of reverence was nothing more than a facade, a way to play the sycophant while biding his time. He was certain of one thing: this man was almost certainly planning to repay his kindness with betrayal.
Shen Jun suddenly leaned in, his hand reaching out to pull Gu Huaiyu’s slipping sable cloak tight around his collar. “Is the Lord Chancellor still troubled by the matters in Jiangzhou?”
Gu Huaiyu nodded, deciding to play along.
There was no point in exposing the charade yet. Shen Jun likely held a mountain of “evidence” he had gathered in secret over the years. If Gu Huaiyu pushed him into a corner where they both went down, he would gain nothing.
Shen Jun bowed his head, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “I have a bit of news that might amuse the Chancellor. The Abbot of the Protectorate Temple is a close friend of Cao Can. He begged the Censor-in-Chief to impeach you, claiming you’ve disturbed the sanctity of the Buddhist faith.”
Gu Huaiyu arched an eyebrow. Cao Can was the Censor-in-Chief and a die-hard member of the Pure Stream faction.
“And that Cao Can—” Shen Jun’s smile deepened, dripping with mockery, “—was so terrified of the Chancellor’s might that he didn’t dare touch the case. As soon as that bald donkey stepped out of the Cao estate, I had men bind him. He’s currently in the Zhao Prison, learning how to clear his mind.”
Gu Huaiyu’s eyebrows climbed even higher. Truly strange. Among the list of crimes Shen Jun had compiled against him, one was “bullying others through influence and abusing authority.” Now, Shen Jun was doing the exact same thing in his name.
Shen Jun suddenly dropped to one knee. His hands moved to tighten the loose buckle on Gu Huaiyu’s boot as he whispered, “Heaven values life, and the Chancellor has saved so many. The people of Jiangzhou will remember you.”
An ambiguous chuckle vibrated in Gu Huaiyu’s throat.
He was notorious, his crimes too numerous to record—embezzling disaster relief funds, selling government offices, poisoning members of the Imperial family. Which of these wasn’t enough to earn the hatred of a thousand men? How many people in this world didn’t wish him dead?
Yet Shen Jun looked up, his eyes harboring a complex, dark emotion. “In the end, the world will know that the Chancellor is not a bad man.”
“Heh.”
A dry scoff echoed from behind a gallery pillar.
Pei Jingyi stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the vermilion wood. He was staring at a parrot in a birdcage hanging from the eaves, appearing as if his laughter was directed at the bird.
Gu Huaiyu’s fingers paused for a moment before he lightly patted Shen Jun’s shoulder. “You may leave.”
Shen Jun brushed off his robes with a delicate flick. As he passed Pei Jingyi, his gaze swept over the general, cold and piercing.
Pei Jingyi sneered inwardly. A man kneeling to buckle another man’s shoes? Does Gu Huaiyu not have hands, or are his legs broken?
Could this Shen Jun be a catamite who enjoys this sort of thing?
He suddenly recalled the foul rumors common in the military—that civil officials were rife with “Longyang” tendencies. Especially the refined, fair-skinned types; they were said to be willing to sell their bodies to their superiors in exchange for high rank and wealth.
Pei Jingyi looked at Gu Huaiyu. The collar of the man’s crimson official robes was slightly open, revealing a patch of sickly pale skin on his neck that looked as though it could be snapped with the slightest pressure.
With a frail frame like that… he’s the one on top?
A mocking curl touched his lips, yet an inexplicable surge of irritation grew stronger in his chest.
The parrot in the cage suddenly flapped its wings, screeching, “Long live the Chancellor! Long live the Chancellor!”
Gu Huaiyu looked up. “The beast is more likable than certain people.”
Pei Jingyi played dumb. “Is the Lord Chancellor referring to me?”
Gu Huaiyu opened a memorial on the table, keeping his eyes down as he read. “Even a beast knows to wag its tail and bow before its master. General Pei is truly inferior to a beast…”
Pei Jingyi threw himself into a chair in the hall, his posture sprawling and arrogant. “This lowly official admits his inferiority. I could never compare to the well-behaved beasts under the Chancellor’s gate, who wag their tails the moment a command is given.”
Gu Huaiyu wanted him to acknowledge a master—to be a good dog for the Lord Chancellor. But if he wanted to put a bit in a horse’s mouth, he’d better check if his own frail bones could handle the weight of the saddle.
The brush in Gu Huaiyu’s hand stilled.
Bastard. He really needs to be taught some discipline.
His meager patience was reserved for when Pei Jingyi was obedient, not for when the man tried to climb over his head.
The room became so quiet a falling needle could be heard, save for the occasional crackle of the charcoal brazier that kept the room warm. After a long silence, Gu Huaiyu let out a soft laugh.
The sound was barely audible, but it felt like a cold drizzle seeping into one’s bones, carry a hint of malice.
Pei Jingyi narrowed his eyes at him.
