Gu Huaiyu was back to writing, acting as if nothing had happened. Pei Jingyi studied his expression but could find no trace of emotion. He smirked provocatively. “The Chancellor’s laugh is quite pleasant to the ear.”
Gu Huaiyu ignored him, flipping a page and drawing a sharp, aggressive red line across the paper with his brush.
As evening fell, the golden light of the setting sun bathed the eaves.
Gu Huaiyu finished the last memorial, set his brush back on its jade rest, and stretched his weary back. “What time is it?”
An Iron Eagle Guard on sentry duty replied, “A quarter past the hour of the Rooster.”
Pei Jingyi was slumped in a high-backed chair, his boots resting right on the edge of the desk. He looked lazy, eyes closed as if he were napping in his own backyard. In contrast, the Iron Eagle Guards stood like statues, creating a heavy, silent atmosphere.
Seeing it was late, Gu Huaiyu stood up. “Return to the manor.”
With the sharp thud of riding boots hitting the floor, Pei Jingyi stood up with a vigor that suggested he hadn’t been relaxed for a second. “I didn’t dare breathe until the Chancellor gave the word.”
Gu Huaiyu ignored the remark and stepped over the threshold.
Just as he had earlier that day, Pei Jingyi knelt on one knee before the carriage.
Gu Huaiyu stepped onto Pei Jingyi’s knee to reach the carriage platform, but instead of entering, he swept his robes aside and sat directly on the driver’s bench.
“General Pei.”
He suddenly raised his foot, the tip of his boot tilting the other man’s chin upward. “Do you know how to kneel?”
Pei Jingyi met his condescending gaze head-on. “This official is dull-witted. Perhaps the Chancellor could demonstrate personally?”
The corner of Gu Huaiyu’s mouth twitched upward as he pressed his boot down hard, leaving a burning red mark against the general’s cheek.
Pei Jingyi’s jaw clenched tight as he felt the weight of the boot grinding into his face. Around them, the Iron Eagle Guards immediately bowed their heads, seeing nothing.
Gu Huaiyu leaned back against the carriage frame, but his boot remained at Pei Jingyi’s face, tapping against his cheek in a mocking, playful rhythm. “Both knees.”
Pei Jingyi suddenly leaned forward, forcing his chin against the sole of the boot. He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Kneel? This official only kneels at a coffin to offer sacrifices, or between a beauty’s legs to seek pleasure.”
He paused for a beat, a reckless, rogue-like grin spreading across his face. “I wonder which one the Chancellor is?”
Gu Huaiyu’s foot was forced upward by the strength of the general’s jaw; the force was so great his ankle felt a dull ache.
It was the tension of a predator before it pounces, a silent power coiled beneath the skin. Gu Huaiyu could even feel the man’s Adam’s apple moving against the leather of his boot—each swallow twitching with raw muscle, like a hidden beast grinding its teeth.
Instead of withdrawing, Gu Huaiyu applied more pressure. “Is the General threatening me?”
“You really don’t understand me. The reason I’ve lived this long is because I have never been afraid to die.”
Gu Huaiyu wouldn’t give Pei Jingyi the chance to kneel at a funeral. His boot slid down from the chin to the throat, stopping right over Pei Jingyi’s pulsing carotid artery. “Fear is reserved for those with weaknesses.”
This was a proper threat—a reminder that Pei Jingyi’s weakness was firmly in Gu Huaiyu’s grasp.
The moonlight cast deep shadows over the sharp lines of Pei Jingyi’s brow. He stared at Gu Huaiyu like a wolf in the wilderness. “I shall certainly remember the Chancellor’s teachings.”
“I will be sure to repay you properly in the future.”
His voice was low, but every word was crystal clear. The night wind carried the words, sending a chill down the spines of those listening.
Gu Huaiyu flicked the tip of his boot upward. “I look forward to it. But for now, General Pei, kneel properly.”
Pei Jingyi’s knees hit the stone pavement with a heavy thud.
The sound was brief, but it made the Iron Eagle Guards break into a cold sweat.
Gu Huaiyu leaned down, pulling a silk handkerchief from his sleeve. The soft fabric shimmered under the lantern light. He held the cloth to Pei Jingyi’s lips and said calmly, “Open up.”
Pei Jingyi bared his teeth in a grin that tasted of blood, his canines glinting in the light.
Gu Huaiyu stuffed the handkerchief into the man’s mouth, then patted his cheek. The gesture was humiliating, yet strangely intimate.
“You low-born cur—” Gu Huaiyu leaned in, his warm breath brushing against the general’s ear. His voice was as soft as a lover’s whisper. “Do not provoke me again. Otherwise, if I find myself in a foul mood one day, I’ll twist your dog head off. It wouldn’t be a waste to use it as a chamber pot.”
Pei Jingyi’s jaw clamped shut. The silk, infused with the scent of sandalwood, filled his mouth. It was the same scent that clung to Gu Huaiyu’s body.
“If General Pei wants to be one of my people…”
Gu Huaiyu straightened up lazily. “First, you must learn the rules.”
Pei Jingyi’s throat moved involuntarily. He had thought before that the Chancellor smelled better than any young lady; he hadn’t expected even his handkerchiefs to be so fragrant.
Gu Huaiyu lightly tapped the corner of the man’s mouth. “Hold it tight. If you let it drop tonight—”
His eyes crinkled slightly as he said airily, “I’ll have you flayed tomorrow and hang your skin from the city gates to dry in the wind.”
Pei Jingyi bit down on the wet silk. Flayed and hung from the gates? This man turned pale just from having pigeon blood splashed on his face. Could he really handle something so bloody?
Gu Huaiyu pulled back the heavy curtain and entered the carriage. His voice drifted out from the interior: “He stays on his knees tonight. Leave one man to watch him.”
