He sat back in his chair, leaning back with his hands on his knees. A crooked smirk played on his lips—a smile that should have been handsome and roguish, but was turned sinister by the old scar on his cheek. “Don’t worry. Sooner or later, I’m going to ruin him.”
“Don’t go!”
Zhou Ruian suddenly coughed violently, his voice frantic.
Pei Jingyi tilted his head, his gaze searching. “Why?”
“He…”
Zhou Ruian’s expression shifted rapidly, the flush of his face fading into a deathly pallor. “Gu Yu… he is full of treacherous schemes. I fear you will suffer at his hands.”
The excuse held no obvious flaws, but Pei Jingyi knew him too well. He smelled something unusual. Zhou Ruian was not a man of hesitation; after suffering such humiliation, he should have wanted Gu Huaiyu dead more than anyone.
Pei Jingyi teased, “I’ve heard the Lord Chancellor is a man of extraordinary beauty. You aren’t… having a change of heart because of that, are you?”
The thought of Gu Huaiyu’s face did not bring any sense of beauty to Zhou Ruian. Instead, he felt a bone-chilling cold, as if he had been dropped into an ice cellar. “You must not… have any involvement with him!”
Pei Jingyi narrowed his eyes slightly, then barked out a laugh. “What are you panicking for? I’m not fond of the Cut Sleeve tradition.”
Zhou Ruian wanted to say more, but Pei Jingyi shook the wine skin, ending the conversation. “This is lamb wine from Heyue Restaurant. You’re in luck.”
***
Inside the Chancellor’s Estate.
Shen Jun stepped into the rear hall. Beneath the veranda, a man was kneeling. He wore the robes of a civil official, his forehead pressed tightly against the ground, his posture one of desperate, prayerful supplication.
It was unclear if he was drenched in sweat from the heat or from terror, but his damp robes clung to his frame.
Shen Jun had seen many such scenes. He cast a glance at the man but didn’t recognize him as any of his colleagues.
Liu Erlang, walking ahead of him, tugged at his sleeve and whispered, “That is Lord Meng, a Director from the Ministry of Personnel.”
Shen Jun had a vague recollection. Lord Meng had started in the military before switching to the civil service. He wasn’t one of Gu Huaiyu’s “lapdogs.” He looked at Liu Erlang inquisitively.
Liu Erlang shook his head as they walked. “He’s been like that since he came out of the Chancellor’s room. He likely has a favor to ask. People who never pray usually go rushing to the Buddha’s feet when trouble strikes. Quite the optimist.”
Shen Jun smiled faintly. As they turned a corner of the corridor, he looked back at Lord Meng once more.
Lord Meng happened to look up at that moment. His face was bloodless, his eyes staring blankly. His mouth hung open slightly, resembling a desperate old dog waiting for death by the roadside.
Shen Jun felt no wave of emotion, yet for some reason, he felt a dull ache.
Gu Huaiyu had recently finished his medicine. Draped in a brocade quilt, he sat on his bed with a memorial spread across his knees. A thin sheet of letter paper rested atop the official document.
Liu Erlang led Shen Jun inside, his voice soft. “My Lord, Lord Shen has arrived.”
Behind the gauze curtains, Gu Huaiyu’s figure was a vague silhouette. The thin, crimson veils brushed the floor. Gu Huaiyu gave a lazy “Mhm,” but did not offer him a seat.
Shen Jun walked to the bedside and knelt in greeting. “This official pays his respects to the Chancellor.”
Gu Huaiyu hummed again, picking up a brush to write a few characters on the letter paper, seemingly uninterested in conversation.
Shen Jun looked up and spoke slowly. “This afternoon, His Majesty summoned me to the palace. He has appointed me as the Chief Examiner for this year’s Imperial Examinations.”
Gu Huaiyu had known about the palace’s movements early on. He remarked, “Though you were the third-ranked tanhua scholar of your year, your seniority is still lacking. His Majesty’s arrangement shows he holds you in high regard.”
Faced with a potentially lethal conversational trap, Shen Jun maintained a steady, respectful tone. “The Emperor’s grace is vast. However, if not for your Lordship’s protection years ago, I would likely still be stuck in some small county in Longtou. How could I have ever reached the Emperor’s ear?”
Gu Huaiyu understood Yuan Zhuo’s intention perfectly. The little wolf cub had been frightened by him, and now he was wagging his tail to act cute. Truly a little beast who only responded to the stick, never the carrot.
Shen Jun’s gaze fell upon the foot peeking out from beneath the bedclothes. It was white, soft, and slender, with nails as round and lustrous as pearls, tinged with a faint pink. It looked so delicate it might snap with a touch, yet it was resting carelessly upon the memorial containing the petitions of the court officials.
His Adam’s apple bobbed inexplicably. “I will not fail your Lordship’s trust. When the time comes, there will be men of reason within the court who share your Lordship’s path.”
Gu Huaiyu found that amusing. He used the memorial to lift the curtain. “The scholars of the world hate me to death. How many can you find who don’t want me dead?”
Shen Jun met his gaze with an impassive expression. “The scholars are merely deceived by rumors. If they could see your Lordship’s grace in person…”
“Forced fruit is never sweet. Not just anyone can board my ship.” Gu Huaiyu cut off his nonsense, leaning against the bedpost and chuckling.
Shen Jun watched him intently. When the sickly beauty laughed, his lips were red and his teeth white; all the colors of spring in the garden couldn’t compare.
Gu Huaiyu folded the letter and slid it into an envelope.
Shen Jun caught a glimpse of two words on the paper: “Invite You.” He didn’t know what they meant.
Gu Huaiyu set the letter aside. His health was better today, and his spirits were high. “Come. Accompany me to Heyue Restaurant. Let’s see what new patterns they’ve added to the list of my crimes.”
With the examinations approaching, the inns and taverns of the capital were packed with scholars. Heyue Restaurant was the largest among them, standing tall in the bustling streets. There, the scholars would write impassioned essays and engage in loud, lofty debates.
In the Great Chen, where scholars had a hand in governing the world, they loved to discuss politics and attack the powerful. Currently, the most obvious target for their vitriol was Gu Huaiyu. Even if one suffered at Gu Huaiyu’s hands, as long as they survived, their release from prison became a tale of “unyielding integrity against tyranny”—the perfect “calling card” to join the camp of Grand Preceptor Dong.
Shen Jun hesitated. “I will inform Erlang to arrange your Lordship’s honor guard.”
As he turned to leave, he felt a coolness on his forehead. Gu Huaiyu’s jade-like fingertip was pressing lightly against his brow.
“Are you confused? If I go with gongs and drums blaring, would those scholars still dare to speak ill of me?”
The bright red cinnabar mole on Gu’s wrist flashed before Shen Jun’s eyes. He subconsciously narrowed his gaze. “I understand. Your Lordship intends to travel incognito.”
