In truth, Gu Lianzhao had woken in the middle of the night.
Whatever the Little Prince of the Tianyong Dynasty kept hidden in the secret cabinet at the head of his bed had to be an extraordinarily precious secret medicine. One pill was enough to neutralize any poison.
Even so, though his mind had cleared, his internal force had yet to recover, and the ropes binding him were tied fast. Gu Lianzhao could scarcely move. He could only lie on his side atop the bed, peering at his surroundings through the red gauze canopy.
Even under the drug’s influence, he remembered everything that had happened the night before.
The moment he had received the imperial decree, murderous intent had stirred within him. A prince? Little more than a sickly wraith. Even if the man died right there on the wedding bed, others would merely sigh that a body as delicate as royal jade was doomed to an early grave anyway.
Marrying him was meant to bring good fortune, or so they said—but whether it would bring life or death remained to be seen.
Gu Lianzhao had planned to strike that very wedding night. But no sooner had the decree fallen into his hands than experts from the palace had sealed his acupoints.
Their movements were swift and precise. They wrenched his jaw from its socket, cutting off any chance of him biting his own tongue, then fed him four pills of Soft Tendon Powder. For three straight days, he had taken no food, surviving on water alone. On the day of the wedding, they had stripped him bare, forced more drugs down his throat, bathed him clean, and smeared his body with ointment.
Never in his life had he been tended to by so many hands at once—yet beneath their touch, he had felt a humiliation more tormenting than death itself.
But…
Gu Lianzhao lowered his gaze toward the noble consort’s couch beyond the screen, his eyes filled with complicated emotions.
When he had been carried into the bridal chamber, the man he was to marry had already been dressed in his wedding robes. His eyes were tightly shut, his breathing shallow and faint—a picture of someone who wouldn’t last much longer, even without any help from Gu Lianzhao.
An ordinary person might have seen their husband reduced to such a sickly state and cried themselves to death. Gu Lianzhao, however, breathed a sigh of relief.
In short order, the figure on the bed stirred to life.
But the instant his eyes fell on Gu Lianzhao, he scrambled off the bed and retreated to huddle against the wall. Slender white fingers emerged trembling from the vivid red of his wedding robes, pointing at Gu Lianzhao with a quavering voice, as though he were a ger on the verge of being forced upon. “Don’t… don’t come any closer!”
His revulsion was plain as day. Anyone could see he wanted no part of this.
Gu Lianzhao glared at him in disgust, though his killing intent had dulled somewhat from its initial sharpness. Unless pushed to the brink, he had no intention of striking down the prince.
A rotten life was still a life. Gu Lianzhao himself had no death wish—he had clawed his way up through sealed meridians and hard-won rewards to reach his current station. And yet, to those in power, he was nothing more than a plaything to be toyed with at will. A single oral decree, a handful of pills, and he had gone from Pacification Commissioner of the Northern Pacification Division to a male concubine in the Seventh Prince’s Mansion, offered up for “good luck.”
That so-called rush of fortune was just a way to gamble his future and chastity for a sick ghost’s slim chance at recovery. Years of blood and sweat, reduced to nothing in an instant. No one hated the Emperor more than he did—and no one hoped more fervently for the Seventh Prince to drop dead.
Fortunately, the groom before him looked well on his way out. It eased Gu Lianzhao’s mind. In that state, the prince couldn’t possibly manage anything on the bed, and even without Gu Lianzhao lifting a finger, he wouldn’t last much longer. It spared him one less complication.
Everything after that blurred together in his memory.
He vaguely recalled being fed something—a pill that melted on his tongue. The burning heat in his body dissipated like mist before the wind.
Gu Lianzhao let out a breath and glanced toward the noble consort’s couch.
The red candles in the lanterns had long since burned out. The sun was creeping in from the east through the latticed window. Outside the door, Eunuch Feng, who had stood guard all night, glanced down at the shadows to gauge the hour. He murmured a few instructions to the maid waiting beyond the entrance, then departed without so much as bidding farewell to the Seventh Prince.
Left alone on the bed, Gu Lianzhao neither struggled nor called out. He simply lay there quietly, waiting for the Seventh Prince to wake.
But even as the sun climbed high in the sky, there was no sign of movement from the bed.
Just then, a warm, mellow male voice came from beyond the door. “Master, are you awake?”
Gu Lianzhao’s heart tightened. This was no ordinary man—an expert.
At such close range, he hadn’t even sensed the man’s presence until he spoke.
The gag had been removed from his mouth, but since the voice was addressing his master, Gu Lianzhao held his silence, listening intently.
“Master, it’s getting late. This slave is coming in.”
The man outside didn’t wait for a reply. No sooner had he spoken than the door creaked open.
The Seventh Prince’s Mansion far exceeded the scale of an ordinary princely estate. Even the sleeping chamber formed its own garden. One had to pass through the main entrance, cross a front hall, and round two screens before reaching the inner bedchamber.
This time, however, Ling Ting halted at the first screen.
“Master!” he cried out in alarm. In two short strides—propelled by internal force—he rushed to the noble consort’s couch, his voice thick with urgency. “You’re feverish again!”
He scooped Liu Yuanxun up into his arms and carried him around the screen. Without so much as glancing at Gu Lianzhao, Ling Ting used one hand to part the tangled red bed curtains, laid Liu Yuanxun gently on the bed, and drew the neatly folded wedding quilt over him with careful precision.
Only then did he step back, drop to one knee, and bow toward Gu Lianzhao. “This slave Ling Ting pays his respects to Lord Gu.”
Ling Ting was clearly a favored servant; he spoke without waiting for a response. Before Gu Lianzhao could even reply, he continued, “My master is in poor health and finds it difficult to move about. He urgently requires an imperial physician…”
He paused briefly, then rose to untie the ropes binding Gu Lianzhao. His posture was deferential, but his tone steady. “The room is in disarray. If the imperial physicians were to see it, it might harm my master’s reputation. Please forgive any offense, Lord Gu.”
Gu Lianzhao swept a cold glance over Ling Ting, flexed his wrists, and casually wrapped a length of fallen red silk around his body. “It’s no matter. I’ll make way.”
Ling Ting bowed once more and hurried out.
No sooner had he left than Ling Qing slipped inside to take his place.
The pretty young woman had an innocently round face and a pair of lively almond eyes that sparkled like those of some sheltered young lady untouched by the world. Yet her steps were light as drifting smoke, her movements graceful and sure—an unmistakable mark of exceptional lightness skill.
As she stood guard by the couch, Ling Qing subtly glanced toward the bathing chamber, partitioned off by bamboo curtains. A tall, elegant figure was faintly visible within. She spared it only a brief look before turning her full attention to Liu Yuanxun, laying a hand on his wrist with evident worry.
The heat she felt made her flinch. She inwardly cursed the dead old Emperor in the palace—if not for his endless schemes, her master’s health never would have deteriorated like this!
Before long, Ling Ting returned with seven or eight imperial physicians in tow. The group crowded into the bedchamber, taking turns to check pulses in a display grand enough for the Emperor himself.
It was hardly surprising. Rumors had long swirled outside the palace that half the physicians in the Imperial Hospital were dedicated solely to attending the Seventh Prince. No matter who else fell ill, if the prince so much as coughed, every available doctor had to rush to the Seventh Prince’s Mansion.
The Seventh Prince was unwell, that much was certain—but as for the precise nature of his ailment, even the imperial physicians couldn’t agree. Some claimed it was a congenital deficiency, others a chronic condition. Priceless herbs flowed like water into the mansion’s bottomless pit of an apothecary, yet his health never improved.
Today was no different. They diagnosed, they prescribed, they brewed the medicines—and still, the Seventh Prince slept on, not stirring for a full day and night.
“Ling Ting…” The newly awakened man’s eyes were still hazy, his gaze unfocused and drifting vaguely ahead, almost as if he were blind.
“I’m here, Master. Right here.” Ling Ting had kept vigil for as long as Liu Yuanxun had slept. He responded at once, extending a hand to gently clasp the one Liu Yuanxun had draped over the edge of the bed. His voice was soft and tender. “Would Master like some water?”
Liu Yuanxun lacked the strength to speak. He merely twitched his fingers. Ling Ting, who knew his every gesture like the back of his hand, immediately rose to pour a cup. He passed straight by Gu Lianzhao, who knelt off to the side, as though he weren’t there at all.
Following custom, the imperial physicians departed for the palace to report the Seventh Prince’s condition to the Emperor in the Imperial Study. This time was no exception.
Whether vital essence had been spent, naturally, could not escape the Emperor’s ears.
The physicians reported it offhandedly—after all, the Seventh Prince’s frailty was common knowledge. What energy could he possibly have for bedchamber matters? But they never imagined it would become the spark that ignited the Emperor’s fury.
Had the Emperor less restraint, he might have overturned the desk in the Imperial Study on the spot and raged that the oral decree concerning Gu Lianzhao had walked straight through the Seventh Prince’s Mansion gates. Perhaps because Gu Lianzhao now belonged to the Seventh Prince, His Majesty spared his head—but ordered him to kneel at the sickbed regardless.
He could rise only when the prince gave the word.
…
The finest white porcelain gleamed translucent as it held a cup of water at just the right temperature. Ling Ting tilted it gently against pale, glossy lips, feeding it sip by sip to the man half-propped against the pillows.
Gu Lianzhao had knelt there from the beginning and witnessed every bit of the careful ministrations.
During the prince’s coma, Ling Ting had ceaselessly dabbed his master’s lips with a damp silk cloth and checked his temperature at regular intervals. No wonder the palace eunuchs were renowned as consummate servants—such meticulous care as Ling Ting’s fully deserved his favored status.
Gu Lianzhao watched Liu Yuanxun’s pallid, sickly face with cold eyes, unsure whether to marvel at the fragility of a body that seemed liable to collapse at the slightest breeze—or to be grateful that it posed him no threat whatsoever.
After half a cup of warm water, Liu Yuanxun finally regained some vitality.
As his senses sharpened, he noticed Gu Lianzhao kneeling there ramrod straight, his posture almost elegant.
“You…” But before he could finish, Ling Ting cut in.
It wasn’t arrogance from favoritism or presumption—merely that Liu Yuanxun’s poor health often left him too weak even to speak. Over time, Ling Ting had learned to read a single glance and continue seamlessly on his behalf.
“In reply to Master, you spiked a high fever on the second day after the wedding. Upon hearing the news, His Majesty issued a special oral decree to punish Lord Gu: he is to remain kneeling until you give the word to rise.”
“Let him get up.” Fresh from his illness, Liu Yuanxun’s voice was especially faint, his words coming in halting fragments. “And… order the meal served.”
Ling Ting nodded in assent and withdrew with a bow.
He knew full well whom that meal was intended for. His master, just roused from slumber, could scarcely stomach a morsel—but Liu Yuanxun was simply taking pity on Lord Gu, who had suffered this undeserved calamity.
With Ling Ting gone, the already quiet room fell utterly silent.
Liu Yuanxun coughed twice. So feeble was he that the coughing shook his entire frame, though the sound itself was barely audible.
After several ragged breaths, he turned his head to regard Gu Lianzhao, who stood before the screen.
Gone was the venomous glare from their wedding night. The ger now wore close-fitting black garments, his posture rigidly upright, eyes half-lidded. The red mark on his forehead—emblem of his ger status—was concealed beneath a dark hair ribbon. His gaze rested on the floor, treating everything around him as so much air.
He could afford to ignore Liu Yuanxun.
But Liu Yuanxun could not ignore him.
Be it that heart-stopping glimpse in the teahouse or the murderous ferocity on their wedding night, both had left deep scars on Liu Yuanxun’s psyche. He knew Gu Lianzhao wouldn’t dare slit his throat—but the thought alone sent chills racing through him, a primal urge to crawl under the bed and hide.
Hiding wasn’t a solution. Until this knot in his heart was untied, he feared he’d suffer nightmares every night.
Liu Yuanxun didn’t want to speak with him, yet he also wanted to offer some defense of himself. After mustering his strength for quite some time, he finally murmured, “The wedding was my fault—it dragged you into this. But rest assured, I won’t do anything to you. I don’t have much time left: four or five years at most, or as little as a year and a half. Just endure these days, and you’ll be free.”
His voice was faint and mumbled. Without Gu Lianzhao’s internal force having recovered, he might not have made out that entire string of words at all.
But Gu Lianzhao heard every one.
He was only eighteen now. Even five years from then, he’d be just twenty-three, with his whole life ahead of him. This unexpected twist had certainly brought no small amount of trouble, but compared to mutual destruction, this outcome could still be called fortunate.
Gu Lianzhao lifted his gaze to meet Liu Yuanxun’s. His icy stare fixed on the other man as if he were some lifeless object. Liu Yuanxun couldn’t help shrinking back a little, breaking eye contact first.
Seeing that evasive look in his eyes, a flicker of contempt rose in Gu Lianzhao’s heart, though his face betrayed nothing. He merely curled the corner of his mouth in a cold smile. “In that case, this subject thanks Your Highness in advance.”
Thanks for what? For his poor health? For dying so soon?
Liu Yuanxun offered no reply. He simply closed his eyes and nodded vaguely. He desperately wanted to shoo the man outside to stand guard, but he also feared stoking some hidden grudge.
Fortunately, Ling Ting returned soon after. Liu Yuanxun let out a breath of relief and said weakly, “I have no appetite. Tell Lord Gu to eat in the outer chamber.”
Ling Ting had known all along that he wouldn’t eat, so he said nothing more. He simply raised a hand and gestured toward the door. “Lord Gu, please.”
Gu Lianzhao inclined his head slightly. Considering that there was food to be had, he offered Liu Yuanxun a casual salute before turning to leave.
Liu Yuanxun managed a strained smile. Only after Gu Lianzhao had departed did he fully relax.
