Chapter 20

“Lord Gu.” Liu Yuanxun cupped his hands in greeting first. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

Gu Mingyuan returned the courtesy with a gentle smile. His refined and handsome features were the sort that readily won people over. “It’s been half a year since I last laid eyes on Prince Rui. You look much healthier than before.”

Liu Yuanxun offered only a faint smile and said nothing, uncertain what had prompted Gu Mingyuan to stop him.

Gu Mingyuan wasted no time on small talk. “Ever since His Majesty decreed the marriage, I’ve been hoping to find an opportunity to speak with Your Highness. The Taichang Temple and the Ministry of Punishments have little overlap, so it’s taken until now for such a chance to arise.”

“Oh?” Liu Yuanxun raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “What instructions do you have for me, Lord Gu?”

“I wouldn’t presume to give instructions. After all, I am that child’s father, and we both serve in the imperial court. There are some things I simply must say.”

Gu Mingyuan’s words put Liu Yuanxun on his guard. After all, Gu Lianzhao was now a member of the prince’s household, and it was only natural for a father to offer a few words of caution to his new son-in-law.

Yet Gu Mingyuan’s next remarks made Liu Yuanxun frown.

“That child comes from humble stock. Before he turned ten, he roamed the wilds of the countryside with no one to rein him in, growing feral and coarse in his ways. By the time he finally came under my roof, his temperament was fixed—far too late to set straight…” At this point, Gu Mingyuan cupped his hands and bowed deeply, his tone earnest. “As for the matter of the marriage decree, my Gu family has truly done you a disservice, Your Highness.”

Liu Yuanxun had long known Gu Lianzhao was out of favor, but he hadn’t imagined the boy held such a dismal image in his own father’s eyes.

“Lord Gu,” Liu Yuanxun said firmly, in strong disagreement, “Gu Lianzhao is a remarkably capable individual. You may not care for him, but you cannot underestimate him—nor slander him in this way.”

Minister Gu paused in surprise before letting out a chuckle. “It seems that child has earned Your Highness’s high regard.”

It had nothing to do with fondness.

He and Gu Lianzhao had known each other for a month now. While he wouldn’t claim any deep affection, he could find no real fault in the boy. As for claims of feral coarseness, they were utterly baseless. Hearing Gu Mingyuan run him down like this, Liu Yuanxun naturally felt compelled to speak up in his defense.

“Prince Rui, do you know this child’s origins?”

Evidently, this was going to be a long conversation. Liu Yuanxun regarded him steadily. “I’m listening.”

“This child wasn’t one I sought out or acknowledged of my own volition. I ‘picked him up’ from the Dali Temple Minister’s residence.” As he brought up the matter, faint cracks finally appeared in Gu Mingyuan’s facade of refined poise. His eyes even glinted with hatred as he recounted the details.

“It was the birthday celebration for the Dali Temple Minister’s mother. Our families have long been friends, so as a junior, I had no choice but to attend in person out of decorum. Right there before the assembled guests, a boy dressed like a servant came darting out. He threw his arms around my leg, calling me ‘Father,’ then snatched a dagger from the banquet table—the one used for carving meat—slit open his own palm, and cried out for a blood kinship test.”

In truth, they were father and son by blood, so the test had succeeded without fail.

Gu Lianzhao, tears streaming down his face, poured out the tale of how his “birth mother had waited years for his father” and how he himself had “traveled a thousand miles in search of his father.” Every detail lined up perfectly; the recognition of paternity was ironclad, impossible to deny.

The boy looked so pitiful and endearing as he clung to Gu Mingyuan’s leg, sobbing uncontrollably before the crowd. Sobbing between wails, he claimed he didn’t even have a proper name—his mother had always said only his father could bestow one upon him.

His cries wrenched at the heartstrings. Even the aged mother of the Dali Temple Minister dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and urged Gu Mingyuan to give the child a name.

To name him would be tantamount to acknowledging him publicly on the spot.

Yet name him he must.

Compassion was mere pretense; what they truly craved was the spectacle. Had it happened to one of them, they likely would have clapped a hand over the child’s mouth and dragged him away amid the chaos. But when it befell someone else, they coaxed and coddled, pressing for every lurid detail.

Gu Mingyuan had lost all face, burning with humiliation and rage. He longed to throttle the boy right there, but glancing toward the pond and seeing the lotuses beyond, he spat out three characters on impulse.

Gu Lianzhao—that was how the name came to be.

Gu Mingyuan had spent his life cloaked in hypocrisy and decorum, but Gu Lianzhao’s sudden appearance had caught him utterly off guard. The boy had branded him with the infamy of abandoning a concubine and her child, fueling a hatred that itched in his teeth. Yet he had no choice but to bring him into the Gu Mansion.

Never mind the Dali Temple Minister’s presence; even the murmurs of the other guests had pinned him to the fire. Not only had he been forced to recognize the boy, he couldn’t even afford to let him die quietly under his roof.

So many years had passed, and Gu Mingyuan still harbored resentment. One could only imagine what hellish days Gu Lianzhao had endured upon first entering the Gu Mansion.

Liu Yuanxun regarded him with disappointment. “Lord Gu, do you know how I see the matter?”

Gu Mingyuan reined in his emotions and replied with polished civility. “Please, enlighten me, Your Highness.”

“To you, he’s a scheming, unruly sort—a discourteous ger. But what I see is a child bereft of any support, forced to plot and scheme just to survive.” Liu Yuanxun drew a deep breath. “Far from faulting him for his cunning, I admire his tenacity: resourcefulness in the face of utter helplessness.”

Under ordinary circumstances, out of regard for Minister Gu’s rank as a second-grade official, he might have spared some face. But what point was there in empty courtesy for a dying man?

Thus, Liu Yuanxun spoke bluntly. “You’ve committed your share of wrongs, Lord Gu, but that name you gave him is a fine one. ‘Zhao evokes the pond, where lotuses bloom—from the mire they rise unstained, their roots ever pure.’ A fitting sentiment indeed.”

His words cut sharp and unsparing. Minister Gu’s brow furrowed at once, but then he recalled Gu Lianzhao’s bewitching, foxlike allure, and understanding dawned. The Seventh Prince was a man, after all, and no man was immune to the allure of beauty. A moment’s infatuation was only natural.

Summoning patience, he explained. “I did mistreat him, it’s true. But had he been a decent sort of child, he could have sought me out privately. Blood is blood; regardless, I would have shown him some mercy, given him a path forward. Instead, he cornered me before a hall full of court officials—clear evidence of premeditation. From the venue of his appearance to every step that followed, it was all too plain. He never saw me as a father. I was merely a rung on his ladder to climb.”

Gu Mingyuan gave a helpless smile. “Your Highness, a child like that—how could I ever regard him as my own flesh and blood?”

From start to finish, Gu Mingyuan comported himself with impeccable grace. Even as loathing churned within, he still referred to “my son” and “that child,” his portrayal of the beleaguered, reluctant father rendered with vivid authenticity.

Liu Yuanxun wasn’t taken in.

He knew well that the world teemed with all sorts—good folk, villains, rotters—each wearing the same human mask. The virtuous struggled to spot evil; the wicked convinced themselves of their own innocence. They had their own twisted logic, perched atop their lofty perches, pristine and self-righteous, the very picture of victimhood.

Such hypocrites were even more revolting than outright scoundrels.

There was no reasoning with a man like this. Liu Yuanxun turned to leave, intending to end the exchange then and there. But as he pivoted, one final remark escaped him. “Lord Gu, as you yourself put it, ties of father and son are preferable to those of enemies. Gu Lianzhao chose to force your hand—even at the cost of your hatred—precisely because he understood your true character all too well. And today’s conversation only proves his choice was the right one.”

With that, he departed, brooking no further discussion.

He had half-expected some paternal concern had prompted Gu Mingyuan to waylay him. Instead, the man harbored intentions far more calculating.

It wasn’t Gu Lianzhao’s coarseness or schemes that worried him, nor any fear that the boy might displease his new husband. No—Gu Mingyuan dreaded the day Gu Lianzhao won the prince’s favor, gained a foothold, and turned back to exact revenge.

What sort of father was this? His own child wed, and rather than providing some security for the road ahead, he maligned him before the in-laws and assailed his character. Minister Gu left his son not a shred of leeway.

Even taking the most generous view—even if Gu Lianzhao had approached privately back then, and Gu Mingyuan had indeed offered “a path forward” as claimed—what sort of path would it have been?

Unwilling to claim the boy publicly, he would never have allowed him to act under the Gu family banner. That so-called path likely amounted to marrying him off to some obscure household and washing his hands of the matter.

Pushing darker suspicions further, one might even wonder if Gu Mingyuan would have quietly done away with him to safeguard his reputation.

Talk of “no father-son bonds in the imperial house” rang true enough. In the end, no one escaped the web of profit and strife.

Revulsion coiled in Liu Yuanxun’s gut, quickening his steps.

But Gu Mingyuan hurried after him a few paces and called out loudly, “Your Highness, hear one final word from me!”

His shout turned the heads of several lingering officials nearby. Liu Yuanxun had no wish to escalate the scene and so halted reluctantly, awaiting whatever came next.

“Your Highness, aren’t you curious how a mere ger managed to join the Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

Liu Yuanxun felt no curiosity at all.

Everyone carved their own path, be it arduous or smooth. He was an outsider to others’ lives, and he had no interest in prying into their privacies under the guise of idle wonder.

Yet Gu Mingyuan insisted on spilling it. He leaned in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if unearthing some unspeakable scandal. “At the banquet I hosted for the Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander, he slipped away to the privy. That’s when the boy approached of his own accord to… serve him. A ger willing to debase himself like that… what man could refuse? That was how he caught the Commander’s eye and…”

“Lord Gu!” Liu Yuanxun’s patience snapped. “So long as no one is harmed, whatever price people pay to rise, whatever they gain—it’s all fair game. You have no right to look down on them from your self-proclaimed pedestal of purity. We have nothing more to say. Farewell.”

With a flick of his sleeve, Liu Yuanxun strode away. No matter how Gu Mingyuan called after him, he never once looked back.

As he rounded the pavilion pillar at a brisk pace, Liu Yuanxun suddenly faltered. He seized the arm of Ling Ting, who had kept close behind, closed his eyes, and murmured weakly, “My head is spinning… I can’t stand.”

“I’ll summon your sedan at once!” Ling Ting exclaimed, starting forward.

But Liu Yuanxun clung tight, slumping against the pillar. In a faint, fragile voice, he said, “No need. Go ask Hong Fu if His Majesty has eaten. If not, tell him I’ll wait…”

Ling Ting blinked in surprise before waving over a nearby eunuch and dispatching him with the message.

He guided Liu Yuanxun to a seat in the pavilion, concern etching his features. “If you’re heading to the palace, can your body withstand it?”

Seated in the pavilion, Liu Yuanxun kept his eyes shut for a long moment as he gathered himself. At last, he replied, “I’m fine.”

The people he truly cared for in this life were few, as were those bound to him. Beyond Imperial Father and Consort Mother, there were only Imperial Brother and the Ling siblings.

Yet one imperial edict from His Majesty had inexplicably saddled him with a concubine. True, their union lacked consummation, but with his virginity mark vanished, the title was his to bear all the same.

He hadn’t known the boy’s circumstances before. That ignorance was one thing…

But upon hearing Gu Mingyuan’s words, he found himself wanting to secure something for him—something to ensure that even without him at his side, he would have a means to keep living.

And the one thing Gu Lianzhao desired most was something only the Emperor could grant.

The little eunuch who had run the errand not only delivered the message but had also received a reward from Eunuch Hong. Thus, when he arrived to relay it, his face lit up with delight. He practically wished he could kowtow three times to Liu Yuanxun before departing.

A sedan followed close behind the little eunuch, ready to convey its passenger. Its bright yellow hue exuded nobility and awe, for to be collected in an imperial palanquin marked a singular honor in the depths of the palace—one that the Seventh Prince alone enjoyed.