Chapter 4

Liu Yuanxun’s body was weak after all. After lying there for a while, he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, daylight had already broken.

The familiar scent of pine incense drifted over. Ling Ting, clad in deep gray tight-fitting garb, approached the bedside and asked softly, “Does Master wish to rise?”

“Let’s get up,” Liu Yuanxun replied. He glanced out the window and added, “What time is it?”

“It’s the Si hour. If Master weren’t ill, you’d be preparing for breakfast by now.” Ling Ting fetched the warmed clothes and pants. He slipped his hand into the toasty bedding and, before lifting the quilt, helped Liu Yuanxun into a thin layer of undergarments first.

The room was warmed by underfloor heating, so it wasn’t cold at all. Ordinary folk would break a sweat in their outer robes. But Liu Yuanxun’s illness made him dread the slightest chill, and every winter took its toll, so Ling Ting took extra care.

“What about Lord Gu?” Liu Yuanxun asked, a touch of curiosity in his voice. “When did he rise?”

As he dressed Liu Yuanxun, Ling Ting reported on Gu Lianzhao’s whereabouts. “Lord Gu rose just past the Yin hour. He’s been practicing martial arts in the back courtyard for two hours and is now meditating to regulate his breathing.”

The Yin hour? Liu Yuanxun thought with admiration.

As a child attending the Upper Study, he too had risen at the Yin hour, wailing the whole way like he was heading to a funeral. After half a month of that misery, he fainted dead away in the Upper Study. Only then did he secure a special dispensation, complete with a private tutor, sparing him the daily trek to “pay respects at the graves”… or rather, study with the imperial princes.

While Ling Ting prepared the water, Liu Yuanxun asked another question. “Did you watch him practice?”

“No, this servant was guarding Master at the door. But I caught glimpses here and there amid the movements.” Ling Ting tested the water’s temperature, then soaked a cloth in the jade basin, wrung it out thoroughly, and brought the steaming cloth over to wipe Liu Yuanxun’s face.

“Oh?” Liu Yuanxun’s interest piqued. “Between the two of you, whose martial skill do you think is superior?”

“This servant trains in internal martial arts. Lord Gu appears to practice both internal and external styles. I hear he’s ranked ninth in the Northern Pacification Division, so his skills must be formidable—far superior to mine.” Ling Ting tended to him with the delicacy of handling fine porcelain. After washing his face, he handed over the cup for rinsing his mouth. Once Liu Yuanxun took it, Ling Ting continued from where he’d left off. “That said, if it came to a real fight, this servant might not subdue him. But I could kill him.”

The implication was clear: in a clash of pure force, it would end in mutual destruction. But if it turned into a fight to the death, Ling Ting would come out on top.

Liu Yuanxun had known Gu Lianzhao was highly skilled, but he hadn’t realized it extended to this degree.

Ling Ting was no ordinary man. He was a gift from the Late Emperor. Though he humbly called himself a servant in Liu Yuanxun’s presence, outside those walls, he was a force to be reckoned with by many.

“Sigh…” Liu Yuanxun let out a long breath, a profound sense of pity washing over him.

Ling Ting smiled. “Does Master pity him?”

Liu Yuanxun smiled faintly. “One can’t help but pity those blessed with extraordinary talents yet cursed by a twisted fate.”

His own frail constitution had plagued him since childhood, leaving him envious of the robust. Yet his royal blood granted him privilege, while men like Ling Ting—gifted with martial genius—were shackled by their station, confined to high walls and menial service.

“You’ve had it rough,” Liu Yuanxun sighed, patting Ling Ting’s hand.

As he started to pull away, Ling Ting deftly turned his wrist and clasped Liu Yuanxun’s hand in return. The gesture was utterly natural. Because he’d been kneeling all the while, his tall frame actually seemed a half-head shorter than Liu Yuanxun’s. “The weather’s fine today, Master. Shall we go for a stroll? It’ll be time for your meal by the time we return.”

The ill couldn’t afford to catch a chill, but with no wind outside and the sun shining pleasantly, a short walk would do him good.

Before his wedding, he’d lain unconscious for three days. After the wedding night, he’d been abed for two more. All told, it had been six days since he’d stepped out of this room. Any longer, and moss would grow on him.

No words were needed. Ling Ting could tell from the sudden sparkle in Liu Yuanxun’s eyes that he was keen. With a smile, Ling Ting turned toward the area behind the bed. “I’ll fetch Master’s greatcloak for you.”

The heavy black wool greatcloak reached his ankles. Ling Ting added a crow-blue scarf and pulled up the silver fox-trimmed hood, concealing most of Liu Yuanxun’s face.

As Ling Ting stood before him adjusting the scarf, he happened to glance up—and met a pair of eyes as soft and gentle as spring waters. His hand stilled unconsciously on the collar.

He had always known that Master’s eyes held an innate allure, exquisitely beautiful. With every glance and flutter, those thick, soft lashes brushed across the viewer’s heart like a feather—itchy, tingling, drawing the gaze and tempting one to drown in their depths.

Liu Yuanxun arched a brow lightly, puzzled. “What is it?”

Ling Ting snapped back to himself and smiled with perfect naturalness as he loosened the scarf a bit. “Lest Master feel stifled.”

Liu Yuanxun smiled again, his starry eyes dazzling in their brightness. “Not at all. It’s just right.”

Ling Ting dipped his head with a faint smile and offered his arm for support. “Good, then.”

Now properly attired, it was time to head out.

They passed two sets of screens and skirted the eight rosewood chairs in the front hall. They hadn’t even crossed the threshold when Eunuch Hong’s beaming, wrinkled face appeared before Liu Yuanxun— with Gu Lianzhao, dressed in tight-fitting clothes with his hair bound up, following behind.

“I’ve come to pay my respects to the Seventh Prince.” Eunuch Hong moved to kneel, but Ling Ting quickly steadied him, turning the bow into half a gesture.

Gu Lianzhao, ignored behind him, had no choice but to kneel fully and kowtow with a solid thud. “This one pays respects to the Seventh Prince.”

“What nonsense!” Eunuch Hong whipped around with a cold expression. “How dare you address him as Seventh Prince? Has no one taught you proper etiquette?!”

“Eunuch Hong,” Liu Yuanxun said evenly, his tone carrying a chill despite its softness. “Gu Lianzhao has entered the Seventh Prince’s Mansion. He belongs to me now. If he lacks manners, then you should be lecturing me.”

“This servant deserves death for my presumption. Please punish me, Seventh Prince.” Eunuch Hong flung off Ling Ting’s hand and dropped to his knees. Though past fifty, he hadn’t knelt to anyone but the Emperor in the last five or six years. This kowtow landed with a sharp crack, instantly placing Liu Yuanxun in an untenable position.

Eunuch Hong—Hong Fu—was the Emperor’s longtime attendant, personally selected by the Late Empress herself. Even the Empress had treated him with deference. In a sense, his words and actions reflected the Emperor’s own stance.

To an outsider’s eyes, Eunuch Hong kneeling before the Seventh Prince would suggest the Seventh Prince was the apple of the Emperor’s eye. But that wasn’t the truth at all. It was just his imperial brother putting on a show.

A wave of exhaustion, unbanished since receiving the wedding decree, surged anew. The budding good mood of moments ago evaporated in an instant. Wearily, Liu Yuanxun said, “Ling Ting, help Eunuch Hong to a seat. Gu Jiu, you may rise.”

Gu Lianzhao froze for a split second upon hearing “Gu Jiu,” not immediately realizing it referred to him. But when he grasped that it denoted his rank among the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s Thirteen Great Protectors, he had already stood up.

There were eight rosewood chairs: two principal seats, with the other six arrayed to either side. Liu Yuanxun took the right upper principal seat, and Ling Ting escorted Eunuch Hong to the right lower secondary seat.

“Out with it,” Liu Yuanxun said, turning his head aside for a couple of light coughs. He had the uneasy sense that his fever was returning, but he dreaded facing this old face even more. “What brings you here?”

“This is both official business and personal.” At the sound of Liu Yuanxun’s cough, Eunuch Hong grew visibly tense, his tone softening further. “On official matters, your three-day wedding grace period ends tomorrow, so you should enter the court to resume your duties. His Majesty also wishes to inquire how the sacrificial rites are coming along. As for personal matters… well, there’s plenty. His Majesty is always thinking of you; his words of concern could fill hours.”

Liu Yuanxun was no idle prince. Frail though he was, he still held the third-rank post of Minister of the Taichang Temple. It was an empty title, of course—more for show than substance.

“The sacrificial rites are nearly prepared. His Majesty can rest assured. As for personal matters, if you can’t sum it up in a sentence or two, allow me. I’m a man of few words.” Liu Yuanxun cut straight to the point, unwilling to bandy chit-chat. “I have no need of Gu Jiu’s service. Send him back where he came from—before any dismissal order comes down. Consider it done.”

Gu Lianzhao had been standing quietly, paying the exchange no heed, when his name suddenly caught his ear. His downcast lashes trembled, and he lifted his gaze toward Liu Yuanxun.

Just as Eunuch Hong opened his mouth to speak, Liu Yuanxun erupted into a fit of earth-shattering coughs. It felt like his lungs and heart were about to heave up. Ling Ting didn’t have time to pass him a cloth, so he clapped a hand over his mouth, half-obscuring his face.

Ling Ting reached him first, with Eunuch Hong close on his heels. By the time they stood beside Liu Yuanxun, he had tremblingly opened his palm. Threads of blood marred its pale surface, trickling down between his fingers.

“Master!” Ling Ting cried out in alarm. Regardless of Eunuch Hong’s status, he shoved the man aside and bolted off to summon the physician.

Eunuch Hong was so terrified his hair seemed to stand on end, his voice quavering like he’d seen a ghost. “Seventh Lord, Seventh Lord—let me help you to the couch…”

But he made no move to touch him.

What if something went wrong in the process? If the Seventh Prince blamed him, not even a thousand heads would save him from the executioner’s blade.

Liu Yuanxun understood this all too well, which was why he knew Eunuch Hong wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him.

Powerlessly, he clenched his fist and slumped against the rosewood chair, his voice feeble and pained. “Eunuch Hong, I’m already a dying man. But Gu Jiu isn’t. His marriage prospects are ruined for life. He scraped by to earn a Fourth-Rank post, and now you insist on stripping it from him—blaming it all on me. Do you want me consigned to hell even after death before you’ll be satisfied?”

Agitation brought on another round of coughs, flecks of blood staining the gaps between his pale teeth.

“Heavens, no! What are you saying? This can be negotiated—easily! A mere Fourth-Rank post is just a word from His Majesty. Why upset yourself like this?” Eunuch Hong was frantic, tempted to tear at his own hair for fear Liu Yuanxun might drop dead right then.

The imperial physician hadn’t arrived yet, but the estate doctor had. A throng of retainers clustered around as Ling Ting scooped up the Seventh Prince and carried him into the bedchamber. Gu Lianzhao trailed unhurriedly behind, leaving Eunuch Hong alone in the front hall, scared half to death.

After a flurry of activity, the crowd dispersed. Some departed outright, others set to brewing medicine. Even Ling Ting received orders and left the mansion to escort Eunuch Hong back to the palace.

In the vast bedchamber, only Liu Yuanxun and Gu Lianzhao remained.

Liu Yuanxun shed his outer robe and lay flat on the couch. His lips were deathly pale, making him look like a fragile porcelain vessel on the verge of shattering—thoroughly pitiable.

His throat was raw from coughing, robbing his voice of its earlier charm and reducing it to a hoarse murmur. “We’re bunkmates, at the very least. Yet you don’t seem worried about me in the slightest.”

With no outsiders present—and after today’s display proving Liu Yuanxun’s word was his bond—Gu Lianzhao dropped his usual reserve.

He sat on a stool, stretching out his long legs, and gave Liu Yuanxun a faintly amused glance. In a leisurely drawl, he said, “I saw it.”

Liu Yuanxun blinked, puzzled. “Saw what?”

Gu Lianzhao pointed at his sleeve. To guard against eavesdroppers, he simply parted his lips and silently mouthed the words: “Blood Sac.”

This time, Liu Yuanxun was genuinely stunned.

For several seconds, he stood frozen. Then he burst out laughing—a sudden, bright chuckle that dissolved into coughs. Still laughing and coughing, he praised his companion. “As expected of the youngest Pacification Commissioner! Even Eunuch Hong, right in front of the Emperor, fell for my little trick. But you saw right through it. Impressive!”

In all his years, Gu Lianzhao had heard his share of overt mockery and sly insults, vicious curses and bootlicking flattery. But never before had anyone praised him like this, with laughter so light and joyful.

It was like two teenagers who had just dodged the adults to pull off a prank—relaxed and carefree, bright and utterly refreshing.

Listening to that laughter, Gu Lianzhao lowered his head slightly and smiled along with him.