Chapter 48

The dagger Liu Yuanxun had given him still hung at his waist, but Gu Lianzhao could no longer regard it with his original feelings.

At first, when he had held the dagger in his hand, his appreciation for the spirit treasure had been mingled with a joy born from Liu Yuanxun—a joy he himself scarcely dared to admit.

Yet now, traversing the same path, his mindset on the way back differed utterly from the journey there. The light dagger dangling at his waist felt as though it hung upon his heart, suddenly acquiring an impossible-to-ignore weight.

Subconsciously, he reached down to touch the dagger at his waist. In that instant, the thought arose to return it to Liu Yuanxun. But after a moment’s hesitation, the impulse quietly faded away.

It was merely a dagger, after all. He had accepted it—what harm was there? Surely he wouldn’t soften because of one little dagger. Impossible.

But what about the future?

What path should he take from here?

If this was truly a deadly trap where lives were exchanged, he could never let a moment of infatuation cost him his own life.

He himself possessed the Pure Yang Physique, so he knew better than anyone how rare such a constitution was. Across the entire realm, there might not be a second person who met the requirements.

If he didn’t save him, Liu Yuanxun was sure to die.

But after Liu Yuanxun died, would he himself have any way to survive?

If he could bring himself to abandon the power of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the matter would be simple enough. He could cast everything aside, flee into the jianghu, and start anew under a false identity.

The problem was, he couldn’t bear to let it go.

He had climbed from a penniless refugee to a Fourth-Rank position in the capital, tasting both the destitution of powerlessness and the glory of authority. That was precisely why he clung so fiercely to the power he had seized.

Yet he might not have reached a dead end just yet.

The current situation seemed dire, a hopeless trap—but fortunately, he had uncovered everything in advance. With careful scheming, he might still snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

Still, there was no gain without sacrifice. If he wanted both to preserve his life and escape this conspiracy unscathed, he would have to relinquish some of his desires.

His desires pulled him in two directions: one toward profit and ambition, the other toward lust.

The path of profit led down a smooth, broad highway.

Once Liu Yuanxun was dead, the Emperor would cease to pay him any mind. Free from imperial oversight, he could continue reveling in the privileges of power just as before.

The path of lust, however, led to nothing but emptiness. Leaving aside whether it might cost him his life, even if he safely rescued Liu Yuanxun, what would he gain?

Would Liu Yuanxun fall in love with him?

No.

Once Liu Yuanxun recovered, would he still share a bed with him, keep him close as a bedmate?

No.

The most likely outcome was that he would watch, powerless, as Liu Yuanxun regained his health and lived happily ever after—taking a delicate wife, fathering heirs.

He didn’t fancy himself some demonic overlord, but neither was he a kindly, benevolent saint. He would never agree to such a losing deal, not even on pain of death.

Besides, for all that Liu Yuanxun had treated him well, what real benefits had he ever gained, beyond a mere taste?

To lay down his life for such lukewarm sentiments—were he to reach the underworld, even the King of Hell would cry foul on his behalf.

By that comparison, the choice was self-evident. If he could simply abandon Liu Yuanxun, the matter became straightforward…

While Liu Yuanxun sat pondering whether Gu Lianzhao’s earlier words had been deliberate or careless, Gu Lianzhao had already made his decision in his heart. He began calculating how to extricate himself from Liu Yuanxun’s death.

He knew full well that, whatever came next, the first step was to seize every chance to show Liu Yuanxun goodwill.

Only if he proved sufficiently docile, sufficiently enamored of his husband, sufficiently the picture of a devoted ger who placed his man above all else—only then would his presence fade from notice when calamity struck Liu Yuanxun. Only then would others believe he had no hand in it.

The night’s passions were as fleeting as morning dew, vanished with the sunrise. One slept soundly, oblivious as the other took full advantage; the other weighed costs against gains, rendering that sliver of sincerity worthless in the face of desire.

At last, the carriage came to a halt. Gu Lianzhao reached out to steady Liu Yuanxun, murmuring softly, “Please mind your step, Your Highness.”

Liu Yuanxun offered a smile and nodded gently.

Even after helping him down from the carriage, Gu Lianzhao did not release his hold. Like a model concubine, he turned to Ling Ting. “At this hour, Lady Ling Qing should have the medicine ready. If Lord Ling would be so kind as to fetch it.”

Without giving Liu Yuanxun a chance to speak, he tugged at the bloodstained overcloak clinging to him, his tone tinged with apology. “I feared it would trouble Your Highness, so I didn’t mention it earlier. Your overcloak picked up quite a bit of blood from the floor of the Imperial Prison. Now that we’re home, best to return to your chambers and change at once.”

Liu Yuanxun glanced down and saw the dark bloodstains at the hem. The foul reek of blood he had just escaped seemed to surge back over him. His face drained of color, dizziness washing over him. “Quick… back inside…”

“Your Highness, you…” Ling Ting saw his pallor and grew anxious, instinctively stepping forward.

Gu Lianzhao merely smiled faintly, his hand gentle on Liu Yuanxun’s arm. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. We’ll go right away.”

With that, he half-supported, half-carried Liu Yuanxun toward the bedchamber, never once glancing back at Ling Ting.

But Ling Ting no longer felt the initial resentment. He watched their retreating figures, intertwined, as if a ray of hope had pierced his own desperation.

So the prince was not omnipotent after all. He too could be coaxed, his mind swayed by a few clever words.

If it had been him in Gu Lianzhao’s place, relying on years of the prince’s trust, he wouldn’t even need tricks. He could…

Smack! A sharp slap rang out.

Ling Ting lowered his hand, expression blank, as though the one who had struck himself had been someone else.

Both he and Ling Qing owed their lives to the prince. That trust had been earned drop by drop over many years. To exploit it with lies and deception—what difference would there be between him and a beast?

He could scarcely believe that the filthy thought had been his own…

He stood rooted in place for a long while, until a groom came to take the horses, prompting him back to awareness. Only then did he hand over the reins.

…

The moment Liu Yuanxun stepped inside, he frantically tore at his overcloak, his movements rough and desperate.

Even after wrenching it free, it wasn’t enough. He suspected blood had soaked his robe too, and he yanked at his clothes in a frenzy, radiating barely contained agitation.

In the Imperial Prison, he had endured the stench and fear of blood for the sake of official business, and in that lightless hell, he hadn’t truly seen much of it.

But blood on his own clothes was different. It hurled him back to the blood-soaked bedding of his seventh year, those stains seeming to revive from memory, wrapping tighter and tighter around him…

Gu Lianzhao had known him for little more than a month and had no idea he feared blood. He assumed it was merely the fastidiousness of one raised in luxury, averse to stains on his garments.

Perhaps because he had just grasped the truth moments before, watching Liu Yuanxun recoil from the blood now struck Gu Lianzhao as a rejection of his true self.

He knew Liu Yuanxun was no fool. Sooner or later, he would see through the facade. What then?

If Liu Yuanxun lay dying, he might forgive the deceptions. But if he lived? Could he truly tolerate being played for a fool? Impossible.

From the start, their meeting had been a grotesque mistake. Their entire bond rested on lies and pretense. Like a button fastened wrong from the first—every subsequent one would follow suit, dooming it to a crooked end.

He had already resolved to choose, yet his mind, as if afraid he might waver, kept needling him: He and Liu Yuanxun could never be.

Even if he yielded to softness, sacrificing everything to save him—losing his cultivation, reduced to a cripple—he still wouldn’t gain what he craved.

He was no Ling Ting. He believed in schemes and seizure. He would rather drag the one he wanted into hell than learn to guard silently from afar.

Ling Ting might love by granting freedom, watching wings spread in the forest. But if Gu Lianzhao loved, he would clip those wings, cage him, possess him—pin him to the bed, sink teeth into his throat, meld their blood and bone, ensure no eyes but his filled that gaze for life!

Yet Liu Yuanxun was Tianyong’s prince. In this world, only the Emperor held a chain to bind him. Restore his health, and he would fly like a winged bird, destined to depart.

Gu Lianzhao stood lost in thought until sounds of Ling Ting approaching outside jolted him back. He lowered his gaze, composed himself, and helped Liu Yuanxun remove his robe.

Ling Ting sensed Liu Yuanxun’s strangeness the instant he entered. He set down the medicine bowl in haste, forgetting the rule that guards must not linger when the “concubine” was present. His eyes fixed on Liu Yuanxun’s ashen face.

He strode forward, grasped Liu Yuanxun’s hand, and guided him to sit on the bed’s edge. Then, dropping to one knee, he looked up, brimming with worry and concern. “Master, where do you feel unwell? Did the blood frighten you?”

Though he had spent a month with Gu Lianzhao, Liu Yuanxun’s deepest familiarity and trust remained with Ling Ting. Like clutching a lifeline, he gripped Ling Ting’s hand in return, voice taut with agitation. “I want to bathe.”

“I’ve already ordered it—the hot water will be ready soon.” Ling Ting soothed him gently while addressing Gu Lianzhao. “Lord Gu, if you would open the cabinet beside the bed. Third shelf from the left, fourth drawer down. Fetch the earthen porcelain vial inside.”

Moments ago, it had been Gu Lianzhao giving such instructions.

Now, it was Ling Ting at Liu Yuanxun’s side.

Only then did Gu Lianzhao notice the abnormality in Liu Yuanxun’s expression. His heart clenched sharply, an urge rising to ask: What’s wrong?

But seeing Liu Yuanxun’s closeness and reliance on Ling Ting twisted that pang into revulsion, irritation, worry, and care all tangled together. His stomach churned; he longed to storm back to the Imperial Prison and brutalize some prisoners to vent.

Yet his feet remained rooted. Mechanically, he followed Ling Ting’s directions and retrieved the vial.

The instant Gu Lianzhao handed it over, Liu Yuanxun snatched it with rough impatience.

His hands trembled as he uncorked it and pressed the mouth to his nose, inhaling deeply several times. The rich, cool herbal fragrance shattered the illusory blood stench, the refreshing scent easing him considerably.

Seeing Liu Yuanxun’s features relax at last, Ling Ting exhaled in relief. A smile broke across his face as he said softly, “Are you feeling better now, Master?”

“Mm.” Liu Yuanxun rubbed his brow, revealing a trace of vulnerability that he showed only to his closest companions. He murmured to himself, “So much blood…”

“Don’t think about it, Master. Let’s not dwell on those upsetting matters—they’re in the past.” Ling Ting held his hand and gave it a gentle shake, soothing him in the soft tone one might use with a child. “Think about the osmanthus tree in our courtyard instead, or the peonies you planted in the garden yourself last year. Their fragrance is what really soothes the soul. Oh, right—do you remember those two new horses we bought? I’ve hired a specialist to tend to the big one. He’s an old hand at horse breeding with real expertise. In a few days, you might even be able to take it out for a ride…”

Liu Yuanxun’s heart stirred at his words, a flicker of longing appearing in his eyes. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

Ling Ting’s lips curved upward, his smile growing even gentler. He gazed up at Liu Yuanxun, his eyes filled with the man’s reflection. “If Master wants to learn, once the weather warms up, I’ll teach you.”

Liu Yuanxun naturally wanted to agree, but as he thought of his steadily worsening condition, he hesitated. Not wanting to dampen Ling Ting’s spirits, he simply gave a shallow smile and nodded.

Just then, the hot water for his bath arrived. Ling Ting turned and went into the side room to prepare it.

The moment Ling Ting left, the space in front of Liu Yuanxun emptied.

Liu Yuanxun was lowering his head to massage his brow when another figure appeared before him: Gu Lianzhao.

…

Gu Lianzhao knew how to flatter and fawn, how to act arrogant and petty. But in his eighteen years of life, no one had ever taught him how to pretend to deeply love someone.

He had thought playing the role of a proper concubine would be easy, but Ling Ting’s every action had shown him the vast difference between love and its absence.

In Gu Lianzhao’s heart, there was only desire, so in his eyes, he saw only Liu Yuanxun’s petal-like lips, swan-like neck, soft and delicate skin, and jade-like fingertips.

But Ling Ting’s heart held love, so he noticed Liu Yuanxun’s pale and haggard face, his slightly trembling hands, and the discomfort and irritation suppressed deep in his eyes.

Mere desire, however, could not deceive others.

Thus, even as he inwardly loathed Ling Ting, Gu Lianzhao clumsily imitated his every move after Ling Ting departed.

Mimicking Ling Ting, he dropped to one knee before Liu Yuanxun and tentatively reached out, slowly placing his hand over the back of Liu Yuanxun’s.

His movements were too slow—slow enough for Liu Yuanxun to dodge if he wished. Yet because of that slowness, Liu Yuanxun felt no pressure. He simply watched Gu Lianzhao’s actions with a mix of bewilderment and puzzlement.

At last, Gu Lianzhao touched that hand once more.

Perhaps because his mindset had shifted, or maybe out of a desire to atone, for the first time upon touching Liu Yuanxun, no lascivious thoughts arose in his mind. The sensation was so unfamiliar that it felt as though he were holding Liu Yuanxun’s hand for the very first time.

“Your Highness…” He slowly addressed Liu Yuanxun, his voice carrying a strange dryness.

Liu Yuanxun said nothing, merely lowering his gaze to the dark crown of Gu Lianzhao’s head. He zoned out again. To his surprise, he noticed that Gu Lianzhao’s hair had faint curls.

The curls were subtle, but visibly curved—enough that if he hooked a finger around one, he could probably twist it from the ends all the way to the roots.

While Liu Yuanxun was lost in thought, Gu Lianzhao spoke again. He drew out his words, lowered his voice, and somehow conveyed an uncharacteristic sense of vulnerability. “Could you not let Lord Ling teach you?”

“Hm?” Liu Yuanxun didn’t catch on right away.

“I want to teach you.” Gu Lianzhao never lifted his head. He lay there against Liu Yuanxun’s knee like a newborn leopard cub, playfully bumping his head against Liu Yuanxun’s abdomen. Swallowing his shame, he whispered, “Don’t let Lord Ling teach you. Let me do it—I’m really good at riding.”

With a sudden “pfft,” Liu Yuanxun burst into laughter.

As the youngest prince, with only elder sisters and brothers above him, no one except Ling Qing had ever acted spoiled toward him. The feeling was both novel and oddly heartwarming. Unable to resist, he reached out and ruffled Gu Lianzhao’s hair.

Even as he inwardly lamented that it wasn’t as soft as it looked, he found the young man’s current demeanor somewhat endearing.

“No can do,” he refused all the same, holding firm to his principles. “I’ve already promised Ling Ting—I can’t go back on my word.”

If it had been anyone else, Gu Lianzhao might have let the rejection slide. But he couldn’t tolerate being slighted by Liu Yuanxun. His expression darkened at once. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head from Liu Yuanxun’s knee and stormed toward the door.

Liu Yuanxun sighed helplessly. “Whose temper is this, anyway? Broom Tail?”

It was a roundabout way of calling him hot-tempered like a dog.

Gu Lianzhao halted in his tracks and glanced back, his gaze as cold as frost. At first glance, it was quite intimidating.

But Liu Yuanxun just thought he was sulking. If he were truly furious, he would have left already. Standing there without moving—wasn’t that just waiting to be coaxed?

Bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, Liu Yuanxun wore an easy smile. “Ling Ting can be the master teacher, and you the apprentice. You two can teach me together—how about that?”

The suggestion was worse than none at all.

Gu Lianzhao’s face turned pitch black. He didn’t even wait this time, spinning on his heel to leave.

He took two steps before stopping again. Turning back once more, he enunciated each word firmly. “I never play second fiddle, nor do I share the lead. If you want me to teach you, it has to be me alone. If there’s anyone else, then count me out.”