The Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices held the esteemed position of chief among the Nine Ministers, wielding considerable authority. In addition to his role in state affairs, he oversaw all rites, music, and sacrificial ceremonies throughout the Tianyong Kingdom.
The Late Emperor himself had granted him this title during his lifetime.
The Late Emperor had praised him as “gifted with keen intelligence and a pure heart,” declaring him the most suitable candidate for chief of the Nine Ministers. By then, the Late Emperor was slightly tipsy and casually added, “If only Xun’er weren’t in poor health, he could have claimed the throne as well.”
Those words plunged the once harmonious Mid-Autumn night into dead silence. Countless gazes—some overt, others furtive—turned toward him. No one could tell if the Late Emperor had spoken a sober truth amid his drunkenness or used the wine as a pretext to caution the Crown Prince.
From that night onward, Liu Yuanxun’s circumstances grew ever more precarious.
After the Late Emperor’s passing, the Crown Prince ascended as Emperor and, in accordance with the late decree, appointed Liu Yuanxun as Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.
On the surface, he was chief of the Nine Ministers. Yet the two vice ministers under him answered solely to the Emperor, and they controlled every affair in the Taichang Temple. Liu Yuanxun was like a Buddha statue enshrined there—revered in appearance, but devoid of any real power.
Liu Yuanxun didn’t mind in the least. When work arose, he handled it; otherwise, he secluded himself in the Temple Repository, mending ancient texts and passing his days in relative leisure.
The Taichang Temple stood to the right of the imperial palace, a good distance from the prince’s mansion. The route passed through a particularly bustling street, where Liu Yuanxun loved to listen to the vendors’ lively calls.
He disliked crowds himself, yet he enjoyed observing them—especially the vibrant energy of ordinary folk. Immersed in the hustle and bustle of daily life, he always felt as though he might live a few years longer.
This journey proved no different. Hearing a hawker cry “candied fruits!” from outside the carriage, he rapped lightly on the interior wall. Ling Ting, at the reins, pulled the horses to a halt and asked through the curtain, “What would Master like to buy?”
“Candied fruits.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than he glanced at Gu Lianzhao beside him and added, “And some pastries as well.”
Ling Ting moved swiftly. In about a quarter-hour, he returned with the purchases, lifting the curtain just enough to pass two packages inside.
Liu Yuanxun accepted them and set them on the carriage table. He unwrapped the candied fruits, leaned in for a sniff, and broke into a satisfied smile.
The mansion’s chef could make candied fruits, of course, but they were heavy with salt and sugar—a strain on his health—so he forbade it. Instead, he bought them from street vendors, opening the packages merely to savor the aroma like fine incense.
The pastries were for Gu Lianzhao.
The Taichang Temple had no communal dining hall; officials brought their own meals. Gu Lianzhao was just seventeen—an age when a boy could eat a poor man out of house and home—so the pastries were a prudent precaution.
He slid the pastries toward Gu Lianzhao. “Here, for you.”
The clamor outside made the carriage far from quiet. Gu Lianzhao had been resting with arms crossed and eyes closed, leaning against the wall. Only at the sound did he open them.
His eyelids lifted to reveal Liu Yuanxun’s smiling face—a sight that inexplicably irked him. He glanced away and murmured flatly, “My thanks, Your Highness.”
“No need to thank me.” Liu Yuanxun’s warm smile held steady, undisturbed by the other’s chill.
It stemmed neither from an even temper nor guilt-driven indulgence. In his brief twenty-odd years, he had witnessed and endured too much. Though still in his youth, his once-fierce ambitions had long worn smooth. With fear dissipated, Gu Lianzhao seemed merely a seventeen-year-old lad.
Of course, that ignored his capacity to cleave three men in half with a single stroke.
They reached the Taichang Temple in under half an hour.
Nestled to the right of the imperial palace, the temple had been constructed by the Ministry of Works at vast expense—a grand hall of majestic splendor. A flight of pristine white jade steps led to its entrance, flanked by stern Divine Martial Guards. From afar, it exuded an aura of solemn sanctity, not to be approached lightly.
The entrance guards recognized Ling Ting, but Tianyong Dynasty rules were ironclad, especially near the palace. Even a prince required identity verification to enter.
Liu Yuanxun had no intention of flouting protocol.
Yet when the curtain lifted, the verifier froze at the sight of Gu Lianzhao, holding it open without lowering it.
Ling Ting yanked the curtain down sharply. His tone remained polite as ever, but his face darkened. “If Minister Meng’s eyesight fails him, have someone else stand post. If every verification means the passenger endures a bellyful of cold wind, the Taichang Temple’s threshold will soon be trampled flat by imperial physicians.”
“This humble minister stands guilty!” Meng Yuanfeng offered no excuses. He cupped his fists in salute and watched as Ling Ting led the horses inside.
But out of sight, his eyes boiled with emotion—wild joy intertwined with venomous hatred, twisting his features.
It was Gu Lianzhao!
Gu Lianzhao in the flesh!
He knew only that His Majesty had decreed a certain minister’s bastard son as male concubine to the Seventh Prince. He had never dreamed it might be Gu Lianzhao!
At first glance, he thought Gu Lianzhao served some official duty. But no—the prince’s carriage was no common ride. To sit beside a prince, entering the temple without announcement, marked one as kin!
Who could have foreseen it? The haughty Gu Lianzhao, who scorned all half a year ago, now reduced to skulking in the inner residence as a male concubine!
The thought of the man who had nearly condemned him to death in the Imperial Prison now scrubbing clean and submitting beneath another filled him with savage satisfaction, venting half his pent-up rage.
He hated him, yet savored the thrill—itching for a chance to expose it publicly and grind Gu Lianzhao’s dignity to dust!
…
Liu Yuanxun was no fool. Minister Meng’s expression alone told him the two were acquainted.
The Divine Martial Guards and Embroidered Uniform Guard formed Tianyong’s two premier military arms—the former the Imperial City’s protectors, the latter the Emperor’s personal enforcers. They occasionally collaborated, so familiarity was no surprise.
Yet that man’s face…
It bespoke not old friends, but mortal foes.
Liu Yuanxun saw no reason to inquire.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard handled thankless work. Save for their own ranks, the realm’s commoners and officials either loathed or feared them. No one sought their brotherhood, nor could they afford any.
Those who served the Emperor directly had to remain isolated. The more the world despised them, the more freely he wielded them.
Upon reaching the Temple Repository, Gu Lianzhao disembarked first, offering no hand to Liu Yuanxun. He simply stood aside. The others saw nothing amiss. Liu Yuanxun habitually extended his hand to Ling Ting, who supported him almost in an embrace as they exited the carriage.
“Security is tight outside the Taichang Temple, but inside, rules loosen.” Liu Yuanxun unfastened his token and handed it to Gu Lianzhao. “Take this and wander freely. If you grow bored, find me in the repository.”
Gu Lianzhao lowered his gaze to the token engraved with “Prince Rui,” his emotions churning.
Liu Yuanxun was ever considerate. Stripped of status, Gu Lianzhao risked bullying; the token ensured even superiors knelt before him.
Yet such borrowed power would vanish with its return. He had clawed upward knowing reliance on others was folly. Now, years of blood and sweat had crumbled like a castle in the air.
“No need,” Gu Lianzhao replied, cupping his fists in polite refusal. “I’ll stroll the courtyard, nowhere else.”
A prince’s token brought power—and peril. Trouble might splash back, and even if cleared, he had no patience for it over a few extra steps.
The Temple Repository spanned a vast area anyway; no need to venture out.
Liu Yuanxun merely nodded. “As you wish, then.”
The palace sacrifices loomed near. As minister, even if he shirked daily duties, he must confirm the rites now.
He had worked with the vice ministers for years. Though they held the reins, major matters passed his desk. Liu Yuanxun never made trouble for anyone; their collaboration remained cordial.
The Temple Repository stored assorted items, including texts awaiting repair. Rather than haul them about, Liu Yuanxun had funded renovations himself, carving out a side chamber as his office.
Ling Qing had arrived early, firing up the underfloor heating and tidying everything. The room was perfectly warm when Liu Yuanxun entered.
He shed his heavy cloak and settled on the soft couch. Ling Qing began fetching documents; Ling Ting brewed nourishing tea nearby.
“Brother, let me! Let me!” With the scrolls moved, Ling Qing crowded Ling Ting to steal the task.
Ling Ting doted on his blood sister but never let her handle the prince’s personal service. One hand adjusted the tea while the other danced in elegant arcs, shielding the pot flawlessly and barring her approach.
“Brother! What are you doing?” Ling Qing faltered in close quarters, her hands no match for his left alone. Teeth gritted, she whirled toward Liu Yuanxun to complain.
“Master, look at my brother! He always bullies me!” She flung herself beside Liu Yuanxun, clutching and shaking his arm like a child demanding justice.
Liu Yuanxun let her cling, flipping documents with his free hand. “I won’t meddle in you siblings’ squabbles. If he bullies you, bully back. You’re from the same school—if you can’t win, blame your own poor skills.”
“Hmph.” Ling Qing huffed petulantly. “When I reach his age, I’ll surpass him!”
Ling Ting finished the tea and turned, catching sight of her plastered to the prince. His throat bobbed subtly. In the end, he held his silence, averting his eyes.
He placed the celadon cup steadily on the table. A soothing tea aroma wafted gently, calming the senses. Tea done, he stood at Liu Yuanxun’s right, grinding ink.
Only the Ling siblings attended Liu Yuanxun personally.
Ling Qing was lively and peerless in lightness skill, often handling external tasks. Ling Ting was meticulous, managing every detail from dawn to dusk—practically Liu Yuanxun’s shadow.
Ling Qing fidgeted soon enough, squirming as if pricked by needles beneath her. Only when Liu Yuanxun closed the scroll and murmured, “Go wander,” did true freedom dawn.
She bolted out like a streak. Liu Yuanxun watched her retreating figure, momentarily lost in thought.
In moments, he withdrew his gaze and asked Ling Ting, “If memory serves, Ling Qing is sixteen this year, isn’t she?”
Ling Ting’s hand paused almost imperceptibly as he ground the ink. He set the ink stick down on the inkstone and said softly, “Master, you didn’t remember wrong. Next year, Ling Qing will turn seventeen.”
“Seventeen already,” Liu Yuanxun murmured, propping his chin on his hand with a thoughtful look. “She seems so innocent when it comes to romance… She lost her mother at a young age and rarely interacts with other women. You’re her brother—keep a closer eye on her and see if there’s a suitable match. Don’t let her miss out.”
Ling Ting smiled faintly. “No need to worry, Young Master. That little girl might seem unreliable on the surface, but she’s got her own firm ideas. If she finds someone who catches her fancy, not even nine oxen could drag her away from him. And if no one’s to her liking? She’d sooner take the veil as a nun than marry.”
Liu Yuanxun opened his mouth to reply, but the door to the study burst open. Ling Qing, who had stepped out just moments before, rushed back in and shouted, “This is bad! Lord Gu and Minister Meng are fighting!”
Yet before the gates of the Temple Repository swung wide, a great cloak scented with pine resin draped over him, blocking every bit of the chill wind that followed Ling Qing inside.
