Chapter 80 Part 2

He hadn’t meant to pry, but he worried Ling Ting might bury his concerns. “What were you just thinking about? Has something happened?”

Ling Ting couldn’t bear to lie outright, yet the truth stuck in his craw. It was mere conjecture, after all—and with Gu Lianzhao holding leverage over him, what if those doubts were twisted into slander? What if Gu Lianzhao exposed Ling Ting’s feelings for Liu Yuanxun to spite him?

A man with a weakness became cautious, easily manipulated. In the past, Ling Ting could share anything with Liu Yuanxun. But since Gu Lianzhao’s arrival, he could no longer serve at his master’s side, nor bridge the growing distance between their hearts.

Did he resent it? Was he jealous?

Ling Ting didn’t dwell on it, nor did he want to. All he knew was that he hoped Gu Lianzhao possessed the Pure Yang Physique. Even if that gave Gu Lianzhao an edge to win the prince’s favor, as long as the prince recovered, Ling Ting could offer his heartfelt blessings.

Liu Yuanxun was not only his master but also the benefactor who had saved both him and Ling Qing. He had granted them dignity, a home, and a future. Against such profound grace and affection, Ling Ting even felt that his own deeply buried admiration was sordid by comparison.

Liu Yuanxun was still waiting for an answer, so Ling Ting quickly collected his thoughts and replied in his usual gentle tone, “Nothing’s amiss. I was simply concerned about your health and found myself dwelling on it longer than I should.”

Liu Yuanxun knew how much Ling Ting fretted over his well-being, so he gave it no further thought. With a murmur of acknowledgment, he closed his eyes once more and drifted into a deep sleep.

…

Embroidered Uniform Guard Commandant Office.

Gu Lianzhao had arrived early and worked with his usual efficiency. By the time the sun dipped low, he had wrapped up all the miscellaneous follow-up tasks. He was on the verge of heading back to the mansion when, just as he passed through the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s gates, he turned on his heel and retraced his steps.

Ever since marrying into the prince’s mansion, he hadn’t set foot in the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s barracks. Even when bone-tired, he would simply catch a nap wherever he could; there had never been time to return to his room for proper rest.

He reached the door and pushed it open. In that instant, a faint sense of unfamiliarity washed over him.

The room’s furnishings had been refreshed at some point. The wooden cabinet that once stood by the bed was gone, replaced by a sleek, modern wardrobe.

Gu Lianzhao pulled open the wardrobe doors. Inside hung a few changes of clothes, and tucked in the corner was a bundle wrapped in coarse black cloth. The fabric felt rough to the touch, and the bundle was heavy. As he lifted it, the contents clinked dully together.

Official silver, with its purity, rang crisp when struck. Common silver, laced with impurities, produced a muffled tone. He had no need for spending silver, so after pocketing his salary, he would toss it straight into the cabinet. What should have been neat stacks of official ingots had been replaced with loose fragments of common silver.

He knew someone had swapped the contents, but it didn’t matter to him. Scooping up the bundle, he stepped out again.

He had taken only two paces when he ran into one of the sweeping servant boys. The lad caught sight of him and trembled from head to toe. “This little one pays respects to Ninth Lord.”

Gu Lianzhao offered no reply and strode past. Before the boy could exhale in relief, Gu Lianzhao turned back. “Oh, right.”

The servant boy choked on his breath, his face flushing beet red in an instant.

Gu Lianzhao was well aware of his fearsome reputation and paid it no mind. “Reassign this room,” he said simply. “I won’t be using it anymore.”

With that, he departed, leaving the servant boy rooted to the spot in astonishment.

Everyone knew that among the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s Thirteen Great Protectors, Ninth Lord Gu was the only one without a family. He alone, after clawing his way to such heights, had been content to bunk in the Commandery Office’s makeshift barracks for a full four years.

Not two days after Ninth Lord Gu had been whisked away by palace attendants, his meager possessions had been divvied up. Valuables vanished into eager hands; trash was discarded. In the ensuing frenzy, the onlookers were stunned to learn how austere the life of the renowned Ninth Lord Gu truly was. Apart from his mandated official robes and a few sets of everyday uniforms, the cabinet held scant clothing—and all of plain fabric.

One might call him poor, but he was far from destitute. Most Embroidered Uniform Guard officers had families to feed, yet Gu Lianzhao did not. He lived on-site, ate on-site, and spent most of his time either on cases or in the Imperial Prison. With nowhere to spend his pay, it had piled up. When they pried open that cabinet, a tidy fortune in gold gleamed within.

Still, word had it that Ninth Lord had wed the prince and taken up as a concubine in the prince’s mansion—no wonder he had packed his bundle and vanished without a backward glance.

…

After departing the Commandery Office, Gu Lianzhao did not return to the prince’s mansion. Instead, he led Black Thunder toward the West Market.

Unlike the hushed opulence of the East Market, the West Market thrummed with raucous energy. Common folk crammed their stalls together, hawking rice, oil, salt, ironware, farm tools, coarse linens—everything under the sun.

Leading his horse, Gu Lianzhao wove through the teeming crowds, veering toward a quieter corner.

He reached a somewhat open stretch, and before he could speak, the old man in the blacksmith’s shop bellowed a greeting. “Ninth Lord! Long time no see. What’ll it be today?”

“Don’t fuss over me,” Gu Lianzhao said. “Carry on with your work.”

“You got it!” The old blacksmith chuckled good-naturedly, unperturbed by the curtness, and bent back to his hammering on an iron plowshare. He only occasionally glanced up to check on Gu Lianzhao.

Gu Lianzhao sifted through the iron ingots displayed out front for what seemed like ages but found none to his satisfaction. With a frown, he asked, “Got any top-grade stock?”

“Raw iron or wrought?” the old man replied, pausing his work. “No wrought, but I’ve got a prime piece of raw. Want to see it?”

“Mm. Fetch it.”

The old fellow rummaged in the back for a good while before emerging, cradling a massive lump of iron. Though wiry and gaunt, he brimmed with raw power—his blackened, callused arms thicker than most men’s thighs. He hefted the enormous chunk with effortless ease.

Gu Lianzhao inspected it closely. The surface bore no glaring flaws, no telltale sand pits. The broken edge felt smooth and fine-grained. Fine material indeed, yet he hesitated.

“A gift?” The old blacksmith grinned, reading him like a book. “You used to be less choosy.”

Gu Lianzhao said nothing, his fingers still tracing the iron.

“Rest easy—no finer stuff in all the West Market. Forge whatever you like, and it’ll please you eight parts out of ten, I swear!”

Gu Lianzhao knew it was quality, but iron remained iron—cheap at any price. Liu Yuanxun, by contrast, had lavished fortunes upon him.

Never mind the mansion’s provisions or Black Thunder’s exorbitant cost. The dagger alone that Liu Yuanxun had gifted him had run a thousand taels. Even liquidating everything, Gu Lianzhao couldn’t match it. Day-to-day was one thing, but Liu Yuanxun’s birthday loomed…

Seeing the hesitation, the old blacksmith assumed dissatisfaction with the ingot and held his tongue. Iron was iron, after all; the best still paled against gold. No sense pressing a reluctant buyer.

He was reaching to stow it away and resume forging when Gu Lianzhao spoke. “I’ll take it. Fire the furnace.”

The old blacksmith’s eyes lit up. “How d’you want it shaped?”

“Paper,” Gu Lianzhao said.

The old man feared no labor, only penny-pinching. Buoyed by such promptness, he fetched paper and brush, handing them over for a sketch.

The longer he studied it, the broader his grin grew. Raw iron to wrought: twentyfold markup. To hundred-times-folded steel: three hundredfold. Land this job, and he’d be rolling in it.

“Ninth Lord, straight talk: I can craft it, but it’ll take time. Quickest a month. Swing by then—perfection guaranteed.”

“Five days,” Gu Lianzhao replied flatly.

The old blacksmith drew himself up proudly. “Can’t be done. Rushing skimps quality; I won’t tarnish my name for…”

Gu Lianzhao untied the bundle at his back, selected the largest gold ingot, and shoved the rest toward the old man. “All of it. Five days.”

Gleaming gold and bright silver mounded in the threadbare cloth—at least two hundred taels. After materials, a cool forty in pure profit.

Money moved mountains. The old blacksmith clenched his jaw. “Deal. Five days. I’ll rally my crew of old mates—satisfaction assured!”

Gu Lianzhao inclined his head in approval, hashing out a few final details. As he turned to go, the old blacksmith called after him. “Ninth Lord—engraving?”

Gu Lianzhao halted. “What?”

“On the piece, I mean,” the old man clarified. “For a gift, etch a name—yours or the recipient’s. A keepsake everlasting.”

Gu Lianzhao nearly refused, but the thought of it as Liu Yuanxun’s birthday present stirred an urge to leave his mark. After a pause, he murmured, “A’Qiao. The qiao from mountain bridge.”

The old blacksmith scribbled it down. When he looked up, Gu Lianzhao had already melted into the distance.

Once, to him, A’Qiao had meant a body full of needle marks, seething hatred, a bitter curse. He had shared the name with Liu Yuanxun as a grim reminder: never surrender to the delusion of affection.

Yet from some unspoken turning point, that same name on another’s lips had taken on a warmer hue.

That person had nestled in his arms, nuzzled against his neck, clung to him, called his name, kindling desires that blinded his reason and plunged him into indulgence. That same person had offered a cup of water, a bowl of rice—given him someone to lean on, a home to return to, restored his humanity.

From birth, his life had been shadowed by hatred. He had clawed through the plague-ravaged inferno of his city, plunged into famine’s horrors of child-eating desperation. He had fought from his rural hells to the capital’s crucibles, from helpless pawn to Pacification Commissioner wielding life-and-death power over others.

In a mere eighteen years, he had endured every torment the world could inflict. Only upon meeting Liu Yuanxun had he tasted the warmth of home.

It was that flawless, moon-god visage that first ensnared his senses. But it was the man who built him a hearth who captured his heart.

Yet he was no noble sage, merely a petty scoundrel. Fate offered no real choices, no true agency—only warmth, repaid by demanding his life in exchange.

He could not forfeit his own life, nor sacrifice it for Liu Yuanxun. All he could do was empty his coffers for a birthday gift and escort him down Jiangnan’s roads, mending every regret before he descended peacefully into the Yellow Springs.