The nightmare of old memories finally receded, releasing Gu Yingjie from the grip of the past. He slowly opened his eyes, finding himself safe in the present, but not alone. Zhu Mingyang was awake, his eyes open and staring into the darkness.
Gu Yingjie wondered if it was the pain of the wound on Zhu Mingyang's shoulder that kept him from rest, or if his guard simply knew the truth: that this quiet darkness was their last night sleeping in each other's arms, their final stolen moment of peace before the rigid duties of the Gu Manor swallowed them once more.
He sighed deeply, the sound weighted with the trauma of his dreams and the memories that had flashed through his mind. He turned his head slightly toward the man who had seen his pain and shared his passion.
"Mingyang," he whispered, his voice holding the absolute conviction of a vow. "You will be my only guard."
"Over the years, your brothers and sisters have chosen many different guards," Zhu Mingyang observed, his voice calm, accepting the complexity of the Gu family's tradition.
"I decided to make you my only guard," Gu Yingjie insisted, his hand moving to rest against Zhu Mingyang's firm abdomen. "I want to grow old with you, just like my grandfather and his loyal sentinel."
Zhu Mingyang's own hand moved to rest on his master's body, his fingers tracing the faint, familiar line of a scar on Gu Yingjie's left arm.
"This is the scar from the Moon Festival," Gu Yingjie whispered, recognizing the touch. "Do you remember?"
Zhu Mingyang pulled Gu Yingjie closer, holding him securely inside his arms. "I remember everything we experienced together," he affirmed, his vow weighted with history. "Whether it is pain, tears, sadness, or happiness, I will never forget."
Gu Yingjie stretched his head forward and slowly, deliberately, began kissing Zhu Mingyang's lips. He spoke softly, his voice muffled against Zhu Mingyang's mouth, "At that time, we were still very young and so incredibly naïve."
He deepened the kiss, sending his tongue inside, and as their mouths met with intimate, smacking sounds, the sensual act became a time machine. Every touch, every sound, rewound the present moment, pulling them both back to that pivotal, painful day: the Moon Festival.
It was the fifteenth day of the eighth month, and though the night wind was crisp, the two young men's hearts were warm. The village streets were a kaleidoscope of light, illuminated by hundreds of floating paper lanterns. Everywhere, people gathered to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival, with bursts of fireworks painting streaks of brilliance across the sky. Gu Yingjie and Zhu Mingyang walked happily, their easy confidence and undeniable handsomeness drawing smiles and soft giggles from the young ladies they passed.
They paused near a small lounge area where a crowd of elders had gathered, captivated by an opera being performed on a temporary stage. Today's performance was a tale of justice: Bao Qingtian resolving the tragic death of a mother, titled starkly: 'The Ungrateful Son.'
As the drama unfolded, Zhu Mingyang and Gu Yingjie sat side-by-side, sharing the moment with the villagers. For a brief, blissful time, they were just two young men, laughing and clapping with a genuine, simple joy, utterly absorbed in the performance.
The actress portraying the mother held a stark white cloth in her hand. It was the signal.
Suddenly, a long piece of fabric shot out from the stage, not the prop, but a weapon. It coiled tightly around Zhu Mingyang's waist, yanking him hard and fast onto the wooden platform. He was trapped.
Gu Yingjie reacted instantly, flying into the air. He didn't waste his attack on the actor; he hurled his signature silver leaf toward a dark shadow lurking behind the performer—the true target. Before the leaf could strike, two other men in dark cloth dropped from behind the curtains, launching their attack on him.
On the stage, Zhu Mingyang grunted, channeling his inner energy in a fierce burst. The cloth binding him tore apart violently. Yet the ambush was far from over. Almost immediately, three more assailants soared onto the stage, sealing the area around the two young men. The Mid-Autumn Festival had turned into a desperate fight for their lives.
With a powerful surge, Zhu Mingyang tore the restraining cloth and rejoined his master. They stood back-to-back on the wooden stage, their breaths quickening, facing the five hostile figures who had them completely surrounded.
"Who are you people?" Gu Yingjie demanded, his voice ringing out over the suddenly silent crowd.
One of the men, cloaked and expressionless, replied in a chilling monotone, "Someone wants to end your life."
The confirmation of the assassination plot hung heavy in the air. Zhu Mingyang shifted his weight, gripping his hidden weapon tighter. "Be careful," he warned Gu Yingjie, his voice low and urgent.
With a savage cry, the five assassins lunged. They were coldly efficient, immediately executing their primary strategy: exploit the difference in skill and the strength of the bond. Knowing that Zhu Mingyang was the greater fighter, four of the men instantly diverted to overwhelm the guard, while the remaining assassin broke away to focus his attack solely on Gu Yingjie.
The tactical goal was clear: they understood that any injury suffered by the young master would result in Zhu Mingyang's brutal punishment. Thus, they attacked both men mercilessly, delivering blow after blow exactly as their master commanded, aiming not just for physical harm, but to inflict the deepest possible pain through the wound of duty.
As a well-trained guard inherited from Gu Jian's elite ranks, Zhu Mingyang was a formidable opponent, but the four assailants were relentless. It was then that the ambush escalated. Two additional assassins suddenly emerged from behind the curtains, bypassing the fight entirely. They delivered a vicious kick that sent Gu Yingjie sprawling, knocking him clean off the stage.
Gu Yingjie crashed hard into the first row of wooden benches, the splintering sound echoing in the festival air. The three assassins nearest the benches sprinted toward the injured young master.
Seeing his priority threatened, Zhu Mingyang broke free from the original four with a desperate surge of speed and flew off the stage after them. He struck instantly: a blinding reverse kick to the neck of the nearest man, who was knocked out cold before he hit the ground. Spinning mid-air, he slammed powerful punches into the abdomens of the remaining two. The force sent them flying backward; their backs hit the jagged edge of the stage, leaving them gasping and struggling to stand.
The diversion had been costly. The original four assassins immediately jumped off the stage to surround Zhu Mingyang, their numbers intact and their injured target lying mere feet away.
A sharp, ragged sound of pain escaped Gu Yingjie. He struggled to push himself up from the ruined benches, his face pale and strained. "Mingyang, my arm," he gasped, his voice weak.
Zhu Mingyang's eyes snapped to the wound. A deep, horizontal cut marked Gu Yingjie's left upper arm, and bright, dark blood was already welling up, dripping steadily onto the cold ground. The sight of his master's blood was the final catalyst.
The remaining four assassins advanced slowly, savoring the moment of vulnerability, knowing they had inflicted the intended wound. Zhu Mingyang didn't need a command; every ounce of his discipline fractured into pure, protective rage. He positioned himself instantly between the four men and the injured Gu Yingjie, his stance screaming violence.
Zhu Mingyang positioned his body as a shield, standing resolute before the injured Gu Yingjie, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.
The first man, wielding a sword, lunged. Zhu Mingyang's reaction was instantaneous and deadly. He shoved Gu Yingjie backward, ensuring distance, and simultaneously snatched the assassin's right wrist. With a sickening crunch, he smashed the man's right elbow, shattering the joint. Without pause, his left hand swung across the man's throat, a forceful, crushing blow that ended the man's life immediately.
Two more assassins flew over the benches to take advantage of the chaos. When one launched a kick, Zhu Mingyang caught the leg mid-air with his left hand, delivered a sharp impact to the thigh, and broke the man's femur. He then slammed the now-crippled assassin's abdomen, sending the screaming body flying backward to crash violently against the edge of the stage.
Before the third man could react, Zhu Mingyang's hand was around his neck. He squeezed vigorously, a soundless struggle that lasted only a moment before the bones in the man's neck audibly snapped. Zhu Mingyang pulled the deceased closer to his face, gazing into the lifeless eyes, and a cold, chilling smile of satisfaction curved across his lips.
The four remaining masked men, injured and terrified, saw what Zhu Mingyang had become. He was no longer a guard; he was a savage force, like another person possessed by a demon. Knowing instantly that defeat was certain, they broke formation and fled desperately into the dense cover of the festival night.
But Zhu Mingyang did not pursue. He stood motionless, his arm still locked around the dead man's throat, his face a mask of terrifying, vacant satisfaction.
Wounded, but recognizing the greater danger, Gu Yingjie fought past the searing pain in his arm. He struggled to his feet and desperately grabbed onto the rigid arm still squeezing the corpse.
He shouted loudly, frantically, directly into his guard's ear: "Mingyang!... Mingyang!... Wake up!... Mingyang!"
The bloodlust finally receded. Zhu Mingyang's eyes refocused, and he blinked, his expression returning from maniacal fury to hollow exhaustion. He dropped the dead man's body to the ground like a discarded puppet.
He turned toward his master. Gu Yingjie stood amidst the ruined benches, clutching his bleeding arm, his face stark white. He looked at Zhu Mingyang as if he had just witnessed the devil itself—a chilling blend of terror and awe.
"Let's go home," Zhu Mingyang murmured, already moving toward the bodies and the chaos they would leave behind. He expected the inevitable. "I failed to protect you. You are injured. I am fine with punishment."
"I'm not fine with it," Gu Yingjie retorted instantly, his voice sharp with desperation. He knew the brutality the Gu Household reserved for failure. "Now, help me wrap my wound."
As Zhu Mingyang and Gu Yingjie approached the massive front door of the Gu Household, they were immediately met by a formidable line: Gu Tingfang, stood flanked by the gleeful conspirators, Gu Xiaowen and Gu Gouliang, and two stern-faced guards. The siblings had been waiting.
Gu Xiaowen moved first, his smile sickly sweet as he seized Gu Yingjie's left arm—the exact one bleeding from the fresh cut. "Little brother," he purred, applying pressure, "did you have a great night viewing the fireworks?" He pressed down deliberately and viciously onto the concealed wound.
A searing jolt of agonizing pain shot through Gu Yingjie's body. He knew, instinctively, that a single gasp, a flicker of pain, would be the proof the Gu Family needed to brutally punish Zhu Mingyang for failing his duty. He held his breath, forcing his facial muscles into a serene smile.
"I'm doing great," Gu Yingjie replied, his voice unnaturally calm. "How about you?"
Gu Xiaowen, "We are fine." He pressed hard.
"Thank you for asking, Father," Gu Yingjie replied, maintaining his smile despite the throbbing agony. "I confess I feel a little drunk, and I am about to go to sleep."
Gu Tingfang laughed, a booming, dismissive sound that filled the foyer. "You need to practice drinking, son! Go on, then." He walked ahead, leaving the conspirators alone.
The brothers, Gu Xiaowen and Gu Gouliang, watched with visible despair as Zhu Mingyang and Gu Yingjie walked away and ascended the stairs. The trap had failed, but not entirely.
Gu Xiaowen sighed, then slowly brought the hand that had squeezed the wound up to his face. He found the faint, wet residue, and deliberately smeared Gu Yingjie's blood in a crimson circle on his four fingers.
"Gouliang," he muttered, his voice cold, heavy with rage and grudging respect for the shield that protected their enemy. "It looks like it's no longer easy to kill him."
Gu Gouliang, "To kill him, Zhu Mingyang must die first."
Gu Xiaowen watched his target disappear up the stairs. The handkerchief he produced was spotless, but he used it to meticulously wipe away the faint smear of blood from his fingers. The simple motion, combined with his satisfied, cruel smile, confirmed his inner thoughts.
"I agree," he murmured to Gu Gouliang, his eyes glinting with murderous anticipation. The struggle to eliminate the heir was far from over.