Neither of the Gu brothers noticed the shadowy figure that had slipped past Gu Yanshu's courtyard—arriving and departing like a phantom.
In a stately study adorned with antique furnishings, Fifth Prince Qin Hao of Tianqi choked on his tea mid-sip upon hearing his subordinate's report.
"Cough—You're telling me the young master truly said those words?" he sputtered, eyes alight with incredulous amusement.
Had either Gu brother been more vigilant, they might have recognized Zhi Ge—the silent observer now standing before Qin Hao—as that very phantom from moments ago.
Unfazed by his master's theatrics, Zhi Ge answered flatly: "Indeed."
Qin Hao, long accustomed to his retainer's stoicism, remained enthralled. He murmured the reported phrases like incantations:
"Become a royal consort through marriage—second only to two beneath heaven... Where else could such fortune be found but through imperial decree?"
"Wedding Third Brother serves both His Majesty's worries and my own advancement..."
A chuckle escaped him. "Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!" He tapped his teacup. "Who knew the Marquis's youngest hid such wit behind that spoiled exterior?"
His gaze then drifted to the study's central seat—
"What say you, Third Brother?"
There, behind a desk strewn with military dispatches and a sand table, sat the infamous War God of Tianqi—Third Prince Qin Lu. The man's sword-sharp brows and aura of blood-soaked lethality remained unmoved, his brush gliding across documents without pause.
Undeterred, Qin Hao pressed: "Must I entertain myself alone? At least grant me a response!"
Whether finally finishing his work or simply weary of pestering, Qin Lu set down his brush and leveled a gaze at his brother. "Your point?"
Qin Hao beamed. "Surely you find Young Master Gu's reasoning... amusing?"
Their camaraderie was no secret—where others recoiled from Qin Lu's battlefield aura, Qin Hao had clung to him since childhood. That he could lounge in this strategic sanctum spoke volumes.
A ghost of amusement flickered through Qin Lu's eyes. "Somewhat."
"Precisely!" Qin Hao clapped—then sobered abruptly. "But since he won't flee... what now?"
For Qin Hao's desire to see the marriage thwarted burned fiercer than even Gu Yanli's.
To the young master, wedding a man defied nature itself—a humiliation beyond reckoning.
For the young master, wedding another man—even by imperial decree—meant enduring lifelong whispers of disgrace.
But for Qin Lu, this marriage threatened something far graver: his claim to the throne.
With Tianqi's succession undecided and courtiers increasingly vocal, the viable candidates had narrowed to three—First Prince Qin Sheng, Third Prince Qin Lu, and Fourth Prince Qin Han. Yet the fourth prince had always played loyal lieutenant to his elder brother.
The real battle lay between the first and third princes.
Qin Hao knew his third brother cared little for power. But in the imperial family, neutrality wasn't an option. Qin Lu's military triumphs and current command of three border armies had already painted a target on his back. Should the throne pass to another, those same forces would be stripped away—leaving him defenseless against long-buried grudges.
And where Qin Lu fell, Qin Hao would follow.
Which made the emperor's marriage decree all the more sinister.
By wedding Qin Lu to a man, the emperor ensured no legitimate heir—a fatal flaw for any succession candidate. Yet the decree's irrevocable nature barred divorce without imperial permission.
Qin Hao had stormed the royal study the moment the edict was announced, demanding its revocation. He'd left with nothing but the emperor's wrath—and certainty that this was no casual whim.
With the emperor unmovable, their only recourse was the other groom.
"Kill him," Qin Hao had proposed bluntly. "Add one more to your 'wife-killing curse.' What's another corpse?"
Qin Lu's response still echoed:
"My blade points at enemies—at traitors—at foreign generals. Never at the innocent."
Even if it costs you the throne?
Even then.
That steel in his brother's eyes had stayed Qin Hao's hand. The empire Qin Lu had bled to protect wouldn't be defended with innocent blood.
So the fifth prince turned his schemes toward Gu Yanli—the estranged elder brother whose resentment masked deeper care. A few planted rumors, some "leaked" documents, and soon Gu Yanli was plotting his brother's escape.
Every escape route had been meticulously prepared... only for Gu Yanshu to refuse flight.
"If he won't flee, I'll wed him," Qin Lu said calmly, rolling up a battlefield map. "Since when did Qin Lu need heirs to prove his worth?"
"With Third Brother's word, this subject's heart is at ease!"
Qin Lu's single sentence steadied Qin Hao's turbulent thoughts like an anchor in stormy seas.
With his greatest fear allayed, the fifth prince's mind turned to practicalities:
"How shall the young master be accommodated after entering your household?"
Qin Lu didn't even glance up from the new military dispatch he'd unfurled.
"What arrangements are needed? My estate can feed one more mouth."
The implication rang clear—this would be a marriage in name only. Should Gu Yanshu prove as discreet as he was clever (as Zhi Ge's report suggested), he'd be granted freedom once the succession was secured.
Let's hope this young master's wit matches his reported cunning, Qin Hao mused, watching ink bloom across his brother's documents like battlefield stratagems taking form.
**With Gu Yanshu abandoning thoughts of escape and Qin Lu making no further moves, while other princes watched the impending same-sex marriage with glee—**
The path to matrimony now lay utterly unobstructed.
The wedding date, already set with startling haste, arrived swiftly after these back-and-forth maneuvers. On the eve of the ceremony, the Marquis of Chengen's estate bustled with preparations—every courtyard draped in the scarlet silks reserved for grand celebrations.
Bai Zhu, who'd spent these days cocooned in the young master's quarters nursing him back to health, finally felt reality sink in as he gazed at the crimson-drenched corridors:
His young lord was truly getting married.
His eyes drifted to the figure by the window.
Golden sunlight streamed through the lattice, gilding Gu Yanshu where he reclined on a daybed. Clad in loose white brocade embroidered with subtle patterns, he perused a book with lowered lashes that cast delicate shadows. Before him, a low table held a steaming teacup, its vapor curling like incense in a temple.
The scene exuded such peaceful grace that Bai Zhu momentarily forgot to breathe.
Never had he imagined this phrase applying to his notoriously wild master—the same youth who'd once dominated Yanjing's pleasure quarters, whose name was synonymous with "wine, feasts, and gambling" among the capital's wastrels.
Yet as he watched, Bai Zhu realized this transformation didn't surprise him.
As the young master's shadow, he'd witnessed every subtle change these past weeks. Gone was the impulsive hothead; in his place sat a man who weighed each action. This quiet scholar's demeanor no longer seemed incongruous—but rather, inevitable.
"What are you reading?"
The familiar voice from the doorway startled Bai Zhu from his reverie.
"Greetings, Eldest Young Master." Bai Zhu didn't even need to look up to recognize the voice.
"Just some light reading." Gu Yanshu smiled, closing the book and tilting its cover toward Gu Yanli—a volume documenting Tianqi's regional customs, the sort scholars dismissed as frivolous.
In the past, Gu Yanli would've chastised such "unserious" material. But since their reconciliation and with his brother's impending marriage (and thus barred from official careers), he merely said:
"If you enjoy such books, I have several more in my collection. I'll have them sent over."
"My thanks, Elder Brother."
In this era without digital distractions, these books had been Gu Yanshu's sole entertainment during convalescence. Having already reread this volume twice, he welcomed the offer.
Watching his brother's grateful smile, Gu Yanli's lips unconsciously curved upward—When had his troublesome sibling become so agreeable? The realization soured as scarlet wedding drapes caught his eye, their festive hue suddenly garish.
"What brings you here today?" Gu Yanshu's question interrupted his thoughts.
Indeed, with no proper mistress overseeing affairs (Concubine Chang confined, the Dowager too frail), Gu Yanli had single-handedly arranged the wedding. On the eve of such an event, his presence here was peculiar.
"A matter of importance." Gu Yanli produced a palm-sized lacquered box, its delicate lock already keyed for opening.
Inside lay a thick sheaf of papers—
Without waiting for explanation, Gu Yanshu lifted the stack—only to freeze.
These weren't mere papers.
They were a fortune.
Atop lay banknotes—each stamped 1,000 taels, totaling at least thirty thousand. Beneath these rested property deeds, servant contracts, and two inventories:
One fresh with pine-scented ink, likely penned days ago.
The other yellowed, its characters faded with age.
"Your dowry," Gu Yanli said simply.
"Dowry?" Even for a royal marriage, this seemed excessive.
"You wed as principal consort. Noble daughters marrying princes bring lavish dowries—" He left the implication hanging: How much more scrutiny will a man face?
"Still, this is too much." Gu Yanshu wasn't feigning modesty. Beyond the silver, the lists detailed shops, estates, antiques—
"His Majesty will name Third Prince 'Li Wang' tomorrow. Your dowry should match a princess consort's standard." Gu Yanli's tone held regret—not for the extravagance, but his inability to provide more.
Gu Yanshu's fingers tightened on the aged inventory. "Mother's bridal list?"
"Yes. I'd planned to give it when you married." A pause. "Eventually."
"You've kept nothing for yourself?"
The first Lady Gu, daughter of imperial merchants, had entered the marquisate with legendary splendor—a procession still whispered about decades later. Though financial crises had whittled the hoard, what remained was substantial.
Gu Yanli scoffed. "As heir, the marquisate is mine. Why would I need her dowry?"
The casual dismissal struck like a blade.
All these years, Concubine Chang had whispered of the elder brother's greed—how he hoarded their mother's treasures, refusing even their father's inquiries.
Yet the truth?
Every tael had been safeguarded for the younger son.
"Elder Brother..." Gu Yanshu's throat tightened.
For the first time since transmigrating, guilt flooded him—a thief stealing another's birthright, another's love.
But Gu Yanli was already retreating. "The front courtyard needs me. Keep these safe—they'll grant you standing in the prince's household." At the doorway, he turned. "Your happiness is mine."
Then he was gone, leaving only the scent of sandalwood and the weight of unearned devotion.