While Qin Sheng's face darkened with resentment, Qin Hao's expression brightened instantly upon hearing the decree's contents—even the corners of his eyes crinkling with barely suppressed delight.
The Emperor's timing couldn't have been more perfect.
Qin Rui and Qin Han's mocking tongues stilled mid-sentence. Previously disinterested officials now swarmed forward with sudden enthusiasm, their sycophantic praises flowing like spring rivers.
Qin Hao could practically read their thoughts without trying:
These snakes assumed Third Brother's political demise the moment he was saddled with a male consort. Had His Majesty not still held his military power, half of them wouldn't have bothered attending at all.
Now with this princedom... ah, how quickly their tunes change.
As for the First Prince's faction? Qin Sheng, Qin Rui and Qin Han had already slithered away unnoticed—no doubt unwilling to remain as laughingstocks after their intended prey became the first imperial son enfeoffed as a premier prince.
Even officials originally aligned with Qin Sheng now pressed forward with congratulations, their earlier reservations discarded like yesterday's gossip.
Though Qin Hao despised such political chameleons, he stepped forward smoothly to help his brother navigate these crocodile smiles.
As twilight painted the sky crimson, the first guest made his excuses:
"They say the wedding night's hours are worth fortunes in gold. This humble official wouldn't dare impose further on Prince Li's joyous occasion."
Others followed suit with startling alacrity.
Who'd dare disrupt the War God's wedding night? the fleeing officials thought. Perhaps the Fifth Prince might—but certainly not us!
After seeing off the last guest, Qin Hao himself prepared to depart.
"Rest well, Elder Brother. Tomorrow brings court audiences and imperial thanksgivings."
He made no move toward the bridal chambers—knowing full well this marriage would remain unconsummated. Proper wedding-night mischief can wait for his real bride, he mused.
Qin Lu offered rare concern: "Retire early yourself."
"Your Highness's care touches this unworthy one!" Qin Hao bowed with theatrical flourish before taking his leave.
Neither prince realized one crucial truth tonight:
Some decisions—like whether there would be a wedding night at all—were no longer solely theirs to make.
Outside the Main Courtyard
Zhi Ge paced like a caged tiger until Qin Lu appeared—then lunged forward in relief.
"Your Highness! The young master—he refuses the Cheng Ying Courtyard!"
Despite planning a marriage in name only, Qin Lu had prepared meticulously. The designated courtyard lay a deliberate distance from his own quarters.
Yet halfway there, Gu Yanshu had dug in his heels.
And Zhi Ge—never skilled in diplomacy—stood no chance against that cunning tongue.
Though Zhi Ge and the servants understood Gu Yanshu wouldn't be their true mistress, Qin Lu's prior orders—"Accommodate the young master's requests"—left them powerless.
When Gu Yanshu marched uninvited into the main courtyard, none dared forcibly remove him.
Now Zhi Ge waited anxiously at the gates, praying his master would handle this... situation.
"He refuses?" Qin Lu paused mid-step.
"Every argument Your Highness prepared, the young master countered," Zhi Ge reported, face twisting at the memory. "He has... opinions."
With a dismissive wave, Qin Lu strode toward his chambers—
To find Gu Yanshu lounging at his rosewood table, leisurely shelling longans while Bai Zhu and a panicked housemaid hovered nearby.
The maid nearly wept with relief at Qin Lu's arrival.
"You're back." Gu Yanshu abandoned his snacks, eyeing the prince's sober state—unsurprising given no one would dare pressure the War God to drink.
Still, he offered the prepared sobering soup. "Drink this."
Qin Lu accepted the steaming bowl automatically, only to be ambushed by cheerful complaints:
"Your servants amuse me. Asked for food, they bring fertility symbols—longans, peanuts, dates—as if gorging will make me pregnant."
The mountain of shells proved he'd eaten them anyway.
This domestic ease unsettled Qin Lu—it felt like years of marriage, not hours. Setting down the barely-touched soup, he cut to the chase:
"Why refuse Cheng Ying Courtyard?"
Gu Yanshu propped his chin on one hand. "Who separates newlyweds? Especially by half a manor's distance?"
"Ours isn't a conventional marriage."
"We bowed to heaven and earth. What's unconvential?" The young master's smile turned feline.
Qin Lu exhaled. "I promised your brother a marriage in name only—"
"Ah, but I made no such promise." Gu Yanshu's grin widened. "What Elder Brother agrees to hardly binds me."
The sheer audacity stole Qin Lu's breath.
"Then what do you want?" The words emerged strangled.
Gu Yanshu rose, closing the distance between them. His whisper seared:
"To be your real wife."
Qin Lu's ears burned. Had he still held the soup bowl, it would have shattered.
The maid trembled, eyes glued to the floor—until salvation came:
"Leave us."
He fled faster than battlefield deserters.
Though Bai Zhu had braced himself for his master's audacity, even he hadn't anticipated this level of recklessness—**
Teasing a war god's whiskers would be safer!
He'd nearly refused to leave, but one glare from Gu Yanshu sent him scrambling—though not without thoughtfully shutting the doors behind him.
The click of the latch made Gu Yanshu smirk. My attendant knows me well.
Alone now, he advanced on Qin Lu with predator's grace. "Your Highness finds my proposal... agreeable?"
Freed from public scrutiny, his touches grew bolder—only to be intercepted by iron-strong fingers.
"Why insist on consummation?" Qin Lu's voice dropped dangerously.
By all logic, Gu Yanshu shouldn't desire this. Intelligence reports confirmed his preference for women, and the Marquisate held no political stake in this marriage.
Unless...
A memory flashed—that brazen appraisal during the bridal procession. Qin Lu's stomach lurched.
Surely not—
"Because His Highness pleases me exceedingly." Gu Yanshu's smile turned molten. "And isn't bedding one's spouse the most natural thing?"
Qin Lu studied him. "You truly mean this?"
"I've walked this path without thought of turning back."
The absolute certainty in those words unsettled Qin Lu more than any battlefield ambush. His warning emerged rougher than intended:
"Once done, there's no undoing. Our nominal marriage agreement becomes void—I'll never release you."
Gu Yanshu merely laughed. "Who said I wanted freedom?"
Then—just as Qin Lu wavered—the viper struck:
"Unless Your Highness prefers... my taking charge?"
Qin Lu froze. He didn't just—
Oh, but he did.
With theatrical flourish, Gu Yanshu produced that manual—flipping to dog-eared pages with appalling familiarity.
"This position suits beginners, though it demands flexibility from Your Highness..."
"Or perhaps this? Less strain on you, more effort from me—but I don't mind..."
Each illustration made Qin Lu's vision tinge redder.
"Not. Competent?!" The words tore from his throat.
No man tolerates such slander—least of all when accompanied by lewd diagrams and chirpy commentary about "marital obligations."
That damned book vanished into Qin Lu's grip.
"Rest assured, Princess Consort." The title dripped venom. "Tonight, you'll learn exactly how competent your husband is."
Qin Lu was a man of his word—when he promised satisfaction, he delivered.
And in the process, Gu Yanshu learned a brutal lesson:
Never taunt a war god in bed.
Initially, he'd taken comfort in Qin Lu's inexperience. How hard could it be?
After all, while he'd never "eaten pork" himself, he'd heard plenty from the crude jokes of post-apocalyptic comrades. One universal truth emerged:
Beginners tend to... underperform.
What he'd failed to consider:
"Generally" doesn't apply to men who conquer battlefields before breakfastMost beginners lack illustrated manuals provided by their own prey
The consequences were catastrophic.
By Bai Zhu's traumatized account, the noises from the prince's chambers only ceased at dawn—his master's voice progressing from cocky taunts to ragged pleas before fading entirely.
Had it not been for occasional whimpers, the attendant would've assumed his young lord deceased.
When the storm finally passed, only Qin Lu emerged energized—calling for bathwater with infuriating vitality while Gu Yanshu lay motionless as a corpse.
This was the mighty War God Bai Zhu had pitied earlier?
He should've saved his sympathy.
Present Moment
A pained hiss signaled Gu Yanshu's awakening. Bai Zhu rushed forward with tea.
"Easy, young master. Drink slowly."
Every muscle screamed. Even at his sickest in the apocalypse, he'd never ached like this.
As warmth seeped into his battered body, one thought crystallized:
Whoever claimed sex was enjoyable deserved disembowelment.
"Are you... unwell?" Bai Zhu eyed his master's grimace.
"Fine," Gu Yanshu croaked—then startled at the gravelly ruin of his voice.
Bai Zhu panicked. "Shall I summon a physician?"
"Are you mad?" The glare could've flayed skin.
Loyalty aside, this attendant's idiocy knew bounds.
Explain to a doctor how I wrecked my voice moaning?
Even his shamelessness had limits.
"This servant spoke foolishly." Bai Zhu hastily refilled the teacup, chastened. "Perhaps more water?"
Gu Yanshu drained the second cup before rasping: "Where's His Highness?"
The empty chambers had already betrayed Qin Lu's absence.
"The prince departed at dawn," Bai Zhu admitted, then added quickly: "But he expressly ordered that you rest undisturbed!"
"Dawn?"
The disparity stung. While he lay wrecked, that damned war god had marched off fresh as morning dew.
Was it the positioning?
For exactly 0.03 seconds, Gu Yanshu entertained reversing their roles—before reality intervened.
Between Qin Lu's battlefield-honed stamina and his own current state, such fantasies belonged in the realm of never.
"What hour is it?"
"Nearly sunset, young master."
Gu Yanshu bolted upright—then hissed as protesting muscles screamed.
Imperial newlyweds were expected at court by morning!
Five hours late already—
Bai Zhu rushed to reassure: "His Highness sent word at sunrise. Postponed your audience until tomorrow."
This "consideration" only deepened Gu Yanshu's mortification.
Every soul in the palace would know exactly why they'd deferred.
For the hundredth time, regret flooded him:
If only he hadn't provoked a war god quite so thoroughly...
But regret, like spilled wine, cannot be reclaimed.
Gu Yanshu could only swallow his humiliation—while across the capital, gambling dens erupted in frenzied activity.
The odds on "Young Master Gu survives three days"—once stabilized by mysterious heavy bets—now skyrocketed to 15-to-1.
Yet no one touched it.
"Why bother?" scoffed a veteran gambler to newcomers. "Didn't you hear? They missed the imperial newlyweds' audience!"
"But surely wedding night... exertions... explain that?"
"For normal couples, perhaps." The man snorted. "You think the War God would spare a male bride's tender sensibilities?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Within moments:
"Survives one day" odds collapsed to 100-to-1"Two days" modestly rose to even money"Three days" plateaued at that staggering 15-to-1
Just as predicted, bookmakers shuttered the "one day" pool prematurely—early winners clutching their slips while latecomers cursed missed opportunities.
The city's consensus was clear:
Red lanterns would soon swap for funeral white.