On the third day of Gu Yanshu and Qin Lu's marriage, the teahouses along the street near Prince Li's residence were once again packed to the brim.
Just like on their wedding day, many patrons had to share tables due to limited seating. But this time, the crowd wasn't just made up of curious onlookers—it was flooded with gamblers who had staked their fortunes on the young master's survival.
For most of these bettors, last night had been sleepless. Some had wagered half their family's wealth, dreaming of turning their luck around overnight. Even now, before dawn, they remained wide-eyed with anticipation.
From outside the teahouses, snippets of conversation drifted through the air:
"Old Wang? I thought you never gambled!"
"Not when there's risk of losing! But free money? Only a fool would pass that up! Even that stingy Qian is betting—see over there?"
"By heaven, you're right! How much did you put down?"
"A modest twenty taels!"
"Old Zhou! Never knew you had such guts! I only dared three taels—tried to add more but the bookmakers closed the bets! What rotten luck!"
"Ha! Some people just aren't destined for wealth! Though to be fair, if they hadn't closed early, the house would've gone bankrupt!"
The gamblers huddled together, exchanging tips and calculations. They were all waiting for one thing: to see when the scarlet wedding decorations at Prince Li's mansion would be replaced with white funeral drapes. Some were already planning how to spend their winnings—buying estates, farmland, servants...
Then, like a drop of water hitting boiling oil, a shout shattered their fantasies:
"Young Master Gu has left the residence!"
The teahouse erupted.
"What?!"
"Are you certain it's him? Not some lookalike?"
"Your eyes must be failing you!"
To these gamblers, Gu Yanshu had been a dead man since yesterday. They weren't here to confirm the outcome—they were here to collect their winnings the moment the funeral preparations began.
Yet now they were being told not only was Gu Yanshu alive, but he was walking out of Prince Li's mansion in good health. This was harder to believe than resurrection from the dead.
But no matter how much they resisted the truth, the sight of a very much alive Gu Yanshu heading to the palace for his belated newlyweds' audience forced them to accept reality.
Inside Prince Li's Residence Earlier That Morning
Despite a full day of rest, Gu Yanshu still moved with visible discomfort. But imperial protocol demanded the newlyweds' audience—having already postponed once, skipping again would be unforgivable.
When Qin Lu noticed his stiffness at dawn, he immediately summoned servants to request another postponement from the Emperor.
Gu Yanshu intercepted the order without hesitation.
"You're certain you don't wish to delay?" Qin Lu asked, hesitant.
"I. Am. Certain." Gu Yanshu gritted out each word.
The determination in his eyes made Qin Lu relent. Only after dismissing the servants did Gu Yanshu finally exhale in relief—
Yesterday's absence was unavoidable, but today—even if he had to crawl—Gu Yanshu would make it to the palace.
To skip the newlyweds' audience twice? His reputation would never recover.
Yet determination couldn't override physical reality. Riding horseback was out of the question.
At Qin Lu's order, servants prepared a carriage—its interior padded thickly with cushions by Bai Zhu's meticulous hands.
Then came the surprise:
Qin Lu abandoned his stallion to join him inside.
Even the prince's spacious carriage felt cramped with two grown men.
Gu Yanshu studied his husband across the narrow gap—their first proper interaction since... that night.
Where had Qin Lu been?
Yesterday, he'd vanished before Gu Yanshu awoke, returning only after his exhausted collapse into sleep. This morning, dawn found the prince already training in the martial yard.
Were it not for the servants' deferential care, Gu Yanshu might have suspected abandonment post-consummation.
Now, facing that devastating profile again, all discomfort faded beneath sheer aesthetic appreciation.
He poured tea from the carriage's low table—
"Has my performance satisfied my princess consort?"
"Cough—!"
Tea sprayed. That damned question resurrected every humiliating memory:
"Though Your Highness lacks... stamina, rest assured I'll keep our bedroom struggles secret—"
Had the man been nursing that taunt all this time?!
Gu Yanshu gaped at Qin Lu's deadpan expression. How does one ask such things with imperial solemnity?
"Dissatisfied, I see." A glint of mischief flashed in Qin Lu's eyes. "Then this prince must strive—"
"Satisfied! Extremely satisfied!" Gu Yanshu slammed down his cup. Yesterday's wreckage still haunted his muscles—if Qin Lu "improved," he'd need a coffin, not cushions.
Too late, he noticed Qin Lu's barely-there smirk.
Normally, being toyed with would spark irritation. Yet watching amusement soften those sharp features, Gu Yanshu's anger evaporated like morning dew.
He'd once mocked girls who gushed "With a boyfriend this handsome, I'd slap myself for arguing with him."
Now he understood.
How could such beauty harbor malice?
"I hadn't thought Your Highness joked."
"Oh?" Qin Lu's mask didn't flicker.
"You should smile more." Gu Yanshu refilled their cups. "It suits you—reminds the world you're still young."
Qin Lu's fingers hesitated around his teacup.
Still young.
No one had said such words to him in decades.
The imperial family had no room for childhood.
At six: "You're no longer a child. Comport yourself."
At twelve: "Grown men know their ambitions and burdens."
By fifteen, childhood was an unaffordable luxury—every decision Qin Lu made carried the weight of thousands of soldiers' lives.
"Youth" had ceased to describe him since he was six. Now at twenty, freshly crowned with his majority ceremony, he stood as the empire's youngest battle-hardened War God—no one dared treat him as anything but a seasoned commander.
Yet here was Gu Yanshu, casually remarking "after all, Your Highness is still young" as if it were the most natural observation.
Something fragile quivered in Qin Lu's chest.
This bride of his possessed an uncanny ability to strike at his most vulnerable spots—whether probing about disappointment during the bridal procession or now, this offhand acknowledgment of his stifled youth.
Before he could examine the strange warmth spreading through his ribs—
"Your Highnesses, we've arrived."
Zhi Ge's announcement startled Qin Lu from his reverie. The carriage had stopped unnoticed before the palace's towering vermilion gates.
Suppressing the unfamiliar emotion, Qin Lu lifted the curtain. "Alight."
His hand extended automatically to steady Gu Yanshu—who accepted the support without hesitation, leveraging Qin Lu's grip to hop down—
"Hiss—!"
The jolt ignited fireworks of pain across Gu Yanshu's abused muscles. His face contorted before he could school his expression.
Qin Lu's brow furrowed. "The discomfort persists?"
Prior to that manual's enlightening diagrams, Qin Lu's knowledge of intimate matters had been... theoretical. Battlefields tolerated no distractions, and while soldiers traded bawdy jokes, none dared pollute their commander's ears.
He'd assumed Gu Yanshu's insistence on attending meant manageable soreness—not this level of suffering.
"It's fine," Gu Yanshu lied through gritted teeth, forestalling any cancellation. "Just moved too abruptly."
Qin Lu eyed him skeptically but let it pass—instead summoning Zhi Ge for hushed orders.
Moments later, the attendant emerged from a side gate with palanquin-bearing eunuchs.
"Your Highness, the sedan chair awaits."
Gu Yanshu blinked. He'd forgotten imperial consorts enjoyed palanquin privileges within palace grounds.
No reason to refuse then. Limping toward the cushioned seat, he nearly wept at the relief of not walking another step.
Had Qin Lu ordered extra cushions for the palanquin too?
Gu Yanshu sank gratefully into the padded seat, flashing his husband a smile. "My thanks, Your Highness."
Qin Lu merely glanced at him before leading the way.
Freed from walking, Gu Yanshu studied the imperial palace—startlingly similar to Beijing's Forbidden City with its vermilion walls and golden tiles. Even the architectural details and guardian statues mirrored his memories.
Patrolling imperial guards and scurrying eunuchs populated the winding paths until, after roughly fifteen minutes, the procession halted before an imposing hall.
There stood the same silver-haired eunuch who'd delivered their marriage decree—Chief Eunuch Wang.
"This old servant greets Prince Li and the Princess Consort." His horsetail whisk swayed with the deep bow.
"No need for formalities, Chief Eunuch." Qin Lu's tone held rare respect for the emperor's longtime attendant. "Why aren't you attending His Majesty?"
"The Emperor anticipated Your Highnesses' arrival and sent this humble one to escort you directly inside." Eunuch Wang stepped aside with another bow. "Please follow me."
Protocol dictated newlyweds first visit the empress, then the emperor.
But Tianqi's current ruler had proven unusually devoted—crowning his childhood sweetheart as empress upon accession, only to lose her within a year.
For over a decade since, he'd rejected all petitions to appoint a new empress, even demoting several insistent ministers. Court gossip claimed that had the late empress borne a son, the crown prince debate wouldn't exist—such was the emperor's enduring favor.
Thus, with the central palace vacant and authority delegated to three concubines, Qin Lu and Gu Yanshu proceeded straight to the imperial study.
The Emperor—Qin Yuan, eighth son of the previous ruler—sat reviewing memorials when they entered.
Eunuch Wang announced softly: "Your Majesty, Prince Li and his consort have arrived."
The emperor didn't glance up, absorbed in state documents.
Qin Lu stood motionless. Gu Yanshu followed suit, using the pause to study the man holding Tianqi's highest power—
Compared to his brothers, Qin Yuan had never stood out.
His literary skills paled beside the Second Prince's poetic brilliance.
Martial prowess couldn't match the Third Prince's battlefield genius.
Political strategizing fell short of the Sixth Prince's cunning.
Even administrative abilities lagged behind the First Prince's efficiency.
With an undistinguished concubine mother and a marriage alliance to merely a third-rank official's daughter, his prospects seemed bleak.
Yet thrones favor luck as much as merit.
Though the late emperor had named the First Prince heir early, his more talented brothers refused to accept inferiority.
What followed became legendary—a decade of vicious succession wars that turned the capital into a pressure cooker where nobles vanished overnight and veteran ministers feared mentioning the crown.
When the dust settled:
The First Prince: Poisoned into sterilitySecond Prince: Fell from palace towersThird Prince: Blinded in "hunting accidents"Sixth Prince: Drank himself to death after exile
Only then did the dying emperor purge the survivors' factions and pass the throne to his sole remaining viable son—the unremarkable but competent Qin Yuan.
History proved this right. Twenty years of stable, if unspectacular, rule followed.
Now studying the emperor up close, Gu Yanshu reconsidered popular wisdom.
True, Qin Lu inherited his mother's legendary beauty—but those lowered brows held traces of his father's stern majesty.
Just as Gu Yanshu leaned subtly closer, the emperor closed his memorial with a snap.
"You've arrived."