The imperial decree bestowed upon Young Master Gu was no ordinary match—it commanded him to wed none other than the Third Prince, Qin Lu, as his principal consort.
While male spouses weren't unheard of in Tianqi, noble families never permitted their sons—let alone their legitimate heirs—to assume such roles. As the Marquis of Chengen's treasured youngest son, the original Gu Yanshu had vehemently rejected this fate.
The moment the decree-bearing eunuch departed, the young master erupted in fury, declaring he'd sooner die than submit. Yet when the Emperor wills it, refusal is treason. When confinement in the ancestral hall failed to break his resolve, the frail nobleman collapsed on the seventh day—likely the moment the modern Gu Yanshu inherited this body.
"—though the Third Prince seems fearsome," Bai Zhu was still murmuring when Gu Yanshu refocused, "he's raised no objections to the decree. Surely His Highness won't mistreat you..."
"Fearsome."
Gu Yanshu's lips curled around the descriptor. Qin Lu's name alone—戮, meaning "slaughter"—evoked bloodshed. The prince's reputation matched it perfectly.
Inherited memories painted Qin Lu as a three-headed demon, but the truth fascinated Gu Yanshu. Fifteen-year-old Qin Lu had shattered Tianqi's decades-long cycle of military humiliations, transforming from a symbolic royal mascot into an undefeated war god whose mere banner now made enemies surrender.
Yet recent rumors emphasized his brutality—how blood soaked his armor, how he beheaded generals mid-battlefield, how he exterminated foes without mercy. Last year's victory procession cemented this image; citizens recoiled from the prince's palpable bloodlust.
The original Gu Yanshu, having witnessed that terrifying parade, developed nightmares. Combined with heterosexual aversion and noble pride, this terror made him choose starvation over marriage.
But stripped of bias, Gu Yanshu's assessment was singular: Beautiful.
Qin Lu possessed the kind of face that burned itself into memory—sharp brows over star-bright eyes, a blade-straight nose, and lips carved by perfection itself. Even jaded modern sensibilities couldn't deny this was the most exquisitely crafted visage Gu Yanshu had ever seen.
More dangerously, every feature aligned precisely with his aesthetic desires. The realization sparked something perilously close to anticipation...
"Young master!" Bai Zhu's urgent whisper shattered the reverie. "Third Miss is here."
Gu Mingrong.
The name surfaced alongside unpleasant memories. Though a concubine's daughter, this youngest sister enjoyed near-legal status due to their deceased mother and the favored concubine who raised them both. She'd made tormenting the original Gu Yanshu a hobby.
"Shall this servant refuse her?" Bai Zhu fretted.
Gu Yanshu snorted. "Could you?"
As predicted, the attendant wilted. Before he could respond, vermilion robes swirled into view.
"Dear brother!" The girl's saccharine voice preceded her. "How my heart ached hearing of your illness—I've scarcely slept these days! Tell me, are you recovering well?"
Gu Mingrong's rosy complexion and barely concealed smirk betrayed her supposed "sleepless nights of worry."
Had this been the original hot-tempered young master, such mockery would have provoked an outburst. But the soul now inhabiting this body belonged to Gu Yanshu of the apocalypse—a man who merely offered a gentle smile.
"How touching that Third Sister cares so deeply," he murmured, pressing a handkerchief to his pallid lips. "But you may set your heart at ease. The physician assures me full recovery with rest. Do take better care of yourself, lest I bear guilt for your exhaustion."
The barb struck true. Raised as a de facto legitimate daughter despite her birth status, Gu Mingrong possessed equal temper. Her mask of concern shattered instantly.
"Who's falling ill? You're the one half-dead here!" she snapped, cheeks flushing. "How dare you curse me?"
"Didn't you claim sleepless worry yourself?" Gu Yanshu's tone remained serene, his gaze that of an adult humoring a petulant child. "I only reciprocate your... concern."
The condescension ignited fury in Gu Mingrong's chest—yet she couldn't retract her own words without losing face. Just as her frustration peaked, a muffled cough interrupted.
"Koff—koff—"
Gu Yanshu had doubled over, jade-like fingers clutching silk to his mouth. The violent spasms painted unnatural scarlet across his otherwise translucent skin. Tears welled at his reddening eye, the dampness catching candlelight like crushed pearls.
Where another man might appear pitiful, illness draped over Gu Yanshu's delicate features like morning mist on cherry blossoms—ethereal, fragile, breathtaking. Even Gu Mingrong, who'd spent a lifetime scorning him, momentarily understood why the capital hailed this man as its reigning beauty.
More importantly, the coughing fit reminded her: this illness stemmed from his defiance of the imperial marriage decree.
Gu Mingrong had come precisely to twist the knife regarding the marriage—her initial taunts were merely appetizers. Yet her opening gambit had backfired spectacularly.
Now, watching Gu Yanshu's coughing fit, her mood improved visibly. She waited until his spasms subsided before purring, "Didn't brother claim to be recovering? This cough suggests otherwise."
Without allowing rebuttal, she pressed on, savoring each syllable: "Do take care. After all, the Third Prince awaits your... bridal procession."
The emphasized phrase—"过门," used for wives entering husbands' households—landed like a poisoned dart. Before Gu Yanshu could respond, Bai Zhu intervened anxiously: "Third Miss!"
The interruption earned him a vicious slap.
Crack!
"Since when do servants speak unbidden?" Gu Mingrong snapped, her palm imprint blazing across Bai Zhu's cheek.
The sound jolted Gu Yanshu upright. In the apocalypse, harming his people guaranteed a slow, inventive death. Though Bai Zhu wasn't his in truth, occupying this body came with obligations—including shielding its loyal retainers.
His gaze turned lethally cold.
Gu Mingrong instinctively retreated before rallying with a brittle laugh. "W-what? Surely you'd not strike me over a servant?"
"But he is my servant," Gu Yanshu echoed her earlier mocking cadence.
Noble households operated on strict hierarchies. Disciplining another's贴身 attendant without permission wasn't just rudeness—it was a direct challenge.
Gu Mingrong flushed, recognizing her overstep, but pride doubled her defiance. "Will you hit me then? You never cared before!"
She wasn't wrong. The original Gu Yanshu had ignored prior abuses. But the current occupant did care—he simply recognized retaliation now would doom Bai Zhu to the concubine mother's vengeance.
Revenge, like good wine, requires patience, he mused, letting silence stretch.
Mistaking his restraint for weakness, Gu Mingrong smirked. "Brother should worry less about servants and more about his own fate. Half a month isn't long to prepare."
"Half a month?"
"Oh dear!" She clasped hands in mock dismay. "You haven't heard? The wedding's set for fifteen days hence."
Gu Yanshu's mind raced. Even commoners observed months of betrothal rituals—how could a royal wedding be rushed so? Unless...
His fears were confirmed when Gu Mingrong added sweetly, "How fortunate—His Highness is to be named Prince Li upon marriage. You'll be Prince Consort immediately!" Her smile sharpened. "Assuming your 'auspiciously matched'八字 survives till then."
Like lightning, a buried memory struck:
The Third Prince's brides all die before the wedding.
And these rumors were far from baseless.
Before Gu Yanshu, the Emperor had arranged two betrothals for the Third Prince—both ending in tragedy.
The first intended bride succumbed to a sudden illness weeks before the wedding. The second perished in a freak accident, tumbling from a cliff during a temple pilgrimage.
At the time, whispers of the prince's "ill-fated marriages" had circulated discreetly, overshadowed by his military glory. But in recent years, the rumors metastasized. Some even claimed several noble daughters earmarked as potential consorts had mysteriously died—except one whose family hastily fabricated a prior engagement to decline the "honor."
Thus, the legend solidified: Prince Qin Lu, drenched in battlefield bloodshed, was cursed to walk alone. His very aura severed marital bonds.
This time, the Emperor had chosen Gu Yanshu precisely because their生辰八字 aligned into a so-called "heaven-made match."
Catching this thread, Gu Yanshu feigned ignorance. "The physician assured my recovery. Why presume I'll die in half a month?"
Gu Mingrong, oblivious to the trap, charged ahead: "You truly don't know? It's because the Third Prince—"
"Young mistress!" Her maid's sharp interjection severed the sentence.
The unspoken word—wife-killer—hung like a blade. Though widely believed, voicing this taboo could mean death if reported.
Gu Mingrong paled, then shot Gu Yanshu a venomous glare. His responding look was pure mock regret: Ah, what a pity you didn't leap into my snare.
For the first time, she registered the change in him—this wasn't the hotheaded fool she'd bullied for years.
The clever maid intervened again with a curtsy: "My lady, your mother summoned you earlier. We shouldn't keep her waiting."
"Quite right," Gu Mingrong seized the escape. Yet even retreating, she couldn't resist a final jab: "Believe what you will, brother—I do hope you survive. I'd so love to see you in bridal red."