Though unsure why Third Miss's departure seemed almost… fleeing, Bai Zhu exhaled in profound relief—finally, the troublemaker was gone!
Turning anxiously to Gu Yanshu, the attendant studied his master's expression. "Young master?"
"Hmm?" Gu Yanshu glanced up from contemplating the prince's alleged wife-killing curse to find Bai Zhu trembling like a leaf.
Not without reason. The original young master had often lost battles of wit against Gu Mingrong, invariably taking frustrations out on servants—especially Bai Zhu. The attendant's current wariness spoke of habitual abuse.
But today's skirmish had ended differently. Far from anger, amusement glinted in Gu Yanshu's eyes—his sister had retreated unscathed only by sheer luck.
Moreover, Bai Zhu's still-livid cheek slap-mark demanded recompense.
"The study still keeps medicinal balms, yes?"
"T-two bottles remain, young master." Bai Zhu answered reflexively, bewildered.
"Take one for your face."
The attendant jerked as if struck again. "T-this unworthy one couldn't! Those are Marquis Yong's priceless—"
"Then double your monthly wages," Gu Yanshu overruled. "Buy proper salve—unless you fancy parading that slap-mark to announce my servant got beaten?"
Bai Zhu's protest died at the unspoken threat: Disgrace reflects on the master. "This servant… thanks young master's mercy."
Yet hesitation lingered. "About Third Miss's words… pay no mind to baseless rumors—"
"Baseless?" Gu Yanshu's chuckle dissolved into coughing. The original owner had died, after all.
Bai Zhu panicked, patting his back. "Young master must recover first! The physician's tonic—"
Health before all else.
The mantra resonated deeply with the apocalypse survivor. Gulping the bitter medicine, exhaustion pulled him under almost instantly—
CRASH!
"—SLEEPING? At high noon?!"
"The young master is still unwell—"
"UNWELL? The physician said he's FINE! Did that brat order you to bar me?!"
The roaring voice yanked Gu Yanshu from sleep. Only one man in the marquisate would dare such language—Marquis Chengen himself.
As predicted, Bai Zhu's resistance proved futile.
The door burst open, revealing a scholarly man in his thirties storming inward—Gu Hongji, the marquis. Behind him fluttered an elegant woman in lavish silks: Concubine Chang Xinya, the de facto mistress of the household.
"My lord, please," she soothed. "Our son is surely truly indisposed—"
Marquis Gu Hongji's thunderous expression left no doubt—he was furious.
Interestingly, Concubine Chang's soothing words only darkened his scowl. "Still making excuses for him? This wretched boy is spoiled rotten by your indulgence!"
The concubine shrank back, her murmured protests dying unfinished.
With her silenced, the marquis stormed toward the bed. Bai Zhu watched in mounting panic—experience warned that such temper presaged harsh punishment.
Then—
"Cough—cough—"
The sound ripped through the room, so violent it seemed to tear the speaker's lungs apart. Even the marquis froze mid-stride, his anger momentarily eclipsed by paternal concern.
Before he could speak, Gu Yanshu struggled upright, his pallor ghastly against the bedding. The sight extinguished the marquis's remaining ire like water dousing embers.
"Father... came to see me?" The question emerged hoarse, vulnerable—accompanied by a gaze brimming with filial longing.
Gu Hongji's throat worked awkwardly. "I—yes. To check on your recovery."
"To think Father still cares..." Gu Yanshu's tremulous smile could melt stone.
"Nonsense! You're my son—of course I—" The marquis broke off as another coughing fit seized Gu Yanshu. "Enough standing! Back to bed at once!"
As Gu Yanshu complied, the marquis's paternal instincts surged. "The physician claimed you were improving, yet you cough like this? Summon him immediately!"
Concubine Chang intervened smoothly. "The doctor waits in the side courtyard. This humble one will send for him." Her voice—honeyed yet authoritative—worked like alchemy on the marquis's temper.
"Quite right. Forgive my haste."
"How could my lord need forgiveness?" The concubine demurred. "Your brilliance outshines us all. Only a father's love could spark such concern."
The flattery hit its mark. Seizing the moment, she added, "Though it's troubling—the physician declared recovery, yet the young master coughs so. And the wedding in fifteen days..."
The reminder struck like a gong. Suspicion crept back into the marquis's eyes—was this illness genuine or rebellion against the imperial decree?
Gu Yanshu's innocent blink dissolved the doubt, leaving guilt in its wake. Yet not enough to deter the marquis's purpose.
"Listen well," he said heavily. "In fifteen days, you wed Third Prince Qin Lu—willing or not, healthy or bedridden. Attempt escape, and I'll break your legs myself before delivering you to his manor. Understood?"
The words hung cruelly in the air. Both knew this was mercy compared to the tirade originally intended.
After a silence, Gu Yanshu whispered, "I understand." The fragile reply might have been glass shattering.
The marquis sighed. "Don't think me heartless—"
"I know!" Gu Yanshu interrupted with desperate brightness. "I know Father cares. The Emperor's decree cannot be refused. I know... I know..."
Each repetition underscored unspoken anguish. The marquis floundered—his mediocre rank offered no power to challenge imperial will.
Having said his piece, he rose abruptly. "Rest well then." After awkwardly instructing Bai Zhu on caregiving, he turned to leave.
At the threshold, Gu Yanshu's murmur froze him:
"How did His Majesty... obtain my birth chart for matching?"
Marquis Gu's footsteps faltered at the threshold, his expression shifting through shades of suspicion and dawning realization.
For a breathless moment, Concubine Chang thought he might turn back—until his stiff voice cut through the silence:
"This father... understands."
With that, he stormed away, sleeves whipping in palpable fury.
Concubine Chang threw one last bewildered glance at Gu Yanshu—now serenely reclined—before hastening after her lord.
To Bai Zhu, the scene spelled disaster: First the marquis' rage, now even the concubine's favor lost—all over young master's careless question!
"W-why is the marquis angry again?" The attendant blurted before catching himself. Fool! Now of all times, when his master needed comfort after finally glimpsing paternal warmth—
Yet when he turned, Bai Zhu froze.
Gu Yanshu wasn't despondent.
He was smiling.
Not the brittle grimace of despair, but the razor-edged grin of a hunter watching prey stumble into his snare.
Every reaction—the marquis' fury, the concubine's confusion—had unfolded precisely as Gu Yanshu predicted.
That final question struck the fatal flaw: How did the Emperor obtain his birth chart?
In Tianqi, one's astrological birth charts were guarded closer than jewels. For a marquis' heir, only immediate family and lifelong servants would know. Even Bai Zhu likely couldn't recite it.
Yet the Emperor had matched it flawlessly to Prince Qin Lu's.
Absurd.
The Gu family ranked low among nobility—the marquis himself held only a hollow fourth-rank title. Why would the Son of Heaven spare a thought for some obscure heir?
Even if the prince's wife-slaying curse were real, wouldn't the Emperor seek brides among noble daughters rather than an untitled man?
Someone within the household had betrayed him.
The original Gu Yanshu's memories offered scant clues about his father's character. But the apocalypse's merchant king needed only fragments to reconstruct a personality:
Gu Hongji—mediocre, vain, swollen with patriarchal pride yet starved for achievement.
Thus, the performance:
The fragile coughs timed to soften anger.
The filial gaze stoking dormant paternal guilt.
The artful "I know"s that underscored helpless suffering—each a scalpel carving space for that lethal final question.
Now, like clockwork, the marquis would begin questioning:
Who leaked his son's birth charts?
Why?
And what else had slipped through his grasp within his own household?
In this scenario, Marquis Gu's fury was precisely what Gu Yanshu desired.
Rather than dismay, the marquis's stormy departure filled him with grim satisfaction.
As for Concubine Chang?
The original Gu Yanshu's memories painted her as a saint—indulging his every whim, smoothing over his scandals, even shielding him from paternal reproach. Among the capital's wastrel youths, she'd earned the moniker "First-Class Trouble-Eraser."
This calculated spoiling had bred Gu Mingrong's lifelong resentment. Though not her blood son, the young master had adored her as a true mother.
Yet such transparent "kill with kindness" tactics wouldn't fool a street urchin, let alone the apocalypse-hardened merchant king. Even without inherited memories, one glance revealed her honeyed venom.
Consider today's performance:
When the marquis's rage burned hottest, she'd fanned flames with "Surely he didn't mean to..."
When paternal concern flickered, she'd undercut it with "But the physician said he was recovered."
Her casual mention of "half a month" had been no accident—a deliberate reminder of the imperial deadline.
Gu Yanshu would wager his last coin she'd orchestrated this entire confrontation. For all his faults, Marquis Gu wasn't cruel enough to berate a convalescent son without provocation.
Recalling the concubine's parting glance—that complex mingling of shock and dawning fear—his lips curled.
Let's see how the mighty mistress of this household plays her next move.
Elsewhere in the manor
Concubine Chang hadn't even settled onto her divan before snapping orders: "Fetch Third Miss at once!"
As the maid turned, she added sharply, "Wait! Tell her to bring Tingqin."
Tingqin, her chief handmaiden and today's silent witness, held secrets too dangerous to discuss openly.
"And make haste!"
The junior maid, unaccustomed to such urgency, scurried out like a startled rabbit.