Lai Fu tiptoed in and reported directly to Gu Yanxi, “Shizi, the Celestial Master has been brought into the palace. Where would you like him taken?”

“Bring him here.”

“Yes.”

The Emperor was momentarily both amused and exasperated — had he truly been reduced to a mere ornament?

“What have you found?”

Gu Yanxi put on his mask, his voice shifting somewhat with it. “There are suspicions that need to be confirmed.”

At that moment, a human-shaped bundle wrapped from head to toe in a bed sheet was hauled in. The door was shut, the sheet was pulled away, and the Celestial Master appeared — bound hand and foot. His mouth was gagged, and the moment he recognized where he was and who stood before him, his eyes — already uncommonly quick and darting — nearly leapt from their sockets.

“Xiao Wu, see to our guest.”

Xiao Wu cracked his knuckles, stepped forward without a word, and drove his fists into the Celestial Master’s stomach, one blow after another. Gagged as he was, the Celestial Master could only whimper, his face contorted in desperate pleading.

The Emperor looked as though he saw nothing at all. He reopened Yanxi’s memorial and resumed reading, utterly unbothered by the sounds filling the room.

Only when the Celestial Master’s eyes had rolled back and he was on the verge of losing consciousness did Xiao Wu stop. His strikes were measured — they could drive pain to the bone without causing lasting injury. The goal was simply pain. Pain. Pain.

Gu Yanxi set down his teacup. “Did you bring the elixirs?”

“Yes.”

Lai Fu passed over a pouch of elixirs. Gu Yanxi opened it and looked inside — no more, no less than a hundred pills.

“Elixirs bold enough to be offered to His Majesty must surely cure all ailments.” Gu Yanxi smiled, his expression cold as frost. “Come — feed them to the Celestial Master.” He paused. “All of them.”

The Emperor glanced at his nephew but said nothing. He set down the memorial and watched what Yanxi wished him to see.

“Mercy, mmph—” The Celestial Master’s throat was pinched expertly by Xiao Wu — enough to breathe, not enough to speak.

The elixirs required no water. Xiao Wu guided them down one by one with practiced ease. When a third of the pouch had been emptied, the Celestial Master began to retch violently, straining with all his might against his bonds, throwing himself toward the Emperor and shaking his head desperately.

No one paid him any mind. The pills continued to be fed to him one by one until the pouch was empty. Only then did the hand restraining him relent.

He could think of nothing else. He shoved his fingers down his own throat and heaved, vomiting across the floor of the imperial study. Some pills came up whole; others had already begun to dissolve. But compared to what had gone down, what came up was far too little. He was about to continue when a hand clamped around his wrist. He looked up — it was the man who had beaten him. Terror seized him. He scrambled away in a rolling panic, every last trace of his saintly bearing gone.

The Emperor stared in revulsion at this man who had once carried himself with the air of an immortal. He had arranged a private meeting with the Celestial Master long ago, seeing him alone, away from all eyes — and if the man had not genuinely possessed an extraordinary presence, how could he ever have been taken in?

“Take what he vomited and feed it back to him. Gag him and bind him.”

“I won’t eat it, I won’t eat it — any more and I’ll die! Ask me anything — anything — I’ll tell you everything!”

Gu Yanxi smoothed the hem of his robe, a cool smile at the corner of his mouth. “I have no need of anything you might tell me. I only wish to see whether this golden elixir of yours can truly restore life to the dead and flesh to bare bones. I shall wait and watch as the Celestial Master… ascends to immortality.”

“I won’t—” His mouth was sealed before the words could finish. Xiao Wu lashed him to a pillar inside the imperial study. Struggle as he might, it was useless.

Not a single person spoke. Cold eyes settled on the Celestial Master and watched — watched him thrash until his features twisted grotesquely, watched his throat convulse in agony, watched his entire body convulse as his face turned the color of gold, watched him lose control of his bowels and fill the room with a foul stench, watched his pupils dilate and slowly lose focus, watched his head loll back until it was impossible to tell whether he still lived.

“Enough.” The Emperor shut his eyes. “Take him away.”

Xiao Wu glanced at the Shizi and, receiving a silent nod, hauled the man out with an expression of undisguised disgust. Lai Fu swiftly cleaned the room, lit a stick of sandalwood incense, then stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him, stationing himself personally at the entrance.

Gu Yanxi, recognizing that the moment had come, removed his mask and knelt in silence before the man seated above him — his sovereign and, for so many years, his uncle who had cherished him.

The Emperor opened his eyes and looked down at the top of that bowed head, at this nephew whose very posture radiated stubbornness, and felt a swell of emotion. He rose from behind the writing table, walked around it, lifted the young man gently to his feet, patted his shoulder, and said with quiet sincerity, “We understand. Never again — We promise.”

Gu Yanxi lowered his eyes and gave a soft sound of acknowledgment. But in his heart, he had already resolved: not a single Celestial Master would be tolerated in the capital. Should anyone dare set foot inside the city gates again — left foot first, he would sever the left; right foot first, he would sever the right.

The Emperor let out a long sigh. Had his vitality not been steadily failing him, why would he have ever taken such a step? Those of the Gu bloodline tended to be long-lived — yet those who ascended to the highest seat invariably saw their years cut short. It was so for the Emperor; it had been so for every leader of the Seven Lodges throughout history.

When the day finally came that he could no longer carry on, he would certainly leave a decree for Yanxi — to cultivate someone capable of succeeding him early, then step aside and live freely for himself.

“If you take a liking to Xiao Liu, let him follow you. As for this palace — it is no loss if he never returns.”

Gu Yanxi looked up at his imperial uncle. The meaning behind those words was…

“Noble Consort Zhen is shrewd. There is no reason her son should be dull-witted — he simply takes after his mother’s temperament and prefers not to compete. Give him proper guidance. If in time he can take over your affairs, We will rest easy.”

“Xiao Liu’s heart is not hard enough. He cannot hold it.”

“And were you hard enough when you first started? Born into the imperial family, even a cat is one that feeds on raw flesh. Sharpen his claws, and he will wound just the same.”

Gu Yanxi’s mind turned rapidly. His imperial uncle’s meaning was clear — once he agreed, Xiao Liu’s whereabouts would no longer be monitored? That would certainly make things more convenient. He inclined his head in acceptance. “Your servant understands.”

The Emperor brightened slightly, opened his mouth — and forgot what he had meant to say. His expression flickered. Was this, perhaps, the effect of the golden elixirs? If it truly was, then whoever had lured him into taking them…

Ha. They knew him well. They had calculated that he would conceal it from Yanxi. They had calculated that he would be unable to resist the temptation. The one thing they had failed to calculate was that Yanxi could detect the wrongness by scent alone.

“Imperial Uncle?”

“It is nothing.” The Emperor returned to his seat behind the long table. “This matter — pursue it without restraint. Whoever is implicated, show no mercy.”

“Your servant obeys.”

From outside came the sharp voice of Eunuch Lai Fu: “Your Majesty, Miss Shao Yao has arrived.”

“Enter.”

Shao Yao stood at the doorway in her veiled hat, medicine box in hand, and wrinkled her nose before she had even stepped inside. What was that dreadful smell?

She entered the room, her gaze moving from Yanxi-brother to the Emperor. She removed her veiled hat, dropped to one knee, and said, “This one greets Your Majesty.”

It was a military salute.

The Emperor looked at the child before him — her appearance, it had to be said, was difficult to behold — and found himself drifting back to a distant memory: a young girl brandishing a long spear, her head held high, speaking words that rang out like iron striking stone: I will become the first female general of the Great Qing Dynasty, to guard the Gu family’s realm, to protect our people.

From that day forward, she had never again performed a kneeling bow.

Even when one chooses to forget, the body remembers certain things.

Author’s Note: Writing this made my nose ache — I’m not sure why, but writing Shao Yao always does this to me. Early update today.