Who is Taihe

The moment those words fell, the entire hall was plunged into a deathly silence.

No one spoke, no one moved, and even the sound of breathing was so faint it was almost inaudible.

All eyes were fixed on Lin Qingyan—eyes filled with shock, scrutiny, and above all, disbelief.

The title of Jingzhe.

Though most of the officials present had never seen Lin Qingyan in person,

they had certainly heard of that name.

As for who Taihe was, that needed no explanation.

Now, the Emperor of Luo, invoking Taihe’s authority, had sent the Imperial Observatory’s envoys to summon Lin Qingyan.

Cui Zhenji’s mind went blank.

He looked from Lin Qingyan to Gu Chengyin, then to the several envoys standing with their hands at their sides.

For a moment, he had no idea how to react, but a certain realization began to dawn on him.

The Emperor was trying to pry Lin Qingyan away from Gu Chengyin’s side.

The reason was obvious: Lin Qingyan had been staying by Gu Chengyin’s side for far too long.

From the beginning of the joint tribunal until now, she had never once left his side.

She did not act like the lofty Jingzhe of the Imperial Observatory—she stood like a loyal bodyguard.

Though she spoke not a word, her very presence was a silent declaration of support for Gu Chengyin.

If this continued, even if the joint tribunal managed to convict Gu Chengyin,

who would dare to act? Who would have the nerve?

The Emperor could not tolerate such a thing, which was why he had summoned her in Taihe’s name.

Removing Lin Qingyan from Gu Chengyin’s side was indeed the most proper approach.

Because the Jingzhe immortal could ignore anyone, disregard anyone—even the Emperor had no authority over her.

But there was one exception: a formal order from Taihe.

This was not a tongue twister.

The Emperor was the Emperor; Taihe was Taihe.

The Emperor governed the realm’s people, while Taihe governed the cultivators of the Imperial Observatory.

Lin Qingyan did not obey the Emperor’s commands because she was not his subject.

But she would not disobey Taihe, because she was the Jingzhe of the Imperial Observatory.

Thus, for the Emperor to command her, he had to do so in Taihe’s name.

And even then, the order had to be a formal, public decree for Lin Qingyan to comply.

In simple terms, she heeded orders but not summons.

If the Emperor tried to call upon her privately, even in his capacity as Taihe, Lin Qingyan would pay him no mind.

Now, the Emperor had not only issued a formal order in Taihe’s name,

but had also dispatched the Imperial Observatory’s envoys to invite her—an overt show of full protocol.

Lin Qingyan had no reason to refuse.

The envoys clearly thought the same.

They stood respectfully to one side, waiting for Lin Qingyan to depart with them.

But Lin Qingyan did not move.

She simply stood there, her gaze fixed on some distant point in the air,

as if she had not heard the envoys’ words at all.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three breaths.

Time trickled by, yet Lin Qingyan remained utterly still.

The envoys’ expressions gradually changed.

They exchanged glances, and the lead envoy reluctantly repeated himself:

“Lord Jingzhe, Taihe requests your presence.”

This time, his voice was louder than before, his tone even more deferential.

Still, Lin Qingyan showed no reaction. She stood motionless, eyes vacant, expression detached,

like a lifeless statue.

The atmosphere in the hall grew increasingly delicate.

The attending officials exchanged uneasy looks, none of them understanding what was happening.

By all logic, if the Emperor issued a formal order in Taihe’s name,

any member of the Imperial Observatory, even Lin Qingyan, would obey.

At least publicly, they would comply.

They would never act as she did now—ignoring everything as if deaf and blind.

Yet here she was, openly defying orders.

The envoys’ faces grew darker with worry.

They had been sent on Taihe’s command. How could they return without Lin Qingyan?

But forcibly taking her? They lacked both the courage and the strength.

Cold sweat began to form on the lead envoy’s forehead.

Just then, a gentle voice suddenly broke the silence:

“Since Taihe requests your presence, Aunt, you should go.”

Gu Chengyin.

All eyes immediately turned to him.

He was still sitting in that chair, his posture relaxed, his expression calm,

as if the scene unfolding had nothing to do with him.

He looked at Lin Qingyan and spoke in a tone as plain as remarking on the fine weather.

Only then did Lin Qingyan finally react.

She slowly turned her head and met Gu Chengyin’s gaze.

Their eyes met—no emotion, no ripples.

Then Lin Qingyan moved.

She did not speak, did not bow, did not bid farewell to anyone.

She simply turned and walked toward the hall’s entrance.

Her steps were unhurried, her bearing reserved and aloof, as if the entire assembly of officials did not exist.

The envoys snapped out of their stupor and quickly followed after her.

Their footsteps faded into the distance.

Lin Qingyan’s figure disappeared through the doorway, vanishing into the sunlight outside the hall.

Silence reigned in the courtroom.

Everyone stared at the now-empty doorway, their minds churning with turmoil.

Taihe had summoned, and Lin Qingyan had shown not the slightest reaction.

The moment Gu Chengyin spoke, she obeyed without hesitation.

Was the Luo Emperor truly Taihe, or was Gu Chengyin the real Taihe?

Countless questions churned in everyone’s minds, yet no one dared to voice them.

But Gu Chengyin acted as if nothing had happened. He withdrew his gaze and turned to Cui Zhenji.

“Minister Cui.”

Cui Zhenji jolted and subconsciously responded, “Ah?”

Gu Chengyin offered a faint smile, polite yet distant:

“Since Madam Jiang has finished speaking, shouldn’t we come to a conclusion?”

A conclusion?

Cui Zhenji blinked, inwardly groaning in frustration. What conclusion could there be?

Jiang Jianli had indeed made accusations, but what had she actually said?

She had painted Gu Chengyin cleaner than a white lotus.

Was that an accusation?

That was a character defense!

Other than confirming Shangguan Yuan’s rift with Gu Chengyin, Jiang Jianli might as well not have shown up at all.

Conviction for Gu Chengyin?

On what grounds?

The Great Luo legal code had no charge for “usurping a sovereign sect.”

As for the facts Jiang Jianli had presented, they didn’t add up to a single charge.

But if there was no conviction…

Cui Zhenji glanced at the Minister of Justice, who was staring down at the table as if it held blooming flowers.

He then looked toward the Imperial Censor, whose expression was blank, his gaze constantly drifting to the doorway—clearly still brooding over the scene that had just unfolded.

Cui Zhenji cursed silently, yet forced an air of authority.

After a long pause, he finally spoke:

“Madam Jiang’s testimony… hmm, it cannot be easily judged.”

“Well, everyone must be tired. Let’s take half an hour to rest and reconvene later.”

Those words immediately stirred a ripple of movement in the hall.

Though phrased as such, it was essentially the end of the first half and the start of an intermission.

The attending officials rose from their seats, gathering in small clusters, exchanging low murmurs and meaningful glances.

They said nothing outright, but in their minds, they were all calculating the very same thing.