Morbid

She wanted him to know that she would never bow her head.

Luo Zhao clenched her fists tightly within the soft pillow.

Gu Chengyin had no idea what Luo Zhao was thinking.

He was still giving instructions and reminders to Shangguan Yunying and Gu Xiaoli.

It was Lin Qingyan who, from a moment ago, kept glancing at Luo Zhao now and then, her expression growing increasingly peculiar.

After finishing his instructions, Gu Chengyin glanced out the window.

The night was already extremely deep, so he said:

“It’s too late today. We’ll discuss other matters tomorrow.”

With that, he turned to look at Lin Qingyan and gestured toward the door.

“Little Aunt, shall we go?”

Lin Qingyan did not answer immediately.

She stood there, her gaze falling on Luo Zhao, taking a long, deep look at her.

Then she nodded and was the first to turn and walk out of the hall.

Gu Chengyin looked at Luo Zhao, who was still burying her face in the soft pillow, and said softly:

“Her Highness, I’ll take my leave now with Little Aunt.”

Luo Zhao’s body, buried in the soft pillow, stiffened slightly.

She did not lift her head, did not speak, did not even move.

But her ears clearly caught the sound of Gu Chengyin’s footsteps heading toward the hall’s entrance.

One step, two steps, three steps.

Growing fainter and farther away.

Just as Gu Chengyin was about to step out of the hall, Luo Zhao finally stirred.

“Mm.”

A muffled sound came from the soft pillow, as faint as a mosquito’s hum.

Gu Chengyin’s footsteps paused.

He turned back to look. Luo Zhao still had her head buried, her posture unchanged.

But that “mm” carried a clear note of petulance, and a trace of indescribable grievance.

Gu Chengyin shook his head helplessly, said nothing, and walked out.

Luo Zhao heard the footsteps fade, the hall door gently closing, and the bedchamber fall silent once more.

Only then did she lift her face from the soft pillow and take a deep breath.

Her face was flushed fiercely, strands of hair at her temples wet with sweat, clinging to her cheeks.

Staring at the closed hall door, she suddenly let out a loud huff.

“Trash! Trash!”

Luo Zhao muttered under her breath, her tone full of defiance.

Shangguan Yunying and Gu Xiaoli exchanged a glance but said nothing.

Luo Zhao huffed again, yanked the blanket over herself, and wrapped herself up completely.

Only a curled silhouette and a few strands of hair remained visible.

The night was dark as ink, the dew heavy and the chill deep.

When Gu Chengyin stepped out of the bedchamber, the night wind rushed to meet him, carrying the lingering fragrance of late osmanthus blossoms from the courtyard.

Strands of the scent wove into his breath, finally calming the surging heat in his chest by a few degrees.

He stood with his hands behind his back under the eaves, a few loose strands of hair falling to his shoulders.

When the wind stirred them, they brushed lightly against his collarbone, accentuating the pale, jade-like elegance of his neck.

But beneath that jade-like surface, his Adam’s apple rolled slightly.

It was the remnant of restlessness that Gu Chengyin, despite all his efforts, could still feel.

Little wonder.

Moments earlier, inside the bedchamber, four women, four kinds of charm.

Four completely different yet equally burning gazes, like four brocade silks weaving a heavenly net, layer by layer wrapping him tightly.

Add to that the trouble with Lin Qingyan and Luo Zhao’s provocation.

Him, incompetent?

Gu Chengyin narrowed his eyes slightly, a cold smile curving at the corner of his lips.

He was not incompetent; it was simply not the time yet.

When the time truly came to act, Luo Zhao would understand.

It wasn’t a question of ability, but of endurance.

At that thought, Gu Chengyin took a deep breath, pressing the last trace of agitation deep into his dantian, turning it into a wisp of warmth that dispersed through his limbs.

No rush.

He had always been a man of great patience.

The night wind rose again, causing the lanterns under the eaves to sway slightly, their light flickering—bright then dim—across his face.

It cast his strikingly handsome, almost sharp features into shifting shadows, lending them a chill depth.

Gu Chengyin lifted his foot to move, but before he had taken three steps—

Lin Qingyan had already pressed herself close.

Her movement was swift and practiced, so practiced it seemed rehearsed a thousand times over, without a hint of hesitation or awkwardness.

“Chengcheng, what’s your next move?”

Gu Chengyin looked down, his gaze falling on the top of Lin Qingyan’s head, his thoughts racing in that brief silence.

According to his original plan, by now, Lin Qingyan should have been completely under his control.

If the hypnosis of Lin Qingyan had succeeded, the entire arrangement that followed would have been much smoother.

Gu Chengyin would not have had to plan every step and weigh every word with painstaking care.

Nor would he have had to tread on thin ice under Lin Qingyan’s almost instinctive intuition.

But plans never keep pace with changes.

The hypnosis failed.

Luo Zhao had seized on that and launched a counterattack against him.

Yet, in the end, he had passed.

Lin Qingyan’s gaze still brimmed with overwhelming love, without any suspicion or guardedness.

But that didn’t mean it would be this way every time.

Lin Qingyan’s intuition was terrifying—a terror that defied all reason.

Perhaps she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was off, but she could always find the correct answer.

So, if she felt the slightest, even the faintest hint of something wrong—

The tumultuous love that now overwhelmed her would, in an instant, change direction.

It would transform into something equally intense but far more fearsome.

Morbidity.

An extreme, pure, uncompromising morbidity.

On this point, Gu Chengyin didn’t even need verification.

These thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, as fast as lightning streaking across the night sky.

Gone in a blink, leaving no trace behind.

Then they were overlaid by more serious matters.

Truth mixed with falsehood, substance shadowed by illusion.

Only by doing this—harboring nine parts truth with every shifting thought, weighing every word before speaking, and timing every breath to perfection—

Only by such means could Gu Chengyin ensure that Lin Qingyan detected nothing.

This was no easy feat.

But from the very first day he began his cultivation, Gu Chengyin had never expected it to be easy.

“Chengcheng?”

Lin Qingyan waited a while for an answer, then looked up at him.

Her face was far too close; her breath nearly brushed against his cheek.

Warm and soft, with a faint, elusive cool fragrance.

“What are you thinking about, so distracted?”

Gu Chengyin snapped back to the present, his expression unchanging as he slightly tilted his head.

He pulled back the smallest bit—neither appearing deliberately distant nor giving the impression he was avoiding her.

“I was thinking, now that Her Highness’s hypnosis has been lifted,”

Gu Chengyin finally spoke, his voice carrying a calm certainty in the night breeze:

“The crown prince’s faction can finally be truly united.”

He paused, shifting his gaze from Lin Qingyan’s face to the night sky.

The weather tonight wasn’t great. Clouds were heavy, and moonlight could only struggle out from the gaps between them.

The stars, too, were sparse and scattered—like a few scattered diamonds carelessly tossed onto a dark blue velvet cloth.

But one star shone exceptionally bright, suspended in the northern sky.

Its light was clear and constant, neither wavering nor flickering, like a silent eye.