“Her Highness.”
When she heard Gu Chengyin’s voice, the composure Luo Zhao had been maintaining finally began to crack.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the memorial.
Her gaze remained fixed on the paper, but the ink characters had become nothing but blurry smudges in her eyes.
Her attention was not on the memorial at all—it had been lost the moment Gu Chengyin crossed the threshold.
Because Luo Zhao was feeling unsettled now.
After all, she was not in a hypnotic state this time.
In the past, it was always her conscious puppet who dealt with Gu Chengyin, sparing her from having to face him directly.
No need to think about how to speak to him, no need to worry about her expression or tone.
No need to confront this man, wide awake and in broad daylight, as she was now.
Luo Zhao’s feelings for Gu Chengyin had become far too complicated.
So complicated that it couldn’t be put into a few simple words.
But one thing was certain: Gu Chengyin should have been hers.
And now, he had been taken away by her Little Aunt.
Luo Zhao’s fingers tightened again.
She didn’t know how to face Gu Chengyin.
Should she call him Junior Preceptor Gu like before? Or should she call him Uncle?
Or should she pretend she knew nothing at all?
In the end, Luo Zhao chose the safest option.
She stiffened her face.
She pulled her chin taut, pressed her lips into a thin line, and lowered her brows.
She tried her best to look like she was seriously pondering state affairs.
Then, stiffly, she forced out a single sound from her throat:
“Mm.”
Just one word.
She didn’t lift her head, didn’t look at Gu Chengyin, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the memorial in her hands.
Even though she hadn’t read a single word, her posture was flawless.
Gu Chengyin didn’t comment on her refusal to look up, nor did he seem awkward.
He simply stood there, waiting quietly.
He knew Luo Zhao was pretending, and he knew she knew that he knew she was pretending.
But neither of them called it out.
“Is Cui Zhenji’s resignation memorial in your hands?”
Straight to the point, cutting through the pretense.
Gu Chengyin understood that given Luo Zhao’s state, it was better to talk business.
Official matters were their comfort zone—the only thing that could make Luo Zhao momentarily set aside her tangled emotions and return to the safe framework of heir and preceptor.
Luo Zhao blinked.
Indeed, when the topic turned to business, her breathing even eased a little.
She casually picked up a memorial from the table, quick and deliberate.
She gestured toward Gu Chengyin and asked:
“Are you referring to this?”
Gu Chengyin glanced at the memorial in her hand.
It was an ordinary regional report, completely unrelated to Cui Zhenji.
But its format and color were indeed similar to those from the Ministry of Personnel, easy to mix up if one wasn’t paying close attention.
Luo Zhao hadn’t mixed them up.
She had done it on purpose.
Gu Chengyin nodded without correcting her.
He knew Luo Zhao was fully aware which memorial was Cui Zhenji’s resignation.
The one she had been flipping through just now was the real one; this was just a random grab to fob him off.
Not handing it over directly meant she had reservations about the topic and needed to test his stance first.
“Her Highness.”
Gu Chengyin’s voice was unhurried:
“According to protocol, this memorial should now be submitted to the Grand Secretariat.”
His meaning was clear: this memorial shouldn’t still be with the Ministry of Personnel—it should be with the Grand Secretariat. The ministry was merely a relay point; after receiving and registering it, they were supposed to pass it upward.
Holding onto it was a breach of the rules.
Luo Zhao understood exactly what he was implying.
She put down the random memorial she had grabbed, placing it far away from Cui Zhenji’s, as if drawing a clear line.
Then she lifted her head and, for the first time, met Gu Chengyin’s eyes directly.
Her gaze was complicated.
It carried the solemnity of an heir addressing a minister, the respect of a student toward a preceptor, and a trace of deep-concealed grievance.
“Rest assured, Junior Preceptor Gu.”
Luo Zhao’s voice was steadier than she had expected, which gave her a bit more confidence:
“These memorials will all be submitted to the Grand Secretariat shortly—not one will be left out.”
She emphasized her last words deliberately.
Meaning: I won’t suppress Cui Zhenji’s resignation memorial. Don’t worry that I would make such a low-level mistake.
Hearing her confirmation, Gu Chengyin nodded.
It seemed Luo Zhao wasn’t that foolish.
She knew that the Ministry of Personnel couldn’t hold back this resignation memorial.
More precisely, she knew that she, Luo Zhao, could not suppress it.
Cui Zhenji’s resignation was a step of retreat orchestrated by Cui Shifan. If the Ministry of Personnel held onto the memorial, it would signal to Cui Shifan that his retreat was unacceptable.
How would Cui Shifan react?
Either he would withdraw his resignation and grit his teeth to carry on, or he would take the matter directly before the Emperor, accusing the heir of meddling in state affairs.
Either outcome would do Luo Zhao no good.
That she could see this layer meant her political intuition was indeed improving.
“But Junior Preceptor Gu…”
Luo Zhao’s voice rang out again.
Gu Chengyin looked at her.
Luo Zhao did not look away. She held his gaze.
Her face was still stiff, but beneath the stiffness, something was beginning to loosen.
“Even if the Grand Secretariat approves it, in the end, Imperial Father’s endorsement is needed.”
She said this softly, but the weight behind the words was heavy.
The Second Prince was just the first hurdle.
Members of the princes’ faction would obstruct it, doing everything in their power to prevent Gu Chengyin from becoming Minister of Rites.
But even if Gu Chengyin could manage the princes’ faction—
What about Emperor Luo?
Luo Zhao knew her Imperial Father too well.
The man who had sat on the dragon throne for so many years excelled at one thing above all: balance.
Only when all factions checked each other could the court remain stable.
If Gu Chengyin became Minister of Rites, it would tip that balance.
Given Emperor Luo’s nature, he would never allow any side to grow too powerful.
So even if Cui Shifan yielded and the princes’ faction stopped their interference, even if the memorial successfully reached the desk of the warm chamber—
Emperor Luo was still the greatest unknown.
Luo Zhao looked at Gu Chengyin, hoping to see difficulty or gravity on his face.
But she saw nothing of the sort.
Gu Chengyin’s expression never changed from beginning to end.
Calm, composed, even carrying a hint of nonchalance.
He showed no sign of distress.
On the contrary, there was something new in the way he looked at Luo Zhao.
It was like the patience of someone watching a child who had yet to figure something out for herself.
Then Gu Chengyin spoke:
“Her Highness, considering the relationship between us in terms of status—”
“You ought to call me Uncle now.”
Luo Zhao’s expression froze.
Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
The stiff, princely composure she had maintained so carefully now bore a momentary blankness.
Like the stunned confusion of someone hit by completely unexpected words.
Uncle.
When she heard those three syllables, they stung her ears unbearably.
But Gu Chengyin gave her no time to process.
He continued, his tone still unhurried:
“As for His Majesty—if he insists on making things difficult for his brother-in-law…”
A hint of smug confidence crept into Gu Chengyin’s voice:
“Then I will have no choice but to get Little Aunt to come over and ‘reason’ with him.”
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
grated, and just when he finally managed to get into an elite academy, he discovered that he actually had a system, and the way to earn rewards was extremely ridiculous. So for the sake of rewards, he had no choice but to start acting ridiculous as well. Su Cheng: "It's nothing but system quests after all." But later, what confused Su Cheng was that while he was already quite ridiculous, he never expected those serious characters to gradually become ridiculous too. And the way they looked at him became increasingly strange... (This synopsis doesn't do it justice, please read the full story)
y came from. The chests contained supplies, currency, class-change scrolls, skills, talents… and even godhood! The laws of the world were completely rewritten. This became a world where everyone gambled with their fate! Some people, despite having nothing, opened a divine artifact and rose to the top, eventually ruling the world. Others went bankrupt, opened nothing but worthless junk, and leaped from skyscrapers in despair. Lin Ye arrived in this world from another reality, utterly bewildered. “What is going on? Why is everyone a gambling addict?!” “Opening chests? No way. I refuse to gamble. I’ll start with myself!” Until— On his first chest, he obtained a Mythic Talent: Void Incarnation! He could become completely intangible, pass through all things, and reduce everything to nothingness! … On his fiftieth chest, he obtained a Mythic Weapon: Blade of Karma! With a single slash, karma shattered, twisting the universe and overturning the myriad phenomena of creation! … On his ninety-ninth chest, he obtained a Mythic Divine Treasure: Primordial Purple Energy! It could split open the heavens and earth, create all things, and evolve countless worlds with a single thought! Lin Ye: “Now that I think about it… shouldn’t someone have told me that every chest is guaranteed to contain something Mythic?!”
s + Rent Collection Wealth】 At the start, he inherited a rundown house in the urban village from his grandfather. The house had no tenants, but the moment he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, a self-proclaimed empress from the Tianxuan Continent arrived as his first tenant. Ye Chuan soon discovered that with every new tenant moving in, not only did he receive massive daily payments, but he also obtained unique items related to their backgrounds. 【Acquired Bai Qianshuang’s related item: Tiger Strength Pill—dramatically enhances physical power!】 【Acquired Bai Qianshuang’s related item: Deer Blood Pill—significantly boosts vitality!】 …… From that day on, all sorts of bizarre tenants began appearing in the house: the empress from Tianxuan Continent, an apocalyptic sorceress from the Magic Realm, a mysterious scientific girl who fell through a spacetime rift… Every single day, he received strange, powerful items and endless money. Then one day, he suddenly realized—he had become invincible. Enough, enough! Stop giving me more!
