Mentioning this, Gu Xiaoli instantly fell silent.
She even turned her head away, her gaze drifting, not daring to look Gu Chengyin in the eye.
Though she was a cat, that didn't mean she was oblivious.
Reporting to Luo Zhao that it was all about pretending to scatter candy, she could feign innocent ignorance, thinking they were just fighting.
But was that really a fight?
Of course not.
Gu Xiaoli was well aware that Lin Qingyan was the one getting pummeled, one-sidedly.
A glint of amusement flickered in Gu Chengyin's eyes.
So it seemed this world-weary little girl wasn't all that weary after all.
He was about to say something more when he suddenly heard a flurry of hurried footsteps behind him.
The steps were urgent and heavy, not like the quick, shuffling gait of a palace attendant, nor the long, confident strides of a warrior.
Instead, they carried a sense of pressing haste, a running pace that couldn't bother to stay prim and proper.
Gu Chengyin turned around.
A young eunuch came dashing down the corridor, panting heavily.
Sweat beads on his forehead glittered in the sunlight.
His face was unnaturally pale, his lips trembling slightly, and in his hands he held something bright yellow.
It was an imperial decree, made from gleaming yellow silk, bordered with embroidered five-clawed dragon patterns—so dazzling in the sun it was almost unbearable to look at.
The young eunuch reached Gu Chengyin, came to an abrupt halt, his knees giving way as he knelt down.
“Junior Preceptor... Junior Preceptor Gu!”
The eunuch's voice quavered, whether from running or fear: “His Majesty's verbal order—no, His Majesty's imperial decree! Summoning Junior Preceptor Gu to the palace immediately!”
Gu Chengyin gazed at the yellow silk, his expression unchanged.
His face hadn't altered since the moment the eunuch appeared.
Even upon hearing the words “to the palace immediately,” his brow didn't so much as twitch.
Gu Chengyin's eyes rested on the decree for a single beat.
Then he reached out and took it.
“Your subject, Gu Chengyin, receives the decree.”
His voice was steady and resolute, without a trace of panic or surprise.
In truth, Gu Chengyin wasn't surprised at all.
Emperor Luo's urgent summons to the palace was expected.
Cui Zhenji's resignation memorial had already been sent to the Grand Secretariat, and given how well-informed Emperor Luo was, he probably knew about it the moment the memorial reached the Ministry of Personnel.
Coupled with the fact that Lin Qingyan was currently on her way into the palace, Emperor Luo couldn't possibly remain in the dark.
With these two matters colliding, Emperor Luo could hardly avoid thinking of him.
And so, Gu Chengyin merely pondered what attitude Emperor Luo would take when meeting him.
Would it be a routine report between sovereign and subject, or a private meeting between brothers-in-law?
Was it a probe, a warning, or a showdown?
Gu Chengyin tucked the decree into his sleeve, turned around, and looked at Gu Xiaoli.
Gu Xiaoli was still standing there, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and round, like a porcelain doll suddenly frozen in place.
Her gaze fell on the bright yellow silk protruding from Gu Chengyin's sleeve, and her pupils contracted.
“Brother...”
Gu Xiaoli's voice dropped lower than before: “His Majesty, he...?”
“It's nothing.”
Gu Chengyin cut her off, speaking calmly: “Keep cultivating. We'll talk once I'm back.”
Gu Xiaoli stared at him for two breaths, then gave a vigorous nod.
“Alright.”
Gu Chengyin turned and walked toward the palace gates.
His strides were unhurried and steady, each step planted firmly.
There was no sign of urgency or anxiety, but his mind was already racing.
What was Emperor Luo's mood right now?
Had Lin Qingyan arrived yet?
What had she said to Emperor Luo?
Did he summon me after hearing her words, or had he already decided before she spoke?
The answers to these questions could only be known once he reached the Warm Pavilion.
Outside the palace gates, a small sedan chair with a blue felt canopy was already waiting.
Two eunuch bearers stood with hands at their sides, and upon seeing Gu Chengyin emerge, they bowed in unison.
It was clear Emperor Luo was in a hurry—even the sedan had been dispatched from the palace.
Without a word, Gu Chengyin lifted the curtain, bent down, and sat inside.
The sedan lifted and headed toward the imperial palace.
In the palace, at the Warm Pavilion.
The hall was three bays wide and two bays deep, paved with gold bricks and adorned with landscape paintings by famous masters of previous dynasties.
In the corner sat a gilded boshan incense burner, wafting the scent of dragon brain incense.
Curling smoke filled the chamber with a warm, cozy air.
But in this moment, the atmosphere in the Warm Pavilion was anything but warm.
Emperor Luo sat behind the imperial desk, dressed in casual robes, without a crown—a simple jade hairpin held his topknot in place.
In his hand, he toyed with a single Go piece, a black one made of yunzi stone, slowly turning it between his fingers.
Before him lay an unfinished game of Go, black and white locked in fierce struggle, danger lurking everywhere—who knew how long it had been played.
Standing beside the imperial desk was Lyu Fang, hands at his sides, eyes low and gaze inward, like a lifeless statue.
There was no one else in the Warm Pavilion.
No ministers, no guards, not even the tea-serving eunuchs had been sent away.
Only Emperor Luo, Lyu Fang, and that thick, suffocating silence in the air, so condensed it seemed ready to drip like water.
Emperor Luo placed the black piece on the Go board with a soft click—crisp yet heavy.
“Has Jingzhe left?”
Emperor Luo's voice carried the inherent authority that comes from spending years on the dragon throne.
Lyu Fang bowed slightly: “To answer Your Majesty, Lord Jingzhe left the palace just now.”
“By the look of it, heading toward the Celestial Master's residence.”
“What did he say to you before he left?”
“Lord Jingzhe said...”
Lyu Fang's tone remained steady, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if restraining a smile: “If Your Majesty dares to put my dear Chengcheng in a tough spot, he'll move that loquat tree out of the Imperial Garden.”
Emperor Luo's fingers stopped moving over the Go board.
The loquat tree.
It was no rare species, certainly no exotic treasure—just an ordinary loquat tree.
Countless such trees dotted the Great Luo Dynasty, none of the least distinction.
The only special thing about it was that Empress Lin had loved it, so he had planted it with his own hands.
But that same year,
Empress Lin had died.
Now its canopy shaded the courtyard like a grand pavilion.
Emperor Luo fell silent.
Lin Qingyan wanted to move that loquat tree from the Imperial Garden, not because she liked it.
But because she knew what that loquat tree meant.
“This Jingzhe,”
Emperor Luo said, his tone unreadable: “He grows ever more unruly.”
Lyu Fang said nothing.
This was not a remark for him to follow up on.
Emperor Luo's fingers began to move again, picking up a white piece from the board.
He set it down, then picked it up again, and finally closed his palm around it.
His gaze settled on the board, on the murky battlefield of black and white.
“Has Gu Chengyin arrived yet?”
Just as Lyu Fang was about to answer, footsteps sounded from outside the door.
Not too fast, not too slow—each interval precise, as if measured with a ruler.
Neither hurried nor slack.
This was a pace honed through deliberate control, the kind of gait forged in countless audiences at court—between sovereign and subject—a muscle memory earned through countless debates.
Lyu Fang's ear twitched.
“To answer Your Majesty, Junior Preceptor Gu has arrived.”
Emperor Luo did not look up.
His gaze still rested on the Go board, his fingers still slowly rotating that white piece.
His expression remained unchanged; even the rhythm of his breathing held steady.
But the air in the Warm Pavilion grew heavier still.
. As long as he maintains the villain image and follows the plot to the grand finale, he can obtain generous rewards and return to the real world. So Gu Chen'an entered the role and began to act as a scumbag villain, but who would have expected that the female leads could hear his inner thoughts. Miss Su from the Su family was shocked: "I originally thought Gu Chen'an was a scumbag, but I didn't expect he turned out to be a gentleman! What? You said I have to call off the engagement? I definitely won't, I'll piss you off!" Bai Yuan Tian was dumbfounded: "Young Master Gu is usually unreasonable and a complete brat, but he actually calls me little sweetie in his heart? What, Young Master Gu even said he likes me?" As the female leads' images collapsed more and more, the plot also collapsed with it. Gu Chen'an looked at all this chaos. "Ladies, don't aggro me, if you keep this up the male lead really will stab me, I still need to survive to the grand finale!"
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
ut it can buy an entire year of absolutely perfect training results! Su Yu stared at his empty wallet and decisively opened up various online loan platforms. “Borrow a thousand bucks! Recharge my vitality!” Boom! His vitality broke a hundred points, shattering the limits of the human body! “Borrow ten thousand bucks! Recharge my combat skills!” Boom! A basic punching technique so common it was everywhere instantly maxed out, revealing the ultimate assassination technique of Five Elements Unity—Inner Force! When a rich kid hired assassins for a midnight ambush, aiming to break both of his legs, they instead ran headfirst into a monster—a human-shaped tyrannosaur, brimming with dragon-like vitality. With just two fingers, Su Yu snapped a steel staff reinforced with alloy. Staring at the killer’s stash of stolen cash—a staggering quarter-million dollars—he showed a corporate-sincere smile: “Thanks for the pre-exam gift pack, Mr. Zhao! I’m gonna go re-invest this!” Three days later, at the National Martial Arts College Entrance Exam, while everyone else struggled just to reach the passing line, Su Yu threw a single punch—and more than a thousand vitality points literally detonated the entire arena!
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
