That Thought

Now was the perfect moment.

The system's spiritual energy had already gathered in his eyes, like an arrow nocked on a bowstring.

The bow was drawn to its fullest, waiting only for release.

But in the end, Gu Chengyin did not let go.

Because a question had occurred to him.

A lapse revealed by someone like Emperor Luo—

Could it truly be a lapse?

This question struck him like a bucket of ice water, pouring down from the crown of his head.

It froze the thoughts rising from the depths of his mind.

The system's spiritual energy halted, like an arrow drawn to the full but never fired.

The string still quivered, the arrow remained on the string, but Gu Chengyin's fingers no longer pressed forward.

What kind of man was Emperor Luo?

He had sat on the dragon throne for decades, weathered countless court intrigues, palace coups, and power struggles.

Ancient noble families could not topple him; the sects of the immortal cultivation world could not overthrow him.

Even Gu Chengyin himself considered Emperor Luo unfathomable.

Would a man like that be unprepared?

Would a man like that reveal a weakness at the most critical moment?

No.

Emperor Luo would not.

This moment of total focus was not a lapse—it was a trap.

This height of concentration was not an opportunity—it was a test.

Emperor Luo sat there, using those eyes that had seen through countless schemes and deceptions to stare unblinkingly at him.

What the emperor was watching was not his answer, but his intent.

He was watching to see if Gu Chengyin harbored any improper thoughts.

Was there guilt? Evasion? Uncertainty?

Or perhaps the subtle shifts in gaze that would accompany hypnosis.

Whichever appeared—

That was what Emperor Luo truly wanted to see.

The system's spiritual energy slowly receded from his eyes.

Like a retreating tide, quietly, soundlessly, leaving no trace as it returned to his dantian.

The arrow nocked on the string was taken down and placed back into the quiver.

The bow remained a bow, the string remained a string, but it no longer aimed.

Gu Chengyin chose not to shoot.

Not because he couldn't hit the target, but because the target was a decoy.

The warm chamber fell silent for a long time.

Emperor Luo's gaze never wavered, and Gu Chengyin's gaze never faltered.

The two men stared at each other like two swords crossed at the hilt.

Blade pressed against blade. Neither retreated, neither advanced.

They simply pressed against each other quietly, feeling the cold gleam of the other's edge just an inch from their own eyes.

Finally, Emperor Luo withdrew his gaze.

His eyelids lowered slowly, then lifted again. In the brief motion of lowering and raising, the scrutiny in his eyes vanished.

A soft exhale through his nose escaped, like a breath pushed from the deepest part of his cavity, carrying a meaning that could not be defined.

Lyu Fang's eyelid twitched, but he suppressed it almost immediately.

He had served Emperor Luo for decades and had heard that sound countless times.

Never once could he divine the emperor's true thoughts from that single sound.

Sometimes it preceded rewards, sometimes demotions, sometimes nothing at all.

It was as if the sound itself were the entire answer.

Emperor Luo withdrew his hand from the chessboard and rested it on the armrest of his chair.

His fingers tapped twice lightly on the armrest.

Two crisp yet muffled knocks, as if putting a full stop to the silent confrontation just concluded.

Then he spoke slowly:

"I am aware."

Only four simple words.

But Gu Chengyin understood.

These four words meant: Your answer has been heard. Your eyes have been seen.

As for how to judge, how to decide, and how to act—

That is my affair. You need not know.

Gu Chengyin bowed respectfully, his expression unchanged.

His face was calm, his posture correct, as if nothing had happened.

Inwardly, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Just moments ago—

When the arrow was on the string, he had almost released it.

Almost.

And that nearly was what showed Gu Chengyin the truth.

Emperor Luo.

He was truly formidable.

No.

He was—extremely, extremely, extremely formidable.

Sitting on the dragon throne for decades was not based on luck, nor on the unfathomable cards hidden up his sleeve.

It was Emperor Luo himself.

His perception, his judgment, his insight into the human heart—

All had been etched into his very bones, becoming instincts that required no thought.

As natural as breathing, as effortless as a heartbeat.

If Gu Chengyin had actually initiated hypnosis, Emperor Luo would likely have detected it in the very first breath.

This was not an exaggeration, nor was it the sort of intuition Lin Qingyan possessed.

It was the most fundamental kind of discernment.

Because Gu Chengyin could do it himself.

Politicians and ordinary people were two different species.

Emperor Luo's gaze fell upon the chessboard.

The incomplete game still lay there, black and white locked in battle, deadly traps lurking everywhere.

The white stone he had placed at the very center moments ago seemed especially jarring in the shifting light.

It was too new, too white, too deliberate.

Like something that had been forced into the game and did not belong.

"Lyu Fang."

Emperor Luo spoke suddenly.

Lyu Fang immediately bowed: "Your servant is here."

"The appointment for Minister of Rites."

Emperor Luo gently flicked that white stone aside with his finger and continued:

"Have the Grand Secretariat draft a list for me."

"I approve Cui Zhenji's resignation."

"Your servant obeys the decree."

Emperor Luo said nothing more.

He picked up a black stone, turning it slowly between his fingers.

His gaze returned to the board, as if he had already forgotten Gu Chengyin was still standing nearby.

Gu Chengyin remained there, waiting quietly.

After confirming that Emperor Luo had no further instructions, he bowed once more:

"Your Majesty, this servant takes his leave."

Emperor Luo did not raise his head. He merely gave a slight nod.

His motion so small it was almost imperceptible—but Gu Chengyin saw it.

He turned and walked toward the door.

His steps were calm and steady, exactly as when he had entered.

Each step fell onto the golden brick floor. Neither hasty nor slow. Unhurried, unrushed.

In the warm light of the chamber, his silhouette appeared particularly lean and tall, shoulders sharp, waist taut and narrow.

Lyu Fang held up the door curtain for him.

As the curtain lifted, a flood of light poured in from outside, splashing a bright patch across the floor of the warm chamber.

Gu Chengyin stepped out, and the patch of light slowly narrowed behind him until it became a thin thread of gold.

The warm chamber was once again quiet.

Emperor Luo's fingers stilled on the chessboard.

He held the black stone in his palm, warm, imprinted with the heat from his hand.

His gaze returned to the half-finished game, to the white stone he had just pushed aside.

"Lyu Fang."

"Your servant is here."

"Do you think…"

Emperor Luo's voice dropped, so low it might have been talking to himself:

"Did Gu Chengyin, just now, contemplate that thought?"

Lyu Fang's body stiffened for a moment.

He, of course, knew exactly which thought the emperor meant.

He had served the throne for decades, had seen many people entertain that thought in Emperor Luo's presence.

Some out of fear, some out of greed, some out of self-preservation.

But none who had entertained that thought had ever walked out of this palace alive.

Neither had their entire clans.