Lyu Fang was silent for a moment, then spoke:
“This servant... did not see it.”
A faint twitch tugged at the corner of Emperor Luo’s mouth, carrying a note of self-mocking and a trace of appreciation as he sighed:
“Nor did I.”
That sigh concealed something far more complex than the silent confrontation that had just taken place.
It held vigilance. It held scrutiny. It held an appreciation that could not quite be called appreciation.
And it held the kind of complexity that only a father felt when examining someone who might shape his daughter’s entire life.
Lyu Fang said nothing.
He stood with his hands at his sides, eyes fixed on the tip of his nose, his mind like a statue without breath.
But something stirred faintly inside him. He had spent so many years in the palace, seen so many perform before Emperor Luo.
Some acted well; others did not. But whether they acted well or not, Emperor Luo always saw through them.
Because Emperor Luo had a pair of eyes that could pierce the hearts of men.
But today.
Today, Emperor Luo had said, “Nor did I.”
This meant that Gu Chengyin’s performance just now was something even Emperor Luo could not judge as real or false.
Not because he had acted too well, but because it might not have been an act at all.
It might have been genuine.
And as for why Emperor Luo had deliberately revealed a weakness—
It was because as long as Gu Chengyin did not commit treason or rebellion,
as long as every action Gu Chengyin took stayed within the bounds of the rules,
no one could touch him any longer. Not even he, the Emperor of the Great Luo, could do so.
This was an iron law of sovereign rule, the game that any person sitting on the dragon throne had to follow.
Emperor Luo could probe, could harry, could create obstacles within the rules.
But he could not kill Gu Chengyin without cause, could not uproot him from the court without a crime.
If he did, Lin Qingyan would not allow it—that was the least of it.
Every power in the realm, from the great clans to the common scholars, would feel the chill of a warning.
If you could kill the Junior Tutor to the Crown Prince for no reason today, you could kill a Minister of the Six Boards tomorrow, and a provincial governor the day after.
No one would feel safe.
At that point, morale would crumble; the court would become chaos.
Emperor Luo’s power would not become more stable; instead, it would become the banner of righteousness in Gu Chengyin’s hands.
Once that banner was raised, the great clans would be the first to leap into action.
And all those neutral observers would rally to the side of “justice.”
Emperor Luo understood this better than anyone.
After all, it was not as if he had never tried to kill Gu Chengyin. He had simply never succeeded.
Note the distinction: never succeeded, not failed.
The difference between these two words was as vast as the distance between heaven and earth.
Failure meant you acted but did not achieve your goal.
Never succeeded meant you formed the intent, made the plans, dispatched the men, laid the traps—
and then, at the very last moment, you pulled back.
On the surface, it seemed because of Luo Zhao. But in truth, it was because of Lin Qingyan.
A qualified emperor would not revoke an order simply because the crown prince had intervened.
Emperor Luo’s mouth curved into a slight smile. He had genuinely wanted to kill Gu Chengyin.
But the moment Lin Qingyan volunteered to take the task, he knew Gu Chengyin could no longer be killed.
Since that was the case, he might as well go with the flow.
After all, Lin Qingyan liked Gu Chengyin—that was true—but she was also Luo Zhao’s own aunt.
This bond was stronger than any alliance in the court, and more complicated than any political game.
In the end, there were only two possible outcomes:
First, Lin Qingyan kills Gu Chengyin. Then all is well.
The threat vanishes, the court loses one restless variable, and everything returns to normal.
Second, Lin Qingyan does not kill Gu Chengyin—because she does not want to.
And that “does not want to” leads to another result.
One where, when Luo Zhao ascends to the throne in the future, even if she lacks ability by herself, nothing will go wrong.
Because Lin Qingyan will never abandon Luo Zhao. Of that, there was no doubt.
And if that was the case, then Gu Chengyin would have to take charge of Luo Zhao.
From the moment Lin Qingyan decided not to kill, Gu Chengyin was already bound to Luo Zhao’s ship.
He might not care about Luo Zhao, might not be concerned about her, might feel nothing for her.
But he had to care about Lin Qingyan. And Lin Qingyan cared about Luo Zhao.
So Gu Chengyin, too, had to care about Luo Zhao.
This chain of logic was more solid than any court alliance, more enduring than any exchange of interests.
Because it was not built on benefit—it was built on Lin Qingyan.
In comparison, what Emperor Luo truly worried about and was testing,
was not whether Gu Chengyin would threaten his throne, nor whether Gu Chengyin would grow too powerful in court.
Such things, Emperor Luo had ways to suppress.
He had sat on the dragon throne for decades, seen more schemers than he had eaten grains of salt.
What Emperor Luo genuinely feared was: after Gu Chengyin obtained Lin Qingyan,
would he also set his sights on his precious daughter?
But from the exchange just now, he could already be certain of one thing.
Gu Chengyin’s feelings toward Luo Zhao were exactly what a junior tutor should feel for a crown prince—nothing more.
In fact, Emperor Luo had seen something even deeper.
Within Gu Chengyin’s regard for Luo Zhao, there was something far grander.
Like a person standing on a mountaintop, gazing at the vast land below with a certain expectation.
He wanted to be responsible for Luo Zhao—not merely because he was her junior tutor.
But because Luo Zhao would one day be responsible for the billions of people in the Great Luo.
The end point of this chain of responsibility was not Luo Zhao, not any single person in the court.
It was the world.
It was the people living on this land: farmers, merchants, scholars, the sick and the dying, those who experienced joy and sorrow.
Strangers to Gu Chengyin, yet whose fates would be changed by his influence on Luo Zhao.
Emperor Luo did not know how someone so young as Gu Chengyin could possess such a vast sense of responsibility.
He did not even know where that sense came from—whether it was real or feigned, sincere or the most sophisticated disguise.
But Emperor Luo knew one thing. This sense of responsibility, whatever its origin,
regardless of whether it was real or fake—as long as it existed, as long as it did not collapse—then Luo Zhao was safe.
Because a person with such a vast sense of duty would not easily abandon his charge.
And Luo Zhao was Gu Chengyin’s responsibility.
Once he confirmed this, Emperor Luo actually felt relieved.
He put the black stone he was holding back into the bowl.
A crisp sound, clear yet muffled.
Outside the window, the sunlight had shifted again, falling from three shafts to two.
Those two rays of light landed on the chessboard, on the black and white stones,
illuminating the unfinished game in a play of light and shadow, as if the board had been split into two worlds.
One in the light, one in the shadow.
And that lone white stone pushed to the side belonged to neither world.
It lay alone in the shadow at the edge of the board, utterly still.
As though waiting for someone to pick it up and put it back where it belonged.
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!
ap a wealthy young lady? Or else I'll be eliminated by the system? Ye Feng, who awakened the Kidnapper System, originally wanted to live a peaceful life but never imagined he would become a kidnapper of young women. However, after some time, he discovered that all the girls the system ordered him to kidnap were far from ordinary. "Big brother Ye Feng~ You've kidnapped my heart, and now you're not allowed to leave me ever again~" "Ye Feng~ You kidnapped me back then, now it's my turn to capture you♡" "Little Feng, you're mine! You can only be mine!" "Ye Feng, none of them deserve you. Only I love you the most♡" ... This is madness, they've all gone mad! Wait, what? Why are all the girls I kidnapped yanderes?!
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.
he colors of other people’s emotions. Light red meant anxiety. Gray meant exhaustion. Orange meant excitement. Yellow... meant repression. At the same time, he could gain unlimited control over one of those colors. Pale cyan: relaxation. Using this ability, he started offering “two-yuan hugs,” spending an afternoon exchanging emotional-color experiences with others. Then came his final female customer of the day— a girl whose emotional color was pure black... —— A week later, Xu Chuan had become skilled at using pale cyan—Relaxation—treating it like a bottle of menthol balm whenever he needed it. That was when he discovered he had unlocked another unlimited emotional color: Purple, the color of fear. So these emotional colors refresh every week? Fine, I take it back—I’ll never call you useless again... —— Much later, after Xu Chuan had accumulated countless emotional abilities, one night, he suddenly found himself inside someone else’s dream. There, he could use the emotional colors he possessed to paint. And in her dream, he painted her a shower of pink shooting stars, spreading across the depths of the night sky...
