The Second Prince

Outside the gates of Divine Capital, dusk was settling in.

An unremarkable green-curtained carriage stood by the official road just outside the city gates.

The carriage curtains were tightly drawn, and the driver stood with his hands at his sides, as if he had been waiting for a long time.

The garrison at the city gate was changing shifts. Someone inside the carriage lifted the curtain a crack.

The hand that did so was fair and slender, but the knuckles bore a faint red from sun exposure.

The fingers tightened, creasing the fabric of the curtain deeply. Then a face emerged from the gap.

Luo Yanchen.

The Second Prince of the Great Luo Dynasty.

The gloom between his brows seemed carved into his very bones—not something he was born with, but something that had grown in, bit by bit, over time.

From the day a certain thought took root in his heart, it had spread—inch by inch across his brows, his eyes, the corners of his mouth—until it shaped the man he was now.

When he didn’t speak, he was like a blade sheathed in its scabbard. When he did, he was like a blade drawn and ready.

Luo Yanchen’s gaze fell on the city gates. A shadow flickered deep in his eyes.

Divine Capital.

He was back.

He had rushed back from Shanshui City, traveling day and night, changing horses three times. The driver’s thighs were blistered from the strain.

Ordinarily, there would have been no need for such haste. After all, what mattered most to him at the moment was the pilot program in Shanshui City.

He had spent over a month there, managing everything with such meticulous care that even if Luo Zhao herself had come to inspect, she would have found no fault with Shanshui.

But fate had dealt him bad news.

Gu Chengyin was about to be appointed Minister of Rites.

Luo Yanchen’s eyelid twitched.

His fingers tightened further on the curtain, as if grasping at something that might slip from his grasp.

Gu Chengyin.

The name circled in his mind like a thorn caught in his throat—impossible to swallow, impossible to spit out.

Of course he knew Gu Chengyin.

No one in the entire Great Luo Dynasty didn’t know Gu Chengyin.

From a rustic commoner to the Crown Princess’s tutor, from tutor to Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites, from Vice Minister to the soon-to-be Minister of Rites.

Every step he took was steady and sure. Every step landed on someone else’s bones. Every step made Luo Yanchen’s heart race with unease.

Before, Luo Zhao was just an ordinary heir to the throne.

Aside from being good-looking, Luo Yanchen had never taken her seriously.

If not for Emperor Luo, the faction of imperial princes would have long since beaten the Crown Princess’s faction into submission.

But everything changed after Gu Chengyin appeared.

And now, it had spiraled completely out of control.

Cui Zhenji had resigned.

The younger brother of Cui Shifan—driven out of court by Gu Chengyin in a humiliating fashion.

Though Luo Yanchen had been in Shanshui City during the tribunal of the three ministries, every detail was relayed to him by fast horse.

Every detail was like a knife, carving into his heart, blow after blow.

That Gu Chengyin had walked away unscathed from that tribunal wasn’t terrifying—in fact, it was expected.

But what was terrifying was his impending appointment as Minister of Rites.

If that succeeded, the Crown Princess’s faction would inevitably gain immense power.

Not possibly gain, not likely gain—but inevitably gain.

What was the Ministry of Rites?

One of the six ministries, governing state ceremonies, sacrifices, imperial examinations, and diplomacy.

Cui Zhenji had worked in the Ministry of Rites for years, building a network of disciples and connections across the realm—webs of relationships, hidden channels of profit, shadows of influence.

If Gu Chengyin took over, it would mean uprooting the decades-old foundations the Cui clan had laid in that ministry, replacing them with his own trees.

And those trees would grow fast—so fast that no one would have time to react before they blocked out the sun.

So this must not happen.

Absolutely not.

Luo Yanchen’s lips pressed into a straight line.

Like the edge of a whetted blade—no curve, no warmth. Only a cold, hard finality.

His gaze shifted from the city gates to the other person inside the carriage.

Cui Zilong.

The Eldest Young Master of the Cui household, legitimate eldest son of Cui Shifan, elder brother of Cui Ziting and Cui Zilu.

He bore a five- or six-out-of-ten resemblance to Cui Shifan, but his temperament was entirely different.

Cui Ziting was a refined, jade-like young master of a noble house—cultivated with care, graceful in speech, elegant in manner.

But Cui Zilong was more like a blade discarded in some corner, rusted at the edge, wrapped in cloth at the hilt.

Worn and unnoticed—but in a fight, it would still kill.

Right now, Cui Zilong’s face was as dark as a sky before a thunderstorm.

Not a deliberately put-on darkness, but one he couldn’t control if he tried.

As the eldest legitimate son, he naturally knew that Cui Zhenji had been forced to resign—chased out of court in disgrace by Gu Chengyin, a man who had risen through family connections.

This was like a slap across the face of every Cui clan member.

And then there was the earlier incident, when his guards had been executed on the spot by Gu Chengyin—another slap that left Cui Zilong’s face still swollen to this day.

“Second Prince.”

Cui Zilong’s voice scraped out through gritted teeth, venomous with rage:

“We absolutely cannot let Gu Chengyin become Minister of Rites.”

“Otherwise, the Crown Princess’s faction will grow unstoppable.”

Luo Yanchen nodded.

“I know.”

Of course he knew.

He had received the news before Cui Zilong, made his judgment faster, and understood the stakes better.

But Luo Yanchen also knew another thing: knowing wasn’t enough.

Rage wasn’t enough.

Saying “absolutely cannot let Gu Chengyin take the position” wasn’t enough either.

He needed a plan.

A way to stop Gu Chengyin.

A way to work within the rules, under Emperor Luo’s watchful eye—without bringing greater trouble upon himself, the Cui clan, or the faction of imperial princes—to drag Gu Chengyin down from that high seat of Minister of Rites.

That was why he had personally gone to Qinghe Prefecture to retrieve Cui Zilong, who had been under house arrest.

This Eldest Young Master of the Cui household was the solution Luo Yanchen intended to use.

“Zilong,” he said, with a casual, almost offhand tone.

“Didn’t Shangguan Yuan fall out with Gu Chengyin?”

Cui Zilong blinked.

He hadn’t expected Luo Yanchen to bring up Shangguan Yuan so abruptly.

That fallout between Shangguan Yuan and Gu Chengyin was common knowledge at court.

No one really knew whether it was real or staged.

But one thing was certain: on the surface, at least, Shangguan Yuan now opposed Gu Chengyin.

And the enemy’s enemy was a friend.

So both the faction of imperial princes and the major noble families had been extending olive branches to Shangguan Yuan.

Cui Zilong nodded, the darkness on his face easing somewhat, replaced by confusion.

“That’s right. But it’s still unclear whether it’s an act or genuine.”

That was the truth.

Court politics were a tangle of truth and lies, surface and shadow.

Some who fell out really did fall out. Others pretended for show.

Which category Shangguan Yuan and Gu Chengyin fell into—Cui Zilong wouldn’t bet on it.

As much as he indulged in pleasure-seeking, he wasn’t that foolish.