Serving One Husband Together

Use power against him? He had the backing of the Crown Princess’s faction.

Use force against him? He had Lin Qingyan’s protection.

Use the rules against him? He understood the rules better than you.

Cui Shifan knew all this.

He understood it more clearly than anyone else in the imperial court.

So he wanted to see how Gu Chengyin would react—to see if Gu Chengyin would show any weakness.

Arrogance, gloating, or deliberate concealment.

Either would make it easier to deal with Gu Chengyin.

But there was nothing.

Gu Chengyin simply nodded with a smile, answering naturally and calmly:

“Lord Jingzhe’s cultivation is profound. He personally guided me in many things. I am truly fortunate in this life.”

Every word Gu Chengyin spoke was true.

If the word ‘guided’ could be understood in different ways.

After all, Gu Chengyin had indeed been personally instructed by Lin Qingyan for an entire night.

Cui Shifan narrowed his eyes.

To earn Lin Qingyan’s favor—that was more than just being fortunate in this life.

It was practically having saved the galaxy in a past one.

But he couldn’t say that.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t.

Given his status, saying such a thing would be too much.

Too intimate, too casual—like joking with a true sworn brother.

And between him and Gu Chengyin, that kind of relationship had never existed.

Cui Shifan’s gaze shifted from Gu Chengyin’s face back to Luo Zhao.

The smile on his weathered face changed from a moment’s melancholy to solemnity, and then to gravity.

“Your Highness.”

This address was completely different from before.

The earlier one had been ceremonial—a subject’s proper respect for the Crown Princess, carrying the distance of protocol.

But this one was heavy, like setting down a weighty box, producing a dull thud.

Luo Zhao was staring coldly at Gu Chengyin.

From the moment he had spoken, her gaze hadn’t left him.

Her face showed no expression, still carrying that aloof, proud aura of a Crown Princess. But her eyes betrayed her.

The chill in those phoenix eyes was like a winter north wind, sharp enough to cut the skin.

Of course, Luo Zhao knew Gu Chengyin hadn’t come back all night.

She also knew he had spent the night with her aunt.

At the Celestial Master’s residence, in the Tower of Stillness—a place no one could see or investigate.

As for what had happened that night, Luo Zhao didn’t even need to think.

Her mind even uncontrollably conjured some indecent images.

Luo Zhao snapped her eyes shut, forcing those images out of her mind.

Cleaning them out completely, leaving a blank slate.

When she opened her eyes again, Cui Shifan was calling her.

Luo Zhao’s gaze shifted from Gu Chengyin to Cui Shifan’s face.

She gave a slight nod, indicating she was listening.

Her expression remained unchanged, but her mind was racing.

If she wasn’t mistaken, Cui Shifan was about to propose a marriage for Cui Zilong.

In other words, this meeting was finally getting to the point.

Though Luo Zhao didn’t understand how Cui Shifan was thinking.

After all, the relationship between Gu Chengyin and Shangguan Yunying was also an open secret.

In fact, among the rumors about Shangguan Yuan falling out with Gu Chengyin,

Shangguan Yunying’s involvement was a factor.

Many said that Shangguan Yuan broke with Gu Chengyin because Gu Chengyin had set his eyes on Shangguan Yuan’s precious daughter.

And Shangguan Yuan believed that since Gu Chengyin was already betrothed to Luo Zhao, he shouldn’t provoke Shangguan Yunying.

The rumors grew wilder, even suggesting that Luo Zhao and Shangguan Yunying would share the same husband.

But in a way, it also deepened the credibility of the infighting in the Crown Princess’s faction.

Luo Zhao’s fingers curled slightly within her sleeve.

Strictly speaking, she should be nervous now.

After all, Cui Shifan was no easy opponent; in many past confrontations, she had been unable to get the upper hand against him.

Only Gu Chengyin could keep Cui Shifan on the back foot.

So if a marriage proposal for Shangguan Yunying truly came, Luo Zhao wasn’t sure how to handle it.

At best, she could only say some polite words, stalling for time.

After all, in the end, Shangguan Yunying was the legitimate daughter of the Shangguan family.

As the Crown Princess, she couldn’t directly meddle in such domestic affairs.

But Luo Zhao realized she wasn’t that tense.

Because…

Gu Chengyin had returned.

That Red Egg was sitting right beside Cui Shifan, still holding Cui Shifan’s hand.

A smile hung on his face that made people want to punch him.

But with him there…

She felt she had nothing to fear.

Luo Zhao’s gaze flicked over Gu Chengyin, like a dragonfly skimming the water’s surface, not even leaving a ripple before it flew away.

That look held a mix of disdain, resignation, acceptance, and a deep, hidden reliance.

Then Luo Zhao withdrew her gaze and looked back at Cui Shifan.

Cui Shifan’s posture was very humble.

His body leaned slightly forward, his shoulders dropped, and his voice lowered further.

Such a low posture was rare for this Grand Secretary of the Cabinet.

“I’ve come this time with a request that might be presumptuous,”

Cui Shifan’s words flowed slowly from his throat, each one carefully weighed:

“I hope Your Highness will grant it.”

Luo Zhao watched this old fox, who had steeped himself in the court for decades, turning the art of advance and retreat into a craft.

This old man held immense power in his hands, yet pretended to be a worried father for his children.

She felt no stir in her heart, almost wanting to laugh.

Not because the matter was unimportant, but because she realized she didn’t actually need to worry about it.

Gu Chengyin was sitting right there.

He would handle it.

She just needed to enjoy the show.

“You flatter me,”

Luo Zhao’s voice was steady and composed, carrying the respect a Crown Princess owed to a senior minister:

“Elder Cui, you are a virtuous and respected figure, and a pillar of our Great Luo. Please, speak freely.”

Cui Shifan let out a breath of relief.

These words were not a promise, nor a consent, just permission.

But in the court, permission could sometimes outweigh a promise.

Because it meant the chance to be heard.

And Cui Shifan never wasted any chance to be heard.

“My children at home are not exceptional, but they have reached the age for marriage.”

“As a father, I come with sincerity and respect, hoping Your Highness will grant this wish.”

He spoke very slowly, so slowly that each word seemed to leave a trace in the air, lingering.

His tone carried just the right amount of self-deprecation—neither boastful nor belittling to his children.

Instead, it held that unique, complex emotion of a parent—both gratified and nostalgic.

Every word, every pause, every shift in tone

had been carefully designed and repeatedly polished.

Cui Shifan had been speaking in the court for decades.

He had long turned speech into an art form.