Quite Good at Choosing

Meanwhile, on the other side.

When the crown prince's carriage departed from the gates of the Crown Prince's Palace.

Luo Zhao sat inside the carriage, her back straight, her hands folded neatly on her knees.

But her fingers curled slightly within her sleeves, her nails pressing into her palms, leaving a few faint white marks.

Those marks lasted but a moment before being swallowed by the rush of blood returning to the skin.

But Luo Zhao did not relax her grip. Instead, she pressed even harder.

As if using that subtle pain to suppress the unease churning in her heart.

The carriage curtains were drawn tight, and the light outside could only seep through the gaps in the fabric—thin slivers that fell across her body.

Like several golden threads left behind by someone, lying quietly there, without warmth, without sound.

Luo Zhao knew why her father had suddenly summoned her to the palace.

From the moment Lyu Fang appeared at the entrance to the main hall, she had known.

Clearly, the matter of Cui Shifan seeking a marriage alliance with Gu Chengyin had already reached her father's ears.

Throughout the entire Great Luo, nothing could escape the Emperor's eyes.

Let alone the fact that Cui Shifan had made the proposal in the main hall of the Crown Prince's Palace—that was practically the same as doing it in full public view.

And now, summoning her to the palace, forbidding anyone to accompany her.

Not even Shangguan Yunying was allowed to come along.

This meant that what her father wished to discuss with her was extremely important.

So important that it could only be spoken behind closed doors, between father and daughter, with no third party present.

Luo Zhao took a deep breath, pressing down the surging emotions in her chest, bit by bit.

She had sat in the position of Crown Prince for this long, and if nothing else, she had learned at least one thing:

Before her father, do not put on a front.

You can maintain it for a moment, but not forever.

So better not to pretend at all, better to be straightforward and honest.

Whatever her father asked, she would answer. Whatever her father said, she would heed.

This was the only useful piece of wisdom Luo Zhao had gleaned from years of dealing with her father.

The carriage came to a stop at the palace gates.

Lyu Fang lifted the carriage curtain for Luo Zhao, and sunlight poured in from outside, making her squint slightly.

She stepped down from the carriage, passed through one palace gate after another, walked down corridor after corridor.

She had walked these palace paths since she was a child, and could navigate them with her eyes closed.

But walking this road today, Luo Zhao suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity.

It wasn't that the road had changed—it was that she had changed.

The door to the warm pavilion stood open, and the scent of aloeswood drifted out from within.

When Luo Zhao entered, Emperor Luo was leisurely reclining against a soft cushion, reading memorials.

One hand rested on the armrest, the other held the corner of a memorial.

He was entirely sunk into the cushion, showing not the slightest hint of urgency.

His expression was calm—no furrowed brow, no pressed lips, not even a change in his breathing.

But Luo Zhao knew that her father was thinking.

When her father was deep in thought, he never furrowed his brow, never pressed his lips, never made any expression that suggested contemplation.

He only became quieter, more languid, like a tiger basking in the sun.

But a tiger's eyes were always open.

Seeing Luo Zhao enter, Emperor Luo glanced at her.

His gaze swept across her face, not even pausing for a moment.

Then he withdrew his eyes, let them settle back on the memorial, and gave a casual order:

"Lyu Fang, bring a chair for Zhao'er."

Lyu Fang acknowledged, fetched a chair from the side, and placed it before Emperor Luo.

The placement of the chair was carefully calculated.

It was not directly facing Emperor Luo—that would be too formal, like reporting at a court assembly.

Nor was it angled to the side of Emperor Luo—that would be too casual, like idle family chatter.

Instead, it was slightly offset, just enough for Luo Zhao to see the profile of Emperor Luo's face, without making the Emperor feel directly stared at.

This angle was a skill Lyu Fang had honed over decades in the palace.

Placing a chair was also an art. The position, the direction, the distance—all conveyed some kind of message.

And the message this chair's placement conveyed was:

His Majesty wants to speak with you, but it is not a reprimand—Your Highness may relax a little.

After completing all this, Lyu Fang took his leave.

Within the warm pavilion, only Emperor Luo and Luo Zhao, father and daughter, remained.

Luo Zhao sat down on the chair, her hands folded on her knees, her back straight, her posture respectful.

But her fingers curled once more within her sleeves—not out of nervousness.

Rather, because the chair Lyu Fang had brought was slightly lower than the one she sat in at the Crown Prince's Palace.

Not much lower, just a tiny bit—low enough that when she sat on it, she had to tilt her head up slightly to look at Emperor Luo.

This slight upward angle was no accident; it was deliberate.

This chair told Luo Zhao: before Emperor Luo, you are the Crown Prince.

A Crown Prince looking upon the Son of Heaven must, of course, tilt his head upward.

Emperor Luo did not speak immediately. He continued reading the memorial, his gaze slowly sweeping across the page.

After a while, he spoke unhurriedly:

"We hear that Cui Shifan went to the Crown Prince's Palace today to seek a marriage alliance?"

Luo Zhao nodded. Her expression did not change—still that cold, proud, aloof facade of the Crown Prince.

But in her heart, she thought: Father indeed knows everything.

Luo Zhao had never doubted the extent of her father's intelligence network.

She simply wasn't sure when her father would make his move, or in what manner.

And what consequences that move would bring.

Now she knew.

Summoning her to the palace was the first step.

As for what came next—whether he would move against Gu Chengyin—

She only needed to wait patiently.

"Yes, Father. Pavilion Elder Cui wishes to marry his daughter Cui Zilu to Gu Chengyin."

In the end, Luo Zhao chose the safest approach.

Stating only the facts, without embellishment, without exaggeration, without any subjective judgment.

Pavilion Elder Cui wished to marry Cui Zilu to Gu Chengyin.

That was a fact.

As for why Cui Shifan wished to marry Cui Zilu to Gu Chengyin—

That was not a fact, or rather, not entirely a fact.

It was a story, one that everyone could interpret differently.

And her father disliked stories the most.

A soft snort escaped Emperor Luo's nose.

"This Cui Shifan… he certainly knows how to pick."

When Emperor Luo said "knows how to pick," his tone was like that of someone appraising a chess player's move.

And indeed, it was true—Cui Shifan certainly knew how to pick.

Cui Zilu was the legitimate daughter of the Cui family, the only daughter of Cui Shifan, the most precious chess piece in the entire Cui clan.

Using this piece to form a marriage alliance with Gu Chengyin—it both honored Gu Chengyin and preserved an escape route for himself.

If the marriage failed, the Cui family still had Cui Zilong, still had the Shangguan family, and countless other paths to take.

So when this piece was set down, whether Gu Chengyin accepted or not, Cui Shifan stood to lose nothing.

Emperor Luo naturally understood all of this.

Not only did he understand, he even thought Cui Shifan had made a decent move.

And he understood even more why Cui Shifan had chosen to make it.

Even at the risk of upsetting the balance of the court, even at the risk of incurring the wrath of the Great Luo Emperor—

He would still take that risk to marry Cui Zilu to Gu Chengyin.

As if, so long as Cui Zilu could be married to Gu Chengyin,

Even the greatest peril in the world would be worth it.