Bestowed Marriage

In Emperor Luo's view, becoming his son-in-law was the simplest and most effortless way to earn his trust.

No need to scheme against others at court, no need to tread carefully between factions.

All he had to do was marry Luo Zhao, and everything would fall into place.

A man as shrewd as Gu Chengyin could not have failed to see this.

Yet he still refused.

Why?

Emperor Luo's eyes narrowed further, his gaze seemingly piercing through the edict before him.

Through the walls of the warm pavilion, through the layers of palace halls, landing upon someone.

There was only one answer.

Lin Qingyan.

This Jingzhe of the Celestial Masters' Hall was the true reason Gu Chengyin had refused the position of imperial son-in-law.

It was a choice made after weighing the pros and cons, a decision he had no choice but to make.

Though Emperor Luo had never witnessed how Lin Qingyan and Gu Chengyin interacted with his own eyes, he understood human nature all too well.

Given Lin Qingyan's temperament, she would never stand idly by and watch Gu Chengyin become the imperial son-in-law.

But she would not cry, would not make a scene, would not behave like an ordinary woman.

Instead, she would make Gu Chengyin understand the consequences of becoming the imperial son-in-law.

And those consequences would be something Gu Chengyin absolutely could not bear.

Yet in reality, Lin Qingyan had done nothing.

From the moment the news of the imperial son-in-law spread, to Shangguan Yunying's resignation from office.

Lin Qingyan had not entered the palace, had not sought out Luo Zhao, had not used any of her own power to obstruct the matter.

Instead, she had gone to Gu Chengyin, because she trusted him.

And Gu Chengyin, indeed, had not let her down.

The instant this realization dawned on him, the corners of Emperor Luo's mouth curled up slightly.

The relationship between Lin Qingyan and Gu Chengyin ran deeper than he had anticipated.

And that was the key point.

Emperor Luo's smile deepened a little more.

He did have an Achilles' heel, and it was Luo Zhao.

This was something Gu Chengyin had seen with absolute clarity, and had even firmly grasped in his hands.

Gu Chengyin knew that as long as he held Luo Zhao in his grip.

Emperor Luo would be constrained, unable to strike him with lethal force.

But...

Who said Gu Chengyin had no Achilles' heel of his own?

Was Lin Qingyan not one?

When Gu Chengyin was forced to refuse the position of imperial son-in-law because of Lin Qingyan.

His weakness had already been laid bare for all to see.

He could have simply nodded, and saved himself three hundred years of detours.

Yet Gu Chengyin had refused to nod, had instead chosen the more difficult path.

Wrangling with Emperor Luo, playing chess against the prince's faction, climbing the ranks of the court step by step.

All of this, because of Lin Qingyan.

Lin Qingyan was the Jingzhe of the Celestial Masters' Hall, a golden-core immortal swordswoman without equal.

In terms of combat power, there were probably few in the entire Great Luo who could match her.

But in Emperor Luo's eyes, combat power was never the most important thing.

A weakness was not about how strong the person was, but about whether they could influence decisions.

As long as it could sway Gu Chengyin's decisions, it was a weakness.

And since it was a weakness, it could be exploited.

As for the crown prince's faction cutting ties with the Shangguan family, as for the prince's faction stirring restlessly.

As for the complex and tangled factional struggles at court.

None of these weighed on Emperor Luo's mind in the slightest.

What factional strife hadn't he seen? What power struggles hadn't he weathered?

These were all clouds, all illusions, sandcastles that could be crushed at any moment.

What Emperor Luo truly cared about was only one thing.

Making Luo Zhao keep Gu Chengyin in check.

That was all.

Initially, he had wanted to use the identity of imperial son-in-law to achieve this goal, making Gu Chengyin Luo Zhao's husband.

Using the title of marriage as a shackle for Luo Zhao to control Gu Chengyin.

But Gu Chengyin had blocked that path with Shangguan Yunying's resignation.

So then, how could he use Lin Qingyan, this weakness, to make Luo Zhao keep Gu Chengyin in check?

Emperor Luo's fingers tapped one by one on the purple sandalwood desk, each tap separated by a long pause.

As if his thoughts were slowly traversing an exceedingly complex path.

The warm pavilion was utterly silent, broken only by the dull thuds of fingertips against wood, and the rustling of leaves outside the window.

Lyu Fang held both hands suspended above the edict, brush tip dripping with ink, waiting motionless.

He had served Emperor Luo for decades and knew this sovereign's habits well.

When the fingers began tapping the desk like this, it meant he was contemplating something of grave importance.

At such moments, no one was permitted to disturb him.

Time trickled away drop by drop.

The agarwood incense in the burner had burned away more than half, gray-white ash falling soundlessly to the bottom of the bronze vessel, piling up into a fluffy cloud.

Rain began to fall outside the window, the tree shadows swaying more violently, casting even more fragmented light and shadow into the hall.

Finally, Emperor Luo's fingers stopped.

His eyes slowly opened, and a glimmer of light flashed in their depths.

Like a sliver of moonlight leaking through a crack in storm clouds, vanishing in an instant.

But the moment that light appeared, Emperor Luo's entire bearing changed.

The earlier deliberation, the pondering, the weighing—all of it dissolved in that instant without a trace.

Replaced by a near-cruel clarity.

Emperor Luo's lips moved slightly, and he uttered a single sentence.

“Lyu Fang.”

His voice remained as calm as ever, as if nothing at all had happened.

He even picked up the memorial on the desk again, flipping to the page he had been reading halfway through, his gaze resting on the densely packed handwriting.

“Change Zhao's name to Lin Qingyan.”

“Nothing else changes.”

Lyu Fang did not hesitate in the slightest, picking up the brush and beginning to write on the edict.

Since Emperor Luo had said nothing else changes, that meant this edict, originally meant to summon an imperial son-in-law.

Had, because of Lin Qingyan, become a marriage decree.

No—more ruthless than a mere marriage decree.

Lin Qingyan was the Jingzhe of the Celestial Masters' Hall.

If she married Gu Chengyin in her current capacity, the Celestial Masters' Hall would become bound to Gu Chengyin.

And Gu Chengyin was the young tutor of Luo Zhao, which meant the Celestial Masters' Hall stood behind Luo Zhao.

So what if the Shangguan family leaned toward the prince's faction?

So what if the prince's faction swelled in momentum?

However great they grew, could they grow greater than the Celestial Masters' Hall?

And most crucially, in the eyes of ordinary people, this edict was merely a marriage decree.

But to the old veterans at court, what they saw was not a marriage decree.

It was dissatisfaction.

Dissatisfaction from Emperor Luo.

Not merely dissatisfaction with the Shangguan family's breakaway, but dissatisfaction with the current state of the court.

Because the Celestial Masters' Hall had entered the fray.

Because the Jingzhe Grandmaster, who never involved herself in politics, had been granted in marriage.

And the object of that marriage was a central figure of the crown prince's faction, the young tutor of the crown prince.

As Lyu Fang wrote the edict, he silently speculated on the imperial intent.

These things that he could see at a glance, the old veterans at court would see as well.

But there was one thing Lyu Fang did not understand.

Emperor Luo had clearly wanted to help Luo Zhao keep Gu Chengyin in check.

He had even wanted to force Lin Qingyan to voluntarily give up her position as Jingzhe of the Celestial Masters' Hall through the summons of an imperial son-in-law.

Yet now he had granted Lin Qingyan in marriage to Gu Chengyin.

Wasn't that going in the exact opposite direction?

But Lyu Fang dared not ask.

He could only force himself to steady his wrist, writing stroke by stroke on the blank edict.

Each character written with excruciating slowness, as if he were not writing but carving.

The ink bled into the imperial yellow silk brocade, like dark blooming flowers.

Blossoming upon the sovereign's will.