Gu Chengyin's Achilles' Heel

This is not to say that negative influence isn't influence at all, but rather that it erodes one's image.

Gu Chengyin silently walked through this chain of reasoning once more in his mind, confirming that his judgment had not gone astray.

It was like a person long established in fame suddenly hit by a shocking scandal.

Those who had once held them in the highest esteem, even regarding them as a role model, would begin to question them because of the scandal.

This doubt would not immediately turn into hostility, nor would it directly strip away power and status.

But it would spread like a single drop of ink falling into clear water—silently seeping outward, staining the once-transparent surface with a murky haze.

Devoted followers would not become enemies overnight, but trust would waver, reverence would be discounted, and admiration would become reserved.

"Black red is still red"—that saying isn't wrong in itself.

A scandal does bring massive exposure, allowing a person's name to spread across a far wider audience.

Those who had never heard of them would come to know them because of the scandal.

Those who had felt no interest would begin to pay attention because of the scandal.

From that angle, the scope of influence actually expands.

But the key point is that expansion does not equal strengthening.

Those who come to know a person through scandal view them through tinted lenses from the very start.

The first label they attach at the moment of first acquaintance is already negative.

And a negative first impression often takes tenfold, a hundredfold effort to overturn.

Moreover, negative influence cannot sustain itself over the long term—it gradually fades with time until it disappears entirely.

Even more frightening is that, during this process, the old fans who once revered the person unquestioningly begin to drift away.

They won't loudly announce that they've stopped supporting, won't beat drums and gongs to declare they're drawing a line.

They simply take a quiet half-step back, quietly retract the unreserved trust they once gave, and quietly apply a discount in their hearts.

A person's influence, in the final analysis, is built from the collective perceptions of countless others.

Every person who knows them, every person who has heard of them, every person who has formed some impression of them—

each one contributes a share of that influence, however large or small.

This force may be positive or negative, and when it all converges, it becomes influence.

And when those who know them best, trust them most, and are most willing to follow begin to waver,

the very foundation of that influence starts to crack.

That is why Gu Chengyin's cultivation level showed fluctuations rather than a decline.

Fluctuation and decline may seem similar, but they are fundamentally different.

A decline means that the influence itself is diminishing, that his strength, standing, and momentum are undergoing substantive regression.

A fluctuation means that the influence is undergoing a qualitative change, that its internal structure is being reshuffled.

Old supporters are loosening their grip while new attention floods in—these two forces pull against each other and cancel each other out.

On the surface, it appears that not much has changed, yet in reality, the influence is no longer as steady as it once was.

The Gu Chengyin of before had a core of die-hard supporters, and his influence over them was pure, free of any impurities.

That influence came from the life-saving grace of four crossings at the Luo River, from toppling the Xiao Clan to rid the state of a plague.

It came from the natural awe inspired by his role as Junior Tutor to the Crown Prince, and from the orthodox authority of his allegiance to Luo Zhao.

The influence he commanded over those ironclad loyalists could never be matched by mere negative notoriety.

From this point on, Gu Chengyin might be known by more people, might be talked about by more people.

But those new gazes carried too much suspicion, envy, and contempt.

Coupled with the waning influence of his original supporters, one could say the troubles ahead were endless.

This was Emperor Luo's ruthlessness.

He did not directly weaken Gu Chengyin's strength, did not strip him of his position, did not restrict his power, did not give him any handle to grasp.

He merely plucked a single string, and Gu Chengyin's image in the eyes of the world underwent a subtle shift.

And the string he plucked happened to be the most deeply rooted thing in human nature—envy.

Thinking of this, Gu Chengyin narrowed his eyes.

His eyelids drew slightly together, veiling most of those pitch-black, deep-set pupils.

Only an extremely narrow slit remained, from which two points of profound light gleamed through.

His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the imperial edict, brushing over the fine patterns of the bright yellow brocade silk.

The touch was smooth and cold, like Emperor Luo's face that forever looked down on everything.

For Gu Chengyin, the key point was not really that his influence had begun to waver.

It was that Emperor Luo was targeting his influence.

That was what was truly worth pondering.

Emperor Luo knew that his cultivation was tied to his influence.

Not only did he know, but he was deliberately exploiting that very fact.

This realization made Gu Chengyin's heart sink slightly.

He had never underestimated Emperor Luo, yet even so, Emperor Luo never failed to surprise him.

Lin Qingyan as a weakness was a fake—Emperor Luo's betrothal of Lin Qingyan seemed to seize a weakness of his.

But in truth, Gu Chengyin knew very well that Lin Qingyan had never been his weakness.

She was his support, his wings, but she would never become a bargaining chip others could use to threaten him.

Given Lin Qingyan's strength and status, there were already few in this world who could touch her.

And those who could threaten Gu Chengyin through her were even fewer.

Emperor Luo was no ordinary man; he could not have failed to see this.

But influence as a weakness—that was real.

It was what Gu Chengyin truly cared about, and what he truly relied upon.

Half of his foundation for standing in this world came from the memories and insights of his past life, and the other half came from the influence he had painstakingly built.

Those courtiers who held him in awe, those allies who followed his every word, those followers who revered him to the utmost.

Every one of those people's perception of him was part of his influence, and part of his cultivation as well.

If these things were shaken, if his image in the eyes of the world were twisted, the weakening would be fundamental.

Through this imperial edict, Emperor Luo was telling Gu Chengyin: I know your true weakness.

Not Lin Qingyan, not Gu Xiaoli, not any single person by your side.

Gu Chengyin's weakness was himself.

From beginning to end, it was himself.

It was his image in the eyes of the world, his painstakingly cultivated reputation, the influence he relied on to stand.

Emperor Luo knew what these things meant to him, and knew how to shake them in the lightest possible way.

One imperial edict, a few platitudes, a seemingly gracious betrothal.

That was enough to loosen the foundation of his influence.

Gu Chengyin sighed silently in his heart.

On his face, he remained calm, with the corners of his mouth even slightly curled upward, wearing that composed smile of one who had everything under control.

Only Gu Chengyin himself knew how heavy that sigh truly was.

Compared to Luo Zhao, Emperor Luo was far too formidable.