Imperial Hospital, Tianqi Palace
"Physician Zhou... Physician Zhou?"
Physician Yang called twice before resorting to nudging his distracted colleague.
Physician Zhou blinked back to awareness, his expression still dazed.
"Are you unwell?" Physician Yang abandoned his own tasks in concern.
Before Zhou could respond, Physician Cao interjected: "He's been like this since Prince Li summoned him earlier."
"Whatever His Highness said must have been... remarkable," added Physician Huang, grinding herbs nearby.
That morning, Qin Lu's unexpected visit had sent the hospital into flutters—until they realized he wasn't there for Noble Consort Meng's health, but to ask "a few questions."
After quizzing physicians on their specialties, he'd taken Zhou—expert in noble recuperation—aside for a lengthy private discussion.
No one knew what was said.
But Zhou returned looking like he'd seen ghosts, remaining catatonic for hours despite colleagues' probing.
As the physicians exchanged speculative glances, Yang Taiyi sighed and returned to his workstation—
Only for idle chatter to inevitably turn toward the palace's hottest topic:
"His Highness is famously strict. With that spoiled wastrel as consort... well, interesting times ahead."
"Hard to say. Today the princess consort rode palanquins everywhere without reprimand."
"Court decorum forbids making scenes over imperial decrees. But just wait until—"
"Until what?"
"Didn't you notice? When Zhou returned briefly to fetch medicines earlier, I saw him take a jar of Shuning Ointment!"
Silence fell.
Shuning Ointment—the palace's finest wound salve. Fast-acting, gentle on delicate skin, and scar-preventing. Highly coveted by concubines.
But ultimately... a trauma ointment.
"You mean... for the princess consort?"
"Who else? The prince's household lacks military supplies?"
Murmurs of horrified sympathy arose. Poor Young Master Gu—already saddled with a male bride's humiliation, now facing private torments too...
None noticed Zhou Taiyi's increasingly tortured expression as he listened to these wild conjectures.
If only they knew.
Should he reveal that:
The "trauma ointment" was specifically requested to avoid aggravating intimate injuries from standard military-grade salves?
His two-hour "interrogation" consisted entirely of:
Bedchamber precautionsPost-coital care techniquesEven demanding written instructions lest he forget anything?
The notoriously frigid War God had asked—with startling intensity—about long-term conjugal health preservation methods?
No.
Some truths were too shattering for mortal minds.
Let them keep their tragic fantasies about abused brides.
Zhou Taiyi hugged his knowledge tightly, watching Qin Lu's terrifying reputation crumble to dust in his heart.
A premonition stirred:
That "Bloodthirsty King of Hell" moniker wouldn't survive this marriage.
Prince Li's Manor
Gu Yanshu finally relaxed as Qin Lu finished applying ointment—
Only to tense again when the prince produced an exquisite lacquered box from his robes.
"What... is that?"
Had their wedding night unleashed some unholy appetite in this man?
How did he switch so fluidly between considerate healer and... whatever this was?
Qin Lu's lips twitched at his expression. "Medicinal jade. Eases injuries and nourishes tissues. Refuse if you prefer lifelong complications."
Despite the casual tone, steel lurked beneath—this wasn't a request.
The explanation came reluctantly: Zhou Taiyi's ancestor had pioneered these intimacy-specific remedies after forsaking his medical dynasty to marry a man.
By cosmic coincidence, Zhou happened to possess a set—originally meant for a friend—which he eagerly surrendered to the prince.
Initially skeptical, Qin Lu grew attentive upon hearing potential long-term damages.
Now Gu Yanshu burned anew, burying his face in pillows as crimson flooded his ears.
Of all things to discuss with imperial physicians!
Three Days Later - Return Visit to Marquisate
The capital buzzed as citizens witnessed:
No white funeral banners replacing wedding redsA very alive Gu Yanshu escorting his husband home
Nearby teahouses hosted shell-shocked gamblers clutching voided betting slips.
"Finished! Utterly finished!" wailed a blue-robed man, his three-tael wager now ashes.
Similar despair echoed nationwide—countless "Gu Yanshu survival date" bets had crashed spectacularly.
Marquis Chengen's Estate
Marquis Gu's relief at Qin Lu's indifference was palpable. Better humiliation than decapitation.
Meanwhile, Gu Yanli—having taken over hosting duties from his incompetent father—observed subtle cues:
The way Qin Lu's gaze lingered on Gu Yanshu's chopstick movements...
How naturally the prince accepted half-eaten morsels rejected by his consort...
That instinctive hand rising to pluck an eyelash from Gu Yanshu's cheek...
When Gu Yanli tentatively referenced his brother's "spoiled nature," Qin Lu's reply stunned him:
"Our original agreement no longer stands."
A pause. Then realization.
That "nominal marriage" pledge had been shattered—by Gu Yanshu himself.
"Spare me your gratitude," Gu Yanshu interjected, poking Qin Lu's shoulder. "Who's the real beneficiary here?"
To Gu Yanli's astonishment, the feared War God actually smiled. "I've profited handsomely."
This easy intimacy upended all assumptions.
Dining Hall
The marquis's delayed entrance spared no one's nerves.
Yet the meal proved even more shocking:
Gu Yanshu's chopsticks flew, feeding Qin Lu between animated chatter while the prince:
Peeled shrimp for himRemoved fishbonesEven ate his discarded mutton—a known hatred
Gu Mingrong's chopsticks snapped under pressure.
How?
Why him?
Had she known the Bloodthirsty King could transform into this—this indulgent, doting—
Her lips bled from biting back screams.
Across the table, Gu Yanshu met her glare with a smirk, mentally amending:
Correction—some truths should be flaunted.
After the meal, servants swiftly cleared the tables, replacing dishes with tea and delicate pastries.
Gu Yanshu took a sip of tea before addressing his father with deceptive mildness:
"Father."
"Hmm?"
Marquis Gu Chengen startled—his mind had been occupied plotting how to foist hosting duties onto Gu Yanli again.
"How fares your health recently?"
The question carried filial concern, yet the marquis straightened instinctively under that gaze—responding like a subordinate reporting to a superior rather than a father to his son.
"Adequate."
"And Grandmother? She seemed unwell earlier."
At the mention of the dowager, the marquis' fingers tightened around his teacup. The implied reference to Concubine Chang's "nursing duties" couldn't be clearer.
"She... has indeed been frail."
Gu Yanshu nodded sympathetically. "Elderly bones weather poorly. Though with Concubine Chang attending her so diligently, we needn't worry."
Gu Mingrong's head snapped up, nails digging into her embroidered handkerchief.
This false praise was too calculated—
"Though one aspect troubles me," Gu Yanshu continued smoothly. "Surely nursing Grandmother leaves Concubine Chang no energy for household management?"
The marquis froze.
Everyone knew the "nursing" was pretext—Concubine Chang still controlled the marquisate's inner affairs.
This wasn't inquiry.
This was a demand.
"I... suppose not," the marquis conceded weakly.
Gu Mingrong's breath hitched. She recognized the gambit—this wasn't just about stripping her mother's authority.
"Indeed," Marquis Gu conceded weakly, unable to refute the logic.
Gu Mingrong's knuckles whitened around her handkerchief—she finally grasped Gu Yanshu's true aim:
He meant to strip her mother of household authority entirely.
Yet she remained silent.
What did temporary humiliation matter? Once Gu Yanshu departed, control would inevitably revert to her mother. After all, who else in the marquisate could manage domestic affairs besides Concubine Chang?
But Gu Yanshu wasn't finished.
With a slight nod, he delivered his killing blow:
"In that case, I must raise another matter. Has Father considered remarrying? The household sorely needs a proper mistress."
Twin exclamations erupted:
"What?!" — the marquis' startled gasp.
"How dare you?!" — Gu Mingrong's enraged shriek.
Gu Yanshu ignored his half-sister's fury, repeating calmly to his stunned father:
"Normally such suggestions shouldn't come from a son. But since Mother's passing fifteen years ago, you've remained alone—no one to share your burdens. Elder Brother and I have long been concerned. Surely now it's time to consider your own happiness?"
Each word pierced Gu Mingrong's heart like a needle.
Alone?
No one to care for him?
As if her mother's decades of service meant nothing!
Yet she couldn't refute him—legally, Concubine Chang remained merely a concubine, never the true mistress.
The marquis, meanwhile, seemed genuinely taken aback. He hadn't contemplated remarriage since his wife's death.
When Gu Yanshu was young, he'd briefly considered it—until the dowager dissuaded him, arguing new stepmothers often mistreated young children.
Being filial and somewhat impressionable, he'd deferred to his mother's judgment.
The Marquisate of Chengen had always been thinly populated, and with only the Dowager as his elder, Marquis Gu had never been pressed to remarry. Without her prompting, the matter had lain dormant for over a decade.
Now, confronted with Gu Yanshu's sudden proposal, the marquis found himself at a loss:
"This..."
Though hesitant, his reaction betrayed no real resistance to the idea.
Seizing the moment, Gu Yanshu added fuel to the fire with calculated nonchalance:
"Even if not for yourself, Father, consider your children's prospects."
"What does my remarriage have to do with them?" The marquis frowned, genuinely perplexed.
"How could it not?" Gu Yanshu sighed as if explaining the obvious.
"My brothers are men—less urgent. But both younger sisters are of marriageable age. Second Sister approaches her hair-pinning ceremony, does she not? Without a proper mistress..."
He left the implication hanging.
In Tianqi's aristocratic circles, early marriages were customary—girls betrothed by their hair-pinning at fifteen, boys by eighteen. While men could wait until twenty without stigma, girls past sixteen faced dwindling prospects.
Of Marquis Gu's six children—three sons and three daughters—only the eldest daughter had married. Second Daughter Gu Mingtong and Third Daughter Gu Mingrong now stood at this critical juncture.
Without a formal mistress, negotiating marriages became socially awkward—no respectable family would discuss betrothals with a concubine. Even the sons' matches had been delayed, though less noticeably with Gu Yanli, the eldest, only nineteen.
The marquis, born to nobility, understood these unspoken rules perfectly. Gu Yanshu's words stoked his initial interest into serious consideration—
"But finding suitable candidates..."
The marquisate's declined status and his own advancing age made the prospect daunting, dampening his enthusiasm.
Yet Gu Yanshu, ever prepared, merely smiled and signaled Bai Zhu.
The attendant produced a sheaf of papers—profiles with miniature portraits that made Gu Mingrong's blood boil even at a distance.
GU! YAN! SHU!
Had looks could kill, her half-brother would have been flayed alive.
Gu Mingtong, who'd been monitoring her sister's volatile mood since dinner, gripped Gu Mingrong's arm in warning:
"Control yourself! Prince Li is still present—do you want to get us all killed?"
"Silence!" Gu Mingrong hissed back. A new mistress meant social death—especially one handpicked by Gu Yanshu.
Her instincts proved correct.
These candidates had been meticulously curated:
Aged 18-24 (mature enough to command authority yet young enough for heirs)Unmarried (officially—some widows tactfully rebranded)Pleasant appearances (but not distractingly beautiful)Most crucially—formidable managerial skills
"This was yesterday's 'urgent matter'?" Qin Lu murmured, eyeing the dossiers.
"Zhi Ge's efficiency impressed me," Gu Yanshu admitted, flashing an appreciative glance.
Yesterday, after Qin Lu tended his injuries, Gu Yanshu had borrowed Zhi Ge to gather these profiles from matchmakers—a task the elite guard clearly considered beneath his station.
But the results spoke for themselves.
Every candidate could run households or businesses with ruthless efficiency—qualities deliberately omitted from the marquis' copies.
"You expect your father to control such women?" Qin Lu arched a brow.
"If he could, would I bother doctoring the records?" Gu Yanshu's razor smile returned.
Qin Lu chuckled. "Such filial devotion."
"Necessary when wolves and tigers surround one's home," Gu Yanshu countered, nodding toward Gu Mingrong—
Whose murderous glare vanished the instant Qin Lu's icy gaze fell upon her.
The prince's battlefield-honed aura paralyzed her—blood freezing, senses numbed by bone-deep terror.
In that moment, all hatred for Gu Yanshu fled before Qin Lu's pitiless eyes.
Yet by the time she regained her wits, his attention had already returned to his consort—
Leaving her to seethe in silent, impotent fury.