After learning Gu Yanshu's childhood name, Qin Lu finally understood how his consort had felt upon discovering his own nickname.
Once accustomed to addressing him formally as "Princess Consort,"
Now, the moment Qin Lu laid eyes on Gu Yanshu, "Ruǎnruǎn" would slip unconsciously from his lips.
Gu Yanshu adored Qin Lu's voice—especially when it softened into that melted-honey timbre reserved solely for his nickname.
Yet that didn't mean he wanted others to hear it.
Not just because "Softsoft" ill-suited a grown man's stature—
But because Qin Lu's tender, possessive inflection was meant for his ears alone.
Thus, they reached a compromise:
In public—standard titles.
In private (or during "special moments")—childhood names.
As for what constituted "special moments"—
Gu Yanshu refused to elaborate, nearly banishing Qin Lu from the main courtyard.
(Why not the study? Because after discovering Qin Lu's unexpectedly mischievous streak, Gu Yanshu deemed the entire estate dangerously unpredictable.)
Fortunately, Qin Lu honored their agreement—
Never uttering that embarrassing nickname where others might hear.
The contentious jade pendant now hung at Gu Yanshu's waist—
Its aged tassel replaced by the manor seamstresses' latest fashionable weave.
Having accepted Qin Lu's heirloom, Gu Yanshu felt compelled to reciprocate.
(Token exchanges shouldn't be one-sided!)
Yet Tianqi's romantic customs offered limited options:
Folding fans? Qin Lu's swordsman hands scorned such delicate props.
Jade pendants? The late Young Master Gu's collection lacked sentimental value—
Each piece abandoned once its novelty faded.
More critically—
How could any store-bought trinket match a mother's sole legacy?
When Gu Yanshu's preoccupation became obvious, Qin Lu intervened—
"Don't trouble yourself over this," Qin Lu said, his voice laced with amusement. "That request for a gift was merely an offhand remark—there's no need to take it to heart."
Seeing that Gu Yanshu's expression still carried a trace of unease, Qin Lu added in a lighter tone:
"I train daily with my sword—any adornments would only hinder my movements. If you gift me something, I'd either have to discard it or risk damaging it. Best not to overthink it."
Though spoken as reassurance, Qin Lu's words held undeniable truth.
Having spent so much time by his side, Gu Yanshu had never witnessed Qin Lu in full combat—but he had seen the prince's sword.
Unlike the decorative blades favored by capital dandies—laden with tassels and engravings—
Qin Lu's weapon was stark in its simplicity.
The blade, long and unadorned, bore a jet-black sheen, as if tempered by the same relentless battles that had shaped its master.
Even sheathed, it exuded an unmistakable lethality—let alone when drawn.
Once, Gu Yanshu had asked why Qin Lu chose such an unembellished weapon.
The answer had been characteristically blunt:
"A sword need only kill. Ornaments are distractions."
This philosophy spoke volumes—Qin Lu had no use for frivolous decorations.
Yet despite the logic, Gu Yanshu hesitated:
"If Your Highness refuses a gift now, will you hold it against me later?"
After all, Qin Lu had been the one to broach the subject first.
At this, Qin Lu's lips curved into a knowing smirk.
"Unnecessary. I've already received the gift I wanted."
"What gif—"
Gu Yanshu began to ask—then froze, realization dawning.
His eyes widened slightly as he met Qin Lu's gaze—
And found there the same hungry intensity he'd come to recognize all too well.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Gu Yanshu's face.
"The capital's nobles would faint if they saw their War God looking like this."
Qin Lu merely arched a brow, utterly unrepentant.
"Would they dare to look?"
Against such shamelessness, Gu Yanshu found himself utterly defenseless.
Flustered beyond endurance, Gu Yanshu resorted to shooing him away:
"...Isn't Your Highness due at the palace today? The hour grows late—best not delay."
Yesterday's visit to Taoran Kiln had confirmed stable production of high-quality glassware—
Gu Yanshu had brought back several sets:
One promised to Qin Hao.
The rest—intended as imperial tribute.
Protocol demanded presenting the Emperor's gifts first—
Hence Qin Hao's set remained undelivered.
(Letting outsiders claim Prince Li valued a prince above the Emperor? Unthinkable.)
Such tribute presentations were prime opportunities to gain imperial favor—
Qin Lu had initially suggested Gu Yanshu handle it personally.
But after one humiliating audience, Gu Yanshu had developed an intense aversion to palace etiquette.
As a modern soul, he particularly loathed the relentless kneeling—
At Prince Li Manor, he reigned supreme (Qin Lu exempted).
Though Tianqi's protocols demanded consorts bow to their lords—
Gu Yanshu had never once performed the ritual since their wedding.
Whether Qin Lu disliked formalities himself or sensed his consort's distaste—
He'd never enforced the rule.
The palace, however, was different.
Every imperial relative became his "elder"—
Each entitled to make him kneel.
(Even abbreviated ceremonies chafed.)
Normally, his gender exempted him from monthly court appearances—
Why volunteer for such indignities?
Even potential imperial rewards couldn't outweigh the knee-borne humiliations.
Qin Lu, ever respectful of his boundaries, didn't press the matter—
Taking the duty upon himself.
Today's timing was ideal—
With his marital leave ended, Qin Lu needed to report to the Emperor anyway.
This hour ensured catching His Majesty at paperwork—
Neither absent nor resting.
Though recognizing Gu Yanshu's dismissal as flustered deflection—
Qin Lu rose obediently, straightening his robes with exaggerated solemnity.
As Qin Lu adjusted his robes, he didn't forget to remind Gu Yanshu:
"With Yun Cizhai and First Brother suffering such heavy losses, expect retaliation. I'm leaving Zhi Ge at the manor—take him if you go out."
Just as Gu Yanshu had predicted—
Though Yun Cizhai was bleeding silver, the shop dared not breach contracts with noble patrons.
They'd stopped accepting new orders but still opened daily to update existing clients.
As for Qin Sheng?
Upon realizing his scheme had backfired, he'd swiftly distanced himself from Yun Cizhai—
Yet as the mastermind behind this fiasco, outright abandonment would seem too callous.
Thus, he'd secretly subsidized them 150,000 taels—
A pittance compared to their losses, but enough to salvage some loyalty.
Qin Hao had nearly collapsed laughing when he heard—
Declaring Qin Sheng "cursed by Tai Sui" this year with his endless financial drains.
(120,000 taels to ChangLe Den, now this—enough to sting.)
This very tension prompted Qin Lu's warning.
"I understand. Your Highness needn't worry."
Gu Yanshu appreciated the gesture—
Zhi Ge, though Qin Lu's guard, never reported his movements.
Having him accompany outings wasn't surveillance but protection.
Rising, Gu Yanshu smoothed Qin Lu's collar with a touch that lingered.
"Mn." Qin Lu nodded, then added meaningfully: "Zhi Ge is competent and discreet. Entrust him with anything."
A casual pat to Gu Yanshu's head—
Then he was gone.
Qin Lu's words were a masterclass in understatement.
Zhi Ge wasn't just a bodyguard—
He was Qin Lu's shadow executive, privy to 90% of Prince Li Manor's operations, including covert forces.
This suggestion wasn't mere caution—
It was an invitation to share authority.
Gu Yanshu's situation underscored the generosity:
He'd recently sold off all inherited servants except Bai Zhu—
The rest being either incompetent or disloyal.
(Discreetly done through a broker, though nothing escaped Qin Lu's notice.)
With only Bai Zhu remaining, Gu Yanshu lacked trusted aides—
Qin Lu's offer filled that void with his own inner circle.
Though Gu Yanshu had claimed he wouldn't gift Qin Lu anything—
The idea had already taken root.
His planned present was... unconventional.
Zhi Ge's access solved the procurement dilemma beautifully.
The moment Qin Lu's footsteps faded—
Gu Yanshu turned to Bai Zhu:
"Summon Zhi Ge."