TBR CH118 [ARC 4]

When Chu Huaicun rose from his seat, the opulent banquet seemed to stall for a brief moment. Attendants moved about like falling peony petals trailing across the floor, and half-drunk officials hesitated, unsure whether to set down their wine cups. The high-ranking lords quickly adjusted their expressions—no one wanted to be the fool who forced a smile and stepped forward to inquire.

Such dead silence felt strangely familiar and intimate to Prime Minister Chu, a man who held sway over the entire court.

He lowered his gaze, his pale fingers hovering in the air, pointing vaguely toward the jade wine cup carved from Hetian stone. The green liquid inside shimmered under the coral and pearl lights of the chamber, like a snake’s slit-pupil eye, venomous and ready to sink fangs into flesh.

Too late. He had already been bitten.

“No matter,” Chu Huaicun said calmly, though his voice carried an unmistakable weight of authority. “Please continue, gentlemen. I lack the strength to drink more. I’ll take a moment to walk outside. Forgive my early departure.”

Such eccentricity from a great man could even be considered gracious.

At least the atmosphere soon resumed its fervor after a momentary lull. The ornaments in the beauties’ hair jingled again, rare delicacies filled the empty spots on the table. Conversation resumed—though eyes occasionally flicked to the honored guest’s seat at the head of the table.

The host of the banquet—the newly appointed Crown Prince, third son of the emperor—opened his mouth, as though to offer some words of detainment. His face paled briefly when Chu Huaicun left, but he quickly regained his affable composure. Everyone knew by now that half the imperial court lay firmly in the hands of Prime Minister Chu—including the fearsome military power that no one dared challenge.

Chu Huaicun wielded power so great, he held life and death in his grasp.

And this prince had only claimed the Eastern Palace because Chu Huaicun had chosen him out of the emperor’s many sons.

…He didn’t dare—and could not—question the prime minister.

The banquet continued, but the empty seat at the head of the table was like a gaping leak in an otherwise flawless mansion. Everyone had learned to pretend it wasn’t there. No one approached it.

That cup of wine remained where it was, casting its shadow according to the flickering candlelight.

—

Chu Huaicun’s condition was far from good. He left the banquet, letting the night wind cut through the corridor to keep himself steady a little longer. Standing in the middle of the walkway, he paused—then pierced his palm with a fingernail.

He was ruthless even to himself. Blood beaded like garnets, soaking his pristine white sleeve. In the carved corridor, half-drenched in night and peony fragrance, his fingers throbbed as if flames were licking them—fire that flowed with his blood, searing its way through bone and marrow, threatening to burn him to ashes.

Someone had laced the wine with something foul.

The real question was: who had the ability—and why?

He lifted his gaze in the dim light—his eyes still cold and lucid. But Chu Huaicun knew he had to act quickly. If he didn’t deal with this now, the bottomless urge to destroy would claw its way up his spine and seize control of his mind. The darkness cloaked his vision—no one could spy on him here. His sword was still at his side.

His boots crushed the damp grass beneath his feet, dew soaking the soles.

Without a sound, he made his way to the carriage waiting outside the prince’s manor.

And then—the worst thing happened.

Chu Huaicun’s fingers twitched. Through the curtain, he heard a soft, sticky panting—a breath he recognized instantly.

It was far too familiar. In a flash, the image of that cool and ethereal youth surfaced in his mind. That person had never shown him kindness—until recently, when their attitude had started to thaw. But this was not the time to be thinking of such things. In this dark and empty night, Chu Huaicun felt his restraint fraying, his mind on the verge of snapping.

He should not have encountered anyone.

The scorching fire, carried through wine and blood, was consuming his entire body. He couldn’t think clearly. As if possessed, Chu Huaicun shut his eyes—and pulled aside the curtain of the carriage. Even though the thick night blurred most of his vision, the pale, exposed skin and dazed, desirous gaze inside were seared into his sight.

It was utterly silent. Chu Huaicun knew he was safe. The carriage driver was one of his loyal deadmen, and his shadow guards, sworn to absolute obedience, were stationed nearby.

Which made the scene before him all the more dangerous.

If he wanted to—no one would stop him.

“Prime Minister,”

The deadman spoke as though everything were normal. “Young Master Qin seemed to have lost his way. Per your instructions, I allowed him to wait here. But he… he insisted on seeing you.”

Chu Huaicun swallowed the urge to bark, “Why didn’t you send him back?” For the first time, he felt the situation spiraling out of control. He looked down again at his bloodied fingertips. The bleeding had slowed, but the desire continued to surge, trying to pull him into the abyss. And the youth before him looked more and more like a helpless offering—ready, willing, vulnerable.

He didn’t want to treat him like this. And he knew that the youth—if he were fully conscious—would never consent.

Qin Sangzhi was the untainted white in this filthy, sordid court. Chu Huaicun had protected him with every resource and every layer of defense. He was pure of heart, famed for his talent—a being so luminous and lofty, he became the sole light in Chu Huaicun’s shadowed life.

As a man steeped in power and filth, Chu Huaicun had chosen only to watch over this boy from afar.

And that boy, who once loathed him for his treacherous ambition, had finally begun to soften.

Every time Qin Sangzhi’s attitude improved even slightly, it felt like a divine blessing.

Their connection traced back to the most wretched period of Chu Huaicun’s youth. In those darkest days, Qin Sangzhi had once handed him a candy. That faint sweetness on his tongue became the only light in a world otherwise drowned in ash.

Chu Huaicun had stubbornly believed ever since—that only Qin Sangzhi could redeem him.

And now, that very salvation was spread before him in vulnerable temptation. Chu Huaicun tried to look away—but his feet wouldn’t obey. The drug coursing through him had reached its peak. His remaining rationality was slipping away. He clenched his fingers—any spark would ignite an uncontrollable wildfire.

“Sangzhi,” Chu Huaicun managed, clinging to the last shred of sanity. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

The youth flinched slightly at those words, as though surprised that even now, Chu Huaicun still held back out of respect. Qin Sangzhi bit his lip, his resistance faltering.

And then—Chu Huaicun realized something. The boy’s dazed gaze was reflecting him clearly.

“It’s alright,”

Qin Sangzhi’s words were disjointed, tearing the last of Chu Huaicun’s restraint to pieces. His tone was soft—deliberately persuasive.

“Prime Minister, I’ve known for a long time that you’ve always liked me. You just didn’t dare admit it. You think you’re too filthy, that you can only worship me from the shadows, don’t you? But you’ve done so much for me… I’m willing to save you. Just this once.”

“To offer myself.”

“Sangzhi.”

Chu Huaicun leaned forward slightly. His ink-dark hair, like flowing silk, slipped down over his shoulder.

Prime Minister Chu’s appearance was completely at odds with his cruel and domineering nature.
His bearing was aloof and cold, his snow-colored robes illuminated by moonlight. He rarely wore anything else, which only made him seem more cutting than frost, pure as moonlight, distant like a banished immortal—disguising the demonic nature of his heart.
Only he knew the truth: he had merely been chasing and imitating the light that existed in his heart.

That light, of course—was the youth before him.

Qin Sangzhi looked so meek, so willing to sacrifice himself—like a pure lamb baring its neck for slaughter. It only made him more pitiable. Chu Huaicun felt as if he wanted to give him everything. Compared to him, what were power and position worth?

He had always been looking for someone.

That first taste of sweetness in his youth—he had never been able to let it go.

Now, he stared at the boy as though possessed. His eyes glinted with an obsessive reverence, as if he were a man who had lost a priceless treasure for years only to find it again. His fingers nearly touched the boy—just a little more—

Then he abruptly pulled back.

Sacrifices are sometimes the most perfect traps.
The phrase appeared inexplicably in his mind. Chu Huaicun frowned at his own unease. Outside the reach of the boy’s gaze, he silently clenched his fist, tearing open the scabbed-over wound. But the pain was useless—the unnatural heat from the drug still burned relentlessly.

“What’s wrong?”
Qin Sangzhi looked at him with a confused, almost drowning gaze, and even reached out, trying to touch him.

Such a gesture, so full of vulnerable desire, should have been the most irresistible temptation for Chu Huaicun.
It should have been.
But suddenly, a chilling unease rose in his blood—a sense of wrongness about everything before him, and a creeping strangeness toward the boy in front of him.

This wasn’t some forced illusion—it was the opposite.

It felt like his original thoughts had been locked away in an airtight cocoon, and only now was the blade slicing it open, letting him finally see the truth of the world.

Chu Huaicun’s pupils contracted.
Even under the haze of the drug, a sliver of his sanity still tore through the fog, while the illusions tried desperately to smother it again.
In his ears, a thousand voices whispered convincingly:

“Why not go further?”

“You love him the most, don’t you? You’ll feel guilty, but you’ll give everything to make it right.”

“The sweetness of that candy—and his kindness—saved you. That’s why you have power today.”

These thoughts tugged at him. He was a puppet on strings, compelled to act out the “correct” behavior. Thinking was becoming sluggish. All he wanted was to take the person in front of him—transfer this torment into someone else—and seize the only redemption he had ever known.

…No.

That word appeared, barely a whisper.

But Chu Huaicun heard it clearly.

This isn’t him.

In Qin Sangzhi’s eyes—when Chu Huaicun should’ve been pushed to his limit, his gaze full of dark desire and obsessive love—he instead did something entirely unexpected.

He withdrew his hand from the curtain. Straightened his spine.
And drew the sword at his waist—its cold light gleaming like frozen water.

He was already pushed to the brink by the drug. To not give in to instinct was an act of extreme endurance. His trembling fingers gripped the hilt, and then—

Without hesitation, he slashed his own arm.
The lifeless blade of cold iron easily tore open flesh, and bright red blood spilled freely, just to inflict enough pain to jolt himself back—to buy time for thought and investigation.

He hated the feeling of being manipulated.
He hated losing control.

Those intrusive thoughts had tried to hijack his judgment. Even if it meant being torn to pieces, he would never let them win.
Chu Huaicun thought coldly to himself—he had always been someone willing to be seen as mad to achieve his goals. He bit down on the chaos and agony of clashing thoughts and slammed the curtain shut.

“Take him home,” he told his deadman. “Leave. Now.”

His men never questioned orders.
Chu Huaicun heard the boy’s breath inside the carriage suddenly quicken.
Qin Sangzhi began calling his name—no longer restrained, but openly pleading for him to return.
Just as he suspected—merely thinking of the boy again made that sense of losing control rise stronger than ever.

He’s the most important person.
The most pure, the most transcendent—your salvation…

“Stop—”
Qin Sangzhi’s voice suddenly turned frantic. But it wasn’t the anxiety of a drugged man. That gave him away.

Chu Huaicun thought coolly.
And even… smiled.

In the empty night, no one saw the arrogance and pride in that smile. He managed his voice perfectly.

“Sangzhi,” he said.
“I can’t let you make such a sacrifice. You’ll be fine once you return home. No one will hurt you.”

“It’s not a sacrifice. I need you…”

The boy, finally flustered, began to reveal a bit of his true intent.
But at the moment the order had been given, the carriage had already sped away. His voice was scattered by the wind, lost in indistinct tones.

Chu Huaicun stood where he was, spine still straight.
Blood dripped from the wound on his arm, the scent of iron faint in the thin night air.

“He is your salvation!”
The thoughts still clung to him like maggots in bone.

“You searched for him for years—you know…”

Chu Huaicun crushed the urge to let go of his mind.

Deep in his pupils, a trace of danger and madness had crept in—though well concealed beneath his cold and distant exterior.
He staggered a few steps, leaning against the shadowed wall.
Hurting himself couldn’t be the solution. The drug in his system was too potent—eventually, pain would lose its effect.

The best course now—was to wait.

As he stepped back, his heel struck something hard.

Chu Huaicun paused.
His senses were usually sharp. He was sure that object hadn’t been there before.
In this state, he couldn’t risk being seen. He signaled for his shadow guards to retreat and clear the area of any people.

Then he bent down and picked it up—

The cover was stained pitch-black, as if drenched in ink.

—It was a book.
One without a title.

—

Chu Huaicun did not return to the banquet after leaving.

No one dared bring it up. The feast continued. The beauties’ pomegranate-colored skirts spun in elegant circles.

Without Chu Huaicun, they actually felt more at ease.

Everyone here was part of the Third Prince’s faction—or connected to him by blood.
For the first time, the prince wore a truly genuine smile.

He couldn’t help but imagine: the Eastern Palace was now his, and in ten years, all the land under heaven would surely belong to him—governed from beneath his feet.

At least in his imagination, Chu Huaicun’s absence was a blessing.

If Chu Huaicun were present, he would have reminded the Third Prince over and over again:
Even if he ascended the throne and declared himself Emperor, he would still remain nothing more than a puppet in the Prime Minister’s hands.

However, the merry and harmonious atmosphere of the banquet was once again abruptly shattered.
This time, before the young attendants outside the palace doors could announce anything, an uninvited guest had already barged in.

That man strode in wearing imperial-bestowed purple-gold boots.
His dark purple official robes were finely embroidered with silvery patterns that gleamed even more vividly in the dim light. Upon his chest, a ferocious beast stared out with bulging eyes—its appearance all the more menacing.

Regardless of which kind of mythical beast was prescribed by the official dress code—whether it bore savage fangs or giant wings that could blot out the sky—in the eyes of the royal family, they were no more than glorified guard dogs.

Ji Ying was precisely such a dog of the Emperor.

“All you esteemed lords enjoying yourselves here,”
Ji Ying smiled with a dark and insidious expression, his voice laced with slow, drawling complaint,
“Why didn’t anyone think to invite me?”

He was known for being vicious and unscrupulous.
He had started his career in the Ministry of Justice’s criminal division, and later, was unusually promoted directly by the old Emperor to Deputy Minister of Revenue. The entire lifeline of Jiangnan’s tax system now lay in his hands.
Countless sordid affairs that no one else dared touch ended up under his control.
With his help, the dying imperial authority had managed to claw back some strength from the brink.

Chu Huaicun was a power-hungry minister.
He held sway over the court and harbored wild ambitions—so much so that the Emperor had grown weak in his presence, and even the Crown Prince was used as leverage to command the nobles.

The noble gentry had always loathed Chu Huaicun for his ruthless methods,
but their impression of Ji Ying was even worse—bordering on contempt.

A petty man.
A treacherous official.
One who would stop at nothing.

He hadn’t been around long,
but long enough for everyone to recognize his deliberate distortion of right and wrong, and his blatant disregard for truth.
Still, one had to admit—he was effective.
He had taken an outcome that was once seen as inevitable and thrown it into chaos.
Through him, the aging Emperor had proven he was not yet at the end of his rope.

“Lord Ji,”
The Third Prince quickly composed himself, replacing his expression with a warm and refined smile.
“This sudden visit—has His Majesty issued a decree?”

That uncomfortable smile on Ji Ying’s face never faded.

“No,” he said softly, tilting his head and slowly sweeping his gaze over every item at the banquet—as if a venomous snake were slithering through the grass, inspecting its surroundings.

“Your Highness, do you mean to say I should not have come?
The Crown Prince has invited all the worthies to this grand occasion. I naturally yearned to be part of it. So I came—presumptuously, perhaps.
Everyone present is a pillar of the court, all loyal servants of His Majesty. Surely… no one would mind my presence?”

The Third Prince found himself at a loss for words.

Meanwhile, Ji Ying walked directly to the foremost seat at the banquet—the one that remained empty.
This action defied all protocol. But he had always acted with open contempt for the rules.

He lowered his gaze, silently inspecting the remnants of what had once been.

Including the jade cup filled with green wine—the very one Chu Huaicun had left behind.

“Where is the Prime Minister?”
he asked.