Chapter 65
Gu Yan leaned down and kissed her…
Gu Yan was almost amused by his own fury. He lifted Yan Xuerui’s pale, delicate chin with his knuckles. “Do you think you have a choice?”
What he gave her, she would take—whether she wanted it or not!
The metallic scent of blood assailed her senses. Yan Xuerui pressed a hand to her chest, the rims of her eyes reddened.
She couldn’t bear the thought of drinking human blood. Back when Gu Yan had used his blood in her medicine, she had thought it madness. Now, with another’s blood, aside from her psychological resistance, her stomach churned violently, making her nauseous.
She didn’t want it, she didn’t!
She’d had this cold syndrome since birth—for over thirty years now. If it couldn’t be cured, so be it.
Yan Xuerui took a deep breath. Her waist ached from his tight grip, but she endured the pain and quietly extended her pinky to brush against the back of his hand.
“Your Lordship.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, her dark, crystal-like eyes glistening in the candlelight—a look he had adored for years.
Softening her tone, Yan Xuerui said, “I know Your Lordship cares deeply for me. This humble one is not ungrateful. This cold syndrome has been with me since birth—I’ve long grown accustomed to it.”
“If curing this minor ailment requires taking an innocent life and creating evil karma, it’s not worth it.”
Without even realizing it, she had referred to herself as “this humble one” instead of “this princess.” Gu Yan’s eyes flickered, but his voice remained cold.
“Even if I end up in the eighteenth hell, I’ll bear it. It has nothing to do with you.”
He had taken so many lives he’d lost count long ago. He feared no karmic retribution in the next life—he only cared about living as he pleased in this one.
The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his jade-like cheek, sharpening his already severe brow. For some reason, Yan Xuerui’s heart clenched, and she murmured, “Why must you do this?”
Even setting aside the abstract concept of karma, she had already reminded him—the emperor was deeply dissatisfied with the Gu family.
Ping Yang wasn’t just anyone. Before the “Princess Changle” returned to the palace, she had been the emperor’s most beloved daughter. How many times could a frail woman like her withstand having her blood drawn?
First the Virtuous Prince, now Ping Yang—was his rivalry not deep enough with the emperor?
Gu Yan wasn’t afraid. He didn’t find it bitter. Born into nobility, the only setback he’d ever experienced in life was because of Yan Xuerui.
And he reveled in it.
Gu Yan had no more patience for arguments. Expressionless, he forced her jaw open, pressed the soft leather of the water pouch against her lips, and poured the contents down her throat.
The calluses on his fingers grazed her delicate skin. Yan Xuerui was forced to tilt her head back, her dark hair disheveled, the sheer silk sleep robe torn open to reveal her exquisite collarbone and slender, pale neck.
Her fair neck arched into a fragile curve, like a crane bowing to execution.
“Ghk—ack—”
The intense bitterness mixed with the metallic taste of blood. Yan Xuerui’s crystal-like eyes misted over. She struggled futilely, choking until her eyes reddened. Suddenly, Gu Yan clamped her slender wrists to the headboard with his other hand, leaned down, and kissed her.
...
After the time an incense stick takes to burn, Yan Xuerui lay trembling in Gu Yan’s arms like a tattered butterfly. Gu Yan stroked her silken hair, but the fury in his heart had not subsided.
Brushing aside her sheer sleep robe, about three inches below Yan Xuerui’s shoulder, was a faint, crescent-shaped scar—small and very faint, yet stark against her flawless, jade-smooth skin.
Gu Yan lowered his gaze, rubbing the scar over and over. Her skin was delicate; even after more than a decade and despite his search for hundreds of prescriptions, the scar had never fully faded.
If one spoke of heartache, no one ached for her more than he did when she suffered—he wished he could suffer in her stead.
But if one spoke of regret, Gu Yan thought, he did not regret it.
She had been daring—not only plotting against him but also enticing A Yuan. That whip lash was what she deserved.
Just as he had taught the Crown Prince a lesson: only pain would teach her obedience.
Yan Xuerui’s chest rose and fell slightly as she tried to steady her breathing. She heard Gu Yan say in a low voice, “Rui Er, let me conceal this for you.”
After years of a marriage of mutual respect, Gu Yan’s temper was no longer as explosive as in his youth. He couldn’t bear to hurt her.
But she had repeatedly defied him and challenged his limits. Gu Yan had never been a patient man.
Yan Xuerui, still dazed, didn’t grasp his meaning. Gu Yan continued, “Shall I have my name inscribed here? Don’t be afraid—I’ll find the best tattooist. It won’t hurt.”
Yan Xuerui shuddered, her voice hoarse. “Gu Yan, you can’t—”
“I can.”
Gu Yan’s warm palm pressed against the hollow of her waist, his tone casual. “You belong to me. What can’t I do?”
In the end, his heart softened. Seeing her pitiful state, he explained, “Don’t worry, this isn’t punitive face-tattooing. Tattooing has declined in Great Zhou but is very popular in Western Rong. Many women who love beauty use their skin as canvas, drawing patterns with colored dyes. Men tattoo totems on their bodies. It’s common to display them—it’s not a mark of shame.”
“I saw it during my western campaigns. It’s beautiful.”
Then, with a light laugh, he amended, “But none were as beautiful as you.”
Great Zhou governed with “propriety.” Men and women, especially women, covered themselves completely even in the height of summer, with only their faces visible. Facial tattoos were a punishment, a symbol of shame. The idea of colorful body tattoos was hard for many to accept.
Widely traveled and knowledgeable, Gu Yan explained carefully to avoid misunderstandings. Besides, this spot would only be visible to him. If he branded her with his name, would she finally stay obediently by his side?
He wondered if Ping Yang’s heart’s blood would work. In the shadows where Yan Xuerui couldn’t see, Gu Yan’s dark eyes grew even deeper.
Those who gave him life, those he brought into the world, brothers, family… Even aside from the old emperor, the Virtuous Prince, and the Crown Prince, he had many options for sourcing heart’s blood.
Among her many siblings, why had he chosen Ping Yang? That old man, Mr. Gao, had said that heart’s blood was the purest blood condensed from one’s essence, carrying their spirit. Extracting it required extreme caution—the slightest mistake could lead to collapse of spirit and death.
At the time, Mr. Gao had warned Gu Yan of the risks involved. Gu Yan had never been interested in such mystical notions of “spirit,” but in that moment, he couldn’t help wondering—what if there really was such a thing as “spirit”?
He despised Ping Yang for her wanton behavior—even after marriage, she had tried to seduce him multiple times. What if, after consuming Ping Yang’s heart’s blood, Yan Xuerui developed feelings for him akin to Ping Yang’s?
Ping Yang was a favored princess, and her flamboyant nature made her a difficult target. Yet Gu Yan had taken the risk.
Now, thinking back, that Mr. Gao was partly credible but not fully trustworthy—likely just tricking him.
Unaware of these details, Yan Xuerui, having consumed the heart’s blood medicine again, trembled as his warm hand glided over her thin sleep robe. Her teeth chattered, her body rigid with fear.
She was terrified.
“What’s wrong? Are you cold?”
Noticing her shivering, Gu Yan tenderly brushed the damp hair from her pale cheek, climbed onto the bed, and held her tightly.
Trained in martial arts year-round, his body was hard but warm. Yan Xuerui, encircled in his embrace, though fearful of Gu Yan, could only seek a sliver of warmth from him now.
Perhaps due to the medicine, her cheeks were flushed with an unnatural redness. She looked at Gu Yan and said, “Your Lordship, I don’t want to.” She didn’t want Gu Yan’s name tattooed on her body. It wasn’t the pain she feared—it was the feeling of being like livestock on a chopping block, branded with a mark of ownership.
But she was a person, a living, breathing human being!
He had already taken everything from her—her body, her youth, even her beloved children, who carried half of Gu Yan's bloodline.
He couldn’t go this far.
Gu Yan raised his hand and lowered the gauze curtain, saying darkly, "Talking nonsense again."
He had long made it clear to her that she belonged to him, and nothing he did to her could ever be considered excessive.
Bi He, who had gone to fetch medicine, had not yet returned. Yan Xuerui closed her eyes, pressing her lips tightly together without a word. Gu Yan still simmered with lingering anger. Their bodies were pressed closely together, yet neither spoke.
***
Early the next morning. A few strands of morning light seeped through the gauze curtain, casting a pale golden glow on the crane-beak incense burner beside the bed. Yan Xuerui slowly opened her eyes. She sat up, and in an instant, the memories of the previous day flooded back.
"Bi He, Bi He—"
She cried out in near panic. Bi He hurriedly pushed open the chamber door and entered, saying, "Your Highness, I'm here."
"What’s wrong? I'll go get the imperial physician at once."
Yan Xuerui stopped her, "Don’t go—"
"Look, quickly look at my back."
Yan Xuerui pulled down her nightgown. Her hair, dark and glossy like satin, cascaded over her snow-white shoulders. The morning light streamed in, casting a soft glow on her jade-like skin.
Even though Bi He had served her for many years, she still lowered her head slightly in shyness at the sight. "Your Highness, what is it you wish me to see?"
"There’s something on it."
Yan Xuerui’s tone was urgent. "Bring the bronze mirror, quickly."
Bi He widened her eyes and looked closely, puzzled. "Your Highness, I don’t see anything."
Yan Xuerui suddenly froze. She rubbed her temples as if in pain, then remembered—she had had a nightmare.
Gu Yan had indeed come.
He had said he would tattoo characters on her back.
She had nightmares all night, dreaming she was pinned down, a thick needle piercing her skin again and again. It hurt so much.
...
Yan Xuerui was dazed for a moment, then murmured, "It’s nothing. I had a nightmare."
Thank goodness it was just a dream.
But... was it really just a dream?
Recalling Gu Yan’s methods, Yan Xuerui couldn’t help but shudder. Bi He looked at her with concern. "Your Highness, are you still unwell? You haven’t taken last night’s medicine. Let me bring it to you."
Last night, strange gusts of wind had blown repeatedly. The stove had just been lit when it suddenly went out. It took two hours to brew the medicine, and by the time it was ready, dawn was breaking.
She had tiptoed in and, seeing Yan Xuerui sleeping soundly, had not disturbed her mistress’s rest.
Yan Xuerui placed a hand on her lower abdomen. The pain from yesterday was completely gone. Today, she felt clear-headed and refreshed, with some strength returned to her body.
It was the effect of last night’s medicine.
For a moment, Yan Xuerui felt a mix of emotions. She said softly, "No need. From now on... there’s no need to brew it anymore. I am fully recovered."
She lifted the soft quilt and got out of bed.
Bi He followed her closely. Seeing her steps steady, her complexion normal, even glowing with health, she did not try to persuade her further. She attended to Yan Xuerui’s washing and dressing. Originally, she had thought Yan Xuerui would be too weak to go to the Hall of Diligent Governance to see the emperor today.
Yan Xuerui pinned a gilded kingfisher-feather hairpin adorned with a pearl at her temple and lowered her eyes. "There was too much commotion in Changle Palace last night. I’ve worried His Majesty, and that is my fault."
"I should go pay a visit."
Bi He, though somewhat confused, simply did as she was told. Just as they were about to leave, Yan Xuerui casually summoned a palace maid and instructed, "Go to the aviary and find me a canary."
Bi He was even more puzzled. "Your Highness, why suddenly keep a bird?"
Yan Xuerui was a light sleeper. While she usually tended to flowers and plants at the marquis’s residence, she never kept cats or dogs, finding them needlessly troublesome.
"Birds are even noisier, chirping endlessly. The prettier the bird, the louder it tends to be. Your Highness, please think twice."
Yan Xuerui gave a faint smile, though no warmth reached her eyes. "It is my bird. If I don’t wish for it to sing, I have my ways."
It was a case of sympathy for one’s own kind—a warning to herself.
Yan Xuerui took her time on the way. Last time, her knees had been bruised from kneeling. Since then, she had always timed her visits carefully. When she arrived at the Hall of Diligent Governance, the emperor had just finished his morning court session and was reviewing memorials.
"Your daughter greets Father Emperor. May Father Emperor live ten thousand years."
Yan Xuerui placed her hands flat against her forehead and bowed deeply with proper etiquette. Quick to learn, even the strictest matron in the palace could find no fault with her manners in just a few days.
"Enough, rise quickly. We are family. Why so much formality?"
The emperor, as usual, bid her rise. He set down the memorial in his hand, leaned back against the dragon throne, and spoke with a hint of irritation in his voice.
Who dared to anger the emperor?
Yan Xuerui wondered silently, but then heard the emperor say, "I heard you were ill last night. How are you feeling now? What did the imperial physician say?"