EHW Ch56

The palace banquet was lively and grand.

Yet to Gu Fangzhi, it all felt oddly unreal, as if he could still smell the rough, cold air of Liangshan lingering in his nose.

Throughout the feast, people kept coming over to toast him and Gu Yunchuan,
praising their courage for rushing to Liangshan to aid Pei Xin.

All that flattery made Gu Fangzhi a little lightheaded, and he drank two more cups than usual.

He was never good with alcohol, and after a few gulps, he heard little Manman remark,
“Fangfang-ge’s face is red! Like a hawthorn berry!”

Gu Fangzhi thought that was rather clever of him.

He himself hadn’t learned to compare someone’s blush to anything more creative than an “apple” until university.

Pei Xin was in an unusually good mood that day, and naturally, when the emperor was happy, everyone ate and drank contentedly.

But after three rounds of wine, something dreadful happened, the ministers started talking about work.

He Rang mentioned holding a belated birthday celebration for Pei Xin, and then brought up that the winter sacrifices were fast approaching, so they’d have to start preparations immediately.

Gu Fangzhi: “……”

See? He’d said it before, Pei Xin was a “top student” who couldn’t stop working, and all his subordinates were “mini top students” cut from the same cloth.

Thinking of Pei Xin, Gu Fangzhi looked toward the high seat.

Pei Xin was leaning slightly forward, brow furrowed as he spoke seriously with one of the ministers.

But a moment later, as if sensing something, he turned his head and his gaze met Gu Fangzhi’s for a fleeting instant.

Their eyes met midair, and then Pei Xin calmly looked away, as though nothing had happened.

A short while later, a palace maid came forward, carrying a small tray in both hands.

“This is sobering soup from His Majesty, for Lord Gu.”

Gu Fangzhi blinked and accepted it.

He took a sip, it was sweet, with the faint fragrance of osmanthus.

When the banquet ended, the officials bowed in thanks and began to disperse.

Gu Fangzhi crouched down to help Manman into his coat, wrapping him up like a little ball, and told Gu Yunchuan and Gu Huaiyu, “I’ll be staying in the palace tonight to watch over His Majesty.”

Earlier, Yang Luhai had already sent him a pleading look, but even if he hadn’t, Gu Fangzhi had planned to stay anyway.

Pei Xin hardly ever slept well, and after traveling so many days without rest, even an iron man couldn’t withstand it.

Gu Yunchuan grunted in assent, while Gu Huaiyu just let out a long “hiss.”

Pei Xin had already departed the hall.

Gu Fangzhi jogged a few steps to catch up. “Your Majesty.”

Pei Xin turned his eyes sideways to glance at him.

He had expected Gu Fangzhi would follow and had purposely not taken his imperial carriage.

Sure enough, Gu Fangzhi came running, walking a few paces behind him.

Pei Xin tried not to show much emotion.
He turned the white jade ring on his finger twice. “Teacher has worked hard.”

Noticing something, Gu Fangzhi asked curiously,
“Your Majesty, are there words engraved on that ring?”

Pei Xin looked down at his hand, slipped off the ring, and handed it to him.

Gu Fangzhi reached out to take it.

The ring was still warm from Pei Xin’s skin, the heat distinct in the winter night.

He held it up to the moonlight and examined it closely, finally making out the inscription carved into its surface.

Indeed, there were four characters: “Under Heaven, No. 2.”

Gu Fangzhi: “……”

How childish.

Wasn’t this basically the ancient equivalent of wearing a T-shirt that says
“Play all you want, but don’t mess with my girl”?

No, seriously—

He asked, “Why No. 2 under heaven?”

Pei Xin replied,

“It was supposed to say No. 1 under heaven, but halfway through engraving it, something came up.

When I returned, my second imperial brother had added the ‘2.’”

Gu Fangzhi paused.

This was the first time Pei Xin had ever mentioned his family.

He said nothing, just handed the ring back.

Pei Xin took it and slipped it back onto his finger.

When they reached the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Gu Fangzhi froze.

One of the golden pillars clearly bore signs of repair, and another—still unrestored—had faint bite marks across its surface.

Pei Xin had already seen it at noon, but seeing it again made his chest tighten.

He gave a cold snort. “Crazy mutt.”

“Snowball is so cute, maybe there’s been some misunderstanding?” Gu Fangzhi said.

“Couldn’t it be, say, because of thermal expansion and contraction? Maybe the pillar just… exploded on its own?”

Pei Xin: “…………”
He’d once heard “After seeing the sea, no other water compares,” but now it was after meeting Gu Fangzhi, no peace remains, he and Snowball were taking turns testing his patience.

Gu Fangzhi reloaded a save. “Where’s Snowball? I haven’t seen it in ages.”

And indeed, he did miss it a little.

No sooner had he spoken than a snow-white ball poked its head out from the shadows.

Gu Fangzhi immediately crouched down. “Snowball, Snowball! Come here, Snowball~!”

The little creature looked the same as before, round, small, and utterly adorable.

It sniffed the air, recognized Gu Fangzhi’s scent, and its grape-like black eyes sparkled with joy.

Then it dashed toward him like an arrow from a bow.

It barreled straight into Gu Fangzhi’s arms with surprising force.

He was squatting without proper balance, and the impact knocked him flat onto the floor.

Well, since he’d already fallen, he might as well lie there.

The Hall of Mental Cultivation wasn’t cold anyway.

Pei Xin glanced at the sight out of the corner of his eye, utterly undignified.

Both the man and the dog were behaving as if he, the emperor, didn’t exist.

He walked over to remove his cloak.

From where he stood, he could see Gu Fangzhi sprawled on the ground, his dark wavy hair spread like ink blooming on parchment.

Gu Fangzhi was trying to lift Snowball to his chest, but the creature wasn’t used to being held that way.

Its ears twitched nervously, and it wriggled, trying to jump down.

Gu Fangzhi sighed and gave up, releasing it and pushing himself up.

As he did, something slipped out from his robes and fell softly to the floor.

Before he could even see what it was, Snowball lunged forward, grabbed it in its mouth, and shook it like a toy.

Gu Fangzhi recognized it immediately, it was the letter Pei Xin had given him, the one he’d stuffed into his chest earlier when leaving home.

Snowball could bite through pillars; what chance did a mere letter have?

Fearing it wouldn’t survive three seconds, Gu Fangzhi scrambled after it.

Fortunately, Snowball quickly lost interest, dropping the letter after a few playful shakes.

Still, its teeth had torn the envelope open, exposing the folded paper inside.

Gu Fangzhi praised it absentmindedly—“Good bite, Snowball”— and bent down to pick up both the envelope and the letter.

When Pei Xin, having removed his cloak, turned back, this was the sight that greeted him.

The moment he recognized what Gu Fangzhi was holding,
his breath caught.

He strode forward at once. “…Teacher, don’t read that!”

But Gu Fangzhi, by instinct, had already unfolded the paper.

Pei Xin’s handwriting was sharp and elegant—easy to recognize.

The first line read:

“All things in this world meet with success or failure.

On this campaign, I fear I may not return.”

And the second line read—

“I have already discovered your method of time reversal, Teacher.”

Gu Fangzhi blinked.

He looked at the letter, then at Pei Xin.

T
hen back at the letter. Then back at Pei Xin again.
His face was utterly blank.

Just from that expression, Pei Xin knew that Gu Fangzhi knew.

He had long been aware of Gu Fangzhi’s sorcery, but had deliberately kept quiet about it.

If Gu Fangzhi ever found out, it would surely create all kinds of trouble.

Even earlier that evening, during the palace banquet, Pei Xin had been thinking about
how to take back that letter without raising suspicion.

Who could have predicted that Gu Fangzhi would open it right in front of him.

Then again… maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Pei Xin let out a slow breath, his voice low and steady.

“So, Teacher knows now.”

Gu Fangzhi said nothing, frozen in the exact same posture as before, like a statue.

The letter was short. He’d already read it all.

The rest of it explained that during morning court, Pei Xin had already sensed
the presence of Gu Fangzhi’s sorcery.

He wrote that if Gu Fangzhi ever used it to alter fate, to reverse the tide of battle—
Pei Xin would reward him with lifelong honor and glory.

That sobered Gu Fangzhi right up. Completely.

He instantly switched save files.

Save Slot 1: Old friend, the Western envoy.

Under the dim lights of the suburban palace, Pei Xin looked up at him and asked,
“Teacher doesn’t believe what I wrote in my letter?”

The Western envoy, who had been walking away, turned around. “Are you talking to me?”

Gu Fangzhi quickly switched saves again.

Save Slot 2: The day they departed Liangshan.

He jumped down from the carriage.

Ye Bao was still standing there, arms crossed, seeing them off.

Seeing Gu Fangzhi suddenly get down, he frowned. “What’s wrong? Forget something?”

Up ahead, Pei Xin turned back on his horse and mouthed two words.

Gu Fangzhi couldn’t hear them from so far away, but he knew what they were—“Teacher.”

Then Gu Fangzhi switched back to the present.

Pei Xin asked, “Why would Teacher’s magic be connected to me? Do you have any idea?”

Gu Fangzhi didn’t answer.

He just looked at Pei Xin for a long moment, and then slowly collapsed to the floor.

Like a limp chicken foot, soft and boneless.

【Congratulations, player has unlocked BE ending — “Oh No.”】

Pei Xin: “……”

Seriously? Just lying there like a child?

Was this embarrassment or… pouting?

Well, so this was how it felt.

After being tormented by Gu Fangzhi for so long, it was finally his turn to see him lose composure.

Affection aside—this was undeniably satisfying.

The corners of Pei Xin’s mouth twitched upward uncontrollably. “Ha.”

He asked, “Teacher, do you know what it’s like to put on the same set of clothes a hundred times and still find nothing on your body?”

“Do you know what it’s like to fall asleep and wake up standing in place?”

“Do you know what it’s like to finish approving an entire stack of memorials, only to find not a single word written on them?”

“Do you know what it’s like to fall asleep in the middle of a meal?”

“……”

Pei Xin wanted to continue, but he forced himself to stop.

He was a mature man.
And a mature man doesn’t whine, he makes his point and leaves it at that.

A dragon, mature, to “become a dragon.”

Gu Fangzhi finally lifted his head to look at Pei Xin, but still said nothing.

There wasn’t much to say.

Corpses don’t talk, and the moment he saw that letter, his soul had already left his body,
utterly, spectacularly mortified.

The realization that all his little jokes, his teasing, his playful remarks,
calling Pei Xin “kid”, had all been seen, all recorded clearly by Pei Xin—
was enough to make him want to dig a hole and die in it.

He couldn’t even focus enough to wonder how Pei Xin had perceived his save-loading.

But after lying there for quite a while, Pei Xin and Snowball both started walking toward him.

Pei Xin probably wanted to help him up;

Snowball, more likely, was after the jade pendant that had fallen beside him.

Yet the two of them—one man and one dog, walked and walked and somehow never got closer.

Pei Xin: “……”

He said, “Te–te–teacher, st–st–stop, stop re–re–reloading!”

Gu Fangzhi’s fingers tapped and tapped and tapped.

The last time the system had randomly given him a “BE Ending: Idiom Chain Collapse,”
he thought it was bugged.

He’d been careful ever since, trying to reload less.

But now?

Now he didn’t care anymore.

Completely defeated, he muttered in despair,

“I’ll just lie here forever. Never get up again. Never reload again. For all eternity.”

Pei Xin: “……”

So this was it—
Escapism is shameful… but effective, isn’t it?