EHW Ch7

Gu Fangzhi came and went in a flash, showing no intention of staying even a moment longer.

The next second, he switched to his carriage save file.

Pei Xin’s vision went dark, and when he opened his eyes again, Gu Fangzhi was gone.

Outside the curtain, Yang Luhai’s voice came softly: “Your Majesty, shall we prepare the bath now?”

Pei Xin: “……”

“Prepare it,” he said curtly. “Double the herbs.”

He needed to calm his nerves, thoroughly.

***

This time, Gu Fangzhi was careful not to let Ah-Qi buy pastries from that stall again.

He endured his hunger on the way back to the Gu residence, reheated the meal Gu Yunchuan had left for him, and ate a bit. As expected, no stomachache followed.

Once full, he felt overwhelmingly drowsy.

Too much had happened today.

He had been saving and reloading repeatedly, socializing, and navigating danger, his mind was stretched to its limit.

Now, curled up on a soft bed, his eyelids shut with the force of a crocodile’s jaws. Before he could think of anything else, he was sound asleep.

But just as he reached that perfect, blissful depth of sleep, he heard soft footsteps outside.

The door creaked open, and Ah-Qi’s voice came from above his head:  “Second Young Master, Second Young Master, it’s time to rise—morning court awaits.”

Gu Fangzhi opened his eyes blankly.

It was late summer turning to early autumn; logically, dawn should come early. But the room was still dim, lit only by a small, yellow lamp.

He mumbled, “…What time is it?”

Ah-Qi replied, “It’s already the second quarter of the Chou hour.”

Chou hour?

Three in the morning?!

What decent person goes to work at three in the morning?!

Gu Fangzhi didn’t even have the strength to argue. He just extended a finger and loaded the save file from before he fell asleep.

Time rewound to the middle of the night. Groggy, Gu Fangzhi turned over and went right back to sleep.

Not long after, Ah-Qi entered again:  “Second Young Master, Second Young Master, it’s time to rise, morning court awaits.”

Gu Fangzhi reloaded and went back to sleep.

Life as a wage slave in ancient times was no better than that of a beast of burden. After three re-saves and re-sleeps, he barely managed to cobble together six or seven hours of rest.

His body still ached with fatigue, but at least his mind felt clearer.

***

One hour earlier, in the Hall of Mental Cultivation.

Pei Xin, who had always slept little and lightly, awoke after only a short rest.

He put on an outer robe and sat at his desk.

Yanmen had been the first city he’d ever garrisoned. He had spent three years defending it, bringing peace to its citizens amid chaos.

But the moment he left, the wolves gathered around. Even the personal troops he’d left behind seemed to have been infiltrated by spies.

Pei Xin dipped his brush in ink and began writing a secret letter.

He was not a man of many words, but the people of Yanmen had always respected him, and he couldn’t help writing more than usual. He detailed how to uncover the traitors, how to set up traps, how to send men into enemy ranks.

The sharp, powerful brushstrokes carved deep into the paper, filling it from top to bottom.

He held up a candle to seal the wax on the letter.

Drip.

As a drop of wax fell, his candlestick suddenly turned into a brush.

The writing on the secret letter vanished before his eyes, leaving the page completely blank.

Pei Xin: “……”

Could someone explain why Gu Fangzhi was using witchcraft at this hour?

He didn’t understand.

His pale, slender fingers pressed hard against his temple as he forced down the rage rising in his chest.

He dipped his brush again in ink.

But just as the brush was about to touch the paper, he froze.

Though he didn’t yet fully understand Gu Fangzhi, he had noticed a pattern, each time the man used witchcraft, he did it several times in a row.

If Pei Xin wrote the letter now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have to rewrite it moments later.

So he set the brush down, folded his arms, and waited.

But…

A quarter-hour passed.

Then two.

Then three.

Gu Fangzhi didn’t cast another spell.

Leaving Pei Xin sitting motionless at the desk—like an idiot.

Pei Xin: “……”

He picked the brush back up and rewrote the secret letter from memory.

Just as the final character was completed, that all-too-familiar sensation struck him again.

The words on the page dissolved into nothing.

Pei Xin: “……”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He wasn’t even angry anymore.

Just filled with the hollow helplessness of a eunuch visiting a brothel.

The third time he attempted the letter, Pei Xin waited longer, reading a book to pass the time.

When he was fairly sure Gu Fangzhi had finally stopped meddling with time, he began writing again.

This time, the once-crisp strokes looked slanted and messy from the repeated rewrites, his patience clearly worn thin.

He frowned deeply, suppressing his irritation as he forced himself to finish.

But when he reached the final line—his hand froze.

Before his eyes, the black ink drained from the page like receding tide, leaving not even a trace on the paper.

Pei Xin’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. “GU! FANG! ZHI!”

From outside came Yang Luhai’s weary but cautious voice:

“Your Majesty, shall we summon Lord Gu to the palace?”

“No need,” Pei Xin growled. “Reward him. Give him a reward.”

Reward him? With what?
Slaps! Whip lashes! Cane strikes!

Pei Xin’s lips curled in a cold, murderous smile.
“Reward him—one hundred taels of gold!!”

***

Nothing particularly unusual happened at court that day.

The officials were cautious, reporting only safe matters that wouldn’t provoke Pei Xin’s temper. Pei Xin, chin propped on one hand, slouched irritably on the dragon throne, clearly displeased, but at least not threatening executions as he had the day before.

Gu Fangzhi’s careful pre-court save file turned out to be completely unnecessary.

The morning session didn’t last long before being dismissed.

Standing just behind Gu Fangzhi, his fellow Ministry of Rites official Song Jingzhou smiled as he bowed out.

“Master Gu, come along.”

“Come? Where to?”

“To the Ministry of Rites, of course.” Song Jingzhou looked more puzzled than Gu Fangzhi. 

“There’s plenty of work waiting there.”

After a few more questions, Gu Fangzhi realized the truth: yesterday had actually been a rest day. It had merely been chosen for Pei Xin’s first court assembly because it was an auspicious date.

Today, however, was not a day of rest, meaning that minor officials like him had to report to their ministries and continue their duties.

“But isn’t this where everyone in the dramas changes into casual clothes after court, off to drink at taverns today and go boating tomorrow?”

Song Jingzhou didn’t understand what a drama was, but he grasped the gist of it.

He chuckled. “That might be how Lord He and the other grandees spend their days. For us, though…”

“I get it,” Gu Fangzhi sighed. “The big officials gamble for fun; the small ones work like oxen.”

Song Jingzhou: “……”
Well… not entirely wrong.

Gu Fangzhi sighed again and reloaded to the moment right after court.

This time, he took the initiative: “Let’s go, to the Ministry.”

***

Before the court dispersed, Pei Xin had glanced toward the rear ranks where Gu Fangzhi stood. The man was busy chatting with his young colleague, oblivious to the emperor’s gaze.

Pei Xin gave a low, mocking laugh.

Yesterday the man had sworn his “loyalty as bright as sun and moon,” and today he’d already forgotten every word.

He shot Gu Fangzhi a vicious glare and turned to leave.

Yang Luhai approached quietly. “Your Majesty, that person is already waiting in the Palace of Heavenly Purity.”

Pei Xin hummed in acknowledgment.

The “person” referred to was a monk from the far outskirts.

Both the late emperor and Pei Xin despised superstitious practices; temples and shrines were torn down whenever possible. Yet this particular monk, Youji, enjoyed a fine reputation among the people, said to have true powers for catching ghosts and subduing demons.

When Pei Xin sent for him the previous day, Yang Luhai had nearly fainted from shock.

Pei Xin’s intent was simple: if the monk could exorcise demons, perhaps he could deal with Gu Fangzhi.

He couldn’t allow that man to keep holding him hostage with his strange power.

Still, out of sheer distaste for priests and monks, Pei Xin hadn’t met him immediately. He handled some paperwork first, deliberately keeping the monk waiting.

Only after midday did he finally head to the Palace of Heavenly Purity.

Even from behind the gauze curtain, he could see the man’s shiny bald head gleaming in the light.

The pale, beardless monk, kind-eyed and smiling, knelt in greeting. “This humble monk, Youji, pays respects to Your Majesty.”

Although he had heard that the new emperor was ruthless, Youji hadn’t expected this, a face so cold and sharp it seemed carved from ice. A professional charlatan himself, his heart fluttered nervously.

He asked carefully, “Might I know the reason Your Majesty has summoned this humble monk?”

Pei Xin toyed with the white jade ring on his finger, saying nothing.

The oppressive aura made Youji almost unable to straighten his back. He swallowed and ventured a guess.

“Could it be… that Your Majesty has encountered something… supernatural?”

Pei Xin’s fingers paused on the ring.

“Tell me, Venerable One,” he said evenly, “are you familiar with the Art of Reversion?”

“The Art of… Reversion?” Youji stammered, forcing composure. “This monk knows a little, barely a trick or two.”

“Oh?” Pei Xin’s lips curved slightly. He gestured for him to sit. “Then let’s hear it.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Pei Xin’s vision went black.

Before him, Youji continued unperturbed:

“The Art of Reversion? This monk knows a little—barely a trick or two.”

Pei Xin: “……”

You didn’t even notice being hit by Gu Fangzhi’s witchcraft right in front of me—
and you know a little?

You know nothing, fool.

Whether or not Gu Fangzhi was aware of this conversation, Pei Xin didn’t care anymore; looking at the monk’s pretentious face filled him only with disgust.

He sneered coldly. “Crime of deceiving the emperor, beheading.”

Youji was dragged out by guards, wailing all the way.

Pei Xin was about to order Yang Luhai to find someone else knowledgeable in the arcane when, just as he turned, he heard Youji’s voice again behind him:

“The Art of Reversion? This monk knows a little, barely a trick or two.”

Pei Xin: “……”

He couldn’t even be bothered to argue. “Execute.”

Once again, Youji was hauled off by soldiers.

But a short while later—he appeared once more behind Pei Xin.

Pei Xin: “…………”

Strangely enough, he wasn’t even surprised. A strange calm washed over him, of course.

This time, he didn’t so much as glance at the monk. Nor did he bother ordering another execution.

“Bald donkey. Get out.”

Youji: “……?”

Baffled, he was escorted out of the palace just as confused as he’d arrived.

At the back gate, his young disciple ran up to him eagerly.

“Master! You met His Majesty? What happened? What did he say? Did you get the reward money?”

“The emperor asked if I knew the Art of Reversion,”

Youji sighed toward the sky, “then called me a bald donkey and told me to get lost.”

“What a temperamental tyrant,” he muttered in disbelief.