Chapter 314: Whoever It Is

The guards brushed past Wu Yong, stepping into the room to deliver a handful of letters to the leader.

Gu Yanxi picked one up, scanned it briefly, and tossed it back with a razor-sharp smirk, his silence louder than any words.

Hua Pingyu’s worried eyes darted to his father. Wu Yong addressing Lu Yanxi as "elder brother" made one thing clear: this man wasn’t just anyone. His presence carried weight—an aura of power that didn’t belong to the ordinary.

Yet, how was it possible?

If this man was someone of significance in the capital, Hua Pingyu should’ve recognized him instantly. The pieces didn’t fit, and the gaps gnawed at him. Who the hell was this man?

Hua Yizheng, however, sat calm, unshaken, his face a mask of unreadable composure. His sharp gaze locked on the figure lounging at the bed’s edge, and with deliberate coolness, he asked, "Yanxi, do you have any clue who’s pulling the strings here?"

"There are only a few people who can reach out so far."

Gu Yanxi’s gaze settled on the old man—a figure bursting with vitality just yesterday, now hollowed out and worn like he'd aged a decade overnight. Words hung in his throat, useless and heavy. The truth was clawing to break free, but Gu Yanxi knew once it did, it would shred everything. The last thing he wanted was for the Hua family to drown further in disappointment or for Ah Zhi’s trust in him to sour because of the royal family's rot.

Yet, no matter how much he resisted, the reality was carved into his veins—he and the Gu family were bound by blood and fate, rising and crumbling together.

He watched the old man’s face darken with defeat, and for all his cunning, Gu Yanxi couldn’t find a single word to ease the blow. The founding emperor had shackled the Gu family with rules to avoid repeating history’s failures, yet here they were, circling the same drain.

And Gu Yanxi? Helpless.

For all his might and sharpness, he wasn’t the emperor. One misstep over that sacred line, and he’d face the sword. The Seven Stars Bureau, a legacy forged over generations, would vanish like smoke. That price? Unthinkable. Unforgivable. He couldn’t let it happen—not on his watch.

The Great Daqing Dynasty leaned heavily on the Seven Stars Bureau, a shadow empire that had practically become a court within the court. Its leader seemed to bask in greater glory than his predecessors, but let’s not kid ourselves—he was skating on razor-thin ice.

And the Hua family?

Hua Jingyan and the founding emperor were a power duo, ruling side by side for decades, conquering kingdoms, and laying down the law. When the founding emperor drew his last breath, it was Hua Jingyan by his side—the only man trusted to safeguard the young ruler's future.

Whispers of betrayal followed the Hua family, fear gripping many that power would corrupt them. But Hua Jingyan? He shattered expectations. Once the new emperor had firm control, he vanished from the spotlight, emerging only in crises, embodying the true meaning of a loyal subject.

He had the rare privilege of witnessing the Hua family’s rules—meticulously crafted to the point of obsession—laying out every nuance, down to their preference for classical texts among the revered 'Six Arts of a Gentleman.'

With razor-sharp precision, he ensured the Hua family remained scholarly purists for generations, banning them outright from the six ministries and confining their influence to the Hanlin Academy. It was a calculated move to choke off any chance of the Hua family amassing real power, killing ambition at its root.

He had established a symbiotic relationship between the Hua family and the Great Daqing Dynasty, standing in that position and influencing generations of scholars, continuously supplying the blood of the dynasty. Although there were suspicions of nepotism, the fact that the Hua family members only served in the Hanlin Academy had reassured the emperor.

Because the Hanlin Academy held a high status but no real power.

Yet his imperial uncle had always kept a sharp, distrustful eye on the Hua family, nursing his wariness for years until he finally found the perfect chance to strike.

But the Hua family held their ground, thanks to Hua Jingyan's brilliance in shaping its legacy and Ah Zhi’s ironclad grip on its reins. Ah Zhi ruthlessly crushed anyone bold enough to cross their line, shutting down any potential chaos before it even sparked.

Without their unyielding control, the scholars of the Great Daqing Dynasty wouldn’t have known peace for a single moment, and the emperor's suspicions would’ve exploded into full-blown disaster.

Ah Zhi anchored the Hua family, and in turn, the Hua family became the bedrock for the scholars. That was their undeniable gift to the dynasty.

And yet—what was their reward?

Now imagine this: without Ah Zhi’s precision, without her timely presence at Yingshan Pass, without her razor-sharp skills, not a single Hua scholars would’ve made it out alive when those shadowy killers arrived.

The mastermind behind all this clearly never stopped to think about who’d bear the blame if the Hua family met such a devastating fate—or how the scholars of the world would find peace amidst the chaos.

But Ah Zhi? She’d burn her soul to ashes in hell itself if it meant avenging her family.

As he held her hand, Gu Yanxi leaned in close, his voice low and sharp enough to slice through the silence, “I’ll dig to the bottom of this. Whoever’s behind it won’t get off easy. Not a chance.”

Hua Yizheng’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Whoever it is?”

“Whoever it is,” Gu Yanxi shot back, his gaze cutting like steel, a fire in his eyes that told Yizheng this wasn’t just lip service—it was deadly intent.

For the first time, Hua Yizheng asked, “Who are you?”

Gu Yanxi’s smile was cool, deliberate. “Ah Zhi doesn’t want me to tell. I respect that.”

“If she forbids it, it must be tied to your identity. That makes you… a member of the royal family."

Gu Yanxi stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying, as Wu Yong arrived, wheeling in Zeng Xian. The wooden wheels of the wheelchair grated loudly, the kid pushing it drenched in sweat but stubbornly brushing off any help—except a quick hand to clear the door threshold.

Zeng Xian, hollow-cheeked and draped in clothes that hung off him like an afterthought, sat there unnervingly calm, as if this was just some idle meetup.

The Hua family, once familiar with Zeng Xian's polished, graceful demeanor, could hardly reconcile that image with the hollow shell in front of them. What had gutted him so thoroughly? What hell had stripped him bare like this?

Without a word, Gu Yanxi moved in, fingers coolly pressing against Zeng Xian’s wrist. Zeng Xian didn’t flinch. Instead, his voice, steady and cutting, broke the tension: “A dying man doesn’t bother with lies.”

And he was dying—no doubt about it. Poison had carved through him, yet he wore his agony like a second skin, unmoved, unbroken.

"You had a hand in this too." Gu Yanxi leaned back in his seat, wiping his hands with a handkerchief like it was the most trivial task in the world, all while keeping a firm grip on Ah Zhi’s hand. The icy composure of the Gu's family membervwas enough to send ripples of tension through the Hua clan.

"Yeah, I was involved," came the curt reply.

"Then why the hell did you back off and have your son send a message to Ah Zhi instead?" Gu Yanxi's voice was razor-sharp, his gaze unyielding.

"I didn’t back off," Zeng Xian shot back, eyes flicking to the half-dead figure on the bed. "Aside from having Han’er deliver the message, I played my part to the letter. That message wasn’t even meant for her—it was supposed to reach you. But I never expected..." His words trailed off, the weight of the unspoken lingering in the room.

Gu Yanxi’s chest tightened for just a second before the indifference returned, colder than ever. "If you’ve got something to say, then spit it out. I’m done with the games."

Out of nowhere, Zeng Xian chuckled, a sharp edge in his tone as if struck by a darkly amusing thought. "You know, I almost regret it now. If I hadn't sent Han'er to deliver that message, things would’ve escalated real fast, wouldn’t they? Every last one of those exiled Hua family members—dead. And tell me, do you really think those scholars, long muzzled by the Hua family's grip, wouldn’t have exploded into chaos? The Emperor, ever paranoid and drenched in suspicion, wouldn’t see his own hand in this. Oh no, he'd convince himself it was exactly as he feared—proof the Hua family had grown too damn powerful, a threat to his throne. And you know what happens next, right? Troops. Bloodshed. Full-scale suppression."

The more he mulled it over, the more thrilling the idea became. Zeng Xian’s face lit with a feverish flush, a twisted grin spreading as he spoke: “Do you think scholars are cowards? The more you press them, the harder they push back. The tighter the noose, the louder they’ll scream injustice for the Hua family. And what would the Emperor do when his fury boils over? Spill blood, of course. A slaughter, rivers of it, to make sure everyone remembers whose throne this is. But let’s be real—the scholars of the Great Daqing Dynasty? They’re no sheep. Even without official titles, they’ve taken the Hua family’s defiance as their own creed. Their loyalty runs deep. The harder you push, the more of them will throw their lives away to stand with the Hua family. Do you really think the Emperor has the stomach for that kind of chaos?”

The answer hung thick in the air, unspoken but undeniable—no, he couldn’t stomach it. Everyone in the room could feel it.

Hua Yizheng’s face turned stormy, his gaze locking onto Zeng Xian with a glint of madness. His voice dropped low, almost a growl. “And tell me, Zeng Xian—how exactly does the downfall of the Great Daqing Dynasty serve your interests?”