“No, it isn’t,” Lin Qingyu retorted without thinking.
“I mean my heart. But I won’t pass out this time—no matter how fast it beats,” Gu Fuzhou said, sounding perfectly content.
Memories surged within Lin Qingyu, making him laugh out loud. “I’m going to pass out if you don’t let go of me.”
Only then did Gu Fuzhou do so. He sat cross-legged on the sheets as Lin Qingyu settled on the side of the bed. Bathed in flickering candlelight, they stared at each other in silence until Gu Fuzhou shifted his gaze down. Even if his cheeks had flushed, Lin Qingyu wouldn’t have noticed, thanks to the general’s suntanned skin.
Lin Qingyu carefully studied Gu Fuzhou’s face. Its strong shape and defined features made him look completely different from the handsome young nobleman Lu Wancheng had been. Nonetheless, both men’s eyes were the same—the general’s were still dazzlingly brilliant, shining as bright as stars.
At the end of the general’s brow, a hairsbreadth from his eye, Lin Qingyu saw a faint scar. It looked new; Gu Fuzhou had probably gotten it a little over two months ago.
Lin Qingyu brushed his fingertips lightly over the scar. “How did you end up transmigrating into Great General Gu?”
“No idea,” Gu Fuzhou sighed. “But the moment I opened my eyes, I was spooked once again.”
The first time he’d awoken after his death, he’d been greeted by the sight of a classic beauty wearing marriage robes. The second time, however, he’d opened his eyes to see a tent brimming with burly men. That sharp contrast, and the heavenly arachnid poison flowing in his veins, had almost sent him down to the underworld again. He would’ve died if he hadn’t seen the blurry outline of his father-in-law, which told him that he was still in Great Yu, in a world that contained Lin Qingyu.
He’d barely managed to stay alive for the next two days, tethered to existence by his powerful desire to survive. During that short period of time, his father-in-law had concocted an antidote, pulling the general back into the land of the living.
“Military generals sent on an expedition can’t return to the capital unless permitted by an imperial edict,” Gu Fuzhou explained. “They aren’t even allowed to write letters to their family. I knew that I couldn’t return quickly, so I asked your father to be my godfather and mentioned it in my report to the emperor. I figured Xiao Cheng wouldn’t do anything out of line to you if you were my godbrother.”
Lin Qingyu thought about everything that had happened in the past couple of months. “Being Great General Gu’s godbrother did save me a lot of trouble.” Only when Xiao Cheng was sober, though. The crown prince had tried to force himself on Lin Qingyu after getting drunk on Princess Jingchun’s birthday. If not for Shen Huaishi, Lin Qingyu wasn’t sure he would have lived to meet Gu Fuzhou.
“I submitted memorial after memorial asking permission to return to the capital, but the emperor and crown prince—bastards, the both of them—stubbornly refused to grant me that.” Rage flared within Gu Fuzhou. He’d been so anxious then that he’d suffered insomnia for the first time in his eighteen years of life. He’d lost a lot of hair too. “As the hundredth day after my death fast approached, I could only try to let you know that I was still alive.”
“So that so-called secret missive from Western Xia never existed,” Lin Qingyu said. “You made it up completely.”
“Yup,” Gu Fuzhou said. “But then I returned to the capital, only to notice that none of the commoners had heard the saying, ‘If odd, change; if even, remain the same.’ That told me that Xiao Cheng hadn’t done as I said. When I asked you about the phrase in front of the Tianji Guard, you told me, very calmly, that you hadn’t heard it—so I guessed that you’d known for ages.”
Lin Qingyu nodded. “On the hundredth day after your passing, I heard the secret code from a young eunuch in Qinzheng Hall.”
“It took a hundred days to reach you?” Gu Fuzhou’s heart ached. “You must’ve felt such grief back then.”
Lin Qingyu paused. “Not really.”
Gu Fuzhou looked at him. “Did you cry?”
When Lin Qingyu shook his head, Gu Fuzhou breathed a sigh of relief, grinning. “How coldhearted you are, Imperial Physician Lin—you refused to shed even a single tear for me.”
“You’re back now, aren’t you?” Lin Qingyu murmured.
“Yes, I’m back again,” Gu Fuzhou marveled. “Now, I want to live a leisurely life with you by my side until the day I die.”
When the general mentioned “a leisurely life,” Lin Qingyu didn’t know whether he should be touched or tongue-tied. “Why were you so eager to return even after passing the secret code on to the capital? You should have known how suspicious your actions were, and that Xiao Cheng—paranoid as he is—wouldn’t let them slide.”
“I knew, but I had no other choice,” Gu Fuzhou said. “Firstly, I couldn’t be certain that you’d hear the secret code. Secondly…” He hesitated. “I recalled that Princess Jingchun’s birthday was in the summer.”
Lin Qingyu’s expression shifted. “I was supposed to die on Jingchun’s birthday, right?”
“How did you…?” Gu Fuzhou’s eyes widened. “Did Xiao Cheng do anything to you?”
“Yes.” Even Lin Qingyu himself didn’t notice the hint of petulance that now tinged his voice. “He grabbed my arm.”
“Fucking hell. Which one?”
Lin Qingyu extended his left arm.
Gu Fuzhou cradled it to his chest, massaging it. “Did he touch you anywhere else?”
“No,” Lin Qingyu sneered. “He switched to Shen Huaishi halfway through.”
Gu Fuzhou fell silent for a while, then summed up all he wanted to say in a curse: “What a dickhead.”
“How was I supposed to die?” Lin Qingyu asked. “By Xiao Cheng’s hand, or Shen Huaishi’s sword?”
“You tried to sacrifice yourself so that Xiao Cheng would die too, but Shen Huaishi appeared halfway through and shielded Xiao Cheng from what would have been a fatal strike. When your assassination attempt failed, you ingested poison you’d prepared in advance without blinking…” Gu Fuzhou couldn’t continue to describe what had happened, despite the fact that it was merely a plot point in the original story.
“That does seem like something I’d do,” Lin Qingyu said impassively.
“I should’ve committed to coming back earlier,” Gu Fuzhou lamented.
“When you say ‘committed,’ are you talking about having my father dose you with poison?” Lin Qingyu asked.
Gu Fuzhou came clean, although petulantly. “I didn’t want to do that, but I couldn’t have gotten permission to come back here otherwise.”
Lin Qingyu swallowed. “Such foolish behavior.”
“Your father measured the dose skillfully. I’d be fine as long as I returned to the capital on time,” Gu Fuzhou said with a smile. “Don’t worry—everything is happening as I planned.”
Among other things, he’d foreseen the intervention of the Tianji Guard. He was being watched long before his return to the capital, since the memorials he’d persistently submitted to the royal court had aroused the suspicion of the emperor and Xiao Cheng. Shadow guards from the Tianji Guard had infiltrated his troops in Yongliang and tailed him back to the capital.
He’d considered revealing himself to Lin Qingyu immediately upon his arrival; even under the Tianji Guard’s careful watch, that was doable. But Xiao Cheng had ordered a thorough investigation into the people the general was close to, which had ended up implicating his father-in-law. Not wanting to involve Lin Qingyu, Gu Fuzhou had had no choice but to temporarily suppress his desire to let Lin Qingyu know that he was back.
Unfortunately, longing wasn’t an easily concealed emotion, and Lin Qingyu was incredibly shrewd. He’d recognized Gu Fuzhou’s situation, so even after realizing who the general was, he hadn’t done anything rash. They’d put on an act while both being in the know. Only now were they finally free of the charade.
Lin Qingyu fell silent for a while. “Did you do all that—even going as far as poisoning yourself—just to come back and see me?”
“Of course,” Gu Fuzhou replied without thinking.
Lin Qingyu shut his eyes and turned away, no longer meeting the general’s gaze.
“Qingyu?”
Lin Qingyu remained silent.
When he saw Lin Qingyu’s red-rimmed eyes, Gu Fuzhou didn’t know what to do for a moment, but he mustered a grin anyway. “It wasn’t just that, though. I told you how tough things were in Yongliang, didn’t I?
“Even though I was suffering and constantly exhausted, I couldn’t slack off without feeling guilty, seeing as I was responsible for the lives of three hundred thousand soldiers. I felt like a year was docked from my lifespan for every day I toiled there. I tried with all my might to come back here not just for your sake, but also for mine,” he concluded, playing with the silky strands of Lin Qingyu’s hair.
The pinch of sentimentality Lin Qingyu felt—already rare for him—dissipated instantly. “I expected no less from you.”
“Yes. All of this was my fault, so don’t be upset,” Gu Fuzhou said. “Don’t cry.”
“I didn’t cry even when you died,” Lin Qingyu declared placidly. “Why would I cry when you’re still alive?”
After being forced to lead an army for several months, Gu Fuzhou—once totally unversed in military battle strategy—had grown to understand the importance of advancing when the enemy retreated and vice versa. If Lin Qingyu wanted to feign indifference, the general would pierce his facade. “I see a beautiful man with red eyes, but I won’t tell you who he is.”
Lin Qingyu was rendered speechless. He really hasn’t changed at all.
At that moment, Yuan Yin dashed inside. “Great General, someone’s here from the palace,” he announced. “His Majesty summoned you.”
Gu Fuzhou was stunned. “His Majesty? Not His Highness?”
“Yes, General. His Majesty summoned you.”
Gu Fuzhou turned to look at Lin Qingyu. “Isn’t he seriously ill?”
Lin Qingyu rose and calmly straightened his official robes. “I saved him.”