It had indeed been a very long time since Nan Rongchen last drew the Golden Feather Lingyun Bow. Speaking of which, the late Emperor had personally bestowed it upon him the year he entered the Eastern Palace.
The chief artificer of the Directorate of Mechanisms had personally measured his dimensions and drafted the blueprints, pouring countless rare golds and jades into its forging before the late Emperor bestowed the name himself, hoping the Crown Prince would harbor the ambition to soar above the clouds.
No one in the court failed to declare that the late Emperor deeply favored the Crown Prince and placed great expectations upon him.
The favor was real, and the expectations were equally real. Had it not been for this, Nan Rongchen would not have rushed headlong into forging himself into a sharp blade to expand the empire’s territory.
Now, this Golden Feather Lingyun Bow was about to be stained with the blood of the late Emperor’s own biological son, which was quite a satisfying and consummated affair. Nan Rongchen was more than happy to facilitate it. “I am simply intentionally raising the aggro value; I never planned to kill my younger brother.”
[System 365: Following analysis, the protagonist’s aggro value toward the villainous host in the previous cycle was severely insufficient. Just to be safe, the host is permitted to take special measures. However, please do not seriously injure the male lead.]
The system was truly ruthless. Just before drawing the bow to its absolute limit, Nan Rongchen remembered the Hulun Prince Consort outside who was consumed with burning anxiety over Nan Rongchengyu, and decided to show mercy to these two star-crossed lovers, albeit from a single-sided perspective. “Let the Prince Consort enter.”
Since he was already doing a good deed to the end, he waited until Helian Yi finished his bow before pulling the bowstring back to its maximum tension, the arrow tip pointing straight at the space between Nan Rongchengyu’s brows. As expected, the aggro value above Nan Rongchengyu’s head ticked upward by another notch.
The moment his three fingers released the string, an arrow gleaming with cold light shot straight forward. He could not bear to blink even for a second, terrified of missing the hatred and fear sprouting within Nan Rongchengyu’s eyes.
It was not that he looked down on Nan Rongchengyu, but as anyone who frequently died knew, the first time was inevitably accompanied by uncontrollable terror.
Nan Rongchengyu knew he was not going to die, yet his heart hammered like a drum, almost drowning out the sound of the white-feathered arrow cleaving the air beside his ear. His right cheek was grazed by the shaft, sending a burning, fiery pain through his skin. He had won the gamble.
“Is Royal Brother finally willing to trust me and put me to use?”
He had finally received the treatment proper to a protagonist: Nan Rongchen’s bow and arrow had targeted only him, and he had even spent a long time wiping the shaft before firing.
This shot was fast, accurate, and cleanly executed, feeling significantly better than the graze from that dagger last time.
He was thoroughly certain that his mother-solo-birth-destined self had experienced the sensation of a racing heartbeat at that moment.
Was this not infinitely more interesting than bungee jumping, rock climbing, or acting all pretentious and cool toward the book’s horde of rigid NPCs?
He would gladly dub this Cupid’s Arrow.
Nan Rongchen remained firmly convinced that the surging emotion in his protagonist brother’s eyes was sheer, monstrous hatred. He was quite satisfied with this arrow as well, that is, until he saw the aggro value above Nan Rongchengyu’s head fluctuate erratically before rising by a mere fraction.
Tsh, another wasted effort. Though it could hardly be called uninteresting, he turned his attention to Helian Yi, who was still kneeling on the ground without permission. “I said the Prince Consort need not come to express gratitude. Is the Prince Consort intending to defy an imperial decree?”
Seeing that Helian Yi was perhaps still recovering from the shock and failed to reply in time, he used the Golden Feather Bow to hook up the chin of this wolf-hound he hadn’t seen in days. “Need I teach you how to speak again?”
Seeing that Golden Feather Bow resting against Helian Yi’s jaw, half of Nan Rongchengyu’s good mood evaporated. Yet he could not afford to dwell on Helian Yi, and spoke with blood staining half his face, “Your Majesty, this younger brother has won. Please banish Pei Zhuo from the palace.”
If Pei Zhuo left the palace, he was certain to die.
The good mood hadn’t actually vanished; it had merely transferred over to Nan Rongchen’s side, because the aggro value above Nan Rongchengyu’s head had surged by a large margin.
After much deliberation, there could only be one reason: Nan Rongchengyu and Helian Yi were secretly deeply in love, and seeing his beloved humiliated naturally caused his hatred to skyrocket.
That made things all the more interesting.
He leaned down to pat Helian Yi’s cheek, murmuring right beside his ear in a posture that, from the side, appeared intimately close. “I have no leisure for this today. Go and fetch that arrow back.”
Sure enough, beneath his fingertips, the half of Helian Yi’s face exposed instantly flushed crimson to the tips of his ears, clearly out of sheer fury. Glancing back at Nan Rongchengyu, the hatred value above his head rose another notch.
What an epic, soul-stirring, mutually running-toward-each-other tragic romance. It was even more thrilling than the tales in storybooks.
Helian Yi himself was entirely oblivious to this grand romance. He had merely come to test Nan Rongchen’s intentions behind issuing that decree: as a military commander, he was still afraid of death and wished to preserve his life, meaning he absolutely could not let the brothers who had lived and died by his side lose their lives.
Nan Rongchengyu was also a benefactor to him, and he could not sit idly by and watch Nan Rongchengyu die because of him.
Yet before he could achieve his goal of probing, he felt as though he had been enchanted, leaping down from the eaves and roof ridges of his own accord to retrieve the arrow for Nan Rongchen.
“How could banishing Pei Zhuo from the palace ever be enough? A bet is a bet, and the Prince of Xiang is more than welcome to use this Golden Feather Lingyun Bow to shoot him dead. However, you only get one chance.”
A young eunuch had just carried over a flagon of velvet antler blood wine when he heard their Sovereign casually talking about shooting someone to death, causing him to inwardly lament that he had arrived at the worst possible time, though Head Eunuch Pei was the one who reached out to take the white jade wine vessel from his hands.
What a genuinely good person. It was a pity, he probably didn’t have long to live!
Nan Rongchengyu held back no courtesies; it was rare after all these years of transmigrating to have an impulse, so he nocked an arrow and aimed straight at Pei Zhuo’s throat. “This younger brother obeys the decree.”
Having transformed into a living target within a few breaths, Pei Zhuo glanced sideways at Nan Rongchen, who stood beside him with his arms crossed to watch the show. “If this subject is fortunate enough to survive, is there a reward?”
He was nothing more than a chess piece, and aside from trusting Nan Rongchen, he had no other recourse. He might as well seize the opportunity to carve out some benefits for himself.
Nan Rongchen continued to watch Nan Rongchengyu, his expression a mix of a smile and a scowl, maintaining a stance of utter detachment. “Anything you want. Even if it’s the moon in the sky, I will shoot it down for you myself.”
Back in the Shamanic Temple, aside from that cold, unchanging statue of the Divine Shaman that spanned the ages, virtually no one else stood by his side. Nan Rongchen suddenly found it in himself to pity his own plight, having spent two lifetimes bestowing countless rewards upon others, he decided it was high time to reward himself for once.
This interaction between the two of them appeared utterly inseparable in Nan Rongchengyu’s eyes. With a cold face, he drew the Golden Feather Bow back, and as he pulled the string, he silently counted down for this eyesore of a Pei Zhuo. Three, two, one.
Nan Rongchen actually stepped sideways to block in front of Pei Zhuo, leaving behind only a profile view of interwoven dark and vermilion robes.
His hand slipped, and the arrow clattered to the ground with a double tap. “What is the meaning of this, Royal Brother?”
Nan Rongchen turned to observe his protagonist brother’s frustrated expression, though he was frowning slightly. When pushing Pei Zhuo aside, he accidentally exerted a bit too much force, causing a sharp, sudden pang to flare up at the wound on his chest. “I said there is only one chance. If the Prince of Xiang tries to harm Pei Zhuo again in the future, it will be considered treason.”
Pei Zhuo had not expected Nan Rongchen to shield him using such a crude and direct method. He stepped forward to steady the Emperor’s arm. “This subject deeply appreciates this reward bestowed by Your Majesty.”
What a coincidence, Nan Rongchen liked it too.
At this moment, he and Nan Rongchengyu were caught in a mutual checkmate. The system kept him from killing Nan Rongchengyu while still expecting him to continue utilizing the protagonist, meaning he could not let him die.
Would it not be a waste not to exploit this balance to some degree?
Since the system and this fictional world could set up traps to toy with him, he was naturally more than capable of striking back when the mood struck. This was only the beginning.
It was never a good thing for a protagonist’s path to go too smoothly; he was merely looking out for the protagonist’s growth.
Nan Rongchen blocked the attendants who had come to pick up the arrow, bending down to retrieve it himself. “This younger brother obeys the decree.”
A shred of relief drifted up from the depths of his heart and intensified, thankfully, Nan Rongchen had not died beneath his arrow.
If Nan Rongchen were to die, who would help him crush Nan Rongxian? Who would help him conquer Western Xia? He still hadn’t managed to secure Nan Rongchen’s deployment strategies in Western Xia.
The thought buried deep within his heart was clamoring to break free, only to be interrupted by Nan Rongchen’s voice.
“Today’s divination has been rewarded as well. If none of you have any further business, you may withdraw for now. The velvet antler blood wine shall be rewarded to the Master of Fate another day.”
Nan Rongchen leaned against the rattan chair, supported by Pei Zhuo’s forearm. “The Prince of Xiang is a talent fit for heavy responsibilities; he is hereby promoted to a Prince of the First Rank with Seven Ranks. Furthermore, the position of the Right Minister of the Secretariat has been vacant for too long, let Liang Youzhang be appointed as the Right Minister.”
[System 365: Congratulations to the host for completing the task of prematurely promoting the protagonist. Detected that the protagonist has acquired the quintessential Overlord-tier pleasant shock point: playing the pig to eat the tiger and winning the villain’s trust.]
A pleasant shock point? Nan Rongchen had no time to ponder such things, nor did he have any grand enthusiasm for rushing through these tasks.
With the Secretariat still standing, imperial authority was destined to be fragmented, and there was no telling how many memorials were intercepted right there in the Secretariat.
In his past life, he had planned to wait until Zhou Yanzhi retired to abolish the Secretariat, but unfortunately, time ran out.
Now presented a prime opportunity for a trial run: appointing a few officials was a minor matter, and once imperial authority was centralized, he wouldn’t even need to personally review the overflow of memorials. With the protagonist handling them, nothing was bound to go wrong.
Besides, by then the aggro value ought to be more than sufficient.
Shortly after the spring hunt in March came the Shamanic Festival on the seventeenth of April. Death, or faking death, either way, both made for an auspicious day.
The fishy stench of the velvet antler blood wine drifted into his nostrils. Nan Rongchen turned his gaze toward the Master of Fate, whom he had nearly overlooked. “The Master of Fate asked a fine divination today. Since I have nothing better to do, from now on you shall enter the palace once every ten days. You must come even if your head gets chopped off.”
This imperial command sounded utterly nonsensical on the surface, but Nan Rongchengyu understood it crystal clear: Nan Rongchen was determined to protect the Master of Fate, though heaven knew how the Master of Fate had caught Nan Rongchen’s eye.
Seeing the Emperor flick his sleeves to depart, Helian Yi stepped forward to present the retrieved feathered arrow. “Your Majesty, I have a matter I do not understand.”
Nan Rongchen found the feathered arrow stained with the protagonist’s blood rather repulsive. “Keep that arrow for yourself. What could possibly be so urgent that it must be asked right now?”
Helian Yi gripped the arrow with one hand, offering a salute in the style of the Hulun royal court. “Why did Your Majesty order me to command the remnants of the Hulun forces?”
Nan Rongchen was quite fond of Helian Yi’s straightforward virtue of saying what was on his mind. In the spirit of reciprocal courtesy, he answered with equal candor. “I promised after the spring hunt that I would allow you to lead them back to Hulun. Naturally, you need to drill and train them a bit before you go.”
Whether Helian Yi believed him or not was none of his concern.
Once the imperial procession departed Dengque Terrace, Nan Rongchengyu finally found a moment to accept the silk handkerchief handed over by an attendant to wipe the blood from his face.
It carried a fishy scent, though it paled in comparison to the blood at the corner of Nan Rongchen’s mouth back at the Hanyuan Hall.
As he handed the handkerchief back, he caught sight of Helian Yi clutching the imperial decree and staring blankly at Nan Rongchen’s departing figure. He walked over two steps. “The Prince Consort should rest easy and head to the Jingyuan Army; His Majesty’s side will be taken care of by this Prince.”
He would certainly persuade Nan Rongchen to let Helian Yi return to Hulun as soon as possible, lest he continually linger and become an eyesore in front of Nan Rongchen.
Helian Yi was entirely consumed by thoughts of his old troops. Whatever stray distraction had crossed his mind earlier had settled entirely upon the feathered arrow bestowed by the Linshuo Emperor, leaving him blind to these subtle undercurrents. “Many thanks to the Prince of Xiang. May the Prince of Xiang take good care of himself as well.”
The Master of Fate had nothing to say to the two of them. Dipping two fingers into the velvet antler blood wine that had splashed onto the table, he noted that anything bestowed by the Emperor was naturally extraordinary.
Upon seeing this, the attendant hurriedly produced a handkerchief to wipe away the red droplet on the Master of Fate’s fingertips, as though terrified that being a moment late might somehow profane the Divine Shaman. “How can Your Eminence touch such a bloody and foul thing?!”
The Master of Fate accepted the handkerchief, wiping away the trace of blood bit by bit. Having spent so long in the Directorate of Astrology, he had almost genuinely begun to believe he was an immaculate divine messenger serving the Shamanic God.
Perhaps because the preceding days had been excessively clear, it had rained continuously for several days. Nan Rongchen claimed illness and remained sequestered within the Zichen Palace, too lazy to entertain those who came knocking under various pretexts to inquire after his health.
Heaven knew what methods Pei Zhuo had employed, but he had genuinely managed to block that entire flock of noisy visitors completely.
[System 365: Detected that the host missed the tyrant-exclusive plot point from the previous cycle: visiting Prince Su’s private banquet for merrymaking and pleasure.]
Nan Rongchen lowered the book he was halfway through reading. He didn’t conflate people with matters; he bore no prejudice against the book simply because of Nan Rongchengyu, and found the read quite absorbing.
It was a pity it wasn’t finished yet. In any case, there were plenty of entanglements left with Nan Rongchengyu for the future, so he could always ask for the rest later.
Just as the system stopped its beeping, Pei Zhuo walked in leading someone by the side. “Your Majesty, someone from Prince Su’s estate has come to invite you to a banquet.”
If it were anyone else, Pei Zhuo certainly wouldn’t have let them in, but this was a person from Prince Su’s estate, likely related to the Xue Xuan case, meaning it was bound to be a matter of urgency.
Nan Rongchen diverted a fraction of his attention from the book pages. “What sort of farce is my royal brother staging this time?”
“His Highness has already invited Lord Wang Wen to Prince Su’s estate. The palace is filled with eyes and ears, so he earnestly requests Your Majesty to honor Prince Su’s estate with your presence for discussion,” Xia Zhao forced himself to break out in a cold sweat before continuing, “His Highness said, to prevent any leaks, please do not bring Pei, Lord Pei.”
He wouldn’t dare utter Prince Su’s original words even if you gave him a hundred more guts, telling Ah Chen that if he brings that criminal slave Pei Zhuo, Wang Wen will only be able to drop dead of a sudden illness in Prince Su’s estate.
He belatedly realized that while his phrasing was safe, the threat embedded in the original words had been vastly diluted. As he was frantically pondering how to gloss over it, he heard His Majesty grant his consent.
Was it really that easy?
Ordinarily, Nan Rongchen did not tolerate being threatened, but having been cooped up in the palace for two days, he was in dire need of somewhere to pass the time, and Prince Su’s estate barely qualified as a decent destination.
Indulging in banquets and seeking pleasure, an essential trope in any storybook, ought to at least keep him from getting bored.
Upon hearing Xia Zhao’s words, Pei Zhuo inwardly regretted letting this man in, but could only curse himself quietly, suppress the thought, and order attendants to change the Emperor’s attire.
Nan Rongchen simply couldn’t bear to watch any longer. He raised his foot to block Pei Zhuo’s motion of bending his knees to change his socks. “Lord Pei is overstepping.”
He had already spared Pei Zhuo’s life; how could Pei Zhuo possibly degrade himself to such a completely undignified extent merely for revenge?
The warmth of the Emperor’s sole transmitted through layers of fabric right onto his shoulder, causing Pei Zhuo’s breathing to hitch as he muttered ambiguously, “This is merely this subject’s duty.”
The days of indulging in those pleasure haunts had clearly been wasted on him.
Xia Zhao stood dumbfounded on the spot, turning around just in time to catch a companion wearing the exact same expression.
Qiyan, dressed in guard’s attire, nearly ripped his longsword right off his waist. “Nan Rongchen, you are truly absurd to the extreme!”
Since he was already here, Nan Rongchen was short of an attendant to hold a lantern and an umbrella. “You’ve come at just the right time. Follow me to Prince Su’s estate and meet your old master.”
Ever since Nan Rongxian inherited his title, the luxury of Prince Su’s estate grew more extravagant by the day.
In recent years, pavilions had piled upon pavilions, with song, dance, and banqueting lasting through the night, earning him no shortage of veiled and open impeachments from court officials.
Whenever cases of embezzlement were investigated, investigating Prince Su’s estate had practically become an unwritten convention.
Yet after investigating for so many years, the faction of the Prince of Xiang had no choice but to swallow a fact bitter enough to make them spit blood: the mountain of gold and silver flowing like water through Prince Su’s estate all belonged to the late Princess Consort.
Holding a glass palace lantern dangling with seven-treasure tassels, Xia Zhao led the way, while Nan Rongchen didn’t bother inquiring what his royal brother actually intended. Even if this turned out to be a Hongmen Banquet, it didn’t matter to him in the least.
The group eventually stopped outside a palace featuring white glazed-tile roofing and red-lacquered walls.
Xia Zhao deliberated before speaking, “Your Majesty, His Highness Prince Su is currently entertaining guests at a banquet. Fearing the hustle and bustle might disturb Your Majesty’s mood, he has instructed this humble servant to lead Your Majesty to listen to a performance of The Tale of Eastern Music first.”
This play was one Nan Rongchen knew backwards and forwards; he had heard it every single time he visited Prince Su’s estate in his early years, though he never quite grew tired of it.
The exterior of this hall was already the epitome of luxury, and the interior was doubly so. Fine cloud-rafter timber served as beams, fragrant cassia wood formed the pillars, and beneath lay a floor of solid gold bricks; a heavenly palace in the mortal realm could hardly surpass this.
On the stage, the actors moved with weightless grace, a figure in colorful immortal robes stepping as though treading upon auspicious clouds. Slender jade fingers formed an orchid gesture pointing forward before curving back inward, while a pair of deeply painted, alluring eyes beneath heavy stage makeup tugged irresistibly at the heartstrings. With a sweep of water sleeves, every flutter and pose sang of autumn sorrow, delicate and lingering to the last thread.
Nan Rongchen raised a hand to untie his cloak, leaning back against a couch upholstered in layers of shark-skin gauze. Barely had he listened for a moment when three lightly made-up yet distinctively charming performers swayed gracefully out from the inner hall.
Ah, so it was a honey trap. He only wondered where they had hidden the poison. Nan Rongchen accepted whatever came his way, allowing one of the performers to massage his left shoulder while settling into a comfortable posture to watch the show, his gaze wandering aimlessly toward the wine flagon held by the performer beside the low table.
Behind layers of purple-glazed silk gauze, Nan Rongxian poured himself a cup from a wine flagon, holding it in his palm yet hesitating to bring it to his lips.
He had truly underestimated Nan Rongchen. To be so thoroughly accustomed to this sort of thing, heaven knew how many times he had sneaked off to the Miaoyu Pavilion.
It was a waste of that expensive illusion-scent, though Nan Rongchen had no need for such things anyway.
Amid his irritation, a gold cup inlaid with jade was offered to Nan Rongchen’s lips, leaving his twin thin lips glossy and moistened. That prompted him to remember he was still holding a cup of wine himself, and driven by a sudden impulse, he followed along and took a sip.
As the liquor slid down his throat, Nan Rongchen was already chuckling and leaning in to sniff the nail lacquer on the performer’s fingers.
Nan Rongxian couldn’t spare a thought for the aphrodisiac within that nail lacquer; he only felt as though heat was radiating from his own fingertips, and with just the slightest lift, he could touch the tiny mole on the tip of Nan Rongchen’s nose.
The glazed cup slipped from his grasp, and he snapped back to his senses just in time to see Nan Rongchen turning sideways, his dark green outer robe held between the slender fingers of a performer, just a slight tug away from slipping off his shoulder.
And those dark locks, half-tied up and aggravating a blaze of desire within his heart, every single detail was bewitching him to push aside the glass beaded curtain and step right out, completely overriding his earlier conviction.
Men were seductive, women bewitching, and none of them belonged by Ah Chen’s side; all of them would only corrupt and sully Ah Chen.
He had grown up alongside Ah Chen from childhood, sleeping in the same bed, holding hands, and embracing, starting far earlier than any of those people.
If Nan Rongchen wanted kisses, affection, and intimate desires to the point of death, it should be with him.
After all, he was Ah Chen’s older brother.
Amid the soft rustle of rolling pearl curtains not far away, Nan Rongchen grasped the slender, delicate hand of the performer. “Royal Brother truly went to great lengths. How shall I ever punish you for this crime of deceiving the sovereign?”
Nan Rongxian used his folded fan to brush the performer’s hand aside, picking up the second half of his own train of thought aloud. “Ah Chen, only Royal Brother treats you with complete sincerity.”