MFMH C80

Chapter 80 – I Like You

In just one day, the Duke of Zhen’s household had been utterly transformed. The remaining servants worked with twelve parts of their strength, while the newly arrived ones dared not slack, carefully following the older staff to learn their duties.

The once-sluggish, extravagant air of the household had vanished. Now everyone was cautious and precise, strictly following Gu Changfeng’s commands.

Under such circumstances, those servants still left in the main courtyard grew increasingly uneasy.

With the heir now in control of the household, their mistress—the Duchess—had lost her power. Those who clung to her position would find life unbearable. The servants of the main courtyard could not help but feel anxious.

When the Duchess awoke, her very first order was to have her younger son retrieved. But before her knelt a crowd of servants, none daring to respond. Furious, she smashed everything in the room.

“You dogs! None of you obey me anymore?!” she roared, chest heaving. She stormed over and delivered a resounding slap to the maid who had obeyed Gu Changfeng’s earlier order to take her back to her chambers, then shouted at the rest: “I order you to find that bastard Gu Chongxiao and bring my son back at once!”

“Madam…” The maid’s cheek burned, yet she did not dare raise a hand to cover it. Bowing her head, she whispered timidly, “It’s not that I don’t wish to go, but the Second Young Master… he… he has died suddenly.”

What? The words struck like thunder. The Duchess’s eyes flew wide, her body reeling; if not caught, she would have collapsed.

“What… what did you say?” She clutched the maid’s hand, eyes bloodshot.

“The whole household hangs with mourning banners. Outside, they are arranging the funeral rites…” If not for fear of shocking her further, the main courtyard servants would already have donned mourning garb.

“Smack!” The Duchess hurled another slap with all her strength, enraged. “You lying slut! How dare you spout such nonsense!”

The maid’s head snapped aside, silent, while the rest stood trembling in silence, the room so still that a pin could be heard falling.

The Duchess’s hand trembled. Red-eyed, she swept her furious gaze over them all, then suddenly spun and bolted.

The gate guards, instructed by Gu Changfeng, made no move to stop her as she stormed out.

Rushing through the compound, she found white mourning cloth draped everywhere. Servants moved about in plain robes and headbands, solemn in their mourning attire.

Impossible…

Impossible!

Impossible!!

The rage on her face gave way to horror. Fear gathered in her eyes. Her steps quickened, ornaments tumbling loose, her clothing disheveled, her pale face stripped of all dignity and grandeur.

“Gu Chongxiao!!!”

Gu Changfeng was speaking with the steward he had newly promoted when her shrill cry split the air. The Duchess flew at him like a madwoman: “Gu Chongxiao, you wretch! What have you done to my son?! Give him back!”

Gu Changfeng frowned lightly, seizing her raised hand before it could strike. “Restrain your grief.”

She froze, pupils quivering. Then, with a scream, she lashed out at him with fists and kicks, weeping and snarling: “Give me back my child, you beast!”

Expressionless, he flung her aside and ordered: “The Duchess has lost her son and lost her mind. Take her back to rest and prevent her from wandering lest she harm herself.”

“Yes, Heir!” Two robust matrons stepped forward to seize her thrashing figure.

Her face twisted, eyes blazing with hate. “Gu Chongxiao, you motherless bastard! You slut fit to be ridden by a thousand men, you deserve a thousand deaths!”

“He was only three years old—how could you bear to harm him!” she shrieked, clawing to scratch him.

Gu Changfeng’s face chilled, his voice low and dangerous: “If you keep raving, then don’t blame me for truly harming a three-year-old child.”

She froze, eyes darting. In a panic, she tore free and grabbed him tightly. “Where did you put him?”

“This is the Duke of Zhen’s household. It was never his place to be here. If you cannot accept this, I will cut the root entirely,” he warned, eyes like steel.

Her heart lurched. Once more she saw in his eyes that murderous intent, realizing again that the man before her was no longer the submissive shuang’er she had once oppressed, but her executioner. She was the fish; he held the knife.

Tormented within, she clenched her fists, nails biting into flesh, the pain nothing compared to losing her son. For the first time since becoming duchess, she bowed her proud head, trembling: “What do you want? It was I who wronged you. Do whatever you will to me—just don’t hurt him!”

So different from her once haughty self, she stood there broken and pleading. Yet Gu Changfeng felt no satisfaction.

She was a titled noblewoman, his stepmother, his father’s wife. However much she had wronged him, he could not kill her.

“As long as you quietly remain the Duchess, I will not harm him.”

She jerked her head up, eyes wide with sudden joy.

But Gu Changfeng’s gaze was dark. “All you possess was given by my father. Since you wronged him, go to his spirit tablet and repent. You may not emerge until he forgives you.”

He could not kill her, so he would bind her to a life of repentance.

“No!” she cried, horrified. Repentance meant nothing but house arrest!

“I am the Duchess—you cannot do this to me!”

He ignored her shrieks, signaling the matrons. They dragged her back.

“You sluts, unhand me!” she screamed. At a gesture from Gu Changfeng, she was struck unconscious and carried away.

The steward, following orders, dismissed all the main courtyard servants, leaving only two newly bought matrons and two maids to attend her needs.

From then on, the Duchess fell ill, bedridden.

She had borne her son late in life, forcing labor for selfish desires, damaging her body further. Though pampered with rare medicines, now grief consumed her daily, and illness took her.

Soon the news spread across Yongjing: the Duke’s second son was dead, and the Duchess had gone mad with grief.

The affair was strange indeed, but none dared comment.

Meanwhile, Emperor Zhao Yu had already issued his edict recruiting new soldiers. Notices spread through every prefecture, calling on all eligible youths to enlist and gather in the capital by the set date. Those quick to hear also learned that Gu Changfeng himself would lead the recruits to the frontier—clear proof that the emperor meant to entrust him, heralding the Duke of Zhen’s resurgence.

For many in the capital, Gu Changfeng remained the gloomy youth once seen at Gu Qingyao’s side, tall but with bowed head. Yet when he appeared in court wearing the heir’s splendid robes, ministers were stunned.

The man stood tall on the imperial path, steady and resolute, bowing to the emperor with composure. Were it not for the dusky birthmark between his brows, they might not have believed he was the same person.

Unlike the frailty of most shuang’er, nor the coarseness of soldiers, the heir bore an aura of clarity as still as water, steadiness as firm as mountains.

Even so, voices rose in opposition. Glory was hard to match, and he was not the Grand General, but only his son.

Some argued that if only symbolic leadership was needed, then let the heir merely inspect the borders in the emperor’s stead—after all, he was a shuang’er, not a true man. Others said Qi was not lacking in men; why send one such as him to war? Others still worried that if he proved useless, it would harm morale instead.

Shen Yanbei too worried—but not as the ministers did.

“You are you, and your father is your father. You revere him, but you need not become him.” When he learned how the emperor had summoned Gu Changfeng to court and how he had been doubted, Shen Yanbei embraced him, speaking softly.

“I know,” Gu Changfeng smiled.

Though he seemed unbothered, Shen Yanbei pressed on. “You may not care now, but in camp, that is where your father made his glory. Everyone knows his deeds. They will unconsciously compare you. Every word, every act of yours will be magnified.”

“They will scrutinize you, demand more of you, and wear you down!”

Gu Changfeng frowned slightly, thought, then said: “Then I won’t listen to them…”

“I’ll only listen to you.”

His dark eyes were steady and sincere. Shen Yanbei froze, then wailed: “Oh no, oh no, my husband has gained power and learned to speak sweet words!”

Gu Changfeng’s ears flushed. “It’s not…”

“Not what?” Shen Yanbei teased. “Not that you’ve gone astray, or not that you’ve learned love talk?”

Gu Changfeng lowered his eyes. “…I haven’t gone astray.”

“Then you have learned to speak sweet words?” Shen Yanbei grinned, goading. “Say a few more then.”

Gu Changfeng pressed his lips, troubled, while Shen Yanbei leaned back, smiling slyly.

“I…” Gu Changfeng’s mouth opened, but nothing came. Shen Yanbei’s grin grew. Just as he congratulated himself for drawing his husband out, Gu Changfeng blurted, blushing: “I like you.”

His gaze was earnest, burning, his deep voice resonant. Shen Yanbei clutched his chest.

Why did his heart skip two beats?

Touching his nose, he forced a laugh. “I-I suppose that barely passes.” Yet inwardly he was unwilling—such a good chance! But then again…

If his husband wouldn’t be bold, he could. Shen Yanbei’s eyes glinted, roaming his husband’s court robes. “You look good in this.” The heir’s robes, finely wrought, made him radiate masculinity—broad chest, narrow waist, tsk tsk!

He had often imagined standing beside him in court—Gu Changfeng among the military officials, himself among the civil, stealing glances at his husband’s proud figure.

A lovely dream—but he himself lacked even the right to wait outside for an audience…

That night, after washing, Shen Yanbei drew him close under the covers. But suddenly, he was pushed down.

Gu Changfeng hovered over him, bronze skin faintly flushed, his black eyes dark and searing.

That gaze scorched him. Heat flared in Shen Yanbei, his hand sliding over firm, tempting muscles.

“Today in court, the emperor ordered me to depart tomorrow with the troops.”

What? Shen Yanbei froze, his fire doused, staring in shock. “So soon?”

Gu Changfeng murmured assent, bending to kiss him.

“No wonder you’re so fervent tonight.” Shen Yanbei sighed, faintly aggrieved.

Gu Changfeng’s face burned. His eyes, soft as water, fixed on him. “You don’t like it?”

Shen Yanbei cupped his face, sighing. “However you are, I like you.” Yet sorrow pricked him.

Gu Changfeng’s lashes trembled as he pressed kisses along his neck. “I like you.”

Shen Yanbei blinked, stirred.

“From body to heart, I like you.”

His low, husky voice in his ear made Shen Yanbei’s eyes widen, rekindling his desire.

Just as he reached to pull him close and turn, Gu Changfeng pinned his wrists down.

“Changfeng…” Shen Yanbei swallowed hard.

Gu Changfeng’s gaze roamed his face, memorizing him.

“Don’t move.”

Shen Yanbei, parched, nodded. Gu Changfeng’s kiss fell, fierce and commanding.

That night, Shen Yanbei learned the terror of true skill.

The man seemed intent on draining him, lips and body never relenting. The flex of his resilient waist, the sculpted power of his thighs ensnared him, leaving him lost to time and place…