Faced with Gu Yanli's unwavering resolve, Gu Yanshu could only accept the dowry—but not without scrutiny.
His meticulous nature demanded full understanding of what he now possessed. While shops and estates required ledgers for proper assessment, one detail immediately stood out:
"You held the servant contracts for this courtyard all along?"
This revelation startled him. Over recent weeks, he'd observed how most attendants—save Bai Zhu—performed only superficial obedience, their loyalty thin as rice paper.
Take his first awakening: Gu Mingrong had descended like a vulture sensing weakness. Someone had clearly alerted her. Later, when Marquis Gu stormed in, not a single servant—again, except Bai Zhu—had intervened for their ailing master.
Had these betrayals occurred while their contracts rested in Concubine Chang's hands, it would explain their disloyalty. But if Gu Yanli controlled their fates all along...
How dared they?
Bai Zhu provided the missing piece: "The contracts were with the concubine until two days past. The young master insisted it improper for them to remain in the marquisate after your marriage, so he petitioned His Lordship for transfer."
Through recent unguarded conversations between the brothers, even simple-minded Bai Zhu had grasped the truth:
Concubine Chang's maternal affection was performance art.
And this marriage decree?
Her masterpiece.
Bai Zhu's initial disbelief soon hardened into shared indignation. His tone when mentioning Concubine Chang now carried unmistakable scorn, laced with vindictive glee:
"They say she fought tooth and nail against surrendering those contracts! But after whatever Young Master told the marquis, she had no choice—oh, how she raged!"
This timeline explained everything. As they dissected the servant situation, a respectful cough interrupted them.
Fuling, Gu Yanli's personal attendant, stood at the threshold with an armload of books—far exceeding the promised "few volumes."
"Young Master instructed me to deliver these." He deposited the stack where indicated, hesitating when Gu Yanshu eyed the unexpected quantity.
"The merchant ledgers from your lady mother's dowry shops are included," Fuling explained. Then, cheeks flushing, he mumbled: "Also... illustrated manuals. The Young Master said you may view them... or not..."
His darting eyes and shrinking posture betrayed the nature of these "manuals"—undoubtedly bridal education materials for tomorrow's wedding night.
Gu Yanshu withdrew his reaching hand abruptly. "Any other instructions?"
Relieved at the subject change, Fuling straightened. "The courtyard servants—keep or sell them as you please. No need for restraint."
This aligned perfectly with Gu Yanli's character. Had wedding preparations not consumed him, those disloyal attendants would've been disposed of already.
Who wouldn't cherish such meticulous devotion?
Gu Yanshu's lips curved unbidden, his voice warming with genuine pleasure:
"Understood. Please convey my gratitude to Elder Brother when you return."
Fuling—who'd witnessed his master's silent regrets after every harsh word to the younger brother—nearly glowed at this unprecedented appreciation. "This servant will ensure the message reaches him."
With both masters drowning in wedding preparations, Gu Yanshu dismissed the attendant swiftly. Alone again, he resumed reviewing the dowry documents until curiosity drew him to Fuling's delivery.
Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
The first book he plucked wasn't merchant ledgers or travelogues, but one of those manuals—the kind that made Fuling stammer.
In his past life, chronic illness had barred Gu Yanshu from such... educational materials. Now, confronted with these illicit illustrations, his scientific fascination overrode propriety.
Ancient artists' priorities were perplexing.
Portraits bore scant resemblance to subjects, yet these pages showcased anatomical precision worthy of Renaissance masters. Every wrinkle of discarded robes, each ecstatic contortion—
Humanity's primal instincts transcend eras, he mused, flipping pages with increasing interest. Who knew the Ming dynasty had mastered the Kama Sutra?
Bai Zhu, drawn by his master's rare absorption, peeked over his shoulder—
"Ah!"
The shriek shattered the study's tranquility. Crimson-faced, the attendant stammered apologies while Gu Yanshu merely tsked.
"Such delicate sensibilities? How will you manage tomorrow's wedding night vigil?"
Bai Zhu's flush deepened to mortified purple as his master plucked another manual from the stack.
"Study this. Don't embarrass me tomorrow."
Trapped by duty, Bai Zhu accepted the volume like a live coal—just as his master murmured approvingly at a particularly acrobatic illustration:
"This one shows promise..."
Watching ink-limbs entwine in impossible geometries, Bai Zhu experienced unprecedented clarity:
Poor Third Prince.
Gu Yanshu remained blissfully unaware of Bai Zhu's inner turmoil.
For him, these illustrated manuals were a serendipitous gift—not just filling educational gaps, but unexpectedly... fascinating.
Like a teenage boy discovering gender differences for the first time, he pored over the pages with rapt fascination, each illustration a new frontier. This scholarly enthusiasm led to an unprecedented consequence—
His first all-nighter in Tianqi.
Under normal circumstances, this would matter little. With no mistress overseeing the marquisate and the Dowager too frail for daily greetings (except on the 1st and 15th of each month), coupled with Marquis Gu's explicit orders to rest before the wedding, no one would comment if he slept till noon.
But today was different.
Today was his wedding day.
The elaborate rituals required an early start. As dawn's first light crept through the windows, Bai Zhu knocked urgently on his master's door—
Gu Yanshu had barely slept an hour. Only sheer willpower pried his eyelids open. Even then, exhaustion clung like a second skin, painting his complexion unnaturally pale.
To the unknowing maids bustling in with bridal preparations, his grim expression could only mean one thing:
The young master loathes this forced marriage.
Bai Zhu fared no better. Unlike his master's voluntary all-nighter, the attendant had suffered through compulsory "studying."
"Don't embarrass me tomorrow."
That single command had condemned him to a sleepless night—first agonizing over the manuals, then haunted by their imagery whenever he closed his eyes.
Now, as the pair moved through the morning rituals like sleepwalkers, their haggard appearances only reinforced the maids' assumptions:
How bitterly he resents wedding Third Prince!
Gu Mingrong, observing from the shadows, reached the same conclusion.
After weeks of forced quiet—first by Tingqin's intervention, then her mother's confinement—the third miss had awaited this day with predatory patience.
Now the moment had arrived.
Seizing the excuse to "help," Gu Mingrong slipped into her half-brother's courtyard.
The sight that greeted her was priceless—Gu Yanshu sitting rigidly with closed eyes as maids fussed over him, his complexion ashen; Bai Zhu swaying on his feet like a wilted stalk.
All her pent-up frustration from weeks of forced restraint evaporated instantly.
"Fourth Brother, such a joyous occasion demands cheer!" She pressed a silk handkerchief to her lips in mock dismay. "Ah, how forgetful of me! After your... dramatic reaction to the decree, of course you can't rejoice. Forgive my thoughtless words."
Had he been properly rested, Gu Yanshu might have indulged this petty theatrics. But sleep-deprived, her taunts grated like flies buzzing in his ears.
Only when she simpered, "Since the marriage is inevitable, best resign yourself to fate," did his eyes snap open—
"Bai Zhu."
The attendant jerked awake. "Y-yes, young master?"
"Has Father lifted Concubine Chang's confinement?"
Blinking away drowsiness, Bai Zhu stammered, "N-not that this servant knows..."
"I thought not." Gu Yanshu's bland tone wielded more cruelty than any shout.
The barb struck true. Gu Mingrong's entire status—her audacity to taunt a legitimate heir—depended entirely on her mother's favor. The concubine's confinement had already eroded her standing; servants grew bold with whispers of "the fallen favorite."
"Mother will be freed soon!" She spat, cheeks mottling crimson. "You should worry about your own neck!"
Gu Yanshu's brow arched. That threat sounded familiar—ah, yes. When he first awoke, she'd crowed about Third Prince's "wife-killing curse," certain he'd die before the wedding.
Now her venom took new form:
"Don't you know? You're the capital's most valuable man now." Her smile turned jagged. "So many have staked entire fortunes on you. How... enviable."
Though the fragmented remarks confused him, keywords like "valuable" and "staked fortunes" painted a clear picture—
A betting pool. About him.
Interest flared instantly.
Perhaps due to lifelong physical constraints, Gu Yanshu craved adrenaline more fiercely than most. And what quickened the pulse like high-stakes gambling?
Few in the apocalypse knew this: The Gu family required heirs to complete an independent venture before qualifying for succession—be it founding a company or executing a flawless investment.
Though exempted due to illness, young Gu Yanshu had refused special treatment.
The results had silenced all doubters.
Among the twenty-plus Gu cousins who underwent the family's succession trials, Gu Yanshu hadn't just topped the rankings—he'd lapped the competition by astronomical margins.
That single venture became legendary, cementing his unchallengeable authority when he later took the family helm. While outsiders marveled at the "miracle," only his inner circle knew the truth:
His startup capital had come from gambling.
So when Gu Mingrong hinted at capital-wide wagers concerning his fate, exhaustion evaporated like morning mist.
The third miss, never one for subtlety, nearly spilled the details:
"So many betting pools about you, Fourth Brother! Want to know what they're wagering on? Whether you'll survive past—"
A sharp cough from the senior maid cut her off. "Third Miss, the Eldest Young Master approaches."
The maids had tolerated her earlier barbs—after all, resigned acceptance might benefit the reluctant groom. But wedding-day talk of death wagers? That crossed the line.
Gu Mingrong paled at the mention of Gu Yanli. Recent events had proven the marquisate heir's ruthless protectiveness. She retreated with a parting shot:
"Forgot to mention—your bridal attire suits you remarkably."
The barb was obvious: His elaborate crimson robes, though masculine in cut, marked him unmistakably as the wedded party, not the wedder.
Yet Gu Yanshu merely arched a brow. Such distinctions meant nothing to him. His focus remained fixed on those tantalizing betting pools.
After dismissing the maids, he pinned Bai Zhu under his gaze.
"The wagers. Details."
The attendant squirmed. "Young Master, this servant doesn't—"
"Don't lie." Gu Yanshu's smile turned razor-thin. "You're coming to the prince's manor with me. Starting disobedience already?"
Cornered, Bai Zhu confessed in whispers:
"They're betting... how long you'll live in Third Prince's household."
"Longest odds?"
"Three days... at two-to-one."
"And beyond three days?"
"Ten-to-one," Bai Zhu squeaked.
Instead of rage, delight lit Gu Yanshu's face. "Such generous odds!"
Before the stunned attendant could react, silver notes fluttered into his hands—a thick stack from yesterday's dowry.
"Place the bet."
Bai Zhu nearly dropped the fortune. "But—"
"If I die within three days, this silver's useless anyway," Gu Yanshu reasoned cheerfully. "Survive longer, and we're rich."
When hesitation lingered, he added sweetly: "Shall I ask someone else? When Eldest Brother discovers how I learned of these wagers—"
"This servant goes at once!" Bai Zhu fled like the devil chased him.
Alone, Gu Yanshu studied his mirror image—the same face as his past life, yet transformed by vermilion silks and meticulous adornment. Even he had to admit:
"It does suit me."