As Bai Zhu stepped closer, Gu Yanshu noticed the bruises.
Faint scratches marred his wrists and neck—clearly more than a simple payment dispute.
The sight erased all mirth from Gu Yanshu's expression. His voice turned icy:
"Explain."
"They claimed the sum was too large—asked me to return tomorrow," Bai Zhu burst out. "Then offered to gather funds if I waited in their back rooms!"
Suspicious of the burly guards, he'd refused—
Only for them to attempt forcible detention.
Had he not fled, those betting slips might have vanished—along with himself.
From his robes, he produced the wrinkled voucher with trembling hands:
"Young Master... ninety thousand taels wagered... one-point-fifteen odds..."
The math was staggering:
Principal: 90,000 taels (combining Gu Yanshu's savings and dowry cash)
Winnings: 1.35 million before fees
Net Due: 1.215 million post-commission
Enough to sustain 300,000 common households for a year—likely exceeding the entire den's liquidity.
No wonder they'd resorted to violence.
Gu Yanshu's fingers tightened around the slip. "They'll pay. Every last tael."
"But how—"
"Patience." That single glance steadied Bai Zhu instantly.
Then—unexpectedly—Gu Yanshu extended the voucher toward Qin Lu.
"Your Highness might find this... enlightening."
Bai Zhu had carefully avoided mentioning gambling earlier.
Qin Lu, assuming discretion was intended, had considered excusing himself—
Until this overt gesture confirmed: No secrets here.
The moment he read the slip, everything clicked.
He'd heard of this notorious wager—
Fifth Prince Qin Hao had raged about it pre-wedding:
"Ignorant fools betting on your marriage! I'll burn that den to ashes!"
Yet Qin Lu never imagined Gu Yanshu had participated—let alone wagered such a staggering sum.
The voucher's date placed the bet before their first meeting—when Gu Yanshu couldn't possibly have known his appearance.
Qin Lu's throat tightened. "You risked everything without certainty?"
"Certainty?" Gu Yanshu gave him an incredulous look. "Had I lost, I'd be dead. What use mourning money then? Besides..."
"Besides?"
"This was a guaranteed win."
"How?" Qin Lu barely recognized his own voice—hungry for the answer.
Gu Yanshu traced his chin idly, as if discussing the weather:
"Has the 'bloodthirsty' Prince Li ever actually harmed the innocent? No—not one verifiable atrocity exists. Even slanderers can't cite specifics beyond 'he's cruel.'"
He gestured to the voucher. "Would such a wager thrive openly in the capital if you truly slaughtered at whim?"
Even sheltered maidens like Gu Mingrong knew the bet's details—proof of its rampant visibility.
If Qin Lu's intelligence network missed this, he'd be less observant than a pampered noble girl.
Yet he'd allowed the wager to persist—silent endorsement of its absurdity.
Nearby, Bai Zhu gaped.
Now that he considered it—what specific crimes could anyone attribute to Prince Li?
Only hearsay and hyperbole.
And these days observing his young master's boldness—sometimes outright audacity—met only with Qin Lu's indulgence...
"Why show me this voucher now?" Qin Lu finally asked, amusement coloring his tone.
For though he'd known Gu Yanshu dismissed the rumors, hearing it articulated struck differently.
No wonder sages prized understanding—to have someone perceive his essence so clearly...
For the first time since the wedding, Qin Lu felt gratitude toward those who'd arranged this match.
"Naturally, I wish for Your Highness to reclaim those winnings," Gu Yanshu declared without hesitation, his tone brimming with conviction. "Surely this poses no difficulty for you?"
Having earned his first fortune through gambling in his past life and later operating renowned casinos pre-apocalypse, Gu Yanshu understood the dark underbelly of betting dens better than most.
Winning was trivial—safely exiting with the money marked true prowess.
His massive wager at astronomical odds had always been a calculated move, with an exit strategy firmly in place.
While the original "Young Master Gu" might struggle to collect, Prince Li's intervention would make it effortless.
Though Qin Lu had already resolved to assist, his consort's foxlike smirk proved irresistible:
"What makes you certain I'll comply?"
"I wasn't—until now."
Pre-wedding, confidence had been scant. But today? Gu Yanshu's lips curved.
"Your Highness shares credit for this windfall. A fifty-fifty split seems fair."
The ledger review had revealed one stark truth:
The mighty Prince Li was far from wealthy.
"Not just modest means—verging on destitution," Gu Yanshu mused.
Qin Lu bore dual burdens:
Personal retinue upkeep
Private battalion expenses
Armies devoured silver like ravenous beasts.
War had once funded itself—spoils from conquered lands filling coffers.
But now?
His fearsome reputation left Tianqi's borders untested, drying up battlefield windfalls.
With the imperial treasury drained by decades of conflict, austerity loomed by winter—
Unless...
A heaven-sent fortune fell into their laps.
Gu Yanshu's ledger scrutiny had pierced Qin Lu's predicament with surgical precision.
The prince had merely sought flattery—yet the fifty-fifty offer proved irresistibly pragmatic.
His fingers traced the voucher's "90,000 taels" inscription.
1:15 odds.
Mental arithmetic sparked decisive action—Qin Lu rose abruptly.
"Your Highness?"
"We collect." That graveled command brooked no delay.
_____
ChangLe Gambling Den, Capital
"Boss... the rat escaped." Zhou Mo knelt, trembling.
His first failure as den master.
On the lacquered daybed, "Second Master Zhao" stilled his prayer beads.
"Explain."
"Too many spectators—we couldn't grab him openly." Zhou Mo wiped sweat. "He smelled the trap."
The 9,000-tael wager had drawn half the capital's gamblers as witnesses.
Yesterday's confirmation of Gu Yanshu's survival made the bet the talk of teahouses.
By dawn, crowds had gathered anticipating the payout drama.
Open refusal would ruin their reputation—yet honoring it meant bankruptcy.
Zhao's eyelids lifted slowly.
"And the voucher?"
"G-gone with him..."
"Incompetent!"
The beads snapped.
Zhou Mo shrank further under Zhao Erye's piercing glare, not daring to even breathe loudly.
Zhao sat up from his recliner, exhaling slowly before speaking:
"Have you identified the bettor?"
"The one who placed the wager was just a peasant—paid ten taels to deliver the bet," Zhou Mo answered hastily. "As for today's claimant, we're investigating. Results within an hour."
"Good." Zhao reclined again, prayer beads clicking between his fingers. "You know what to do once confirmed?"
The unspoken options were clear to any ChangLe veteran:
Retrieve the voucher quietly—pretend nothing happened
Eliminate stubborn claimants—permanent solutions for permanent problems
Zhou Mo, Zhao's handpicked subordinate, nodded eagerly:
"Understood. This subordinate won't fail you again."
Dismissed with a wave, Zhou Mo rose to leave—
"BANG BANG BANG—"
The door shuddered under frantic knocking.
"Erye! Manager Zhou! Emergency!"
Zhou Mo's stomach dropped. He flung the door open preemptively—
"That man returned!" the messenger panted.
"Then arrest him!" Zhou Mo snapped.
"N-no! He's... the Fearsome King's consort's personal attendant!"
"WHAT?"
Twin exclamations erupted—
Zhao now stood rigid, beads frozen mid-count.
"Repeat that." His voice could flay skin.
"The Fearsome King's... consort's man..."
The whisper detonated like thunder—
Leaving both gangsters staggered.
Before they could fully process this bombshell, the messenger dropped an even greater catastrophe:
"The Fearsome King himself has come!"
Zhao Erye's face drained of color. His legs buckled—
Zhou Mo barely caught him. "Erye!"
It took a full minute before Zhao could rasp:
"Where is His Highness?"
"The... the main hall..."
"Move!" Zhao clutched Zhou Mo's arm like a lifeline. There was no fleeing now—only facing the storm.
______
ChangLe Gambling Den - Main Hall
The silence hit them first.
This was the capital's noisiest den of vice—yet now, not even dice rattled.
Every gambler, dealer, and enforcer stood frozen like statues.
At the central table sat two figures:
The shorter one gesticulated animatedly, explaining gambling tools with foxlike enthusiasm
The taller one listened intently, cold features softened marginally
Were it not for the petrified crowd, the scene might seem domestic.
Zhao's knees hit the floor before he realized he'd moved:
"This lowly one greets Your Highnesses!"
Gu Yanshu's gaze swept over him—amused, mocking, lethal.
"Ah... 'Erye,' was it?"
Zhao trembled. "Just Zhao Er'gou, Your Highness! Call this dog whatever pleases you!"
"Pfft—"
Gu Yanshu's laugh sliced through the tension.
In his wastrel days, he'd frequented this den with fellow nobles—
They'd speculated endlessly about "Zhao Erye's" origins.
Never guessing the truth was so... rustic.
But amusement faded swiftly. Business awaited.
Whether he was called "Erye" or "Er'gou" mattered little to Gu Yanshu.
"I trust Master Zhao understands our purpose here today?"
"Y-yes." Zhao's mouth tasted like ash. Denial would be suicidal under the Fearsome King's gaze.
"Excellent." Gu Yanshu placed the voucher on the table with a smile. "As Tianqi's premier gambling house, ChangLe surely honors its debts?"
"O-of course." Zhao's nod was mechanical.
The prince consort's grin widened. "Frankly, I'd have spared this visit had my attendant not fled empty-handed this morning." A theatrical sigh. "And His Highness insisted on accompanying me—newlyweds being so... clingy."
His tone dripped faux apology:
"Our arrival may have caused... commotion. You don't mind, do you?"
Zhao's nails bit into his palms.
Commotion? The den stood paralyzed like a plucked chicken!
Clingy? Since when did the Bloody Butcher of Bianjiang follow anyone like a lapdog?
Yet he forced a smile: "N-not at all."
"Splendid!" Gu Yanshu ignored his gritted teeth. "My man mentioned you were 'gathering funds' earlier. Progress?"
"Nearly complete. A brief wait, Your Highnesses."
Zhao had accepted the inevitable—though each syllable cost him a pint of blood.
Gu Yanshu arched a brow.
He'd calculated ChangLe needed 800,000 taels from reserves to cover this payout.
For a business—even the capital's largest—to produce 1.2 million liquid silver so swiftly?
Interesting.
A servant entered with a lacquered box. Zhao presented it unopened.
Inside—neat stacks of valid banknotes.
Bai Zhu's quick audit confirmed: "Authentic. Full amount."
Gu Yanshu's eyes gleamed. This den has deeper roots than I thought.
"A man of your word, Master Zhao." He rose. "We'll take our leave."
Zhao's shoulders sagged—
"Do invite us for future... entertaining wagers!"
"PFFT—"
A crimson spray.
Zhao collapsed mid-sputter, darkness claiming him.