What was going on…? Why was it empty?
It was like someone had poured a ladle of ice water into boiling water—the roiling suddenly stilled, steam rising thick around it.
In this murky haze, Mo Xi thought dazedly:
Why, when guests clearly came into his room, had not even a single shell coin been left in the jar?
Could it be… could it be that those people humiliated him and didn’t even pay him?
—Xi He-jun was a serious, cold, disciplined man, like an impregnable fortress. Nothing could set beacon fires blazing atop that fortress.
Except Gu Mang.
From a very long time ago, whenever something related to Gu Mang was involved, Mo Xi would lose control. He would become irritable, impulsive, restless—his entire composure collapsing, all reason gone.
Later, after becoming commander, years of iron-blooded life-and-death battles sharpened him further, made him colder and more decisive, yet he still could not restrain this private weakness of his. In front of Gu Mang, he was not Chonghua’s greatest commander, but merely an ordinary young man—less and less able to control himself, more and more desperate to know how Gu Mang had lived these past two years.
Why had he become like this—so calm, so detached, almost indifferent?
Could a person really face humiliation, favor, ruin, and glory with such composure?
“Worthless trash!”
A sudden shrill curse came from outside, cutting through Mo Xi’s thoughts. Footsteps followed as a woman stormed closer, cursing nonstop.
“Can’t do a damn thing right, only knows how to piss off customers! That traitor ought to hang himself already. I really don’t know why Wangshu-jun insists on sparing his worthless life!”
Mo Xi frowned slightly.
This was the steward of Fallen Plum Courtyard—Madam Qin.
Long ago, Wangshu-jun had wanted to curry favor with him and once had Madam Qin send over a dozen beauties of all different styles to his military camp. Back then, Madam Qin had talked his ears off, praising them to the skies. He hadn’t kept a single one, but he remembered that shrill voice all too well—it had given him a headache.
“Can’t cry, can’t smile, can’t charm, can’t flirt. Every customer who comes out of his room curses me bloody.” The woman fumed, her shadow already cast against the paper window. “Utterly worthless!”
“……”
Mo Xi had not expected his luck to be this terrible.
Xi He-jun visiting a brothel was already enough to shock all of Chonghua.
Xi He-jun sneaking over a wall to secretly visit a brothel would shock them even more.
And if people found out Xi He-jun had snuck into a brothel specifically to call on his mortal enemy—
The entire capital of Chonghua might explode.
Mo Xi grabbed Gu Mang’s face and turned it toward him. His heavy breathing brushed across Gu Mang’s skin as he lowered his voice.
“How do I get out?”
Gu Mang coughed a few times, catching his breath. “When there’s a guest inside, the words outside the door change color. She won’t come in.”
Mo Xi snapped, “I’m not a guest!”
Gu Mang’s eyes widened slightly. “Then you…”
As they spoke, Madam Qin’s shadow swayed crookedly at the doorway. She was about to push the door open.
In a flash, Mo Xi caught something from the corner of his eye and said to Gu Mang, “Don’t tell her I’m here.”
“……”
The door opened.
At almost the same instant, Mo Xi released Gu Mang, slipped aside, and vanished behind the screen.
Madam Qin entered carrying a water pipe. She exhaled from painted red lips, filling the room instantly with thick, choking smoke.
Gu Mang couldn’t help it and sneezed softly.
“Ten times I come to your room, ten times you’re coughing and choking. I was hoping you’d drop dead already.” Madam Qin rolled her eyes. “Yet after raising you this long, you still haven’t died.”
“Commander Gu.” She sat at the round table and took several hard drags from the pipe, speaking in a mocking tone. “Only three days left this month. Other rooms? Forget a thousand shell coins—even the least likable, ugliest ones earn enough through sweet talk and smiles to cover their own food.”
Her eyes slid toward him.
“So what about you?”
“…No money.”
“I knew you had no money!” Madam Qin sucked on the pipe. “Useless in every way. Aside from that face of yours, you don’t have a single useful skill.”
Gu Mang sneezed again.
“Don’t pretend to be pitiful!” Madam Qin snapped even louder. “Look at yourself. What have you managed to save in that broken jar? I’m feeding you year-round at a loss!”
“……”
“If this keeps up, even if I can’t touch you because of Wangshu-jun’s orders, I’ll slaughter that dog you’re keeping in your yard!”
Gu Mang had remained silent, but at the mention of killing the dog, he spoke.
“I did everything you told me.”
Madam Qin sneered. “You think I’m stupid?”
“It’s that they don’t give me money. I’m…” Gu Mang paused before saying the words. “A traitor.”
Behind the screen, Mo Xi listened.
Though he couldn’t see Gu Mang’s expression, his voice remained calm, as if he were stating some trivial fact. There was not even a trace of shame or guilt. The words “traitor” seemed as light as feathers to him.
“A traitor shouldn’t ask for money,” Gu Mang said. “They say whatever I do for them is only right.”
Through the narrow gap in the screen, Gu Mang’s back looked lonely and desolate.
“I owe them.”
Madam Qin choked on her breath for a second, then snapped irritably, “Right, yes, you’re a traitor. What’s that got to do with me? Fine, you owe them, but I run a pleasure house, not a charity hall. How can I keep taking losses?”
“And not only losses—those noble guests curse me every single time!”
“I’ve told you countless times, serving noble lords means I can’t directly ask for payment. It all depends on you people coaxing them into giving something. Doesn’t matter how much—even a little is something. But you? Commander Gu, did you coax anyone?”
Gu Mang fell silent.
After a while, Madam Qin’s shrill voice rang out even sharper, enough to pierce the heavens.
“Why are you glaring at me? You think you’re in the right?!”
“Kneel!”
Mo Xi had thought Gu Mang wouldn’t kneel.
At the very least, not immediately.
But once again, things exceeded his expectations.
Gu Mang looked completely indifferent, as if kneeling before this woman held no humiliation at all.
He simply knelt.
“……”
Mo Xi lifted a hand against the cold wall beside him. His ears rang with the roar of blood.
Gu Mang actually…
Before he could finish the thought, a crack split the air.
The sound of a whip.
This was a man who had walked through armies and battlefields without fear, yet this single crack made him shudder violently. His pupils contracted, cold sweat breaking over his back.
Through the narrow gap in the screen, he saw Gu Mang kneeling before Madam Qin.
The shrew rose, spiritual energy gathering in her palm into a crimson whip, and lashed it viciously across Gu Mang’s back.
It was as if she were venting every ounce of fury from her failing business onto him.
She whipped him over and over—twenty, thirty lashes—before finally stopping, panting.
And through all of it, Gu Mang made no sound.
Not even a groan.
As though humiliation didn’t matter.
As though pain didn’t matter.
Madam Qin withdrew the whip, picked up her pipe again, and took several drags to calm herself.
“You know traitors disgust people more than enemies, right? Then put more effort into pleasing them! Make them happy so they hand over their money willingly!”
Gu Mang repeated the word, as if trying to understand it.
“Please…”
“If there’s still no income next month, not only will the customers beat you—even I won’t spare you! Think it over yourself!”
Madam Qin stormed out.
When Mo Xi stepped out, Gu Mang was still kneeling with his back to him.
His figure looked detached.
His collar hung loose, pale skin visible at the neckline. Upward, his neck curved like drifting smoke.
Downward, streaks of fresh blood burned red like ash from a dying fire.
There were too many mysteries about Gu Mang.
Too strange.
Too calm.
Too indifferent to life, death, humiliation, or glory.
Mo Xi felt he had countless questions to ask.
But staring at the blood still seeping from his back, the only words that slipped from his lips were:
“…The injuries on your body. Were they all from her?”
“Not all.”
Gu Mang rose from the floor.
“You people come here mostly to beat me.”
“……”
“She does it the most.”
Without sparing Mo Xi a glance, Gu Mang walked to the washbasin.
Mo Xi was about to speak again when he saw Gu Mang strip off his inner robe, toss the bloodstained garment aside, lift the basin—
—and dump the entire thing over himself.
That back seemed to carry some kind of curse, trapping the undefeated Commander Mo in place.
In Xi He-jun’s memory, Gu Mang’s back had been straight and broad, sharp lines like a drawn bowstring.
There had rarely been scars there.
Most of his scars were on the front—his chest, his abdomen.
But now, under the dim yellow light, that familiar back was unrecognizable.
Whip marks.
Knife wounds.
Burn scars from spell curses.
There was scarcely a single patch of unbroken skin.
Not to mention the fresh bloody welts from just moments ago…
How much must that hurt?
Yet Gu Mang acted as if nothing was wrong.
He casually washed away the blood with cold water, then wiped himself down with a towel.
Mo Xi’s emotions churned violently. He didn’t want to say more, but his gaze could not move away.
He remembered Gu Mang at the academy.
Shidi, you’re working too hard. Can your legs even move? Come, let me help you back.
He remembered Gu Mang on the battlefield, mounted on horseback with spear in hand, back pressed to his, grinning.
These enemies are like rabid dogs. If we die today, there won’t even be a pretty girl with us—just me. Don’t dislike my company.
As these memories surged back, Mo Xi swallowed against a dry throat and finally asked:
“Where’s your wound medicine?”
Gu Mang looked confused, as though he didn’t understand.
“Wound medicine?”
“What about bandages?”
“Bandages?”
At this point, Mo Xi himself couldn’t tell whether what he felt was anger, hatred, resentment, or some inexplicable ache.
“At least you should have hemostatic powder.”
Gu Mang paused and looked back at him.
After a moment, understanding dawned.
But he shook his head.
“No need. It’ll heal.”
Then, as if nothing were wrong, he continued wiping himself down, pulled out a wrinkled inner robe from the cabinet, and put it on.
Seeing his casual attitude, the agitation in Mo Xi swelled further.
He had seen many prisoners of war.
The unyielding.
The submissive.
Those bent on death.
Those who sold out their masters for glory.
But Gu Mang was unlike any prisoner he had ever known.
Mo Xi didn’t know what Gu Mang even was anymore.
There was not a trace of the Gu Mang he knew.
No warmth.
No humanity.
No tears.
No shame.
No fear.
No resentment.
He almost seemed incapable of pain.
After a long silence, Mo Xi asked:
“Gu Mang… what exactly are you thinking?”
He hadn’t expected an answer.
He just felt suffocated.
But unexpectedly, Gu Mang answered.
And with complete sincerity.
“I want money.”
“……”
“Other people have it. I don’t. No one gives me any.”
Mo Xi stared at him—at his expression, at the way he spoke word by word.
The sense of wrongness grew stronger and stronger.
“Everyone says I shouldn’t have any.”
Gu Mang’s gaze dropped to the shattered jar pieces on the floor.
He walked over, gathered the shards, and piled them onto the table.
He still looked calm.
But Mo Xi slowly noticed something in his expression—
bewilderment.
Confusion.
Gu Mang turned to look at him.
“You were the first person to give me shell coins.”
Mo Xi was silent for a while before saying stiffly, “You know perfectly well why I gave them to you.”
Gu Mang didn’t respond immediately.
He looked Mo Xi up and down several times.
This was the first time since Mo Xi entered that Gu Mang truly examined him—not with the indifferent gaze he used on customers.
Then Gu Mang held out his hand.
“You still want more?” Mo Xi looked down at him. “Didn’t you just try to return it?”
“Yes.”
Mo Xi felt another surge of irritation.
To avoid arguing further, he took out another gold shell coin and handed it over.
Gu Mang accepted it without thanks.
Holding it in both hands, he studied it for a long while.
Then he glanced at the shattered jar on the table.
After thinking for a moment, he walked to the bed, reached beneath the mattress, and pulled out a sachet.
Just as he was about to open it and place the coin inside, something struck Mo Xi.
His heart went cold.
He shot to his feet.
“Wait.”
“……”
“What is that in your hand?”
Mo Xi’s voice dropped, dangerous and heavy. Each word felt as if it might shatter between his teeth.
“Take it out.”
It was an exquisitely embroidered sachet.
Golden thread stitched clouds across a thousand miles.
Silver thread stitched mountains and rivers.
Red agate tassels hung from the bottom.
One look told him it was an item of considerable value.
Mo Xi stared at it for a long time.
Rage surged inside him.
Slowly, he forced out several words.
“Who gave that to you?”