The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 29

Imperial First Military Academy, Chief Instructor’s Office.

The air was so cold it could freeze.

The cedarwood pheromones of a top-tier sentinel had almost solidified, carrying undisguised killing intent. Opposing it was another force—seemingly gentle spiritual energy—that spread out like a flexible net, quietly resisting the encroachment.

“Looks like we’re thinking along the same lines.” Gu Qingfeng flicked aside the floating tea leaves with his cup lid. His tone was unreadable, touched only by a trace of icy amusement. “But how does the Marshal plan to handle it? If you take action inside the academy, the commotion will be too great. It will scare Ningning.”

He paused, his voice suddenly softening, as though speaking about some rare treasure.

“He… frightens easily.”

Those three words pierced straight through Xiao Lin’s only weakness like a needle.

The killing aura that could make armies tremble abruptly vanished without a trace. Those dark-gold eyes locked onto Gu Qingfeng, cold and unyielding:

“Any threat… must be eliminated.”

Two apex predators had, when it came to external enemies, reached their only point of agreement.

The next morning.

Ningning was awakened by a dull ache.

His temples throbbed in a steady rhythm, like someone tapping with a tiny hammer. Yesterday’s spiritual training had been too harsh; now the backlash came in full. Supporting his heavy head, he felt like he had melted into a puddle of mud, unable to move on the bed.

[Ding! Good morning, Host! I’m your considerate little assistant No. 89!]

Inside his mind, System 89’s cheerful voice rang out on time, forming a jarring contrast to his miserable state:
[Today’s “Vicious Task” has refreshed: Act like an ungrateful drama queen! Harshly reject a suitor’s carefully prepared breakfast, and treat him with arrogance and disdain!]

Ningning: “…”

He could barely breathe, let alone act arrogant!

“Help me, System! Be human for once! I’m burning up into a pile of rabbit mush and you still want me to act spoiled? If this golden opportunity fell into your lap, would you even want it?!”

Just as he finished grumbling internally and was about to feign sleep, the dorm door clicked softly and opened from the outside.

Xiao Lin’s tall figure appeared at the threshold.

He was still in his crisp military uniform, epaulettes gleaming coldly in the morning light. The dust clinging to him showed he had rushed straight from headquarters or a mission site without resting.

“Don’t move.” His voice was lower than usual, carrying the tone of command. Yet his steps were light, as though afraid to crush the sunlight on the floor.

A broad hand pressed against Ningning’s forehead.

The palm was scorching, the heat of an S-rank sentinel—yet carefully controlled, radiating a steady warmth that soothed his fevered skin.

“Low fever.” Xiao Lin’s brows furrowed into a hard knot. In eyes that could silence armies, there was now only raw worry and self-reproach. To him, even a slight discomfort in Ningning was a catastrophe that could shake the Empire’s foundations.

Wordlessly, he turned toward the small kitchen attached to the dorm.

Soon, the gentle aroma of food drifted out.

A bowl of perfectly warm nutrient porridge. A few side dishes arranged in fresh, bright colors.

Xiao Lin set up a small table over the bed, laying out the breakfast carefully. Then, lifting a porcelain spoon, he tested the porridge, blew on it gently, and brought it to Ningning’s lips.

“Open up.”

Opportunity!

Ningning braced himself, remembering that ridiculous “vicious” task.

He turned his head aside with what little strength he had. He wanted to look disdainful, but fever had softened his voice until it came out hoarse, nasal, and fragile—more like a child’s spoiled plea.

“…I don’t want it. I don’t want to eat this.”

Xiao Lin froze.

Those dark-golden eyes lingered on Ningning’s pale face and reddened eyes. Instead of anger, his gaze filled with deeper worry. His voice softened further:

“Not to your taste? Or do you feel unwell, hm?”

Disaster.

Ningning panicked. He wanted to snap, “What kind of slop is this? Tastes awful!” But when he saw the bloodshot eyes and dust on the man’s uniform—proof he had rushed here without rest—the cruel words lodged in his throat like fishbones.

He knew this man had probably not even closed his eyes, rushing back the moment military duties ended.

[System! I can’t do this mission!] Ningning wailed in his mind. [With this face in front of me, how can I say something mean?!]

System 89 was silent for a beat, then let out a fizz of suppressed laughter:
[Host, perhaps… you could find another way to act arrogant?]

Another way?

Ningning looked at Xiao Lin’s eyes—eyes pleading, Tell me what’s wrong. His mind blanked, and in a reckless rush, he muttered:

“…Feed me.”

The moment he said it, he regretted it. Inside, his little mental avatar was already clutching its head in despair.

Help! How was this arrogance? This was blatant pampering! He had shattered the “vicious cannon fodder” role, turning into a spoiled canary demanding hand-feeding!

But the man before him clearly didn’t see it that way.

The last traces of tension melted from Xiao Lin’s deep gaze, replaced with indulgence so overwhelming it could drown someone.

He even let out the faintest laugh, chest vibrating.

“Alright.”

Scooping another spoonful of porridge, he blew on it even more carefully this time, then held it to Ningning’s lips, his voice low and coaxing—like soothing a sulky child:

“I’ll feed you.”

Just as this tender scene bubbled with warmth, the doorbell rang, shattering it.

Xiao Lin’s brow creased instantly, his aura dropping into icy hostility.

Outside stood Xia Yu.

He held an ornate food box from a high-end restaurant, his face wearing that flawless, spring-breeze smile. “I heard from Lin Yuan that Senior Ningning didn’t attend class today. I was worried, so I came to check on him.”

His gaze fell inside. And there—he saw the legendary, ruthless Marshal of the Empire wearing a ridiculous bunny-print apron, cradling the boy in his arms, spoon-feeding him porridge.

For a split second, Xia Yu’s perfect smile froze.

Xiao Lin’s eyes were glacial.

He subtly drew Ningning closer against his chest, letting the boy lean on him more comfortably. With his other hand, he tidied Ningning’s rumpled collar, covering the faint curve of his collarbone—an action intimate, protective, and unmistakably possessive.

A silent battle. A declaration of sovereignty.

Xia Yu’s grip on the food box tightened until his knuckles whitened. He recalled his superior’s command: “At any cost, you must gain the target’s complete trust.” Yet faced with this impenetrable wall of intimacy, rage and desire twisted inside him.

It was that damned seductive ability… magnifying his darker emotions, magnifying his hunger for the boy.

He forced his expression into calm again, smile polished and kind. “Senior, you don’t look well. Are you sick? Perhaps a walk in the back garden would help you feel better. I can escort you.”

“I’ll accompany him.” Xiao Lin’s reply was immediate, his tone sharp as broken ice, giving Xia Yu no room.

“No need,” a new voice interjected. Gu Qingfeng had appeared behind Xia Yu at some unknown point, his usual gentle smile in place, a book on spiritual guidance in hand. “Ningning has overextended his spiritual power. What he needs is rest, not fresh air. I can give him a simple mental soothing session.”

In an instant, two of the Empire’s most powerful men stood at the dorm door.

Ningning, caught between them, wanted to tear his hair out. He only wanted to sleep—not be treated like spoils in a bizarre three-way standoff.

So he glanced at Xia Yu, then at Gu Qingfeng, and finally turned to the stormy Xiao Lin at his side. Summoning the last scrap of strength, he muttered, weakly annoyed:

“I’m tired. I want to sleep… all of you, go out.”

That feeble dismissal carried different meanings to each man.

To Xiao Lin, it meant Ningning disliked outsiders intruding and only trusted him. Even being “included” in the dismissal only proved he wasn’t considered an outsider.

To Gu Qingfeng, it was Ningning’s gentle way of refusing everyone’s overbearing concern equally, sparing any one person from embarrassment—just like always, kind and fair.

To Xia Yu, it was the boy—already monopolized by the Marshal—issuing his one and only message to him: clear rejection.

Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng exchanged a charged look across the bed, sparks of invisible conflict crackling in the air.

At last, Xiao Lin relented, knowing Ningning needed rest.

He rose, carefully tucked the blankets around Ningning, and then faced the two men at the door. His gaze had returned to the cold, commanding weight of the Empire’s Marshal.

“He needs to rest.”

Meaning: Leave. All of you.

Gu Qingfeng smiled faintly, gave Ningning a gentle look, and withdrew. Xia Yu’s face stiffened, but he too forced a brittle smile before retreating.

The door closed.

In the corridor, Gu Qingfeng stopped, turning to the shadowed Xia Yu beside him. His tone was warm, but his eyes fathomless:

“Xia Yu, correct? I remember you—top of the exchange students. Very impressive.”

Xia Yu immediately donned a respectful face. “Your Highness flatters me.”

“Caring for classmates is commendable,” Gu Qingfeng continued, smile unchanged. But his gaze was razor-sharp. “But Ningning’s health is fragile. He cannot endure too much disturbance. In the future, you needn’t trouble yourself over him.”

With that, he departed, leaving Xia Yu alone in the hall.

The false smile on Xia Yu’s face finally shattered, piece by piece.

He knew then—he had already been marked by the two most powerful men in the Empire.

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