The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 47

An hour later, deep within the Imperial Palace.

The hovercar glided silently along jade-white tracks, passing through towering archways that cast vast shadows.

This place, rather than a palace, looked more like a lavish tomb stripped of all warmth of human presence.

The air was thick with a mix of ancient stone and metallic purifiers, occasionally pierced by a faint trace of exotic flowers from faraway greenhouses—yet that too was soon drowned out by the deeper, decaying smell of medicinal herbs.

【Help! This place is colder than my boss’s office. Does the central air never stop here?】

Curled tightly inside Marshal Xiao Lin’s oversized military coat, Ning Ning’s mind scrolled with frantic commentary.

【This air… it’s the smell of KPIs, of forced elimination systems, of year-round 007 “blessings.” My corporate-slave DNA is shaking, I swear it’s shaking!】

All along the way, the only sounds were the uniform clinks of the Royal Guard’s armor, so precise and regulated that it made one’s heart pound. No other noise dared intrude.

At last, the hovercar halted before a hall so massive it seemed inhuman.

The doors were carved from a single piece of black obsidian crystal, reaching up to the ceiling. Mythic scenes of the Empire’s founding were etched across their surface—cold, solemn, and unwelcoming to any trace of life.

Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng flanked Ning Ning on either side like immovable gatekeepers, shielding him so tightly that not even a draft could reach him.

Ning Ning was still wrapped in Xiao Lin’s wide military coat, saturated with the marshal’s blazing, overbearing alpha scent. It gave him a fragile sense of safety.

But when his gaze rose toward the massive doors that seemed capable of swallowing all light, his heart clenched uncontrollably.

The moment they stepped inside, an even sharper chill engulfed him.

The dome overhead stretched beyond sight. The colossal pillars resembled the leg bones of ancient giants, supporting this vast emptiness that shrank all who entered into insignificance.

Every footstep rang loud in the silence, only to be swallowed instantly by the oppressive stillness, leaving not even an echo.

At the far end of the hall, atop a towering staircase, rested a throne—grand, ornate, overwhelming.

A withered figure half-reclined there, nearly swallowed by the seat’s enormity. Wrapped in heavy blankets, his face bore the pallor of long illness.

But his eyes, sunken deep, gleamed like a hunting hawk’s—sharp enough to pierce the distance and pin Ning Ning in place.

That was the Emperor of the Empire.

Following behind Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng, Ning Ning felt every step like a march to the execution ground. He wasn’t here to be greeted—he was being dragged before the ultimate Big Boss who held the power of life and death.

The Emperor’s gaze slid past his most brilliant son and his most decorated marshal, landing squarely—without the slightest deviation—on the youth shielded between them.

It wasn’t the look of greeting.

It was a cold, invasive evaluation.

Like a master craftsman appraising a rare, uncut gem—assessing its texture, luster, flaws… and deciding what form it could be carved into, how much use it could bring, and what profit it could yield.

【Scan initiated: Item No. 666, Category: Moon God (portable charger form), Grade: B (fake), Value: useful for life extension/national stability. Note: Fragile. Handle with care. Recommended: lock in palace vault for lifetime use.】

Ning Ning’s corporate-slave instincts went berserk. His brain had already launched into uncontrollable risk assessments and cost-value analyses.

“You… are Ning Ning?”

The Emperor’s voice rasped through the air. Hoarse, frail, yet laced with a sovereign’s weight that reverberated off the cavernous chamber.

“The descendant of the Ning Clan. The Moon God of a thousand years.”

It was not a question, but a statement. No pleasantries, no comfort—just cutting straight to the point.

“The Empire needs your power.”

Ning Ning’s fingers curled reflexively, a sheen of cold sweat dampening his palms. He felt like he’d already been tagged and boxed up: “Empire Property—Do Not Touch.”

The Emperor did not wait for a reply.

A skeletal hand lifted slightly. From the shadows, an attendant glided forth, unrolling a golden electronic edict.

“For your safety, and for the Empire’s highest interests,” the Emperor intoned flatly, as if declaring a self-evident truth, “you will be granted the highest rank of Royal Offering. From this moment, you shall reside in the western Moon God Palace.”

【Moon God Palace? Sounds like a deluxe VIP prison suite. Meals included? Lifetime contract? I just want to farm points and go home! System, be a human being for once—save me!】

The Emperor paused, his hawk-like eyes pressing down with suffocating dominance.

“Your diet, living arrangements, and spiritual conditioning will be overseen by the Royal Guard and the Empire’s finest medical team. You will have the most secure protection.”

A golden proclamation of imprisonment, no less binding for its decorative words.

That overwhelming control descended like an invisible net cast from the towering throne.

Ning Ning’s breath hitched; the air felt sucked from his lungs. His face drained of all color, leaving him pale as porcelain. His knees buckled, body swaying—

—and in that instant, a scorching hand caught his waist. Another clamped firmly on his shoulder, anchoring him against a solid, blazing chest.

Marshal Xiao Lin.

His alpha pheromones, fierce as sun and smoke, shoved back the Emperor’s crushing pressure.

Ning Ning gasped, still shaken, fingers clutching the hem of the warm military coat like a lifeline. His violet eyes brimmed with raw, unhidden terror, like a small, frightened beast.

“Your Majesty.”

A voice rang out, cold as iron, sharp as glass—cutting clean through the Emperor’s words.

Xiao Lin stepped forward, tall and unyielding, blocking Ning Ning entirely behind his broad back, shielding him from the Emperor’s objectifying stare.

“He is not a weapon to be locked away in a palace.”

No excuses. No decorum. Just fact.

“He just returned from the frontlines. His spiritual power is exhausted. His body is frail. What he needs is rest—not the ‘gaze’ of the royals.”

With that single word—gaze—Xiao Lin stripped the Emperor’s pretty packaging bare, exposing the naked greed beneath.

The hall froze solid.

The Emperor’s clouded eyes turned slowly toward Xiao Lin. But instead of anger, there was only a chilling depth, endless and cold.

“Xiao Lin… are you questioning my decree?” His voice rasped like a rusted blade. “Or do you think this ‘Moon God’ should be kept in your army’s hands?”

Before the standoff could snap, Gu Qingfeng moved forward. With composed grace, he stepped between throne and marshal, severing their clash of wills.

He bowed impeccably.

“Please, calm your anger, Father.”

His voice was still warm, as gentle as spring breeze—yet threaded with steel.

“Your Majesty’s care, we all understand. For Ning Ning to be esteemed by you—it is his fortune.”

Then he raised his head. Dark hair, noble bearing, a faint smile still tugging his lips—yet every word he spoke was poisoned needle.

“But, Father… gods are meant to be worshiped, not caged.”

“To place him in the very vortex of the capital—isn’t that to make him a living target for every covetous faction?”

“That is no protection. That is pushing him into the fire pit.”

His smile deepened, colder.

“And what if—just if—his spiritual sea collapses under such pressure, and he can never again pacify the insect swarms? Father, could the Empire shoulder that responsibility?”

Each phrase cloaked as devotion to the Empire, yet each line was a threat. He’d already handed off the blame for any future disaster, while underscoring just how fragile this “weapon” really was.

The Emperor fell silent.

His predatory eyes swept between his ever-smiling, dagger-hidden son, and the Empire’s sharpest, most uncontrollable blade.

At last, his gaze returned to the slender boy they shielded so fiercely.

The youth, still clad in an ill-fitting military coat, silver hair slightly tousled, violet eyes wide with lingering fear—clung to Xiao Lin’s back as if it were his last refuge, only a trembling shoulder peeking out.

Long moments passed before the Emperor’s withered lips moved. His voice carried a fatigue as heavy as it was weak.

“Withdraw.”

Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng exchanged a glance, caution flashing in their eyes.

Without speaking further, they maintained their flanking positions, escorting the dazed Ning Ning step by step toward the doors.

Just as their silhouettes were about to vanish beyond the threshold, the Emperor’s rasping voice drifted after them. Soft as a dream, yet each word striking like iron.

“Remember—he belongs to the Empire.”

Possession. Hunger. A claim none could dispute.

Ning Ning’s body froze.

Xiao Lin’s hand at his waist tightened, almost fusing him into his chest.

And Gu Qingfeng? His step faltered for half a beat, before his lips curved in an icy, unreadable smile.

None of the three looked back.

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