The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 94

The voice of Chief Steward Li was low, even somewhat hoarse, yet each word fell like ice, striking the floor and scattering the last trace of warmth from the corridor.

“By imperial decree, ‘Moon God’ Ning Ning is to enter the palace immediately to pay homage.”

The air seemed to be sucked into a vacuum in that instant.

Xiao Lin’s expression darkened visibly, like one could see it sinking with the naked eye.

Moments ago, Ning Ning’s closeness had brought a rare warmth to his eyes, but now it was completely frozen over. His black eyes swelled with a suppressed possessiveness and killing intent that almost took physical form.

In his mind, there was only one image—the emperor at the celebration, looking at Ning Ning as one looks at an object to be used:

Not a hero, but a “treasure” to be kept alive and accessed at will.

“Swish—”

Xiao Lin moved suddenly, sweeping Ning Ning into his arms and holding him tightly.

He gripped Ning Ning’s wrist with terrifying strength, his knuckles whitening from the pressure.

Ning Ning inhaled sharply from the pain, his wrist feeling like it might break.

But he did not cry out, nor did he struggle.

He understood: Xiao Lin was scared.

And he was using this most clumsy, most brutal method to scream two words at him: “Do not go.”

Gu Qingfeng’s usual smile vanished completely. He stepped forward, positioning himself between Xiao Lin and Ning Ning. His normally gentle eyes were icy now.

“Chief Steward Li, Ning Ning has overexerted his spiritual power and must rest immediately,” he said, his voice still smooth but carrying an unyielding coldness. “These are the instructions personally signed by the Empire’s chief alchemist, Mr. Huo Ze. I will personally explain the situation to the emperor.”

Li’s old face, lined with wrinkles, maintained that programmed, emotionless smile.

His gaze, as if without substance, floated past Gu Qingfeng and Xiao Lin—two mountains of power—and locked precisely on Ning Ning, protected behind them. That look was like a shrewd merchant assessing a piece of merchandise, calculating the price it could fetch.

“Second Prince, the emperor said it is only to see him briefly, to ask a few questions.”

He bent slightly, his tone respectfully flawless, yet those four words—“the emperor said”—felt like a mountain pressing heavily on everyone’s chest.

This was imperial authority. Refusal was not an option.

The air was saturated with the cedar-like pheromones of the Empire’s Marshal, thick and nearly piercing. At the same time, the spiritual presence of the Second Prince spread like an invisible, gentle-yet-intrusive net.

Two supreme forces collided and pressed against each other in the narrow corridor, making the surrounding air thick and dangerous.

Yet the old man called Li seemed utterly unaffected, standing silently like a stone statue, faithfully executing his master’s command.

Xiao Lin’s chest heaved, his grip on Ning Ning tightening further.

His muscles were as taut as steel; any further provocation could make this Empire’s giant wolf tear everything before him to pieces.

“It’s a trap,” Gu Qingfeng murmured, so low it brushed Ning Ning’s ear.

“Our father is testing us, for not delivering you immediately. At the same time, it gives our eldest brother a chance to publicly strike,” his voice was soft but every word clear. “So, today, we must go.”

Xiao Lin’s jaw, taut as steel pulled to its limit, remained set.

He understood perfectly.

But understanding didn’t mean he could watch Ning Ning be thrown into that pit of greed again.

At that moment, a soft hand covered his, the one holding Ning Ning’s wrist.

Ning Ning did not cry out.

From behind Xiao Lin, he stretched halfway out, and with the other hand, gently, soothingly patted the hard back of the man’s hand.

Once. Then again.

The movement was light, careful, almost pleading, yet carried a strange, calming power.

“Xiao Lin,” Ning Ning lifted his head to look at him. His beautiful purple eyes held no fear, only a serene clarity. “It’s alright.”

His voice was soft, as if sharing a secret.

“Let’s go.”

That simple action and those words were like a droplet of water hitting boiling oil.

Xiao Lin’s violent aura miraculously faltered.

He lowered his head sharply, staring at the person in his arms.

Those clear purple eyes reflected an anxiety and hostility in him that even he hadn’t realized.

Yet he… was not afraid.

He was even calming himself.

The Marshal’s jawline, tense to the extreme, finally relaxed imperceptibly. The ice-cold possessiveness in his eyes remained, yet it was forcibly tethered by an invisible, soft chain.

He did not let go, but the grip that could have broken Ning Ning’s wrist transformed into an absolute, unyielding hold, refusing to let anyone separate them.

Ning Ning’s eyes curved slightly in reassurance, then he turned to Li, his voice low but calm and polite: “Thank you, Chief Steward, for guiding us.”

At that moment, he was no longer the fragile child who hid and waited for protection.

Having seen life and death, having seen Xiao Lin risk everything for him, the soft, vulnerable parts of his heart had been smashed open, revealing the hidden, resilient core within.

He had begun to learn how to calm, even “manage” the giant wolf who loved him obsessively yet clumsily.

Li’s murky old eyes flickered with surprise for a moment, then quickly regained their composure. He bowed again, this time even more respectfully, gesturing a “please.”

The three formed an unbreakable formation once more.

Xiao Lin still held Ning Ning’s hand tightly, silent, his tall figure a moving wall exuding a lethal aura, shielding against any ill intent.

Gu Qingfeng walked on the other side, his face once more bearing that flawless, gentle, and formidable smile, ready to handle any verbal trap or knife.

Protected between them, Ning Ning’s expression was unprecedentedly calm and composed.

They followed Li through the dark, silent palace corridor.

The ornate carvings and cold armored statues passed by under the dim light like silent pantomimes, quickly receding behind them.

At the end of the corridor was a heavy, luxurious, tightly closed double door.

The door bore carvings of the rising sun and roaring lions of the Empire, resplendent in gold, symbols of supreme authority.

But Ning Ning knew: beyond the door was not splendor.

It was the very heart of imperial power, a deep, never-ending, always heavily medicated gilded cage.

On a sickbed lay the emperor, waiting with his murky, greedy eyes for his “god” to willingly step into the snare.

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