The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 95

The massive double doors, a symbol of the empire’s supreme power, silently swung open under the push of two guards.

As the hinges turned, not a sound was made. The silence was unnerving.

What hit them first was not the expected aura of power at the summit of authority, but a thick, almost suffocating medicinal stench.

The luxurious imperial bedchamber was dimly lit, heavy velvet curtains blocking out all daylight. The air was a brutal mixture of expensive calming incense and the bitter smell of life-sustaining elixirs, creating a decayed yet opulent atmosphere—a stench of death.

At the deepest part of the chamber, on an enormous bed that seemed almost exaggerated in size, lay an emaciated old man.

The Emperor of the Empire.

He was covered with a golden embroidered quilt, but the exposed skin was like a parched, cracked riverbed, marked by deep wrinkles and dark spots. He was so thin that if not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he would have appeared like a mummy about to wither away.

But those eyes…

Clouded, yet shockingly bright.

The light in them carried not a trace of admiration or approval for the empire’s heroes, only naked, unrestrained greed. Like a traveler dying of thirst in the desert, finally spotting an oasis.

No… not an oasis.

He saw the source of life he could consume, drop by drop, to prolong his existence.

“You’ve come, child of the Empire.”

The old emperor’s voice was hoarse, like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together. Every word exuded extreme weakness, yet the sense of superiority—the “I am above all” tone—remained unshaken.

His gaze, sticky and cold like a crawling insect, latched onto Ning Ning, scrutinizing him from head to toe, evaluating every inch.

Xiao Lin gripped Ning Ning’s hand so tightly that his knuckles whitened. He was like a silent, barely-contained volcano; every muscle taut. The cedar-like pheromones of the Imperial Marshal nearly solidified into ice, chilling the already thin air of the bedchamber.

Gu Qingfeng’s calm smile remained warm and respectful, flawless to the point of perfection. But the fingers of his hand hanging at his side were slightly curled, nails almost biting into the palm.

Ning Ning’s wrist ached from Xiao Lin’s grip, but he did not make a sound.

He quietly observed the frail figure on the bed, his dreamy purple eyes reflecting the emperor’s unhidden desire.

“Ning Ning,” the old emperor finally spoke again, cutting straight to the point, without bothering with any pretense, “you are a good child. The Empire needs your power.”

His bony, shriveled fingers tapped the quilt as if pointing out the rightful ownership of an object.

“I know you’ve suffered injustice. But your contribution will not be forgotten by the Empire, nor by me.”

He paused, then laid out his terms.

“The Ning family will gain supreme honor because of you. I will build a ‘Moon God Temple’ for you, right next to the Platinum Palace, shining alongside the throne. From now on, you will become a sacred object of the royal family, revered and worshiped by all.”

Sacred object.

Reverence.

The words floated lightly from the emperor’s lips, but landed on Ning Ning’s heart like searing red-hot iron.

He was neither intimidated by this lofty imperial authority nor seduced by so-called “honor.”

Images flashed clearly in his mind.

The Seventh Star Sector—young soldiers fallen in pools of blood, staring at home with wide-open eyes until their last breath.

And… Xiao Lin, who without hesitation had shielded him from a lethal psychic attack, bleeding from every orifice, nearly dying.

Ning Ning lowered his eyelids; his long lashes cast a fragile shadow in the dim light.

He recalled Xiao Lin crying like a two-hundred-pound child over a small scratch on his hand.

He recalled Gu Qingfeng, ever graceful, always shielding him at the first sign of danger, using his own body as a barrier.

His power existed to save these people.

To protect what deserved protection.

Not… to become a tool in some cowardly old man’s golden cage.

Ning Ning slowly lifted his head, gazing once more at the emperor, the symbol of the Empire’s highest authority.

His beautiful, usually soft purple eyes had shed all innocence and naivety, replaced with a clear, cold disappointment.

“Your Majesty.”

He spoke quietly, calmly, even politely, as if maintaining his usual decorum.

“My power is to save lives.”

He paused, and in the emperor’s suddenly narrowed eyes, he enunciated each word with unwavering clarity:

“Not… to be used as a bargaining chip.”

His words carried no anger, yet like a blade forged from millennia-old ice, they pierced the emperor’s heart with precision.

For a moment, the air froze completely.

Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng both glanced at Ning Ning, shock briefly flickering in their eyes.

Then that shock transformed into deep, mixed feelings—boundless respect and an overwhelming, protective love.

Their little rabbit had learned, without their notice, how to raise his soft yet unbreakably resilient thorns.

“What… did you say?”

The emperor’s shriveled face twisted in extreme rage. The murky light of greed in his eyes was consumed by flames of fury. He seemed ready to spring from the bed.

He tried to sit up but was seized by violent, soul-shattering coughing fits.

“Cough… cough… insolent! You… how dare you…”

His finger trembled as he pointed at Ning Ning’s hand, shaking like a leaf in autumn wind from weakness and anger.

He had never expected that this delicate, doll-like boy would dare to refuse him…

A refusal directed at the emperor of the Empire itself!

Ning Ning simply stood quietly, saying nothing more.

He had made his stance clear.

“Whoosh—”

Xiao Lin took a step forward, his towering frame like an impenetrable wall, completely shielding Ning Ning. He lifted his eyes—black as night, brimming with almost tangible killing intent—fixed on the emperor on the bed.

His gaze seemed to say: one more word, and I will snap your neck right here.

Gu Qingfeng moved faster than anyone.

His smile remained, but it did not reach his eyes; instead, it was a cold mask.

He stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Xiao Lin, his usually gentle gaze icy as it met his brother’s.

He spoke softly, his warm voice filling the silent corridor, yet carrying an undeniable weight:

“Brother, are you sure… you want to oppose the Empire’s only Marshal and the entire military?

Or do you wish to see whether you can take him from the hands of the two of us?”

At that moment, the tension was suffocating, the chessboard of the imperial court silently shifting around them.

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