Chapter 80: A Gentleman Does Not Stand Beneath a Precarious Wall

Jeon Donam and Little Guanyin walked side by side, followed by the martial generals and ministers of the Changli Kingdom. Jeon Donam, relying on his status as a future father-in-law and unable to let go of his imperial airs, ordered the Changli guards to keep an eye on the main tent and report any movement at once. He and Little Guanyin, with their subordinates in tow, hid inside the tent, chatting and idling away the time.

Both of his precious daughters had already mingled with gods; if he were still to stand foolishly in the snow like those brute Xilot warriors, wouldn’t his status as an imperial kinsman be wasted? With a divine son-in-law backing him, he must always be a cut above the rest—such was only proper.

The guards waited until they saw the Xilot centurions enter the tent before coming in to inform His Majesty Jeon and Little Guanyin. The emperor emerged slowly, keeping up appearances, concerned only with minding his footing on the slippery ground, paying no heed to the woman at his side. Little Guanyin slipped every few steps, staggering and exclaiming all the way, “Oh heavens!”

“Mother—Empress!” As soon as Lu Hu saw Little Guanyin, he rushed forward affectionately. The word “Mother” had just escaped his lips before he forcibly swallowed it back down, and with a few nimble leaps, he was at his mother-in-law’s side, offering his arm to support her.

Jeon Donam’s heart seethed with fury. “You little rascal, have you gone mad? You already have two beautiful daughters—do you now covet my wife, too? Not even a withered flower escapes your grasp!” he thought. “What a scoundrel of a god, so brazen!”

Although Changli was not as strict as the Central Land in matters of propriety, it still upheld the doctrine of separation between men and women. Even hand-holding was frowned upon; what Lu Hu did was brazen, bordering on an embrace. The empress was a figure of highest dignity—apart from the emperor, no other man dared so much as glance at her.

The officials and generals following behind were even more indignant. “Such beauty, though mature, carries a unique charm. We only dare think of her in dreams, keeping a solemn facade by day, yet you lay hands on her so openly!”

Lu Hu, however, found nothing amiss. Having trained in martial arts since childhood, he was open and straightforward, unbothered by such conventions. To a modern university student like him, gestures between men and women were perfectly normal. Besides, how could he stand by on a snowy day and let a delicate lady slip and fall at every step?

Jeon Donam several times considered drawing his sword to cut down this impudent rogue on the spot. The ministers behind him gnashed their teeth, ready to pounce at the emperor’s word. Yet, for all their thoughts, none dared move.

Only after Lu Hu escorted his beautiful mother-in-law into the tent did Jeon Donam dare vent his anger. Finding nothing suitable to unleash it upon, his eyes fell upon White Dabai, who was tearing at a roe deer by the tent entrance.

The White Tiger Star, the harbinger of misfortune, a companion of that accursed thief—Jeon Donam resolved to kick him to death.

Muttering curses under his breath, he strode over and delivered a kick. The tiger, instinctively protective of its food, thought he was there to snatch it. With a roar, it pounced.

Jeon Donam, inflated with confidence, believed himself second only to God Himself, and that with his new connections, none would dare slight him. Who would have guessed the tiger would pay him no heed, lunging straight for his throat?

With a scream, he collapsed, eyes rolling back, and fainted dead away. The ministers and generals of Changli were terrified, shouting and turning to flee. As for loyalty and self-sacrifice? Nonsense—when danger struck, their own lives came first.

Hearing the commotion, Lu Hu hurried back out, lifting the flap of the tent. White Dabai, crestfallen, hung his head and growled in a low voice, “God, I was mistaken. I thought he was trying to steal my meal—I only meant to protect my food and startled him.”

Lu Hu patted the tiger’s massive head. “It’s not your fault. Go on, keep eating.” He then knelt to check on Jeon Donam.

The future father-in-law seemed to have lost two of his three souls, lying stiff as a corpse. Lu Hu checked his breath; it was faint and barely perceptible.

Little Guanyin emerged, her face paling at the sight. “Mother, it’s nothing serious. He’s just been badly frightened and fainted; he’ll come around soon enough,” Lu Hu assured her gently, worried she might fret too much. As he spoke, he pressed hard on Jeon Donam’s philtrum.

With a gasp, Jeon Donam expelled a mouthful of foul air and slowly opened his terrified eyes, gradually regaining consciousness. Lu Hu scooped him up and shouted angrily, “All of you, get back here!”

The esteemed officials of Changli, having sprinted dozens of meters across the snow in a panic, tumbled and crawled back at his command. “The sages say, ‘A wise man does not stand under a dangerous wall.’ Who isn’t afraid of a tiger?” muttered the Grand Marshal, giving himself an excuse as he nursed his swollen, bruised eye.

Adjusting his robe, he led the civil and martial officials back in, putting on a show of dignity. Before the tiger-skin throne, two desks were set up; the sisters Zhenzhu and Meiyu sat, ready with brushes to record proceedings. Malihong and Zhu Xiaoying stood nearby, grinding ink for them.

A commotion at the door drew the sisters’ attention. Seeing Lu Hu carrying their father inside, they dropped their brushes and rushed over in alarm.

Jeon Donam stared blankly at the three women of his family, a sour feeling rising in his heart. As the head of the household, he ought to have been their pillar, yet he had behaved so feebly—how could he face his wife and daughters now? With a long sigh, he tried to comfort his tearful family. “I’m all right, there’s no need for alarm.”

Little Guanyin sighed as well, inwardly disappointed at his cowardice. Alas, marry a chicken, follow the chicken; marry a dog, follow the dog. Having married a weakling, she would have to stand tall herself.

On either side of the tiger-skin throne, seats were arranged. To the left, Shi Zhenxiang sat at the head, followed by Shi Gengxiang and the other centurions. Lu Hu seated Jeon Donam in the chief place on the right, with Little Guanyin beside him. Lu Hu and the sisters took their places as well, waiting for several breaths, but the ministers of Changli still did not appear.

Lu Hu could easily guess they remained outside, trembling with fear after their recent fright. He called out in the tiger tongue, “Brother White Dabai, clear the doorway and go check on your mate and cubs. Let those timid fellows in.”

“With pleasure, my god.” Reluctant to leave even a scrap of meat behind, White Dabai seized the remains and trotted to the back, where he and Lingding Xiaowu gnawed on bones together.

Only then did the ministers of Changli, led by the Grand Marshal with his swollen eye, file in, putting on their best official airs. Yet their courage was less than a mouse’s, and the centurions looked down upon them with open scorn.

No sooner had the Grand Marshal taken his seat than his bruised eye flashed with vengeful light, glaring at Shi Zhenxiang across from him, ready to leap over for a fight. But then he reconsidered—he wasn’t her match, not even for a scratch or a bite.