Chapter Eighty-Nine: Such Is His Nature

Looking at the four people cowering like quails, Gu Zhiheng found them tedious and turned back to his own room.

To keep their affairs from being exposed, Gu Zhiheng had shut off the hallway surveillance from the very beginning. Don’t ask when he did it—it was long ago. He knew well enough whether he was likely to cause trouble himself, but he couldn’t vouch for the others.

“Ah Heng, please don’t be angry. Your brother apologizes, all right?” Liu E stood behind Gu Zhiheng, head lowered, speaking with the utmost caution, afraid that if Gu Zhiheng got upset, he might just toss him off the twenty or thirty stories of this building.

“Mistake? You did nothing wrong. The fault lies in my lack of ability, in my own incompetence.” Gu Zhiheng’s words dripped with sarcasm.

But Liu E didn’t dare say anything, for just moments ago, it was indeed he who had knocked Gu Zhiheng to the ground. He hadn’t meant to—truly—but he couldn’t explain himself, and Gu Zhiheng didn’t care to hear his excuses.

“Forget it. It is my fault, after all. You have every right to be angry.” Defeat was written all over his face as Liu E walked toward the door with his head down.

But Gu Zhiheng, clearly displeased, called out from behind, “Be good, little brother. Your brother will fetch you something to eat. Where’s the food?”

Yes, where was it! It was already afternoon. Gu Zhiheng, he remembered, had barely sipped any water all day—no wonder his face was thunderous with rage. So that was it—the boy was throwing a fit because he hadn’t eaten.

It was Liu E’s oversight. The food he’d bought had been devoured by those three shameless fellows.

“Wait here. I’ll be quick. I’ll be right back.” Liu E had barely finished speaking before he vanished from the room.

The three sitting nearby hurried to their feet, faces awkward as they looked at Gu Zhiheng, uncertain how this temperamental youth might scold them.

“Liu E is not an ordinary person—he’s not quite right in the head. Don’t stoop to his level.” What? Did Gu Zhiheng really just say that?

Who was not right in the head? Who shouldn’t be stooped to?

“What, are you three brainless as well?” Look at this boy—he’s learning nothing but mischief.

In less than half a month, this child had changed into another person entirely—his words were sharp as knives. And that expression—could he not show even a hint of warmth? Was he trying to freeze them to death?

“Sis, not to criticize you, but you haven’t picked up any good habits from him—just his bad ones.” Suddenly, the conversation shifted, turning to Chu Xingran.

“Do you know, your crazy brother asked me why we broke up. Why would a brother and sister break up?” It was absurd—who had lost their mind?

“What? My brother? We broke up?” Chu Xingran was shocked. When had her scoundrel brother ever met Gu Zhiheng?

Instead of minding his own business as director of the Bureau, what was he doing meddling outside? Who gave him the right to interfere in her affairs?

He couldn’t even manage his own life—what right did he have to meddle in hers? Who she was with had nothing to do with him.

Back then, when she needed him, he was nowhere to be found. Now, after five hundred years, he suddenly wanted to involve himself? They’d long severed ties. What right did he have to reappear and point fingers at her life? If he thought this could earn forgiveness, he was mistaken.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just brainless, stuffed full with nothing better to do.” Chu Xingran scoffed, and Gu Zhiheng let the matter drop.

He had no desire to discuss today’s events any further. Turning aside, he sat down on the sofa with a weary sigh, helplessness etched into his face.

“Sis, how much have you gathered? How many talismans can you draw?” He was truly exhausted—when would these days ever end?

“About ten. Should I draw them now?” Chu Xingran was also eager to get the talismans done; carrying them unfinished always felt unsafe.

“Yes. I’ve prepared all the templates. You can review them and decide when to proceed.” He took out his phone and sent a slew of images to Chu Xingran.

His eyes were cold and deep—this side of Gu Zhiheng, even Chu Xingran had never seen before. Yet it was entirely like him.

“Sis, Ye Zheng… was he once your lover?” Gu Zhiheng knew that asking this would likely upset Mo Han, but there were things he had to know.

“Is it because I look like him—so much so that we’re nearly identical—that you chose to stay by my side and raise me?” If that was really the case, then what was he—just a substitute?

Was he merely a tool for her to maintain those feelings, or a vessel for her longing?

He couldn’t understand why, whenever he parted the clouds to search for the truth, what he found was always cruel.

Like one sharp blade after another stabbing into his heart—yet he wasn’t allowed to grieve, nor to bleed, nor to shed tears.

“I knew it. You all hide everything from me, yet claim it’s for my own good.” Gu Zhiheng laughed at himself, his body trembling uncontrollably. He wanted to cry, but not a single tear would fall.

What Liu E had told him while he was unconscious was true: as the one the Gu family valued most, there were certain emotions he must never touch. Not only were they forbidden, they were like blades poised to end his life, to erase him from existence, to reduce him to ashes.

He could have all the passions and desires, but he could never act on them—they were both a taboo and a shield woven tightly around him.

What could end his life could also protect it. It was always a double-edged sword, hanging perilously over his heart.

“Sis, I won’t ask about these things anymore. But in the future, could you stop keeping secrets from me? I’m not a child anymore.” The bitterness in his voice was like a thorn, piercing the hearts of all three present.

Gu Zhiheng’s life was already hard enough—they truly couldn’t bear to let it grow harder. But this was his fate to bear.

“Be good. No more secrets—I promise, I’ll tell you everything from now on.” Chu Xingran couldn’t hide her pain, regret flickering in her eyes.

If she hadn’t taken him from the ancestral shrine, would all these troubles never have found them? Would Gu Zhiheng have escaped so many dangers?

If only he’d stayed in the ancestral shrine, if only its seal had never been broken, perhaps he could have lived as before.

“Sis, take care of yourself. I’ll work harder, I promise.” Ah, his struggles—why trouble Chu Xingran with them?

It would end now. He’d no longer care about such things. As long as they accompanied him through this journey to the Northwest, that would be enough.

He would simply be himself. All the various versions of Gu Zhiheng from the past should merge into one.

Cold-blooded, ruthless, violent—perhaps this was who he truly was.

What a pity. From now on, he could no longer shift between different selves—no one would ever see another Gu Zhiheng again, only the one everyone expected.

He bid farewell to the past and resolved to walk every step of the future well. Good luck!