Chapter 409: Death Won

Chen Guanlou could never write down his thoughts and tell the other person. He felt the man had a trait of thriving on chaos—the more trouble, the more he enjoyed it.

The man revealed not the slightest detail about how to stir up trouble. He seemed only to want to act as a planner, luring others into causing chaos.

Chen Guanlou didn't care about any of this.

Like those in his clan said, he was a solitary man; he often paid attention, inquired, or even got involved out of mere curiosity. Genuine concern or anxiety? That didn't exist.

Few people in this world were worth his concern.

The clan's assessment of him was correct—he truly was solitary!

He also wanted to watch the spectacle, so he smiled at Prince Chen Guanfu. "I'll certainly follow your Highness's orders and take good care of the Great Ming Prince. As for the required silver, I'll send someone with the bill later."

"Don't let the Great Ming Prince die in the Heavenly Prison. Can you manage that?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. The Great Ming Prince is of great importance—if anything happens to him, everyone in the Heavenly Prison will be held accountable. Though the prison guards are a bit corrupt, they know what's serious and what isn't."

"Excellent! But I must warn you—many people want the Great Ming Prince dead in the Heavenly Prison. Your work will become very busy from now on."

Chen Guanlou was taken aback. "Is it because no one wants the Great Ming Prince to be sacrificed in the heavenly rites?"

"Not at all!" Chen Guanfu revealed a sliver of the truth. "The truth is, no one wants His Majesty to use the Great Ming Prince's flesh and blood for next year's heavenly sacrifice. Do you understand?"

He understood. He understood perfectly.

Too many people despised the old emperor and wished him a thousandfold misfortune. The heavenly sacrifice was a crucial ceremony, one of the most important displays of imperial authority, allowing not the slightest error.

If the sacrificial pawn—the rebel Great Ming Prince—died prematurely in the Heavenly Prison, or if something went wrong during the sacrifice, the scene would be unbearably humiliating. The old emperor would lose all face, become a laughingstock across the land, and the heavens themselves would send a warning: the fate of Great Qian was doomed.

This chain of blows was far more damaging than any rebellion.

What was it?

It was the people's hearts.

The hearts filled with dread!

If the heavenly sacrifice failed, it meant even heaven disapproved of the old emperor and sought to destroy Great Qian's mandate. It meant the legitimacy of Great Qian had suffered a devastating blow, and its right to rule was questioned. How could the people not be filled with terror?

The old emperor had reigned for fifty years, his imperial power solid, his authority firmly held. To shake his rule was no easy task.

The heavenly sacrifice was an excellent, excellent opportunity. If handled properly, it could achieve twice the result with half the effort, accomplishing feats no number of deaths could ever match.

Chen Guanfu's warning was right—the Heavenly Prison would soon be very busy.

Chen Guanlou was annoyed—it was indeed a hot potato. But he also felt a strange thrill: Let the storm come harder!

"Thank you, Prince, for the warning," Chen Guanlou said solemnly. The prince had alerted him in advance, giving him time to prepare. He accepted this kindness and acknowledged the debt.

"The banquet is about to begin. I won't keep you. Later, remember to pay your respects to the old lady. She loves a lively atmosphere."

"Yes!"

Chen Guanlou stepped out of the study courtyard and ran into Young Master Ye.

The two met. Chen Guanlou was calm. The other seemed uneasy—as if he hadn't expected to meet outside the Heavenly Prison.

Chen Guanlou greeted him first, saying casually, "Zhang Wenfu is doing well in prison. Young Master Ye, rest easy."

Young Master Ye: …

"Thank you, Prison Warden Chen, for looking after Brother Zhang. When he's released, I'll come personally to the Heavenly Prison to thank you."

"No trouble at all. Are you going to see the Prince?"

"Yes. My cousin has something to convey—I'm running an errand for her."

"Then don't let me keep you. I'll take my leave."

Chen Guanlou followed the beautiful maid away.

Back in the banquet hall, he arrived just as the meal began. He was seated with his clan brothers and cousins, placed at the main table. He offered polite refusals, then finally sat down without further protest.

Dishes arrived, wine flowed freely. At the table, boasting and nonsense were inevitable—everyone envied Chen Guanlou's wealth.

Under scrutiny, Chen Guanlou fell silent, either denying or humbly deflecting, keeping a low profile. He was a man who loved comfort—money was meant to be spent on eating, drinking, and indulgence. Only spent money was real money. So his earnings couldn't be hidden. Just by tallying his daily visible expenses, anyone could estimate his monthly income.

Chen Guanlou had never imagined that people tracked every meal and drink he took, quietly calculating. When he visited brothels, the prices were clear: how much for a drink, how much for an overnight stay—he knew them all. The same calculations applied.

His income seemed utterly exposed.

Chen Guanlou: …

Money truly stirred the heart.

Everyone knew he had connections to obtain rare antiques, calligraphy, and paintings from disgraced officials. Many coveted this business. Being a prison guard was too lowly, even if profitable. Doing trade, however, was respectable and dignified—especially antique and painting trade, refined and highly profitable. But no one had sources or channels.

Now that problem was solved. With Chen Guanlou, sources and channels were no issue.

The key question was: could they persuade Chen Guanlou to let them join this business, expand it, and profit together?

Chen Guanlou: …

"I'm only helping the Elder Lord collect antiques and paintings. Don't talk nonsense about business. I don't engage in trade. For the past two years, the Elder Lord has been away—have you seen me collecting anything since? Gifts? To get gifts, I begged everyone, pleaded with grandfathers and grandmothers, relied on old favors, and barely managed to find suitable presents. It has nothing to do with trade."

No matter what others said, no matter how they goaded or insulted him, Chen Guanlou held one stance: it never happened.

Want to form a partnership in trade?

Sorry!

He ate from the public coffers—he didn't do trade. He did nothing.

Helping collect antiques and paintings?

Chen Guanlou chuckled. "Only the Elder Lord or officials from the Ministry of Justice can command me. When you become my superior, then we'll talk. But if a superior forces a subordinate to collect paintings and antiques—that's taboo. I can refuse. If you've got the guts, fire me."

"Brother Guanlou, why be so rigid? A chance to get rich—don't let it slip away."

"I don't lack money!"

Damn!

That remark earned him hatred.

Chen Guanlou adopted an utterly unyielding stance. No matter who spoke to him, he wouldn't budge. Call him greedy, call him selfish—it didn't matter. It couldn't harm him a bit.

On the contrary, if he gave even the tiniest inch for the sake of face, he'd invite endless trouble. Everyone here knew how to climb a pole once given a foothold.

Better to shut down every possibility now, while everyone's here. Anyone with a shred of dignity won't dare approach him about trade again.