ITF Chapter112

The towering turret stood like a sharp blade, slicing through the clear spring sky.

It was the highest point of this castle.

Bai Heting stopped in his tracks, tilting his head up to spot a silhouette behind the window at the very top of the tower. The person was clad in a pure white long robe, adding a touch of eeriness to the scene.

Luo Congye stopped alongside him, saying after a moment of consideration, “We might not get what we want.”

Bai Heting didn’t respond.

Luo Congye had spoken the exact thought in his mind. A week ago, they had dispatched an elite squad of Alphas to the Pope’s private residence located in the far suburbs of the capital and designed a ruse to entice Wen Yan to go there. Yet, Wen Yan had actually shown up all by himself without bringing even a single attendant.

“He went even though he clearly knew it was a trap,” Luo Congye sighed with emotion. “If he knew that Shao Cheng had traded him for the physical safety of his wife and daughter, I wonder what he would think.”

“You think he didn’t know?” Bai Heting asked.

Luo Congye was caught tongue-tied by his question.

Standing from Wen Yan’s perspective, this indeed seemed like a conclusion that wouldn’t be difficult to deduce. He looked toward the top of the tower, his words catching in his throat; the person by the window was already gone without a trace.

Bai Heting tilted his head to glance at him. “Do you pity him?”

Luo Congye retracted his gaze.

“How could I possibly have the time to pity someone else?” He answered candidly.

With the several great noble families led by Zhong Maoru on the verge of bearing down on the capital, a legitimate pretext to besiege the city would allow them to achieve twice the result with half the effort. However, since Shao Cheng refused to expose the truth behind Marshal Pei’s case under any circumstances, they had no choice but to settle for the next best thing, using him as bait to capture the Pope alive.

If they could find a way to force the Church to acknowledge that the marriage between Luo Wanyin and Bai Yi was legal, Bai Jiashu would naturally lose his right of succession to the throne.

Yet up until this moment, they had still gained absolutely nothing.

He turned around, grasping Bai Heting’s shoulders to turn him around. Just as he was about to lower his head, he was pushed squarely on the chin by Bai Heting.

He was trying to kiss him in broad daylight in front of everyone again. Bai Heting said in exasperation, “I really ought to have Su Xingchuan find an etiquette teacher for you.”

Having missed the kiss, Luo Congye let his hand slide downward, scooping Bai Heting by the waist to press him into his embrace.

“He stepped into a trap set by others of his own free will, so he probably doesn’t need a cheap thing like sympathy either.” He pretended not to hear Bai Heting’s warning, lowering his head to press a kiss against his cheek. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep our guests waiting for too long.”

*

Wen Yan sat down on a wooden chair by the side of the bed, idly tracing the carved patterns on the armrest with his fingers.

He had absolutely no impression of the tall man standing beside Bai Heting. In fact, he barely had any recollection of Bai Heting’s appearance either, only remembering that this Omega was exceptionally tall and looked down upon him with an arrogance that suggested his bones could never be broken.

He was exactly the type of person Wen Yan detested the most.

The Urdan people, however, treated him with considerable courtesy. From the moment they “invited” him from his private residence in the capital to this place, not a single person had laid a rough hand on him. Of course, this might simply have been because he hadn’t shown the slightest intention of resisting.

In comparison, Pei Ming had truly been rude.

Wen Yan couldn’t help but recall that old matter from over a decade ago.

How old had he been that year… twenty-one, or twenty-two? Wen Yan couldn’t remember clearly. Back then, he was merely a low-ranking cleric of humble status. He had waited outside Pei Ming’s official residence for an entire week before finally catching a single opportunity to meet with the Marshal.

When Pei Ming saw him in the reception room, his face darkened instantly, and he questioned the steward sharply, “Who let him in?”

This was not the first time the Holy See had sent envoys to his residence. In order to distribute indulgences within the Kingdom of Damasen, the Pope had personally made a visit to the royal palace and offered the king quite favorable terms; namely, that the revenue from the indulgences would be split evenly between the Holy See and the palace. Even so, the proposal still met with strong opposition from Pei Ming.

Allowing the Church to continuously expand within the country would undoubtedly sow the seeds of future trouble, but it was also a fact that the national treasury was growing increasingly depleted. Pei Ming and Bai Yi had had several arguments over this matter, and with neither of them able to convince the other, the proposal fell into a deadlock.

As the sole obstruction within the imperial council, the Holy See had been relentlessly sending people to his doorstep in an attempt to win him over and persuade him, but it was the first time they had sent a cleric of such a low rank. Glancing at the exquisite wooden box cradled in Wen Yan’s arms, Pei Ming told the steward, “Take him away.”

It rained heavily that day; the rain of a late spring cold snap pierced through the skin like icicles. Wen Yan wore only a thin, black clerical robe, the fabric thoroughly drenched by the rain and clinging tightly to his slender frame. The steward placed a flask of warm wine on the table, poured a full cup for Pei Ming, and said with a trace of lingering pity, “Marshal, he has been waiting outside for days. In this kind of weather, leaving him in the rain all night will cause trouble.”

“His Lord will protect him.” Pei Ming’s tone, however, was even colder than the freezing rain.

Although Marshal Pei was merciless in political affairs, one could even call him iron-hearted, he was usually exceedingly kind to the soldiers under his command and the ordinary civilians within his fiefdom. Within the military, his rewards and punishments were perfectly clear, and he never levied heavy taxes on his territory. For such an inherently good-natured man to remain completely unmoved by the pitiful and helpless appearance of a low-ranking cleric…

Wen Yan suspected that he had been seen through.

“He allows it,” Wen Yan choked out through his constricted throat, a trace of twisted arrogance flashing through his pale, bloodless face. “As long as it… achieves the desired goal.”

Pei Ming let out a cold snort, his eyes sweeping across the gems scattered all over the floor, before landing once more on that meticulously crafted countenance. At this close distance, he could smell the faint, greasy aroma of perfume radiating from the young cleric’s skin; it wasn’t the scent of natural pheromones, but a cheap artifice designed to mimic the vulnerability of an Omega.

A trickster attempting to trade their dignity for an advantage.

“The Holy See has truly degenerated to a pathetic state,” Pei Ming said, his fingers tightening slightly around Wen Yan’s jaw, forcing him to look straight into his eyes. “To think they would dispatch someone like you to contaminate my residence. Did your bishop truly believe that a cup of drugged wine and a face like yours would suffice to sway the defense of this kingdom?”

Wen Yan did not struggle further. He let his body hang completely limp against the stone wall with a slow, hollow smile spreading across his bruised lips.

“It has succeeded many times before, Marshal,” he whispered, his voice holding no fear of death, only a sickeningly calm compliance. “The world is full of noble lords who believe themselves to be iron-willed, right up until the moment they wake up in a bed they never intended to cross.”

“Then you have miscalculated the owner of this house.”

Pei Ming threw him aside without an ounce of warmth. Wen Yan collapsed heavily onto the floor with his knees smacking against the hard stone, scattered emeralds and pearls biting into his flesh. He didn’t make a sound, merely curling into himself slightly as he pressed a hand against his throat, coughing violently.

The fire in the hearth crackled, throwing elongated, dancing shadows across the room.

Pei Ming walked over to the desk, overturned the remaining wine onto the floor, and looked down at the pathetic figure huddled by the wall. “Gather your trinkets and get out. If I ever see your shadow near my gates again, I will not concern myself with whether your robes are black or white, I will treat you as a spy and have you hanged on the spot.”

Wen Yan stayed on the floor for a long time, his long lashes casting dark shadows over his cheeks. He slowly reached out, gathering the pearls one by one back into his palm.

His movements were exceptionally slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of the shame or panic a normal person would experience after being exposed.

“Understood, Marshal,” he murmured quietly, his tone returning to that gentle, harmless cadence from before, as if the violence that had just occurred was merely an ordinary conversation. “May the Lord bless your steadfastness.”

*

“And what about you?”

Luo Congye’s deep voice abruptly shattered the decade-old memory, dragging Wen Yan back to the damp, chilly castle turret of the present.

Wen Yan stopped tracing the wood carvings on the armrest and raised his head. Across from him, the young Alpha was looking down at him with a critical, examining gaze, while Bai Heting stood a step behind, his expression cool and detached.

“Did you remain steadfast, Your Holiness?” Luo Congye asked, a mocking edge to his tone. “Or did you realize back then that some men cannot be bought with cheap wine and pretty faces?”

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