Chapter 1.

The predawn sky was dim, its darkness half-receded, faint streaks of light bleeding through the horizon.

Inside the imperial bedchamber, the glow of countless lamps illuminated every corner. Attendants and palace maids flitted back and forth like restless moths, their faces beaming with suppressed excitement.

It was the Emperor's coronation day—a day worth celebrating. The four departments, eight bureaus, and twelve directorates of the inner court had been preparing for this for nearly a month. By the third watch, the entire palace was already in motion, the usual cold emptiness replaced by a rare, bustling warmth.

Yin Chengyu stood before a full-length bronze mirror.

The figure staring back at him wore bright yellow inner robes. He was lean yet commanding, broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, with ebony hair cascading over skin as pale as snow. His phoenix eyes, sharp and slightly upturned, shimmered with an innate air of nobility.

He stared at the narrow, elegant figure in the mirror for a long moment. His lips curved into a faint smirk, but the expression faded as measured footsteps approached behind him. In the mirror, another figure came into view—a man draped in crimson robes embroidered with a coiled serpent.

Xue Shu stepped forward, carrying the Emperor's ceremonial crown in both hands. The crimson robes and yellow garments mingled in the mirror, their reflections tangled like an unspoken secret. His voice carried a sly intimacy as he spoke: "This servant has come to dress His Majesty."

Yin Chengyu cast him a glance through the mirror before lowering his lashes, silently extending his arms in acquiescence.

Layer by layer, Xue Shu dressed him—robes, skirts, knee-guards—each piece adjusted with meticulous care. When he reached for the white jade belt on a nearby tray, he moved behind Yin Chengyu, looping the belt around the Emperor's slim waist. His long fingers deftly fastened the jade buckle, producing a soft click.

But he didn't step back. Instead, his arms remained looped around Yin Chengyu's waist, pulling him closer in a deliberate, possessive motion.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty," Xue Shu murmured, resting his chin lightly against the Emperor's shoulder. His warm breath spilled over the sensitive curve of Yin Chengyu's neck, raising a trail of goosebumps. "On this day of celebration, might Your Majesty grant this humble servant one wish as well?"

The eunuch's naturally high-pitched voice dipped, softened, the candlelight painting their intertwined reflections with a tender glow.

Yin Chengyu met his eyes through the mirror, his expression indifferent. "You are already second only to me in power. What else could you possibly desire?"

A low chuckle rose beside his ear, and the arms around his waist tightened. Xue Shu's nose brushed against his ear as he whispered like a lover, "Your Majesty already knows what I want."

His sharp nose slid downward, grazing along the curve of Yin Chengyu's neck, lingering with teasing familiarity. This wasn't the first time he'd done this, and they both knew exactly what would follow.

Yin Chengyu shut his eyes briefly, forcing the illicit images crowding his mind to retreat. His lips pressed into a thin line. "What you want," he said coolly, "I cannot give."

"Cannot give? Or will not?"

The man behind him stiffened, his voice sharpening like a blade against stone. Xue Shu's hand shot up, gripping Yin Chengyu's jaw and twisting his face toward him. His eyes burned with suppressed fury, a storm brewing beneath their surface. "Or do you, like the rest of them, look down on me—a eunuch—as unworthy of your favor?"

Whenever Xue Shu lost his temper, he abandoned formalities, his words cutting with mocking disdain.

Yin Chengyu had no patience for such insolence.

His jaw ached under the vice-like grip, and his frustration snapped. With a sharp struggle, he pushed back, spitting out a low curse: "Bastard!"

The shout shattered the quiet, and outside, a nervous eunuch stirred. The boy hesitated before cautiously entering, his voice timid beyond the bed curtains. "Your Highness, are you awake? It's only the fourth watch."

Yin Chengyu blinked, the haze of the dream lifting abruptly. He rubbed his temple, exhaling deeply. "It's nothing. Leave me."

The eunuch retreated soundlessly, his footsteps barely audible.

But Yin Chengyu couldn't sleep again.

It had been three consecutive nights now—three nights of dreams steeped in memories of his previous life. Each one brought Xue Shu vividly back to him, their shared history replaying like a relentless echo.

If things followed the same path, in three days, Xue Shu would enter the palace, his first step toward unimaginable power. Over the next five or six years, the once-insignificant eunuch would climb higher and higher, eventually becoming the Director of the Western Bureau. Trusted by the Emperor and feared by all, Xue Shu would wield enough power to shake the throne itself, earning the infamous title Nine-Thousand-Year Lord.

And three months from now, the Emperor and the Second Prince's faction would strike. His maternal family would be accused of corruption, executed to the last. His mother, heavily pregnant, would die in childbirth. His position as Crown Prince would be stripped away, leaving him exiled to a desolate tomb, abandoned by all.

Until Xue Shu came to bring him back.

Their relationship was never supposed to be more than a cold, transactional exchange—no emotions, just mutual benefits. But years of entanglement, battles against death itself, and the passage of time had turned that once-simple arrangement into something weighty and suffocating.

Given the chance to start over, he had no intention of getting involved with Xue Shu again.

Yet every night, those dark, obsessive eyes haunted him, accompanied by a mocking voice whispering: "Does His Majesty despise a mere eunuch like me? Too ashamed to associate with my kind?"

Xue Shu had only uttered such self-loathing words once.

He never seemed insecure about his status as a eunuch. On the contrary, in bed, he was domineering, relentless. Even without the necessary anatomy, he always found ways to make him surrender, beg for mercy. But for all his bravado, Xue Shu never undressed in front of him—not fully.

Thinking about it now, he realized that Xue Shu did care, even if he never admitted it.

And now, the opportunity to rewrite Xue Shu's fate lay within his grasp.

Frustrated, Yin Chengyu rose from his seat, pacing to the window. The cool breeze biting at his face eventually dulled the sharp edge of his thoughts.

Should he go looking?

Or let it go?

It was the seventeenth year of Longfeng, the fifth day of the twelfth lunar month. Xue Shu once mentioned that he was castrated on the eighth day of that same month in the silkworm chamber. Afterward, he bribed an elderly eunuch from the Directorate of Palaces to take him under his wing, gaining entry into the imperial palace.

The eighth day, Laba Festival, stuck with Yin Chengyu not because he cared but because the date was peculiar enough to be memorable. However, there were several silkworm chambers in the capital, and he had no idea which one Xue Shu had entered back then.

If he were to look, it would take effort.

Every time he remembered the torment Xue Shu had once inflicted on him, his blood simmered with resentment, making it impossible to decide.

He stood by the window for what felt like an eternity before finally retreating to bed.

Sleep did not come easy. Memories of his previous life tangled in his dreams, leaving him groggy and irritable when morning arrived.

His body, already frail, felt weaker still. Shadows darkened his eyes, and a fit of coughing wracked his chest as he summoned his trusted eunuch, Zheng Duobao.

"Your Highness, why has your cough worsened?" Zheng Duobao's worry spilled out the moment he stepped inside, his hands steady as he carried a bowl of medicine. He barked orders to the younger eunuchs, demanding they fetch the imperial physician.

"It's nothing. Just caught some chill last night," Yin Chengyu replied, downing the medicine in one gulp. He pressed a handkerchief to his lips before motioning Zheng closer. "I have an errand for you."

Zheng Duobao leaned in, listening intently. When Yin finished, his expression twisted in surprise, but he dared not ask questions.

"Quickly," Yin Chengyu said, waving him off impatiently.

Zheng Duobao left, suppressing his curiosity. If there was one thing eunuchs knew intimately, it was the silkworm chambers, place to castrating.

For over two centuries, since the founding of the Yan Dynasty, eunuchs had clawed their way from the bottom of the hierarchy to positions of immense power.

Once forbidden from reading, writing, or interfering in politics, they had risen to oversee imperial affairs. Now, the chief eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial wielded the authority to approve imperial edicts, rivaling the Prime Minister. Eunuchs led the secret police, controlled palace security, and served as the emperor's closest confidants.

For many families chasing fortune, mutilating a boy's body seemed a small price to pay for power. Silkworm chambers dotted the capital, offering sterile, professional services for the wealthier patrons. The less fortunate turned to butchers, skilled in castrating livestock, who offered crude, life-or-death operations at a fraction of the cost.

Following Yin Chengyu's orders, Zheng Duobao dispatched men to scour every silkworm chamber in the city. After two days of relentless searching, no trace of Xue Shu surfaced.

Desperation forced them to expand their search. Even the back-alley butchers who performed illicit castrations were questioned. Time was running out, and the festival drew closer, but Xue Shu remained a ghost.

*

The three days passed in the blink of an eye.

The Great Yan Empire had reinstated ancient rituals, clinging to outdated traditions from previous dynasties. Every year, during major festivals like the Spring Commencement, Lantern Festival, Dragon Boat Festival, Double Ninth Festival, and Laba Festival, they hosted grand ceremonial banquets outside the Meridian Gate, inviting ministers and officials to partake.

Traditionally, the emperor himself would attend these banquets, feasting alongside the court to project an air of camaraderie. But the indolent Emperor Longfeng despised such obligations, naturally shoving the chore onto the Crown Prince, Yin Chengyu, who had long since taken up the reins of governance.

As the legitimate eldest son, Yin Chengyu was born with the weight of responsibility. His maternal grandfather, Yu Huai'an, served as the Grand Chancellor of the Cabinet, a power that further cemented his position. At seven, he was formally declared the crown prince. By fourteen, he was actively participating in state affairs. Groomed from a young age to shoulder the empire, he internalized his role with unyielding discipline, striving tirelessly to embody the ideal heir in the eyes of the court and the people.

No matter the size or significance of the task, Yin Chengyu always threw himself into it wholeheartedly, indifferent to personal gain or loss.

In his previous life, at this very moment, he had been bedridden with a severe cold brought on by exhaustion. The illness lingered for ten grueling days, only for him to receive the imperial decree assigning him responsibility for the Laba Festival banquet before he had even fully recovered.

As the crown prince, it was his duty to share his father's burdens and worries. He had no excuse to refuse, so he dragged his ailing body to fulfill the obligation.

The aftermath? His condition worsened drastically after the banquet.

High fever set in, and he slipped into unconsciousness for two full days. Though he eventually recovered, his vitality was irreparably weakened, leaving him with chronic migraines.

But he was stubborn and proud in his youth. He refused to show any sign of weakness despite his obvious discomfort. Instead, he publicly expressed gratitude for his father's trust, playing his part in the facade of a harmonious father-son relationship.

And what was the truth?

The better he performed, the higher his reputation soared among officials and commoners alike. With the powerful support of his maternal family, he became a beacon of hope for the court, outshining Emperor Longfeng himself. To the emperor, Yin Chengyu was nothing short of a thorn in his side—a threat he desperately wanted to eliminate.

Later, when his maternal uncle was falsely accused and implicated in a salt smuggling case, the entire Yu family was dragged into the mess. Despite Yin Chengyu's repeated petitions for a thorough investigation, Emperor Longfeng refused and hastily pronounced judgment.

The Yu family's downfall? A collateral consequence of being tied to him.

At the root of it all, Emperor Longfeng's true target was always him—the prince who had become too perfect, too threatening.

Ruler first, father second.

This bitter truth only sank in when he was stripped of his title as crown prince.

Now, having been given a second chance, Yin Chengyu had no intention of playing the dutiful son.

Lost in thought, Yin Chengyu smiled faintly as he politely declined the Minister of Personnel's toast. He coughed softly into his hand, his pale complexion taking on a delicate flush that made him seem even more fragile.

Lifting his cup of tea, he smiled and said, "I've been unwell recently and must abstain from alcohol. Allow me to toast you with tea instead, Minister Lu."

Minister Lu hurriedly deferred, returning to his seat and whispering to the Vice Minister beside him. "The crown prince is truly diligent. Even while sick, he still remembers to care for us. Compared to a certain someone..." He motioned subtly eastward and muttered under his breath, "The difference is worlds apart."

The Laba Festival banquet was meant to symbolize the emperor's goodwill toward his officials. But Emperor Longfeng, paranoid from past betrayals, distrusted his court deeply, especially after an infamous incident during the previous emperor's reign, where an official attempted to assassinate the ruler during a banquet.

Aside from the first two years of his reign, Emperor Longfeng had ceased attending these gatherings altogether. Only when the crown prince grew older did he delegate the task to him.

This mistrust had soured relations between ruler and ministers. Though none dared voice their dissatisfaction openly, resentment brewed beneath the surface.

Adding to their grievances, Emperor Longfeng was neither a capable ruler nor a paragon of virtue. Mediocre at best, he indulged in pleasures and neglected governance. Were it not for the crown prince's early involvement in state affairs and the stabilizing presence of Chancellor Yu, the court would have descended into chaos long ago.

The two ministers exchanged a knowing glance and wisely dropped the topic. Still, both silently thought the same thing: thank heavens for the crown prince.

Feigning fragility at the banquet, Yin Chengyu easily dodged further toasts. After a few concerned ministers urged him to take care of his health, the crowd left him alone. He relished the peace, cradling a hand warmer as he leisurely sipped tea.

The warm liquid soothed him, and he closed his eyes in quiet satisfaction.

This was far better than his previous life, where he had stubbornly concealed his illness and drowned himself in wine.

Midway through the banquet, his attendant Zheng Duobao hurried in, leaning close to whisper, "Your Highness, we've found the person."

Yin Chengyu's nerves tightened ever so slightly. Seeing the curious gazes from the ministers below, he instinctively wanted to dismiss them with a polite "We'll discuss this after the feast." But then, a sharp realization hit him: there was no need to keep living like he did in his last life. So, he grabbed the warming brazier, stood up with an easy confidence, and nodded at the assembled officials.

"I'm not feeling well," he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. "I'll take my leave first. Enjoy yourselves."

Without sparing them another glance, he turned and headed back to the Eastern Palace.

Inside the carriage, he finally addressed Zheng Duobao, his tone low and clipped. "Details. Now."

Zheng Duobao, perched uneasily to one side, had the look of someone grappling with unpleasant truths. "As per your orders, I searched every silkworm room in Wangjing City, high and low. But we didn't find Young Master Xue. Left with no choice, I had to expand the search to... artisans who specialize in castrating livestock."

He hesitated before delivering the punchline, his discomfort plain. "And that's where we found him."

The memory made Zheng's lips curl slightly. "To be honest, Your Highness, the scene was... vile. I didn't want to trouble you with it. But the young master wouldn't cooperate with our men. If we'd forced him, someone might've been injured."

Zheng Duobao had practically watched Yin Chengyu grow up, assigned to him by the Empress herself. He had no idea when or why the Crown Prince had taken an interest in someone like Xue Shu. Unsure of the prince's intent, he dared not act rashly.

By now, the carriage had reached Liu the artisan's shabby residence. Zheng Duobao drew back the curtain and carefully helped Yin Chengyu out.

The moment Yin Chengyu stepped into the yard, his brow furrowed deeply.

Zheng Duobao, clearly trying to spare him offense earlier, had barely scratched the surface. But Yin Chengyu knew the truth.

In his last life, when he'd first been brought back to the palace, he'd been forced to rely on Xue Shu's support. Out of deference to Xue's taboos, he had studied eunuchs and their rites, from beginning to end. He knew castration required a silkworm room. What he hadn't known was how filthy and wretched such a place could truly be.

Liu Jiangren's residence was pitifully small—just a single courtyard with two rooms front and back. The yard held a few yellowing blankets airing out in the cold, releasing a faint, unpleasant stench.

And standing in the middle of it all was Xue Shu.

Still just a boy, his face was guarded, his posture brimming with defiance.

Behind him, the door to a small side room was ajar. From where Yin Chengyu stood, he could see the dingy interior: no windows, just a single wooden bed draped with yellowed bedding. Ropes dangled ominously from both the head and foot of the bed.

This was what passed for a silkworm room?

A strange ache gripped Yin Chengyu's chest—sharp and bitter.

But when his gaze shifted back to Xue Shu's thin, shabbily dressed frame, the boy's wariness and anger writ large across his face, that ache gave way to something hotter.

Rage.

"Bind him and bring him back," Yin ordered coldly, not sparing Xue Shu another look. With a sharp flick of his sleeve, he left the courtyard and climbed back into the carriage.

The guards, galvanized by his command, approached Xue Shu with utmost caution. They had already learned the hard way that this boy was not to be underestimated—one wrong move, and he'd drawn blood.

But, to their surprise, this time Xue Shu didn't resist.

The captain of the guards quickly bound him tight with ropes, breathing a sigh of relief. Whatever grudges or fights lay ahead, they would be dealt with in the palace.

———Translator Note:

"Here's a new translation for you. Updates will be very slow because I'm posting as I translate—no stockpiles this time. Stick around and support it if you're into it."

九千岁 is a Chinese historical term that was used as a title of extreme respect, often given to powerful eunuchs or officials during the Ming Dynasty.

It implies a level of respect and authority that is almost equivalent to the emperor himself, who was often addressed as "Wan Sui" (Ten Thousand Years Old).

This title was often used to flatter powerful eunuchs or officials who wielded significant influence over the emperor. The most famous example is 魏忠贤 (Wei Zhongxian), a Ming Dynasty eunuch who was so powerful that he was often referred to as "the second emperor."