Chapter 106.

the silk whispering against his skin as it fell to the floor. With a deliberate, almost languid movement, he undid the ties of his hair crown, letting his dark hair cascade down his back like a silken waterfall. Clad only in a thin layer of pristine white undergarments doing little to conceal the hard lines beneath.

He found a smooth, jutting rock and settled onto it, the water swirling just above his chest, teasing the peaks of his nipples. He was exposed, vulnerable, yet utterly in control, daring anyone to look, to touch, to take.

The temperature was perfect—not too hot but warm enough to seep into his skin. Steam curled around him, and the porcelain fairness of his body quickly flushed with a delicate crimson. His long ebony hair cascaded freely down his back, the tips dipping into the water like a lush tangle of water weeds, swaying gently with the ripples.

On the shore, Xue Shu neatly folded the discarded clothes and draped them over the privacy screen. Yin Chengyu’s gaze flicked to him—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs—and a mischievous glint flickered in his eyes.

Lazily, he spoke, his tone deliberately languid, “Come in. Help me loosen these stiff joints.”

The command caught Xue Shu off guard for a moment. His eyes darkened, the sharp glint in them barely concealed, and without a word, he shed his clothing and entered the water.

He was taller now, by half a head, thanks to years of martial training. He slid into the water and circled behind Yin Chengyu, taking a seat on a slightly higher stone. The positioning was perfect—allowing Yin Chengyu to lean back against his firm chest with ease.

The steam in the small, enclosed bath surrounded by screens turned the chilly air thick and humid, pressing down like a heated blanket.

Yin Chengyu sipped tea and nibbled on a couple of delicate pastries before his mood shifted. He waved off the shoulder massage, motioning for Xue Shu to move in front of him. “Now the legs—give them a good pounding.”

Xue Shu obediently moved to kneel in front of him, his downcast eyes exuding a quiet, submissive demeanor that was both intriguing and alluring.

Yin Chengyu, of course, knew full well that the man kneeling before him possessed a strikingly dangerous beauty.

Unlike his own refined features, Xue Shu’s appearance carried a wild, predatory charm—a natural-born beast, fierce and captivating. Most people were too cowed by the latent aggression in his gaze to notice his striking appearance.

But Yin Chengyu alone had the privilege of seeing this sharp edge softened, claws retracted, revealing a rare, docile tenderness.

Fixing his gaze on Xue Shu, Yin Chengyu reached out and plucked the pin from his hair crown. The golden adornment slipped into the water, letting Xue Shu’s coarse yet surprisingly smooth hair fall in inky waves. Strands of hair, dampened by stray droplets, clung to his angular face, softening the sharpness of his brow and jaw.

Yin Chengyu’s fingertips brushed along Xue Shu’s cheek, tracing the outline of his face before sliding down into the water. He didn't merely touch the sash of Xue Shu’s white robe—he seized it.

The soaked fabric, clinging like a second skin, twisted and writhed around Yin Chengyu’s fingers, a pale, liquid fire. And then, with a slow, agonizingly deliberate pull, the sash cinched taut. It wasn't a playful tug; it was a blatant, undeniable claim. The air crackled, thick with a tension so raw it could be tasted

Yin Chengyu leaned closer, his lips curving into a faint smirk as his gaze roved over the half-loosened collar of Xue Shu’s robe. “A proper man now, are we? No fear of being seen anymore?” His voice was silk laced with steel, the question cutting deeper than the surface.

Apparently, unpleasant memories were brought back to him by the past.

Xue Shu’s lips pressed into a thin line. He avoided Yin Chengyu’s gaze, letting his eyes drift to the water. His hands, submerged, brushed against the flowing strands of Yin Chengyu’s hair, the silken threads caressing his palm like a phantom touch. Instinctively, his fingers closed, capturing a few strands in his grasp.

“In the past, my body was covered in scars,” he admitted softly, his voice low and restrained. “I didn’t want to frighten you. Didn’t want you to see how broken I was.”

For the first time, honesty cracked through his usual stoicism, laying bare the inferiority and pain buried beneath the surface. His scars—symbols of the cruelties endured in silence—were a stain he couldn’t bear to let Yin Chengyu witness.

Yin Chengyu’s expression faltered briefly before his hand lifted, tracing over an old scar on Xue Shu’s shoulder.

“This one?” he asked quietly.

“It’s nothing,” Xue Shu dismissed. “Leftover from a punishment when I first entered the palace. I didn’t understand the rules.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Yin Chengyu knew that.

The scars crisscrossing Xue Shu’s back—layers of old and new whip marks—were remnants of a past filled with humiliation and pain. Every now and then, he’d catch his reflection in the bronze mirror and feel nothing but revulsion, an ugly, gnawing disgust that made him loathe himself even more.

The thought of Yin Chengyu seeing him like that was unbearable.

He was already such a mess—pathetic and unsightly. He couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing even a flicker of disgust in those eyes, not when he was already drowning in his own.

Marks carved into flesh when he was powerless, reminders of a time he couldn’t protect himself.

Xue Shu’s gaze dropped further, unwilling to meet Yin Chengyu’s eyes. He could endure many things, but not the possibility of disgust or pity from the one person he had devoted himself to.

Yet Yin Chengyu’s touch lingered, tracing over the marred skin as if to say: I see you. And I’m not turning away.

Back then, he spent silver to sneak into the imperial tombs just to see Yin Chengyu. Yet what he discovered shattered him: the cold moon he cherished had fallen into a pit of mud, trampled and degraded. He resolved to save him, and after returning to the palace, he deliberated for days before scheming his way into the Xichang (Western Bureau) via the Directorate of Palace Attendants.

At first, he was merely a sweeping eunuch in the Directorate, a nobody without status. His refusal to curry favor or play tricks meant he was ignored. Even with bribes, the cushy posts and prime opportunities never came his way. So, he gambled everything and chose a perilous path—Western Bureau.

Why Western Bureau? Because within its ranks was Qin Liang, a veteran who once served as a torturer in the feared Dongchang (Eastern Bureau).

Having aged out of the relentless schemes of Eastern Bureau, Qin Liang had been reassigned to Western Bureau for a quieter life, where he held the position of Commandant of Punishments. His ties to Gao Yuan, the then-powerful Overseer of Eastern Bureau, meant that even the head of Western Bureau treated him with deference.

He clawed his way into Western Bureau and strategically recognized Qin Liang as his godfather, aiming to leverage his influence as a stepping stone into Western Bureau.

But Qin Liang was no benevolent benefactor. This man, twisted to his core, harbored a dark and brutal fetish—he loved to whip people. His victims were forbidden to flinch or scream. On bad days, he'd pour salt into their open wounds. Only the strongest survived.

Qin Liang had taken in over a dozen so-called godsons, but only four or five lived to tell the tale. Rumor had it, the others were literally beaten to death by his whip.

And yet, he endured. He never uttered a sound, not even when bloodied and broken. After a flogging, he could still rise to carry out orders. Perhaps fate had dealt him a harder constitution than most, for not only did he survive, but he became Qin Liang’s most trusted “son.”

Through Qin Liang's influence, while he never did join Eastern Bureau, he managed to secure an appointment close to the Emperor. During the Emperor's winter hunt at Danxi, he saved the monarch’s life and earned his trust, steadily amassing power.

One success followed another. Behind the scenes, he sowed discord between the Emperor and Eastern Bureau, eventually folding Western Bureau entirely under his control. At last, he had the leverage to challenge Eastern Bureau for dominance.

As for Qin Liang? He paid for every crime in blood. Stripped of skin and flesh, whipped into a ruin of gore, his carcass was thrown to the wild dogs of a pauper's graveyard.

But in this life, things were different. With his past memories restored, the fire of his vengeance had cooled. He found a quieter way to dispose of Qin Liang without the mess.

Yin Chengyu, however, knew he wasn’t telling the full story.

The huge palace was a cesspool of filth. Here, powerless eunuchs were worth less than weeds—disappearing without a trace was just another day.

He said nothing, but the pain was there, a raw, flickering thing in his eyes. His warm hand cradled Xue Shu’s face, and he leaned in, offering a tender kiss.

Their mouths met, a hungry clash of lips and teeth. Their breaths mingled, hot and ragged, filling the space between them. Yin Chengyu’s eyes stayed open, locked onto Xue Shu’s gaze. In hushed gasps, he asked, “When you were alone and defenseless in that cold palace, did you ever regret it? Regret your castration? Regret all the suffering?”

“Never,” Xue Xu growled, biting lightly on his tongue, their foreheads pressed together as shared breaths burned hot. “You were worth it.”

If the monk Xuanzang could endure 81 tribulations for his journey to the west, then surely he could bear the trials of reaching for the moon in the heavens.

In both his lives, not for a second did he regret.

Yin Chengyu saw the unwavering resolve in his eyes.

Raw, untamed emotions erupted from deep within him, a volcanic surge of feeling threatening to consume him. A blush, hot and vibrant, crept up his throat and stained the delicate curve of his neck a tempting shade of crimson. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as he closed the distance between them, his body practically vibrating with barely contained desire.

His voice, thick with a desperate longing and a raw, demanding edge, scraped against the air between them. "Will you fucking take me? Claim me as your own?"

Xue Shu’s breath hitched. His back arched slightly as he turned his face, his jaw resting on Yin Chengyu’s shoulder. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I want to test what you’ve kept safe for me.”

Yin Chengyu’s lashes quivered. After a moment of silence, he finally replied, “I’m tired... You’ll need to serve me well.”

The pool thrashed and churned, sending wave after wave of water crashing outwards, soaking the surrounding earth in a glistening sheen of pure, unadulterated lust. Every drop was a testament to the raw, animalistic energy that had just been unleashed.

At some point amidst the chaos, the wooden tray had been shoved carelessly aside, abandoned on the shore like an afterthought.

Now, the tea and food it carried lay scattered in disarray, cold and untouched after being left out in the open, a stark contrast to the heat that had just permeated the air. A delicate teacup, once perched neatly on the tray, had been sent tumbling, now lay tipped on its side, a casualty of the unrestrained passion that had overtaken the scene.

......

Soaking in the warmth of the spring-fed pool, Yin Chengyu let out a languid yawn, his contentment interrupted only by the pangs of hunger twisting in his belly. With a sharp flick of his foot, he sent a splash of water directly at Xue Shu.

“I’m starving,” he declared, his tone imperious and unbothered.

Xue Shu stepped out of the water, his bare feet meeting the cold stone floor, leaving wet trails in his wake. Without missing a beat, he replied, “The kitchen has some meat porridge prepared.” His voice was steady, composed.

Yin Chengyu’s narrowed eyes followed Xue Shu’s every move as he dried himself and slipped into a loose robe, the fabric soft against his still-damp skin.

When he was ready, Xue Shu bent down, strong arms wrapping around Yin Chengyu to lift him from the water effortlessly. He swaddled the slender figure in a thick, warm towel, shielding him from the chill beyond the heated pool.

The outside air bit at their skin, but Xue Shu worked quickly, his hands deft and deliberate as he dried Yin Chengyu’s hair, dressed him in fresh robes, and bundled him tightly in a warm cloak.

His voice dropped low, intimate. “Shall I carry Your Highness back? No one will see.”

Yin Chengyu, worn out and too sluggish to argue, hesitated for just a moment before giving a small nod of approval.

Xue Shu left briefly to ensure the path ahead was clear, then returned to sweep him up in his arms. Yin Chengyu fit perfectly against him, light and pliant as they headed toward the temporary chamber.

Elsewhere, Ying Hongxue had just finished tallying the prisoners of war, her sharp mind already ordering their interrogation and the documentation of their crimes. With meticulous efficiency, she compiled a report and made her way to consult Yin Chengyu about their disposition. Finding his study empty, she assumed he was resting and decided to deliver the report directly to him later.

On her way, she encountered officials from the provincial capital, also looking for Yin Chengyu to deliver urgent news. Together, they headed for the prince’s temporary quarters.

But Ying Hongxue’s keen eyes caught sight of Xue Shu from a distance. The man was cradling a figure in his arms, moving with purpose and a primal protectiveness that left no doubt about his intentions. It didn’t take long for her to piece things together.

She stopped abruptly and turned to the officials with a well-practiced smile. “Gentlemen, I just remembered that His Highness left us a matter to discuss first. Since he’s still resting, let’s sort this out before we trouble him for a decision.”

Her tone was calm, convincing, and the officials nodded in agreement, retreating with her to deliberate elsewhere. By the time Xue Shu reached the chamber, the courtyard was silent.

Inside, the brazier had already been lit, and the bedding warmed with hot water bottles beneath the sheets. Yin Chengyu was drifting on the edge of sleep, his lashes fluttering faintly as Xue Shu eased him down onto the soft mattress. His body was pliant, his gaze hazy and lidded as he watched Xue Shu tuck the blanket snugly around him.

“Rest,” Xue Shu murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll stay here.”

Content, Yin Chengyu closed his eyes and let sleep pull him under.

Xue Shu turned his attention to the porridge, making sure it stayed warm before returning to the prince’s side. Careful not to disturb him, he smoothed the damp strands of his long hair, letting his fingers glide through until the hair dried to a silken sheen. The faint fragrance of it teased his senses, intoxicating him.

His hands trembled, and for a fleeting moment, he gave in, burying his face in the cascading locks. A shudder wracked his frame, and his breath hitched as his chest swelled with an overwhelming, all-consuming need.

This, he realized, was ecstasy—having the one you love so close, so utterly yours. Yet, the earlier intimacy had only ignited a deeper hunger within him, a craving that simmered and roiled.

But restraint prevailed. Yin Chengyu was exhausted, and Xue Shu knew better than to give in to his impulses. Instead, he climbed into bed beside him, drawing the smaller figure into his arms. His hold was firm, possessive—a predator safeguarding its most treasured prize.