Chapter 110.

Chaos engulfed Jingren Palace.

Servants scrambled like headless chickens, panic etched into their faces as they darted about. Even the guards patrolling outside were summoned in, ordered to turn the palace inside out. They scoured every corner from midnight until daylight, but there was no trace of the so-called “ghost.”

Noble Consort Wen had finally calmed from her fright. Disheveled, hair in a mess, she unleashed her frustration on the searching guards and trembling servants. In the end, she grudgingly sent the guards away for the time being.

The sky outside had brightened, but no sun greeted the day. Just a gloomy, overcast blanket of gray. She hadn’t noticed before, but after last night, the palace’s vastness felt suffocatingly eerie. The distorted shadows of bare branches stretched across the window paper, like gnarled ghostly hands clawing their way up from the underworld.

Despite her growing unease, pride kept her from showing it. She barked warnings to the servants, forbidding any gossip about the night’s incident. Quietly, she had offerings of paper money burned in the remote corners of the palace, before dragging her utterly exhausted self to rest.

But even as she lay down, the chilling image of that ghostly figure from the previous night loomed in her mind. Sleep became an impossibility. Reluctantly, she had the side chamber cleaned and prepared, choosing to temporarily stay there instead.

The news of the commotion spread like wildfire, reaching Kunning Palace before the night was even over.

Empress Yu listened with unrestrained satisfaction as the eunuch relayed the events in vivid, theatrical detail. Her previously pent-up anger finally eased, and she nodded in approval. “Good work. Go claim your reward from Momo Hua later.”

This eunuch, a squat, slightly hunchbacked figure with monkey-like agility, was no ordinary palace worker. Before entering the imperial court, he’d been raised in a troupe of street performers, skilled in all manner of trickery and illusions. On the side, he’d learned the morbid art of preparing corpses for burial. Empress Yu had kept him around as a secret weapon—and now, he was proving invaluable.

Knowing that the head of the Eastern Bureau was in Noble Consort Wen’s corner, Empress Yu had already taken precautions. She coordinated with the Eastern Bureau and ensured that the guards patrolling Jingren Palace were her people. Everything last night had unfolded seamlessly, without a trace left behind.

After a brief moment of thought, she instructed further. “Keep it up for the next few days. But don’t be so reckless as to appear again. She’s no fool—too many sightings, and she might catch on. Just create disturbances, enough to make her mind run wild.”

Sometimes, people frightened themselves more than anything else.

When Noble Consort Wen reached her breaking point, only then would the real show begin.

After receiving his orders, the eunuch bowed and departed. Empress Yu then summoned another servant to deliver a message to Ciqing Palace.

This messenger was someone Yin Chengyu had chosen from the Eastern Bureau for Empress Yu’s use. However, on the way to Ciqing Palace, they were intercepted by Xue Shu.

Xue Shu had returned to the capital two days after Yin Chengyu, spinning some nonsense about following an immortal on a spiritual retreat to appease Emperor Longfeng. After catching up on reports and handling affairs at both the Eastern and Western Bureaus, he finally had time to pay a visit to Ciqing Palace.

It was early when he arrived, but Xue Shu didn’t bother hiding his movements.

By now, the Eastern Bureau was almost entirely under his control. The Western Bureau had Wei Xihe as his proxy. With personnel from both Bureaus often overlapping with the Jinyiwei, and several key commanders being familiar faces from his previous life, Xue Shu had gradually extended his influence there as well. He strategically stationed his own men to guard critical locations like Ciqing Palace and Kunning Palace.

So today, he walked openly into Hongren Hall, without any of his usual caution.

It had been several days since they’d seen each other. Although spies had passed along updates, no amount of words could compare to a face-to-face meeting.

The moment Xue Shu laid eyes on Yin Chengyu, he couldn’t look away. His gaze lingered, devouring every detail with a greedy intensity.

Yin Chengyu, busy at his desk reviewing reports sent by regional officials, didn’t even glance up at first. Instead, he lazily gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit. Wait till I’m done.”

The reports were the usual dull pleasantries—local officials seeking to curry favor with the emperor through flowery words devoid of substance. Emperor Longfeng couldn’t be bothered with such drivel, so they fell to Yin Chengyu to review. Once sorted, they’d be sent to Qianqing Palace for the emperor to skim before filing them away.

Yin Chengyu had been at it all afternoon, nearly done.

Xue Shu didn’t sit. Instead, he walked behind the desk, where he discovered a peculiar sight. Yin Chengyu, outwardly composed and dignified, had kicked off his shoes and socks under the desk. His bare feet were resting on the belly of a young tiger.

The tiger cub had been raised in Ciqing Palace for three months. Round and chubby, it was more like a spoiled lapdog than a fierce beast. Its once-mighty lineage now reduced to a pampered, lethargic creature with none of its parents' wild ferocity.

No one quite knew how that little beast ended up sneaking into the Hongren Hall, but there it was, sprawled out beneath the desk, belly-up, snoozing away like it owned the place. Its pale yellow belly rose and fell with each breath, and every so often, those delicate, snow-white feet pressed down on its softness. The tiger cub would stretch all four paws lazily in protest before flopping back into its nap.

Xue Shu's gaze lingered—longer than he’d care to admit—on those dainty, ivory feet. But his patience snapped. “That little rascal’s been rolling around the grounds like a mud-covered mutt. Who knows where it’s been? Let me take it outside for a proper wash before it crawls all over Your Highness again.”

Yin Chengyu cast him a languid side-eye, dismissive yet laced with amusement. “The servants bathed it yesterday. It’s clean.” His words were light, but his foot pressed deliberately into the soft belly again, eliciting a groggy growl. The cub, now awake and grumpy, retaliated with a gentle nip at the offending foot, hugging it with its tiny paws while a low rumble vibrated from its throat.

Yin Chengyu knew Xue Shu’s temperament all too well. The man wasn’t even trying to hide his jealousy anymore. Like a pot ready to boil over, he seemed determined to let his frustrations show—even if it meant picking a fight with a baby tiger.

Xue Shu bit down his irritation, dragging a low stool to the prince’s side and settling himself down. Without so much as a word, he took those slender legs and hoisted them onto his lap. “Then let me massage them, Your Highness,” he muttered.

Yin Chengyu kicked him lightly, his tone half-teasing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Yet there was no real rebuke in his voice, no sternness, no authority to chase Xue Shu away. If anything, he sounded amused. And so, Xue Shu began kneading, working from the prince’s thighs all the way down to his heels with a practiced thoroughness that betrayed familiarity.

“I never knew you had this talent,” Yin Chengyu mused, tossing aside the half-read memorial he’d been holding. He leaned back in his armchair, toes occasionally poking at Xue Shu’s chest. “It seems I’ve wasted years without it.”

Xue Shu’s response was calm, his hands never faltering. “What’s done is done. I’ll make up for it from now on.” His tone carried a double meaning—a nod to their tangled past lives. As he spoke, his thumb pressed into the arch of Chengyu’s foot, teasing circles with calculated pressure.

Yin Chengyu flinched, toes curling instinctively. A sharp breath escaped him as he tried to withdraw, but Xue Shu’s grip on his ankle was ironclad. Their eyes locked in a silent battle, tension crackling between them.

Yin Chengyu broke it with a swift kick to the shoulder, his voice steady despite the faint flush on his cheeks. “Not now. We have real matters to discuss.”

Reluctantly, Xue Shu released him, the air between them simmering as he shifted gears. He reported on the latest events at Jingren Palace, detailing how the Empress's chosen eunuch had struck fear into Consort Wen. Apparently, she’d been so terrified she had fled the main hall, taking refuge in a side chamber.

“They say ghosts fear wicked souls, but someone like Consort Wen? It’ll take more than petty tricks to break her,” Yin Chengyu remarked, his tone edged with disdain. “Still, if all goes well, she’ll run straight to Father soon enough. When that happens, coordinate with Master Ziyuan to eliminate this pest for good.”

As the conversation shifted to Yin Chengjing, Yin Chengyu’s expression darkened. The scheming and deceit of court politics weighed heavily on him, and it showed. “Contact Uju discreetly,” he ordered. “The Third Prince’s marriage has already stirred enough rumors. Let’s see if he’s bold enough to make his next move.”

Due to an unexpected mishap during the royal winter hunt, Yin Chengjing was forced into a rushed marriage in February. On the same day, both his wife, Princess Yao, and his concubine, Princess Uju, moved into the Third Prince’s residence in Xiaoshiyong District. From then on, the drama truly began.

Before leaving for Huguang, Xue Shu deliberately spread scandalous rumors claiming the Third Prince was impotent. It seemed Yin Chengjing was pushed to his limit, for barely a month after his wedding, whispers of Princess Yao being pregnant began to circulate.

Although the pregnancy was still in its early, unstable stages—too delicate for grand announcements—the imperial consort, Lady De, wasted no time in sending lavish gifts to the Third Prince’s residence. Not long after, she even granted him two new concubines, as if publicly confirming Princess Yao’s pregnancy to silence any doubts.

The earlier rumors of the prince’s so-called "inabilities" were crushed under the weight of these developments.

Had it not been for this carefully orchestrated turn of events, Yin Chengjing and Consort De might not have had the freedom to meddle in Consort Rong's affairs.

Reflecting on this sordid mess, Yin Chengyu couldn’t help but feel a flicker of disgust. The relentless scheming, backstabbing, and power plays left him weary. Yet, these people never learned—unyielding and insatiable, they seemed determined to play the game to its bitter end.

Xue Shu nodded, silently noting the resentment in Yin Chengyu’s tone. The political intrigue—the lies, betrayals, and dirty tactics—had soured him deeply. Yet there was no escaping it.

“If you don’t want to deal with this, leave it to me,” Xue Shu said firmly, his voice steady and grounding.

Chengyu sighed, exhaustion lining his features. “The Empress Mother will handle the inner palace. Just make sure justice is done for the First Prince and his mother.”

Three days later, Consort Wen finally broke. The ghostly encounters had pushed her to the edge. She refused to sleep in darkness, keeping Jingren Palace lit with countless candles, her bedchamber guarded by maids and matrons who rotated through the night.

Yet even with every precaution, she was haunted.

In her dreams, she heard weeping—male and female voices whispering, taunting, crying in her ears. Each time she awoke in terror, the attendants swore they heard nothing.

Sleepless and desperate, she tried to distract herself by embroidering. But as her needle worked the silk, a single drop of blood fell from the ceiling, staining her pristine white fabric. The sight shattered her fragile resolve.

And so, the court’s ruthless dance continued.

When night fell and the wind began to howl, the scene outside turned haunting. Tree branches swayed wildly, casting chaotic, ghostly shadows on the delicate window paper. The eerie spectacle brought a chilling sense of unease to the halls of Jingren Palace.

Consort Wen endured three sleepless nights, her nerves stretched thin. She dared to snatch only brief moments of rest during daylight, and the toll on her was undeniable—her beauty, once radiant and voluptuous, now waned under the weight of exhaustion.

Fear rippled through the Jingren palace. Though burning spirit money was strictly forbidden, the faint, acrid scent of ashes lingered persistently around the grounds.

Rumors of apparitions bred panic among the servants, and a few were so stricken with terror that they fell ill and had to take leave.

Even as someone who prided herself on rationality, Consort Wen couldn’t help but falter. Anxious whispers from her trusted attendants urged her to seek the emperor’s help. After careful grooming, she appeared before Emperor Longfeng. She adorned herself in somber attire and dusted her pale cheeks with extra powder to emphasize her fragility. The result was striking—her once-vivid charm now softened into a delicate, heartbreaking vulnerability.

The emperor, accustomed to her fiery beauty, was caught off guard by this unfamiliar, tender display. Her tearful pleas stirred both his pity and his ire. Upon hearing her sobs, he was overcome with a pang of regret.

Without hesitation, he brought her into the Qianqing Palace, where only the most favored were ever welcomed.

It was almost unheard of for concubines to share the emperor’s private chambers, yet here she was—a testament to Emperor Longfeng's undeniable desire and indulgent favoritism.

Without hesitation, he commanded Gong Hongfei, the head of palace security, to conduct a thorough investigation of Jingren Palace.

“Take your men and search every corner,” he ordered sharply. “If anyone dares to play tricks and frighten the consort, I want them exposed immediately.”

Pulling Consort Wen closer, he promised, “With me here, no petty charlatan would dare disturb you again.”

The consort, with brows knitted and voice trembling, hesitated before asking, “But… what if it’s truly a ghost?”

The emperor’s response was quick, dismissive, and calm. “If it’s a malevolent spirit, all the better. We’ll call in Master Ziyuan to perform a ritual and deal with it.”

At the mention of Master Ziyuan, Consort Wen stiffened.

The man was known to be in league with the crown prince, and her unease grew.

She couldn’t help but recall the prince’s fleeting visit to the Yongxi palace earlier. Though tension seemed inevitable, she reassured herself that with the emperor's authority, Master Ziyuan wouldn’t dare act recklessly.

That night, after lavishing her attention on the emperor with meticulous care, she finally drifted off to a tranquil sleep, lulled by the faint scent of calming incense.

No nightmares haunted her this time.

However, in the dead of night, the emperor beside her suddenly convulsed, flailing his limbs as if locked in a desperate struggle.

Startled awake by his arm crashing into her chest, Consort Wen sat up in alarm. In the dim light, she saw his face twisted in agony, his throat emitting ghastly, guttural noises.

Panic surged. She screamed for the imperial palace physician, and chaos erupted. When the physician arrived, he dared not rouse the emperor abruptly. Instead, he ordered the eunuchs to hold him down while he administered acupuncture to ease the fit.

After an agonizing two quarters of an hour, the emperor finally awoke, pallid and drenched in sweat. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

“What… what happened to me?” he wheezed, his voice barely audible. The creeping sensation of vulnerability sent a jolt of fear through Emperor Longfeng. Desperately, he fought to push himself upright, only to clutch his chest as a sharp, searing pain tore through him.

The moment the imperial physician laid eyes on his face, his entire demeanor shifted. Without hesitation, he rushed to steady the man, pushing him down to lie flat, urgency dripping from every movement.

After another round of acupuncture, the physician, grave and cautious, explained, “Your Majesty suffered a fright in your sleep, which triggered a cardiac episode. You must avoid agitation and rest deeply, or risk a stroke.”

The emperor’s face darkened. “I was perfectly fine earlier today!” he protested, though his words came weak and fragmented.

The memory of his recovery—thanks to the first prince’s care and Master Ziyuan’s elixirs—flickered in his mind. His health had been stable for a month, yet now it faltered once more.

Suspicion blazed in his eyes as they landed on Consort Wen, standing nervously at the edge of the room. Rage simmered beneath his exhaustion. It must be her—her presence, her cursed aura—dragging him into this abyss.

Forcing his breathing to steady under the imperial physician’s warnings, he barked hoarsely, “Consort Wen, leave! Now! And… summon Master Ziyuan. Immediately!”

His tone left no room for argument, and the consort, though shaken, could only bow and obey.

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