Chapter 140. Who would I invite to toast the wine?

On the 13th day of December, the victorious northern campaign army marched back to the capital in triumph. Upon hearing the news, civil and military officials hurried to welcome them ten miles outside the Desheng Gate.

When they set out, it was still autumn, but their return marked the peak of winter. Snow blanketed the ground, and icy winds pierced through the air. Yet, the returning army moved with an overwhelming force of spirit, their steps steady, their ranks impeccably organized, and their demeanor brimming with resolute confidence, casting aside any remnants of past despair.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves and synchronized footsteps reverberated in the distance, growing steadily louder. Braving the biting wind that lashed at their faces, the gathered officials craned their necks, squinting against the frost as they strained to catch sight of the approaching procession.

“They’re here!”

“They’ve returned!”

As the army drew closer, the banners and endless ranks became visible. Soon, their gazes fell upon the figure riding ahead of the procession: the emperor himself.

The young sovereign sat tall on his steed, clad in gleaming silver armor that reflected the icy brilliance of the snow-covered earth. The aura he exuded was nothing like the gentle elegance he displayed in the court. Here, he was sharp, commanding, and deadly. His naturally arched phoenix eyes glimmered with an innate majesty, rendering unnecessary any overt gestures of authority. A mere glance from him commanded reverence and submission.

It had not yet been a year since this emperor ascended the throne, yet his presence was already formidable. The assembled ministers dropped to their knees in awe, their hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and joy.

Emperor Yin Chengyu rode forward, dismounted with graceful precision, and gestured for his officials to rise. The army, however, would not enter the city but instead camped just outside its gates. The emperor swiftly issued orders to reward the troops before proceeding into the city alongside his generals and ministers.

The victory over the northern territories called for more than just military rewards; it demanded a grand celebration.

The following day, Emperor Yin Chengyu hosted a banquet in the grand Huangji Hall of Supreme Harmony, where he formally recognized the heroes of this campaign.

The greatest accolades went to those who had delivered decisive victories: Xue Shu, He Shan, Yu Jing, and Ying Hongxue.

He Shan was bestowed the title of Marquis of Zhongyong (Loyal Valor), appointed as the Left Commander of the Central Military Command, and honored with the ranks of Silver-Robed Courtier and Right Pillar of the Nation.

Yu Jing became the Marquis of Jing'an (Tranquil Peace), promoted to Left Commander of the Rear Military Command, and similarly honored.

Even Ying Hongxue, though a woman, was celebrated for her unparalleled courage. Throughout the campaign, her tactical brilliance and seamless coordination with He Shan resulted in minimal losses. She personally killed the Tatar Khan’s second son and captured the eldest.

Her achievements earned her the title of Marquis of Zhenjing (Pure Serenity), the position of Right Commander of the Central Military Command, and the prestigious title of First-Rank Lady.

Countless others who had joined the campaign received generous rewards. The decree detailing the honors was so lengthy that the eunuch reciting it grew hoarse before finishing. But one name was conspicuously absent throughout the proclamation.

All eyes turned toward Xue Shu, who stood silently beside the emperor, his expression unreadable. His unparalleled bravery on the battlefield was no secret. If not for his status as a eunuch, his deeds alone would have warranted a noble title and a seal of authority.

Among the military officials, there was discontent; they knew the depths of Xue Shu’s bravery. Yet the civil officials, though impressed, felt relief. Despite Xue Shu’s remarkable contributions, his current power as head of the imperial secret service was already immense. The lack of an official reward was seen as a safeguard against unchecked ambition.

Just as whispers began to spread, the emperor raised his hand, silencing the hall. From within his robes, he produced another imperial decree.

The room grew tense, all eyes fixated on the scroll. With deliberate precision, Emperor Yin Chengyu handed the decree to the eunuch Zheng Duobao and spoke in an even tone.

“Though the heroes of this northern campaign have been rewarded, there remains one who, time and again, saved me from peril, accomplishing countless feats. In this campaign, he single-handedly slew the Tatar Khan, securing an unparalleled victory. I have thought long and hard, and now the reward is decided.

As the ministers exchanged stunned glances, the emperor turned to Xue Shu, his gaze piercing yet steady.

“Xue Shu, step forward and receive your reward.”

Xue Shu locked eyes with the emperor, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. With unwavering composure, he knelt and accepted the decree.

Zheng Duobao unfurled the scroll and read aloud in a resounding voice. Unlike the others, this decree was brief but weighty:

“Xue Shu is hereby granted the title of Duke of Zhenguo (Protector of the Nation), elevated to Special Grand Counselor, Pillar of the State, and Imperial Tutor to the Crown Prince. A grand residence is bestowed upon him, along with an annual stipend of 1,500 shi of grain.”

The hall was plunged into silence, the gravity of the proclamation leaving all present in stunned awe.

With his unique status, he retained command over the two bureaus and one guard corps, entering and exiting the palace freely without requiring approval. Such unprecedented favor stirred shock throughout the hall.

Since the founding of the Great Yan dynasty, no noble title such as “Duke of Zhenguo (Protector of the Nation)” had ever been conferred—only “General Protector of the Nation” existed.

The only exception was an unusual case: the late Emperor Gaozong, a ruler notorious for indulgence and favoritism, who fabricated the title for himself.

Disregarding protocol, he created a false identity to facilitate his escapades outside the palace and later self-appointed himself as “Duke Zhenguo,” even filing it officially with the Ministry of War and receiving stipends from the Ministry of Revenue. Aside from this anomaly, the title had never been granted before or since.

Now, Emperor Yin Chengyu issued a decree bestowing the same title upon Xue Shu, a eunuch, showcasing extraordinary favor.

The court erupted in dissent.

Some ministers, who had long harbored disdain for eunuchs, openly criticized the decision, denouncing it as a violation of propriety. They argued that granting a eunuch any noble title was already breaking precedent, but bestowing this one in particular bordered on absurdity.

The fervor of their objections—citing history and tradition, their voices hoarse and spittle flying—was palpable.

Yin Chengyu listened patiently to the tirade without interruption. When the minister finally finished, the emperor’s response was cool and unyielding: “My will is decided. There will be no further debate on this matter.”

This was uncharacteristic of the emperor, known for his openness to counsel. Even during the contentious Northern Campaign, he had provided extensive justification for his strategy, though many court officials opposed it at the time. For him to now act so decisively and single-mindedly—for a eunuch, no less—was unprecedented.

The outspoken minister faltered under the emperor’s calm gaze, his protests dying on his lips as a colleague tugged him back, whispering, “Enough. Don’t you see? Once His Majesty makes a decision, it’s immovable.”

Despite his amiable exterior, their emperor bore the resolute decisiveness of the dynasty’s founder. Most days, he masked it behind a veneer of warmth. The court, lulled by his apparent benevolence, had underestimated his ambition and strength of will. It was only after the Northern Campaign that they began to glimpse the iron beneath his surface.

For the empire, this was a blessing—a ruler with both capability and vision could usher in an era of prosperity. But for the court, such a sovereign was far more difficult to manage. Those who understood this refrained from opposing him over trivial matters. Crossing him today would inevitably invite retribution tomorrow.

The dissenting minister, shaken, finally recognized the futility of resistance. As he recalled the emperor’s impassive phoenix eyes, he shivered and retreated to his seat.

The celebration resumed as though nothing had happened. General He Shan and other military officials toasted Xue Shu, congratulating him in a scene of apparent harmony. By the banquet’s end, the hour was late, and Yin Chengyu retired to his private quarters.

In the stillness of the Yangxin Palace, Xue Shu dismissed the servants and personally removed the emperor’s outer robe. Unable to restrain himself, he pulled the emperor into his arms, nuzzling the delicate line of his neck with an intoxicated fervor. The faint scent of alcohol clung to his breath, warm and heady.

Yin Chengyu tilted his face upward, icy fingers slipping under Xue Shu’s robe to rest against the warmth of his chest. His lips brushed lightly against Xue Shu’s cheek, teasing with deliberate slowness. “Do you feel wronged?”

The emperor had considered restoring Xue Shu’s status, sparing him the constraints of a eunuch’s role. But pragmatism won out—having an outsider freely enter and linger within the palace would incite far more scrutiny than a trusted eunuch’s presence ever could.

“Your Majesty’s will is my own,” Xue Shu murmured, turning his face to catch the emperor’s lips, biting softly and planting kisses along the edges. “If not for this, how could I remain by your side always?”

A low laugh escaped Yin Chengyu, his voice dark and rasping as he whispered against Xue Shu’s ear. “The mighty Jiu Qiansui-Nine Thousand Years reduced to this?”

Provoked, Xue Shu tightened his hold, pressing the emperor against the bedpost with a hunger that brooked no resistance. Yin Chengyu reveled in the kiss—brutal, consuming, raw with emotion. He adored the way Xue Shu unraveled for him, each loss of composure laying bare a devotion that burned fierce and unrelenting.

Pushing lightly against Xue Shu’s shoulders, the emperor’s tone turned languid, playful. “I’m tired. Go prepare my bath.” Despite the words, their bodies remained tangled, refusing separation.

Xue Shu’s throat bobbed as his gaze bore into the emperor’s, sharp and predatory. “Allow me to loosen Your Majesty’s muscles first. The bath can wait.”

With that, he reached for the drawer by the bedside, retrieving their familiar ointment. His fingers brushed against several new porcelain jars, their contents catching his curiosity. Smirking, he dipped a finger into a vibrant red pigment and smeared it onto the emperor’s lips.

Leaning in, he claimed those stained lips, his voice muffled between kisses. “I thought I’d try the new rouge.”

*

After the triumphant northern campaign army returned to the capital, it didn’t take long for Xie Yunchuan, tasked with "inspecting the waterways," to make his grand reappearance just days before the New Year’s Eve festivities.

During his journey, Xie Yunchuan traversed the lands of several wealthy vassal princes, personally visiting their estates one by one. With sharp rhetoric and a tongue dipped in honey and steel, he persuaded more than a few of these lords to part with substantial sums of silver and extensive tracts of land, all in the name of securing a brighter future for their descendants within the imperial bureaucracy.

Though he traveled light, carrying nothing but a well-worn sense of authority, Xie Yunchuan returned to the capital at the helm of an imposing convoy laden with wealth. Carts overflowing with silver were escorted by armed soldiers, a spectacle of submission and power that couldn’t be ignored.

The vassal princes were far more pliant than Yin Chengyu, the emperor, had anticipated. Those who cooperated were rewarded handsomely.

Yin Chengyu, ever strategic and unforgiving, lavished them with praise during court sessions, granting these loyal princes the rare privilege of relocating their families to the capital. Their heirs, courtesy of Xie Yunchuan's meticulous reports, were bestowed with coveted positions within the court—a foothold to climb higher, should their skills prove worthy.

For these princes, languishing in isolated fiefdoms, locked into cycles of idle debauchery and domestic drudgery, the chance to compete in imperial examinations and enter officialdom was an irresistible temptation. Soon, whispers of their newfound fortunes spread like wildfire, inspiring other vassal princes to tentatively submit similar petitions.

But for those latecomers and fence-sitters, Yin Chengyu made no effort to hide his disdain. Their requests were shelved, left to gather dust until after the New Year, a quiet reminder that timidity reaped lesser rewards.

In the blink of an eye, New Year’s Eve arrived.

This marked the emperor’s first New Year since ascending the throne, and he spared no expense in its grandeur. Rituals honoring ancestors were conducted with solemn reverence, a gesture to assure heaven and earth of his rightful rule. That evening, the imperial palace came alive with revelry. The grand banquet buzzed with laughter, music, and the clinking of wine cups as Yin Chengyu toasted his officials.

As the wine flowed freely, decorum unraveled. A particularly uninhibited official staggered among the dancers, clumsily mimicking their movements with drunken enthusiasm. The scene dissolved into chaos as others cheered, smashed cups, or were dragged into the fray by barely sober colleagues. The air brimmed with raucous joy, an intoxicating cacophony of silk and shamelessness.

Yet Yin Chengyu, seated regally at the head, merely watched with an indulgent smile, his sharp eyes gleaming like a predator biding its time. With a wave of his hand, he ordered Zhen Duobao to prepare resting chambers for those too inebriated to leave the palace that night.

The emperor himself had indulged deeply, his usual composed demeanor softened by wine. Victory tasted sweet, his reforms were rolling steadily into motion, and the sight of those reveling beneath his gaze only added to the satisfaction coursing through his veins.

His attention, however, eventually settled on one figure—Xue Shu, the Duke of Zhenguo. Yin Chengyu’s phoenix-like eyes shimmered with intent as he curled a finger around the leather belt at Xue Shu’s waist, his voice low and languid. “Stay with me for another drink, Duke.”

The gesture, executed amidst the boisterous chaos of the hall, bordered on insolence.

Xue Shu’s eyes darted around, scanning the drunken crowd, his shoulders tensed with unease. Most officials were too far gone in their cups to notice, and the few who weren’t had discreetly slipped away.

Reassured by the lack of prying eyes, Xue Shu allowed himself a breath of relief. Taking the wine cup from the emperor’s hand, he murmured, “Your Majesty has had enough.”

On any other day, such forwardness would have been unthinkable.

But Yin Chengyu only chuckled, reclaiming the cup and refilling it. His brow arched in challenge. “And how do you know I’m drunk?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pressed the jade cup against Xue Shu’s lips, tipping it ever so slightly. The rich wine spilled, cascading down Xue Shu’s jaw and soaking his robe in dark, fragrant streaks.

Leaning closer, Yin Chengyu inhaled the heady aroma clinging to Xue Shu’s chest, his palm flat against the damp fabric. His voice dipped, teasing. “Your heart is racing.”

Xue Shu’s eyes darkened, his composure cracking under the weight of the emperor’s audacity. His arm slipped around Yin Chengyu’s waist, half-supporting, half-dragging him toward the shadows of the corridor outside.

Yin Chengyu offered no resistance, draping himself over Xue Shu’s shoulder with deliberate carelessness. His fingers traced the curve of Xue Shu’s ear as he whispered with a grin, “Are you taking me somewhere private, Duke?”

Xue Shu’s jaw clenched, a vein throbbing visibly at his temple. Finally, his restraint snapped. Backed into the shadow of a stone pillar, he seized the emperor and silenced him with a fierce, punishing kiss.