Chapter 150: A Dream of the Past, Together in This Floating Life

Xue Shu was reassigned to the Western Bureau.

His belongings in the dormitory at the Directorate of Imperial Attendants were meager—a small bundle at most. Packing up took no time, and he departed under the escort of a eunuch sent from the Western Bureau. As he left, the other eunuchs in the shared dormitory showed mixed reactions. Some sighed in pity, but most were smugly relieved, if not openly gloating.

While the cleaning eunuchs of the Directorate weren’t exactly in prestigious positions, their situation was still leagues better than the grim fate awaiting those assigned to the declining Western Bureau. Rumors spread like wildfire—Xue Shu had been sent to serve under one particular eunuch, a brutal figure named Qin Qianhu.

Qin Qianhu was once an executioner in the Imperial Prison under the Eastern Bureau but had moved to the Western Bureau for “honorable retirement” after old age dulled his edge against the cutthroat politics of the East. His reputation preceded him—cruel and unfeeling, with a particular fondness for whipping anyone unfortunate enough to displease him.

To Qin Qianhu, the eunuchs who served him weren’t human; they were disposable tools.

The horror stories were endless. Every few months, some unlucky servant would be carried out of Qin Qianhu’s quarters, wrapped in a straw mat, their life beaten out of them. Speculations ran rampant among Xue Shu’s former peers—would he survive long enough to walk out on his own two feet, or would he meet the same grim fate?

Yin Chengyu, standing nearby, listened in silence. His gaze was heavy as it settled on Xue Shu, trying to discern his thoughts. But the young man, dressed in his plain gray robe, stood straight as a spear, his expression unmoved.

Yin Chengyu understood. Xue Shu knew exactly what he was walking into.

In the unforgiving depths of the palace, a powerless eunuch had no choice but to gamble—offering dignity, sometimes even life itself, in exchange for a slim chance at climbing the ranks. Lose, and they’d end up discarded like trash.

Win?

Glory wasn’t guaranteed, just a slightly less miserable existence.

The Western Bureau eunuch led Xue Shu to Qin Qianhu’s courtyard. As they approached the gate, they passed two others carrying out a straw mat. The mat was narrow, and its gruesome contents—a lifeless body—peeked through its folds.

The escort’s face turned ashen, his head snapping away from the scene like he’d seen a ghost. Only after the corpse was carried out of sight did he dare breathe again, his relief evident even as his face twisted into a strained smile. “Here we are. Qin Qianhu dislikes noise. You’ll have to go in alone.”

His feet seemed glued to the ground—he wouldn’t take another step closer.

Xue Shu, calm and composed, didn’t argue. Instead, he clasped his hands in thanks and strode inside without hesitation.

The courtyard was eerily quiet, unsettlingly so. Despite the many eunuchs bustling about, there wasn’t so much as a sharp breath to break the silence. It was a stillness that sank into the bones, a stark warning of the dangers within.

After inquiring with a steward-like eunuch about his next steps, Xue Shu was just beginning to understand his duties when a shrill, ominous voice cut through the air from the hall.

“A new one outside? Bring him in. Let me take a look—hope he’s not another useless one.”

The steward flinched at the voice, his body visibly trembling. With a deep bow, he gestured for Xue Shu to follow.

Xue Shu stepped into the hall and finally came face to face with the infamous Qin Qianhu.

Qu Tan, a man in his late fifties or early sixties, carried an imposing stature that towered over most ordinary men. His sparse white hair was bound neatly into a crown, and his dark crimson flying fish robe amplified his unnervingly pale complexion, almost as if his face were powdered. Deep wrinkles etched his aging features, and the sagging corners of his eyes gave him an unsettling, lethargic air. When he lifted his eyelids to glance at someone, it felt like being scrutinized by an inscrutable shadow.

Xue Shu, his eyes downcast, stepped forward to bow respectfully. Qu Tan cast a cursory glance at him, appraising the young man in silence, but made no move to allow him to rise. Instead, he casually reached for a whip resting on the desk beside him. The supervising eunuch, sensing the shift in mood, discreetly retreated to the sidelines.

Kneeling with his forehead nearly brushing the ground, Xue Shu remained motionless in his bow. Qu Tan began to circle him at an unhurried pace, the whip's handle gripped in one hand, its tip tapping rhythmically against his other palm. Malice twisted his expression into something grotesque and calculating.

Watching this scene from the side, Yin Chengyu burned with quiet fury. He had long understood the unspoken cruelty lurking within palace walls, but this blatant display of Qu Tan’s audacious disdain for the law and basic humanity pushed the boundaries of what even he could stomach. His lips tightened into a hard line, and he stared fixedly at Qu Tan’s face, engraving every detail into memory. If the chance ever arose for him to leave this place, he swore to hunt this man down and ensure a punishment so brutal it would leave his body in shreds.

But for now, he could do nothing.

Qu Tan prowled like a predator savoring the rising tension, his steps deliberate and heavy with menace. His gaze lingered on Xue Shu, who knelt with a spine so taut it arched like a drawn bowstring—yet not a tremor betrayed him.

Finally, Qu Tan’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, and with a flick of his arm, the whip sliced through the air. The sharp crack resounded in the room, followed immediately by the sickening tear of flesh as the barbed whip left its mark.

The material of the whip was unknown, but its cruel design was undeniable. It tore into Xue Shu’s back, ripping away flesh and staining his gray robes with deep, dark blood. Despite the searing pain, Xue Shu remained silent, unmoving, his head bowed low. Not even a gasp of agony escaped him.

The sight stirred something bitter and raw in Yin Chengyu’s chest, and an acidic ache flooded his nose. He shut his eyes briefly, forcing himself to exhale deeply, and fought down the sour knot of helpless rage. Then, he crouched down in front of Xue Shu, taking hold of the younger man’s trembling, frostbitten hand—a hand now bulging with veins as Xue Shu strained to endure the pain.

Qu Tan chuckled, his amusement tinged with an edge of cruelty. "Resilient, aren’t you?"

He seemed thoroughly satisfied with Xue Shu’s performance, and after one last, lingering glance, he tucked away the whip and returned to his seat. Reaching for a teacup, he made a show of sipping leisurely before speaking. “From now on, you’ll serve directly under me. You may leave.”

Xue Shu rose without a word, bowed again, and silently exited the room.

The supervising eunuch led Xue Shu to his assigned quarters. The room, noticeably better furnished than the communal housing for lower-ranking attendants, came with a complete set of bedding and tools crafted from fine materials. Against one wall stood a multilevel shelf holding an assortment of medicinal wines and ointments, suggesting that the room had been previously occupied.

Xue Shu’s eyes flicked toward the eunuch, who offered a pointedly cheerful explanation. “Those serving the Grand Eunuch live in this row for convenience.”

He paused, a sly smile creeping onto his face, as if recalling some dark humor. “The last person who stayed here was just carried out. You must have seen him on your way in?”

“Mm,” Xue Shu murmured in response, his voice calm and emotionless. The eunuch, clearly expecting panic or dread, was met with only stoic indifference as Xue Shu stepped inside and shut the door.

The supervising eunuch sneered at the scene and left in a huff, his frustration plain. Behind the closed door, Xue Shu rummaged through a shelf for wound-healing powder. Stripping off his upper garments, he faced the mirror and, with deliberate care, tended to his injuries.

Only now did his icy composure crack, revealing a fleeting glimpse of emotion. His piercing gaze fixed on the whip marks reflected in the polished bronze mirror. Those thick, dark brows furrowed, and an unmistakable chill seeped into his eyes—a storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

Once the wounds were wrapped and secured, he changed into fresh clothes, his movements precise and efficient, before settling into bed on his side.

Yin Chengyu lingered for a long while, seated on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracing the curve of Xue Shu's back. Finally, he slid in beside him, a careful distance melting away as he reached out, slipping an arm around Xue Shu’s frame in a loose, shadowy embrace. Quietly, yet possessively, he held him through the night.

*

Xue Shu quickly established himself in the ruthless hierarchy of the Western Bureau. Compared to the docile sheep of the Directorate of Palace Attendants, the men under Qin Liang’s command were wolves—dangerous, cunning, and merciless. The Western Bureau’s treacherous environment was a sharper blade, but one that Xue Shu wielded with precision. It wasn’t a matter of survival—it was where he thrived.

Though Qin Liang had ostensibly stepped back from the public eye, his shadow loomed large. He continued to orchestrate sordid deeds for the Eastern Bureau in secrecy, delegating these sinister tasks to Xue Shu and his ilk.

They had to navigate not only Qin Liang’s violent temperament but also the constant backstabbing among themselves. Qin Liang fostered his subordinates like venomous creatures in a jar, pitting them against one another to ensure only the strongest emerged. And emerge Xue Shu did, rising to become Qin Liang’s favored tool.

This dubious favor was both a blessing and a curse. It granted Xue Shu opportunities that others dared not dream of, but also placed him squarely in the line of fire whenever Qin Liang’s wrath demanded a target. A bad mood might earn Xue Shu lashes from a whip dipped in saltwater. But when Qin Liang suffered humiliation outside, he unleashed something far worse.

Qin Liang’s private chamber of horrors housed an arsenal of whips, each a unique instrument of pain. The most fearsome of these was a steel whip, intricately crafted, its slender body lined with razor-sharp barbs. A single strike across a man’s back could snap his spine. One fateful day, after a bitter defeat in a skirmish with an old rival from the Eastern Bureau, Qin Liang unleashed the steel whip on Xue Shu with a vengeance.

As a seasoned executioner, Qin Liang knew precisely where to strike for maximum agony without incapacitation. Xue Shu’s back was flayed raw, his flesh torn and bleeding. Yet, he did not falter. With sheer force of will, he bowed, excused himself, and left, only to collapse later, carried back by others. In just three days, he returned to duty, his wounds hastily bandaged, unwilling to yield his position to rivals.

Yin Chengyu was furious, his outrage mingled with helplessness. Whether he scolded or showed concern, Xue Shu seemed deaf to it all. His back bore layer upon layer of scars, old wounds barely healed before new ones were etched over them. As the pain hardened him, so too did his heart. He executed Qin Liang’s dirtiest orders with ruthless efficiency, his methods growing more brutal with every success.

Each day, Yin Chengyu watched him change, a silent horror dawning as he realized how Xue Shu had begun to resemble the infamous Eunuch Regent of later years. The beast had grown its fangs and claws, stepping into the shadows of the imperial jungle.

But Xue Shu was no longer content to be Qin Liang’s lapdog. When he learned Emperor Longfeng planned a winter hunt at the Danxi Preserve, he began plotting his next move.

Leveraging Qin Liang’s favor, Xue Shu maneuvered himself into the emperor’s entourage. Suspicious and paranoid, Qin Liang reluctantly approved the arrangement but ensured Xue Shu’s role remained minor, hoping to keep him in check.

Xue Shu, however, didn’t care for titles or positions. Hidden among the emperor’s retinue, he lay in wait like a predator stalking its prey. His patience was razor-sharp, his ambition an unstoppable tide. By now, the only difference between Xue Shu and the feared Eunuch Regent was the absence of the crimson ceremonial robe that would mark his rise to untouchable power.

Every time Yin Chengyu looked at him, a pang of disbelief struck his heart. In their past life, Yin Chengyu had only known fragments of Xue Shu’s bitter origins, the suffering he had buried beneath cold calculation. Back then, Xue Shu’s volatile moods and ruthless cruelty had loomed larger than any sense of his humanity.

Now, seeing him climb step by agonizing step, leaving bloody footprints in his wake, Yin Chengyu understood. The man who had once stood before him, unyielding and brutal, was forged in a crucible of torment. Xue Shu had hardened his heart and bloodied his hands, all to stand tall in the treacherous court.

All of it—every cut, every scar, every sin—was for him.

*

When the frostbitten winds of winter carried the hunt to its fiercest, Xue Shu defied death itself. In a moment of peril, he surged forward, cutting down a ferocious tiger with ruthless precision and saving Emperor Longfeng’s life. That single act earned him the emperor’s attention—sharp and calculating—but the price was steep.

Xue Shu’s injuries were catastrophic, leaving him teetering on the brink of death. Even the imperial physicians, with all their vaunted skill, could only shake their heads in grim resignation. Yet Xue Shu clung to life with the same iron will that had felled the tiger. By his side, Yin Chengyu could do nothing but grasp his hand, his voice a steady mantra of desperation, calling Xue Shu’s name as though it alone could tether him to the world.

Days passed before Xue Shu awoke. Summoned by Emperor Longfeng, he stepped into a new chapter of his life, ascending with meteoric force through the treacherous storm of court politics.

But for Yin Chengyu, the world remained a haze. His senses dulled, his awareness frayed, leaving him a shadow trailing Xue Shu’s rising star. He watched as Xue Shu mastered the art of manipulation, turning hearts and schemes to his advantage, consolidating power with chilling ease.

Even Emperor Longfeng, who had elevated him, grew wary of his protégé's growing influence.

By the early winter of the 23rd year of Longfeng’s reign, Xue Shu persuaded the emperor to visit the imperial tombs. On the eve of departure, Yin Chengyu found him pacing, restless and unguarded in a way that betrayed the weight of his ambitions. The tension in his frame softened only slightly as he indulged in rare sips of wine, his sharp edges blunted by a fleeting intoxication.

Drunk, Xue Shu unearthed a hidden collection of keepsakes—objects Yin Chengyu had once used, now carefully preserved like relics of a bygone life. From handwritten notes to an inkstone, each item bore the wear of intimacy. Sitting against the wall, his fingers ghosted over the artifacts with uncharacteristic tenderness.

The storm in his gaze calmed, and his voice dropped to a murmur, laden with unspoken promises: “When His Highness returns, I can restore what was lost.”

But in their previous life, Yin Chengyu had never seen these tokens. Their reunion had been anything but joyous. That time, Yin Chengyu had crouched before Xue Shu, his palm cradling the man’s face, his fingers brushing over the arch of his brow. With a sigh so low it seemed to carry centuries of regret, he called him what he truly was: “Fool.”

When the day came to visit the tombs, Yin Chengyu followed Xue Shu once more. But the unseen barrier that had once separated them rose again, cold and impenetrable, barring Yin Chengyu from entering. Powerless, he watched as fate replayed its brutal script.

In his past life, he had stood alone, stripped of allies and options, desperate to exact vengeance. He had gambled everything to win Xue Shu’s loyalty.

What expression had he worn then—resentment?

Resolve?

Or the grim endurance of swallowing humiliation for the sake of survival?

And Xue Shu?

The younger man had approached that fateful meeting with a heart naively alight, eager to see him. Yin Chengyu could no longer recall the precise contours of Xue Shu’s feelings, but anger must have burned there somewhere, smoldering beneath the surface.

That fury had forged their pact—a mistake from the very beginning.

If only.

If only…

But “if only” held no meaning now.

When Xue Shu returned to the capital after the imperial tombs, he began laying the groundwork to bring the deposed crown prince back into court.

Outwardly, he seemed unchanged, but Yin Chengyu noticed the simmering tension beneath the surface, the shadows darkening his gaze. The chest of keepsakes remained untouched, buried deep in his wardrobe as though forgotten.

Resistance in court to the crown prince’s return was fierce, but Xue Shu cut through it with the precision of a blade. He secured the emperor’s decree and prepared to personally retrieve Yin Chengyu. Yet the bright hope that had once shone in his eyes was nowhere to be found, replaced by a veil of inscrutable gloom.

By then, Yin Chengyu could no longer accompany him. His form had grown faint, his strength eroded, leaving him trapped in a fog of delirium. He could only watch as Xue Shu’s carriage rolled away, the weight of his failure and longing pressing him down. With a deep sigh, he let the haze consume him once more.

*

Yin Chengyu had no idea how long he had been asleep. When he began to regain some awareness, there was this undeniable force pulling him in a particular direction. As his eyes finally snapped open, he found himself staring at the familiar bedchamber, and for a moment, he thought he had returned to reality. Instinctively, he murmured, "Xue Shu."

Xue Shu, sitting at the edge of the bed, raised an eyebrow and looked down at him. His fingers playfully reached for his lips. "Your Majesty is awake?"

Still groggy from his slumber, Yin Chengyu remained dazed for a moment until Xue Shu leaned in close, whispering in his ear, "I haven't even started with my methods yet, and you've already passed out? You really can't handle much, can you?"

A frown creased Yin Chengyu's forehead as he finally understood what was going on. His gaze dropped, and he noticed the loose, deep crimson robe he wore, as well as the finger with an unmistakable intent, circling his sash.

Memories slowly trickled back into his mind as he regained control of his body. He sat up, straightened his clothes, and firmly pressed down on the hand that was causing him discomfort, the meaning clear. He leaned back, voice dripping with indifference, "Always with these tricks... If the Bureau's Commissioner isn't tired of them, I certainly am."

Xue Shu’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing. Without hesitation, he traced a slow, deliberate line over Yin Chengyu’s hand. The Emperor smiled, a faint, mischievous curve on his lips. "How about we try something different today?"