Chapter 21.1

The prison behind the Dagu Port magistrate's office was a dank, desolate place, meant to temporarily cage the wretched sea bandits before shipping them off to Tianjin for trial and sentencing. Most of the time, the cells stood empty, collecting dust and shadows. But tonight, they had a new resident.

The dim, damp cell reeked of rot, its beams shrouded in thick cobwebs, alive with the slithering of snakes and the scuttle of vermin. It was a hellhole by design, meant to break even the most hardened.

Wan Youliang sat there, sleepless since the moment he was thrown inside. At first, it was the agony—his thigh wound, hastily wrapped in filthy rags, didn’t bleed anymore but throbbed relentlessly. Later, it was the suffocating stench of decay and his own nauseating sense of humiliation. He was a man used to silk sheets and indulgence, not this fetid nightmare.

Leaning against the clammy stone wall, his eyes burned with frustration.

How had it come to this?

He and Guan Haishan had planned everything so meticulously. All they had to do was drive the crown prince away. With Fang Zhengke left powerless, Wan Youliang could’ve enjoyed another year in his golden lair before passing the torch to the next transport official.

But now, the dream was shattered.

When he first arrived, he shouted and raged, demanding his release, but the cold silence of the prison soon swallowed his protests. Left with nothing but his own spiraling thoughts, he found himself obsessing over one thing: Guan Haishan.

Was he still out there?

Could he be arranging a rescue?

Lost in thought, Wan Youliang flinched at the sudden creak of the rusty cell door. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and his heart stuttered. His eyes darted toward the sound, narrowing when he saw the man stepping into view: Xue Shu.

Xue Shu, polished and immaculate in his tailored finery, stood in stark contrast to Wan Youliang’s disheveled, bloodied state. The sight made Wan Youliang’s stomach twist with rage, momentarily dulling the pain in his leg.

“You damn eunuch!” Wan Youliang spat, venom dripping from his voice. “You tricked me, you dog!”

Xue Shu’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. His dark, predator-like gaze swept over Wan Youliang, sharp enough to cut. “Insults have their price, you know,” he drawled coldly, before tilting his head toward the guards. “Gag him. Drag him out.”

The soldiers didn’t hesitate. They opened the cell, stuffed a rag into Wan Youliang’s mouth, and hauled him out like a piece of baggage.

Not long after, Wan Youliang found himself dumped into the interrogation room, where the smell of blood was thick and iron shackles gleamed under flickering torchlight. Xue Shu stood at the center, radiating malice, directing his men to drag in a group of sea bandits who had been captured earlier.

The bandits were a motley crew, their heads shaved in the distinct moon-shaped style of the Wokou, dressed as if they belonged to distant foreign lands. When Xue Shu interrogated them, they responded in a jumble of incomprehensible gibberish, feigning ignorance.

Xue Shu’s patience snapped. With a flick of his hand, the torturers went to work. Screams echoed as the bandits endured lash after lash, their cries blending into the night. Eventually, the act broke one of them.

The ringleader, no longer pretending, spilled the truth in flawless Great Yan dialect. These weren’t real foreign raiders—they were locals, coastal outlaws in disguise. They had pillaged and plundered under the cover of their foreign garb, hoping to avoid exposing their true identities and families back home.

As for the attack, the bandits confessed it wasn’t their own scheme. They’d been ordered by one of their usual collaborators, a government official who had recently landed in trouble. Their job was simple: intimidate his "problem" into submission.

But the specifics? Only the higher-ups knew the full story.

Xue Shu listened impassively, his face unreadable, though his eyes glittered with dark amusement. He had his men subject the remaining bandits to another round of torture, just to ensure there were no lies hidden in the cracks of their confessions.

Meanwhile, Wan Youliang sat bound to a rack in the corner, trembling as he watched the horror unfold. His muffled screams barely registered over the chaos.

Xue Shu turned toward him with a sly grin, his voice soft but laced with venom. “Relax, Lord Wan. His Highness still has use for you. I won’t kill you. Not yet.” He let the words linger, a cold promise of the pain yet to come. Then he turned back to the bandits, his focus as sharp as the blade he now toyed with.

The message was clear: no one left this room unbroken.

Though the interrogation didn’t reveal anything about the assassination, something else slipped out—something far more intriguing.

A lowly pirate confessed: the islands near Tianjin are running out of food and women. Recently, a new shipment arrived, and in about ten days, their main forces plan to land at Dagu to "restock and trade."

These scoundrels hide on islands near Tianjin, evading capture. They only dare to come ashore when supplies run low or goods need moving.

Pillaging, burning, and slaughter? Business as usual.

The officials turn a blind eye, letting chaos fester.

When Xue Shu decided these thugs had nothing more to offer, he ordered them dragged back to their cells.

A subordinate brought warm water and a cloth for Xue Shu to clean his hands. He meticulously washed away the blood, dried his hands with the cloth, and then turned to Wan Youliang. With a pointed look, he gestured for the gag to be removed from Wan Youliang ’s mouth.

“What’s with the trembling, Lord Wan?” Xue Shu’s voice was calm, but his words sharp as daggers. “The little show I put on for those pirates? That was child’s play. You’ve lived in Tianjin all this time, but I bet you’ve never seen what the Western Depot is really capable of, have you?”

Wan Youliang’s lips quivered, his words caught in his throat. His terrified gaze fixed on Xue Shu like he was staring at a demon straight from hell.

Xue Shu tilted his head, a cold smirk curling his lips. “You’ve got a good bit of meat on you, Lord Wan. Perfect for the comb punishment.” His tone dripped with mockery, and his eyes glinted with malice. The flickering candlelight cast distorted shadows on the walls, giving him an even more sinister aura. “First, I’ll scald you from head to toe with boiling water. Then, I’ll use an iron comb to scrape every last bit of flesh clean off your bones. Neat and tidy.”

“You... you...” Wan Youliang stammered, his face twitching as if every muscle in it had rebelled. Before he could get another word out, the sharp, acrid scent of urine hit the air.

Xue Shu grimaced, taking a step back in distaste.

Wan Youliang still had his uses, so Xue Shu couldn’t touch him yet. He had only intended to scare the man, but Wan Youliang proved so pitifully easy to intimidate that it was almost disappointing.

“I haven’t even started, and you’re already scared?” Xue Shu scoffed, his interest waning. He ordered Wan Youliang to be locked up again and left the dungeon without a backward glance.

Outside, it was still the dead of night—just before dawn. The sky remained heavy with darkness, the world eerily silent save for the soft shuffle of guards on duty. Not even the insects dared to stir.

Xue Shu paused under the pale, cold glow of the moon, lost in thought. Then, as if compelled, he made his way toward the main residence where Yin Chengyu was staying.

But he didn’t approach directly. Instead, he settled on a tree facing the residence, leaning lazily against its sturdy trunk, his gaze locked on the tightly closed window.

The crown prince was likely still asleep. Xue Shu’s mind painted a vivid image: Yin Chengyu, draped in nothing but his inner robes, peaceful and vulnerable in slumber. The mere thought had his mood soaring.

With his arms crossed behind his head, Xue Shu stayed perched on the tree branch, eyes never leaving that window. From the dark, predawn hours to the sun’s first light, he remained.

As the cold moon sank westward, the early spring sun climbed the eastern horizon, its rays filtering through the branches to cast dappled patterns on the ground. When the guards switched shifts, Xue Shu’s sharp eyes caught sight of Zheng Duobao entering the house with washing supplies.

Moments later, the window creaked open. And there he was—Yin Chengyu, framed by the soft morning light. His dark, silken hair spilled over his shoulders, his figure clad in simple black robes. As the light danced on his face, the scene eerily mirrored the one Xue Shu had dreamed of.

Straightening his posture, Xue Shu fixed his gaze on the crown prince, unable to look away. Finally, as if pulled by an invisible thread, he leaped down from the tree and headed toward the residence to report the interrogation’s outcome.

Inside, Yin Chengyu had just finished washing up when a servant informed him of Xue Shu’s arrival.

“So early?” he muttered under his breath, but still, he changed into proper robes and went out to meet him.

Xue Shu stood waiting in the hall, his usual air of sharpness tempered by a hint of something unreadable. When Yin Chengyu appeared, Xue Shu’s eyes flicked up—and froze, locked on the prince with unwavering intensity.

“What brings you here at this hour?” Yin Chengyu asked, settling into the main seat.

Xue Shu relayed the interrogation results, his voice steady, but his gaze lingered a moment too long.

The scene unfolded just as Yin Chengyu had expected. Tapping his slender fingers against the desk, he let the silence stretch before speaking with a commanding tone: "Yesterday’s events in the city can’t be hidden. Guan Haishan must already know about Wan Youliang’s situation. Let him cower in the garrison all he wants—it won’t change a thing. Go fetch him and bring him back."

"As for the pirate problem..." Yin Chengyu’s sharp mind skimmed over the list of available candidates. "I’ll make alternative arrangements."

As he finished, a servant from the kitchen arrived with breakfast. Yin Chengyu ordered the meal to be set in the hall and casually took his place at the table. Noticing Xue Shu still standing nearby like a sentinel, he gestured lazily and said, “Sit. Eat.”

Xue Shu hesitated before taking the lower seat, but his attention wasn’t on the food in front of him—it was fixed on Yin Chengyu.

Every movement of Yin Chengyu was refined, deliberate, and mesmerizing, a picture of unshakable grace. He picked up a piece of translucent osmanthus cake, took a slow bite, and swallowed with languid ease. His phoenix eyes tilted to the side, casting a smoldering glance at Xue Shu.

“If you’re not hungry, get out and get to work,” he said, his voice low, laced with a teasing undertone that cut through the air like silk, stirring something deep and dangerous.

That gaze made Xue Shu’s pulse quicken, heat blooming under his collar as he lowered his eyes, hiding the storm of emotions that swirled beneath. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached for the plate of osmanthus cake set before Yin Chengyu. His hand barely brushed the plate when Yin Chengyu’s chopsticks pressed down, stopping him cold.

With a smile hovering on his lips, Yin Chengyu looked him over, his expression maddeningly unreadable. “Didn’t you claim you don’t like sweets?”

Xue Shu’s lips thinned as he met his gaze, finally murmuring, “But Your Highness does.”

If his lord enjoyed it, how could he not? He needed to know what captivated Yin Chengyu so.

Yin Chengyu’s smile deepened, a spark of amusement glinting in his eyes. “Then consider this plate yours.” He withdrew his chopsticks, signaling for a servant to move the dish in front of Xue Shu.

The plate remained nearly untouched save for one piece—the one Yin Chengyu had taken a bite from, left prominently on top.

Yin Chengyu leaned back, setting his chopsticks aside and lifting a cup of tea to his lips. He watched through the delicate steam as Xue Shu predictably reached for that half-bitten piece first.

At that, his brow arched faintly, lips curling into a knowing smile.

*

After breakfast, Yin Chengyu headed straight to the Salt Administration office to meet Fang Zhengke. Meanwhile, he sent the lingering and reluctant Xue Shu off to the garrison to arrest Guan Haishan.

Fang Zhengke had fully recovered from his injuries. These days, he confined himself to the office, methodically sorting through the records and ledgers of the Salt Administration. Although Yin Chengyu's men had salvaged some documents during the inferno that Wan Youliang set to destroy the archive, much had still been lost to the flames.

"Though we've pieced together a fraction, it's merely the tip of the iceberg," Fang Zhengke seethed, his face a mask of fury. "Judging from what's left, it's clear just how deep the rot runs in the Changlu Salt Administration!"

For years, from the capital to the provinces, from the highest officials to the lowliest clerks, there were likely few in the salt administration who hadn’t dirtied their hands.

"If Your Highness intends to uproot this corruption, you must find a way to reconstruct the accounts from past years," Fang Zhengke advised.

Yin Chengyu’s lips curled into a cold smile as he leafed through the salvaged documents. "How difficult could that be?" he mused. "Watch closely, Censor Fang. I’ll ferret out every single one of these parasites. Salt taxes are the backbone of the empire, and the chaos within the Changlu Salt Administration cannot be allowed to continue."

After an intense discussion with Fang Zhengke, Yin Chengyu returned to the garrison city of Tianjin.

By then, word of the incident at Dagu had already reached the city. The officials who came out to greet him bore expressions of unease, though none dared let their anxiety show too plainly.

Yin Chengyu didn’t bother with pretense or politeness. He headed straight to the main court hall and issued a decree summoning the heads of the salt merchants and shipping guilds to appear before him.

Soon, the heads of the Eight Great Houses and the Three Major Guilds knelt in unison on the cold, hard floor of the hall.

Perched on the high dais, Yin Chengyu held a porcelain tea cup, idly skimming the lid across the surface to clear the foam before taking a deliberate sip.

The merchants and guild leaders knelt in silence for nearly half an hour, their knees aching and their nerves fraying. Finally, they exchanged glances, and the head of the salt merchants, Cao Feng, was pushed forward to speak.

Bowing low, Cao Feng forced a smile. "Your Highness, we humbly beg your forgiveness. May we know why you’ve summoned us here today?"

Yin Chengyu didn’t deign to answer immediately. Instead, he snapped the lid of his tea cup shut with a crisp clang that echoed sharply in the chamber. His gaze swept over the gathered men, cold and cutting, before he finally spoke:

"I’ve received reports accusing the Changlu Salt Administration of rampant corruption. Private salt has flooded the market, undermining official sales. By imperial decree, I’ve come to investigate thoroughly." He paused deliberately, his words hanging in the air as his piercing eyes scanned the kneeling figures. "And what did I find? Disorder in the accounts, fraudulent ministry documents, illegal issuance of salt permits, and embezzlement of tax revenues—all orchestrated by Wan Youliang, the Salt Transport Commissioner. His crimes are unforgivable."

"Now," Yin Chengyu continued, his tone sharp as a blade, "Wan Youliang is in custody. However, with much of the archive destroyed in the fire, many documents are missing. That’s why I’ve called you here. I need clarity on the matter of Wan Youliang’s illegal issuance of salt permits. All of you, as major salt merchants in Tianjin, must have been impacted by his excessive taxes. If you’ve suffered injustices, speak freely."

His expression softened slightly, as if he were genuinely offering them an opportunity to air grievances.

The gathered leaders, however, felt their hearts tighten in dread. They couldn’t tell if this prince was naive or merely toying with them.

They knew full well about Wan Youliang’s private dealings. His excessive tax demands were insignificant compared to the enormous profits they reaped from illegal salt. It had been a mutually beneficial arrangement—bribes for convenience. But if Wan Youliang fell, their involvement in smuggling private salt would surely be exposed.

Cao Feng, feigning terror, prostrated himself. "Your Highness, please believe us! Ever since Lord Wan took office, he has tirelessly cracked down on private salt and stabilized the price of official salt. We’ve been deeply grateful for his efforts. These accusations of issuing illegal permits and increasing taxes—where do they even come from? We know nothing of such matters!"

The others quickly chimed in, their voices laden with obsequious agreement:

"Indeed! Your Highness mustn’t be misled by false accusations!"

"Lord Wan has always been devoted to the people. How could he possibly commit such grievous crimes?"

Their words oozed sincerity, but the tremor in their voices betrayed the fear roiling beneath the surface.

Yin Chengyu listened as one after another, they scrambled to defend Wan Youliang, their eagerness almost comical. Clapping his hands together, he laughed coldly. "I didn’t believe those rumors about officials and merchants colluding to smuggle private salt in Changlu. But seeing how desperate you all are to shield Wan Youliang, I’m now convinced it’s more truth than rumor."

The room, once buzzing with arguments, fell eerily silent.

The household heads turned to stare at him, confusion and unease written across their faces.

Yin Chengyu’s expression hardened, his earlier humor replaced by sharp-edged severity. "The evidence against Wan Youliang is irrefutable. His crimes are punishable by death, and there’s no escaping that fate. As for you lot—his partners in crime—you won’t be walking away unscathed, either. But I’ve always been merciful. The law may not spare the guilty, but I might, provided you cooperate."

His gaze swept over them like a predator sizing up its prey. "If you’ve thought it through, bring all your records from over the years and confess. There’s still a chance to turn state’s witness and lessen your punishment. But if you’re still clinging to your delusions…" His lips curled into a dangerous smile. "Smuggling private salt under the laws of Great Yan? The sentence is death by beheading."

With that, he swept his sleeves and left the hall.

Zheng Duobao, standing by with a stack of account books in hand, lingered behind. He surveyed the group, their faces pale and riddled with doubt, and offered a pointed remark. "His Highness is merciful. He doesn’t want to see the streets of Tianjin bathed in blood, which is why he called you all here. A pity, really…"

He sighed theatrically, casting a look of pity over the crowd. "You think you’re a united front, but someone’s already pledged their loyalty to His Highness in secret."

He tapped the stack of books in his hands, his gesture slow and deliberate, before turning on his heel to follow Yin Chengyu out.

The hall was left in a tense silence, the air thick with suspicion.

The head of the Jiang family narrowed his eyes, scanning the others. "Who’s the traitor?"

"A classic divide-and-conquer trick, and you’re falling for it?" Cao Feng snapped.

"Stay calm," Ke Shouxin interjected, trying to soothe the group. "If they really had solid evidence, do you think we’d be walking out of here so easily today?"

Ke Shouxin’s words were logical enough, but Yin Chengyu’s pointed remarks had planted seeds of doubt in every heart. As soon as they left the hall, each household head hurried home, scheming in silence.

Meanwhile, Yin Chengyu returned to his residence and summoned Zhao Lin. "It’s time to spread the word."

The ledger handed to him by Wei Xihe had been held back until now, waiting for this very moment.