Chapter 22.

Yin Chengyu stepped out of the door, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.

The mere thought of how a single casual gesture from him could leave Xue Shu gasping for breath, utterly undone, filled him with a sharp, vindictive pleasure. In their past life, Xue Shu had been far more difficult to manipulate. Back then, he was a master of restraint, and after being rendered powerless in a certain regard, he no longer had a single weakness for Yin Chengyu to exploit.

Yin Chengyu had been the one drowning in Xue Shu's meticulously crafted whirlpool of torment, all while Xue Shu remained composed, his breath steady and calm—humiliatingly so.

The clarity that followed each encounter only deepened the sting of disgrace.

But now? The tables had turned.

Yin Chengyu held the reins, and a simple word or gesture was enough to shatter Xue Shu's composure. This reversal of fortune was intoxicating, a delicious retribution.

After all, once someone has a weakness, they're yours to control.

Buoyed by this sweet triumph, Yin Chengyu ordered his carriage to be prepared and departed the yamen, heading to find Xiao Tongguang.

At the city gate, Xiao Tongguang was overseeing the final cleanup. The pirates had been fully subdued, their captives systematically marched off to prison. The five pirate ships docked at the harbor, along with their cargo, were being inventoried by Xiao's men.

When Yin Chengyu arrived, Xiao Tongguang was practically circling a cluster of crates like a hawk, his face brimming with glee. The moment he spotted Yin Chengyu, his enthusiasm surged, and he hurried over, his eagerness palpable.

“What’s got you so excited, Commander Xiao?” Yin Chengyu asked with a faint smile.

“Your Highness, come see for yourself!” Xiao Tongguang rubbed his hands together before prying open one of the crates. Even though he had seen its contents before, the sight of the cold, gleaming firearms inside still made him suck in a sharp breath. "Bird guns! Ten crates full, with over a thousand of them!"

“Western-made?” Yin Chengyu bent down, picking up one of the firearms for closer inspection. It differed slightly from the official bird guns produced in Great Yan.

He expertly loaded the weapon, filled it with powder, lit the fuse, and pressed the stock against his cheek. Taking aim at a tree a hundred paces away, he fired.

The lead bullet struck the tree dead-on with such force that the sturdy trunk quivered, scattering leaves like a rainstorm onto the ground.

“This fires faster than the models produced by our Armory Bureau and packs more punch,” Yin Chengyu remarked, his tone cool. “No wonder these pirates were so desperate to make landfall.”

The Armory Bureau had its own bird gun production line, but the process was notoriously complex, with barrels requiring high-grade iron. After years of effort, only the imperial guards were equipped with around ten thousand guns.

The rest of the military? They had to make do with a pitiful few.

It wasn’t hard to understand why Xiao Tongguang was practically vibrating with excitement.

“By convention, spoils of war seized at sea can be distributed by the garrison,” Xiao Tongguang said, rubbing his hands together again, this time with thinly veiled anticipation. “Your Highness, how do you propose we divide these?”

He was eyeing the thousand bird guns like a starving man at a feast. If not for the Crown Prince standing before him, he might have already hauled the spoils back to Guangning without a second thought.

Yin Chengyu cast him a sidelong glance, letting him stew just long enough before finally speaking. “Since Commander Xiao has gone to such lengths, you shall have two hundred bird guns as a token of gratitude.”

Xiao Tongguang inhaled sharply, visibly dissatisfied with the amount.

Just as he opened his mouth to bargain, Yin Chengyu continued, his tone smooth but firm, “And then there’s the matter of these five ships…”

Xiao Tongguang interjected quickly, “Tianjin Garrison, nestled between Liaodong and Shandong, rarely sees conflict. Meanwhile, Guangning Garrison endures heavy losses every year fending off pirates. We’re critically short on warships.”

It wasn’t hard to see why this operation was so lucrative. Though the pirate band was small, their equipment far surpassed that of the regular military. In these lean years, with the treasury perpetually empty and military funding slashed to the bone, even critical garrisons like Guangning had to scrape by.

The two five-hundred-ton warships were especially tempting. Repurposing them for military use would save a considerable sum, far outweighing the allure of the bird guns.

Ultimately, the two reached an understanding, wordlessly splitting the spoils. The warships and two hundred bird guns went to Xiao Tongguang, while the remaining firearms and goods became Yin Chengyu’s personal bounty.

Since these spoils bypassed official records, they went straight into Yin Chengyu’s coffers—a clean, untraceable windfall.

In high spirits, Yin Chengyu summoned Zhao Lin to oversee the transfer of goods. Then, alongside an equally jubilant Xiao Tongguang, he returned to the yamen for a celebratory drink.

*

By dawn the next morning, Xiao Tongguang and his crew took over the seized warship and sailed back to Guangning Wei without hesitation.

Yin Chengyu personally saw him off. After returning from the docks, he decided to pay Xue Shu a visit.

Halfway there, a flustered Zheng Duobao hurried toward him, clutching a letter. Breathless, he announced, “Your Highness, a message from the capital—Her Majesty the Empress wrote it herself.”

A letter arriving at this moment? Yin Chengyu’s brows arched slightly. He tore it open, scanning the words swiftly. A smile crept onto his lips.

Empress Yu wrote that on the third day of March, she had given birth safely—just as Yin Chengyu had predicted, it was a boy.

After the ceremonial bathing ritual, Emperor Longfeng had personally bestowed the name Yin Chengyan upon the child.

Everything was different now.

His mother had survived childbirth. Yin Chengyan had been born full-term, and both mother and son were in perfect health.

By the time Yin Chengyu resolved the Tianjin Wei case and returned to the capital, he might even make it to the boy’s full moon banquet.

He handed the letter to Zheng Duobao, who carefully tucked it away. Yin Chengyu’s brows relaxed, and his tone carried an unusual lightness. “The Empress has brought joyous news. Celebrate. Reward everyone.”

Zheng Duobao’s face lit up. “Yes, Your Highness!” He bowed and left to arrange the rewards. With their master in high spirits, the servants naturally shared the joy.

Two pieces of good news in one day had Yin Chengyu in an excellent mood. When he finally reached Xue Shu, a trace of that joy lingered in his eyes, softening his voice by an unexpected degree.

Xue Shu, however, was in a different state entirely.

Last night, Yin Chengyu had ignited his desire only to walk away, leaving Xue Shu tormented and unsatisfied. He’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to sleep, his eyes dark with exhaustion and bloodshot from frustration.

Now, as he looked at Yin Chengyu, his gaze burned with something raw and untamed—like a starved predator eying prey caught helplessly in a trap. That heat simmered beneath the surface, barely held in check by the last threads of restraint.

His hands flexed at his sides, clenching and releasing as he fought to suppress his rising instincts. Yet his eyes never left Yin Chengyu, roaming unapologetically, drinking in every detail, again and again.

Yin Chengyu noticed it all. Of course, he did. But he played coy, pretending ignorance as he sipped his tea with maddening leisure.

It wasn’t until he set the cup down and met Xue Shu’s smoldering gaze that he broke the silence, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “You’ve been staring at me for half the day. Found anything interesting?”

“You’re beautiful, Your Highness,” Xue Shu replied without a shred of hesitation, his voice steady, his eyes unwavering.

The blunt honesty brought a spark of amusement to Yin Chengyu’s face.

For someone whose sharp tongue usually cut like a blade, Xue Shu had managed to say something unexpectedly sweet.

Leaning forward, Yin Chengyu deliberately closed the distance between them, his intoxicating eyes reflecting Xue Shu’s dazed expression. His voice dropped, low and gravelly, carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver through the air.

“When you’re looking at me,” he murmured, his fingertips tracing the lines of Xue Shu’s brow, sliding down to pause lightly over his chest, “what exactly is running through that mind of yours?”

Xue Shu’s eyes followed the slow, deliberate movement of those fingers, his breath catching. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough with tension. “If I told you, Your Highness, you’d be furious.”

Every thought in his head was scandalous, treasonous—filled with desires he dared not voice. Yet they consumed him, relentless and impossible to banish.

The feral instincts long suppressed by reason were now clawing against their restraints, threatening to shatter every last trace of self-control.

"Speak, and I might let you off this once," Yin Chengyu murmured, retracting his hand and lifting a delicate porcelain cup to his lips. He sipped leisurely, his fox-like eyes narrowing in satisfaction, watching Xue Shu’s every move from the corner of his gaze.

Xue Shu hesitated, his silence stretching until it felt almost suffocating. Finally, his lashes lowered as he answered softly, "I was thinking about Your Highness’s hands."

The shadows of every darker thought were concealed beneath the downward cast of his lashes.

It was an answer calculated to be safe, measured, even as it veiled the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Yin Chengyu stilled for a moment, glancing at his hand instinctively before a sudden realization crossed his mind. A knowing smile curved his lips, slow and sharp.

"So, that’s what you’re into," he remarked, his tone laced with implication.

His words were directed at Xue Shu yet carried an undercurrent that seemed to reach beyond him.

The answer tugged at a thread from his past life, unraveling a mystery he hadn’t even realized he had.

Back then, Xue Shu had been inexplicably obsessed with gifting him small trinkets—jade rings, finger guards, vibrant red agate, deep purple jadeite, even pigeon’s blood rubies. The colors were always bold, almost ostentatious. Yin Chengyu had found the offerings unbearably gaudy and had never worn a single one.

Once, Xue Shu had asked him why he refused to wear them. He’d dismissed the question with a nonchalant, "They’re cumbersome." Xue Shu hadn’t pressed further after that.

But later, during their more heated, tempestuous exchanges, Xue Shu would deliberately take those rejected rings and force them between his lips, shoving them in with a punishing insistence until he had no choice but to endure the humiliation.

At the time, Yin Chengyu had assumed it was petulance—a petty vengeance for being brushed off. But now, with the clarity of hindsight, he saw it for what it truly was.

It wasn’t wounded pride that had fueled Xue Shu’s actions. No, it was frustration—an unspoken desire to see him wear those gifts and an unwillingness to beg for it outright.

Yin Chengyu let out a low, mocking laugh, his gaze darkening as it swept over Xue Shu.

No wonder his reaction yesterday had been so intense.

"Like them, do you?" Yin Chengyu’s voice dropped an octave, dangerous and laced with sardonic amusement. He reached out and gripped Xue Shu’s chin, his thumb pressing against his lips, alternately gentle and insistent.

Xue Shu kept his gaze lowered, his focus fixated on the sliver of snow-white wrist peeking out from Yin Chengyu’s robe. The bone structure was exquisite, sharp, and unbearably alluring.

An insistent, maddening itch blossomed at the back of Xue Shu’s teeth. His jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed hard, twice, before finally snapping. He bit down, hard, on that infuriating thumb.

The sharp sting of pain jolted Yin Chengyu. He yanked his hand back with a hiss, his expression darkening as irritation flared. "Have I been too indulgent with you?! You dare bite back now?!"

Xue Shu didn’t respond. He licked his lips quietly, the gesture unspoken yet blatant in its intent.

The sight only stoked Yin Chengyu’s simmering anger. Yet with Xue Shu still recovering from his injuries, punishment was a complicated matter. He couldn’t act too harshly, nor could he leave the provocation unanswered.

In the end, Yin Chengyu could only glare daggers at him, his frustration evident as he turned on his heel and swept out, his robes billowing behind him in his wake.

Xue Shu’s eyes followed him, lingering on his retreating figure until it disappeared entirely. Only then did he shift his gaze back to the ceiling, his thoughts slipping into a haze of recollection.

His solitude was soon interrupted by a guard’s announcement from beyond the door. "Wei Xihe requests an audience."

Since the exposure of Wei family’s illicit ledgers, Wei Xihe had stepped out of the shadows. The strategy of sowing discord had worked flawlessly; terrified of being the last to cooperate, each family head had scrambled to hand over their account books.

With his cover no longer necessary, Wei Xihe had abandoned the Wei family and pledged allegiance to the Crown Prince.

He had been stationed in Tianjin City but, hearing of Xue Shu’s injuries and assuming he would need someone to handle matters on his behalf, had taken the initiative to present himself.

Xue Shu braced himself on his arm, sitting upright as his eyes scanned Wei Xihe with cool precision.

Draped in a smoky gray robe, Wei Xihe’s hair was tightly bound beneath his crown, revealing sharp and elegant features. Yet, a menacing glint smoldered in his eyes, a simmering rage that made his presence both magnetic and unsettling. He didn’t bother masking this contradiction—it clung to him like a second skin, bold and unapologetic.

Xue Shu sized him up, and a faint satisfaction curved his lips.

If he were to solidify his position within the palace, he’d need loyal confidants, pawns who could be molded and wielded. And for now, Wei Xihe seemed like a promising candidate.

“Yesterday, over a hundred sea bandits were captured, along with their ringleader. They’re rotting in the cells as we speak. Your timing is perfect—go interrogate them for me,” Xue Shu commanded, his tone cutting and firm.

Wei Xihe bowed in obedience, then shifted gears smoothly, his voice cool as he reported on the situation in Tianjin’s garrison city. “Censor Fang has already begun questioning the salt merchants and canal gang leaders. Cao Feng and his men are all locked away.”

He left it at that, but his implication wasn’t lost on Xue Shu. A sly smile tugged at the latter’s mouth as he finished the thought aloud. “Ke Shouxin is useless now. Keep him alive for trial, but only just. As for Wan Youliang and Guan Haishan—they’re mine. I’ll deal with them personally.”

“Yes, sir.” Wei Xihe’s eyes flickered with quiet satisfaction. With his orders clear, he offered a slight bow and slipped away, disappearing into the shadows as effortlessly as he had entered.

*

Yin Chengyu and his crew lingered at Dagu Fort for four or five days before hauling a line of prisoners back to Tianjin Garrison.

Thanks to the confessions pried from the sea bandits, the evidence against Guan Haishan, a corrupt high-ranking officer colluding with pirates, was undeniable. It was the final spark that lit the fire under the investigation of the illicit salt trade.

Witnesses from the salt merchants and leaders of the transport guild came forward with damning testimonies. The accounts of smuggled salt were laid bare as irrefutable evidence.

Under relentless interrogation, Wan Youliang and Guan Haishan finally cracked, confessing to their crimes and implicating a web of officials in the process. The entire Longlu Salt Administration was tainted—every last officer—and even the Prefect of Hejian was caught in the dragnet.

The records handed over by the salt merchants exposed ten years of brazen corruption: falsified salt permits, embezzled tax revenues, and rampant illegal salt trading.

The total deficit? A staggering 26 million taels of silver—a figure five times the 5 million estimated in the Ministry of Revenue’s initial audit!

The enormity of the deficit paralyzed Fang Zhengke, the official overseeing the investigation. Unwilling to take such a monumental decision alone, he penned a report and sent it to the capital via an express courier, awaiting Emperor Longfeng’s judgment.

Rumor has it the emperor, upon seeing the astronomical deficit, flew into a rage and shattered a set of fine blue-and-white porcelain. In the aftermath of his fury, he issued an imperial decree: Fang Zhengke was appointed Imperial Commissioner, granted full authority to oversee the case.

All implicated officials? Stripped of rank, property seized, and heads on the chopping block.

Tianjin Wei’s government offices were emptied almost overnight—practically barren, with nine out of ten rooms vacated. The jails, on the other hand, were bursting at the seams.

“One salt field at Longlu, and it’s fattened so many leeches,” Yin Chengyu muttered, frowning over the figures Fang Zhengke presented.

Fang Zhengke nodded grimly. “If this is the state of Longlu, then one shudders to imagine the rot festering in the other salt administrations…”

He trailed off, but Yin Chengyu understood his unspoken fear.

“One step at a time,” Yin Chengyu said, closing the ledgers and picking up his brush. He began drafting a list, then handed it to Fang Zhengke. “Tomorrow, my men will raid their homes. Whatever silver we recover will at least patch some of this deficit.”

Fang Zhengke had come precisely for this reason. He bowed low, grateful. “Thank you for Your Highness’s support.”

Though Fang Zhengke excelled in investigations, leading asset seizures wasn’t his forte. Fortunately, the Crown Prince had brought five hundred guards from the imperial camp—seasoned men trained under court eunuchs, who were disturbingly adept at such tasks. It was precisely why Fang Zhengke had come to plead for their assistance.

After seeing Fang Zhengke off, Yin Chengyu summoned Wei Xihe and handed him the list. “Xue Shu still needs time to recover. I’ll leave this to you.”

Wei Xihe accepted the orders with a sharp nod, ready to carry out his task.

———Author’s Note: The loyal dog: “Wait, aren’t I supposed to be Your Highness’s favorite enforcer?” The Crown Prince: “...”

———TN: Oh, Xue Shu is a hand fetish.