Chapter 23.

The news of Wei Xihe’s assignment to raid the salt merchants and the transport guild reached Xue Shu the very next day. Summoning Wei Xihe for a brief inquiry, Xue Shu couldn't resist the urge to confront Yin Chengyu directly.

When Yin Chengyu heard the report that "Xue Shu seeks an audience," his brow furrowed in annoyance.

"Shouldn’t he be nursing his wounds? What does he want now?"

Despite his irritation, he still allowed Xue Shu inside.

Xue Shu strode in with his usual confidence. Yin Chengyu’s gaze flicked to the bandages wrapping his wounds. Satisfied they were secure, he lazily shifted his eyes back to Xue Shu. "What brings you here again?"

"Your Highness, why wasn’t I assigned to the raid?" Xue Shu's tone was sharp, his eyes fixed on Yin Chengyu with a stubborn intensity that felt more like a debt being demanded than a question being asked.

That audacious tone struck a nerve in Yin Chengyu. 'Ungrateful wretch,' he thought. His narrowed eyes glinted with mockery. "You're nothing but a mule. Injured or not, it doesn’t make sense to keep working you to death. If others see it, they'll think I’m abusing my subordinates."

"My wounds have healed."

Xue Shu’s defiance was unrelenting. He had rested for six or seven days, and the injury, now properly tended, had already begun to close. The task of raiding a household hardly seemed strenuous. Yet Yin Chengyu had assigned Wei Xihe instead, leaving Xue Shu feeling disturbingly replaceable. He found himself harboring a growing resentment toward Wei Xihe.

There should only be one person at His Highness’s side—me.

Killing, raiding, even attending to personal needs—Xue Shu could handle it all.

But Yin Chengyu clearly didn’t share that view. Irritated by Xue Shu’s pestering, he slammed the book in his hand onto the desk with a sharp thud, his voice icy and authoritative. "Whether you're healed or not isn’t for you to decide—it’s up to the physician! Go back and rest properly. There’ll be plenty of work for you later. If you’re so bored, pick up a book and learn some discipline instead of clinging to that wild temper of yours!"

Before Xue Shu could argue further, Yin Chengyu had already dismissed him, waving him off like a bothersome fly.

Humiliated and reprimanded, Xue Shu stormed out with a dark cloud over his head. He stood outside the tightly shut door, staring at it for a long time before finally turning away and heading to the prison.

If he wasn’t happy, no one else deserved to be either.

*

The salt merchants and transport guild were swimming in wealth, and it took Wei Xihe and his team a full ten days to inventory the confiscated goods.

Gold, silver, and other valuables were carefully cataloged and sealed for transport to the treasury. Yin Chengyu ordered the main culprits—Wan Youliang and Guan Haishan—escorted back to the capital for trial. The loose ends were left to Fang Zhengke to handle.

Due to the sheer volume of stolen goods, the return trip required a large yellow ship and a smaller one, both of which were loaded to the brim. The heavy cargo caused the vessels to sit noticeably lower in the water, and their speed slowed considerably.

The loading took from noon until dusk, and it wasn’t until evening that the ships finally left the dock.

Yin Chengyu still felt slightly seasick, though the slow and steady pace of the yellow ship kept his symptoms mild. Reclining listlessly on a chaise, he allowed a eunuch to gently massage his temples.

Yet no matter how skilled the eunuch tried to be, the massage never quite hit the right spots. It was either too light or too heavy, leaving Yin Chengyu mildly irritable. He couldn’t help but compare it to Xue Shu’s far more intuitive touch.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Xue Shu’s voice suddenly came from outside. He had requested an audience.

When Xue Shu entered, Yin Chengyu gave him a languid glance. "What is it this time? Must you always find excuses to hover around me?"

Since his scolding, Xue Shu had been staying obediently in the guesthouse's side wing to recover. Now that he was finally in Yin Chengyu’s presence again, his gaze greedily lingered on him, as if trying to imprint every detail. "The physician has cleared me—I’m fully healed."

"Is that so?" Yin Chengyu straightened, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he gestured for Xue Shu to come closer. "Let me see for myself."

Xue Shu stepped forward, tilted his neck slightly, and pulled his collar aside to reveal the scar on his left shoulder. The once gruesome wound had closed, leaving behind an unsightly scab.

"That’s surprisingly fast." Yin Chengyu’s brow furrowed slightly as he studied the scar, already imagining the permanent mark it would leave behind.

In his past life, Xue Shu’s chest had been marked with countless old scars, every one of them a testament to his reckless determination, earned without hesitation or regard for his own life.

“I can still serve Your Highness,” Xue Shu said, his voice steady, his composure untouched by the faintly complicated look cast his way. He adjusted his collar with deliberate care, then directed a sharp, unyielding gaze at the little eunuch standing behind Yin Chengyu.

He had noticed the boy the moment he entered—hovering over Yin Chengyu, massaging his temples. Judging by the scene, the prince was suffering from another bout of seasickness.

The eunuch, caught in the crossfire of Xue Shu’s ferocious glare, shrank like a quail, his head lowered, shoulders hunched, utterly avoiding eye contact.

Yin Chengyu observed the silent clash, his lips curving in faint amusement. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the eunuch, his sharp chin tilting upward as he ordered coolly, “Since your injuries are healed, you may massage my head.”

Xue Shu’s heart surged. Without hesitation, he slipped off his boots, climbed onto the bed, and knelt behind Yin Chengyu. His hands moved with care, his touch precise, firm, and unerring in its gentleness as he massaged the prince’s temples.

His technique was flawless—neither too heavy nor too light. It worked its magic, easing the dizziness clouding Yin Chengyu’s head and lifting his spirits. The prince leaned back against the embroidered pillow, his languid posture one of effortless elegance. Picking up a dish of pine nuts, he began peeling the shells, his movements deliberate and slow.

Xue Shu’s gaze wandered downward, catching on Yin Chengyu’s hands—hands he had long admired for their elegance. But today, they seemed different. On his left index finger, a deep red agate ring gleamed, its polished surface reflecting a warm, lustrous glow. Against the prince’s pale, cool-toned skin, the crimson was almost sinful, like a drop of blood blooming on pristine snow—transforming Yin Chengyu’s usual aloofness into something dangerously seductive.

Xue Shu’s breath hitched. His eyes stayed locked on that flash of red, unable to look away.

Yin Chengyu, attuned to the shift in the atmosphere, caught the erratic rhythm of Xue Shu’s breathing. His gaze flicked to the agate ring on his finger, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Leisurely, he continued peeling pine nuts.

“Did you interrogate Wan Youliang and his accomplices yet? Any useful confessions?”

Snapped out of his daze by the prince’s calm inquiry, Xue Shu forced himself to look away from the ring. His voice was steady but tinged with tension as he replied, “Wan Youliang confessed to orchestrating the assassins on the grain ship.”

Though the incident seemed minor compared to the larger crimes under investigation, Xue Shu couldn’t suppress his pettiness when it came to anything involving Yin Chengyu. Every insult, every injury, no matter how small, had to be avenged with ruthless precision.

“Good. While we’re at sea, away from prying eyes, press him further. Dig up everything connecting Wan Youliang to Yin Chengjing.”

The financial records were damning: a staggering 15 million taels in silver confiscated from eight major salt merchants, three canal gangs, and associates like Wan Youliang and Guan Haishan. Alongside treasures like jade and paintings, the total barely scraped 20 million taels. Yet, the salt administration’s deficit exceeded 26 million. The missing 6 million taels undoubtedly lined someone else’s pockets.

Yin Chengjing, despite his façade of indulgence, had clearly reaped significant rewards. Wan Youliang was his golden goose, and Xue Shu intended to wring every last secret from him. If he couldn’t expose Yin Chengjing outright, he would at least sever one of his strongest allies.

“Yes,” Xue Shu murmured, his hands never faltering in their ministrations.

Yin Chengyu leaned deeper into his pillow, his sharp features softening with fatigue. After tossing a few unfinished pine nuts back onto the plate, he wiped his hands with a cloth and gestured for Xue Shu to stop. “That’s enough for now. You may leave.”

Xue Shu reluctantly withdrew his hands, bowed, and moved to leave. But before he could take two steps, Yin Chengyu called him back. Pointing to the small table where the peeled pine nuts rested, the prince tilted his chin imperiously. “I’ve lost my appetite. You can have them.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Xue Shu bowed again, accepting the plate with quiet reverence before retreating.

On the deck, the night wind carried the chill of early spring. Xue Shu stood there, staring at the neatly peeled pine nuts. His mind, however, was elsewhere—enthralled by the memory of Yin Chengyu’s hands. Pale as jade, slender fingers bending ever so slightly as they pinched each nut free of its shell. Such an ordinary act, yet when performed by those hands, it became an unspoken seduction. And then there was that ring—a vivid stain of red against pristine white, as though marking forbidden territory.

The cool breeze did little to temper the fire smoldering in his chest. Xue Shu exhaled slowly, a sharp, heated breath escaping his lips. Plucking a pine nut from the plate, he pressed it between his teeth, savoring its richness. And yet, a maddening thirst remained.

Those hands, pale as fresh snow... If he could hold them, taste them—they might finally quench the unrelenting hunger clawing at his throat.

……

Xue Shu polished off a plate of pine nuts before striding casually down to the grim, airless hold where the prisoners were kept.

The moment Wan Youliang heard the echo of Xue Shu’s approaching footsteps, sheer terror gripped him. He shrank instinctively into the shadowy corner, his body trembling as his wide, bloodshot eyes locked onto the source of the sound.

He had every reason to fear. The last time Xue Shu interrogated him, he’d come out half-dead. Now, just hearing the man’s measured approach brought back the searing memory of a pain that made death seem merciful.

Xue Shu wasn’t human—he couldn’t be. He was a fiend dragged straight from the depths of hell, a cold-blooded specter who thrived on suffering.

Step by deliberate step, Xue Shu closed the distance, his presence so oppressive that Wan Youliang’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. His bulging eyes quivered in their sockets, filled with unfiltered dread.

Stopping just short of Wan Youliang, Xue Shu took in the pitiful display with a faint smirk curling his lips. "Bring him to the chamber," he ordered, his tone light, almost mocking.

Two soldiers unlatched the iron cage, seized Wan Youliang by the arms, and dragged him out like a broken puppet. His legs were useless, dragging limply across the filthy floor. The man’s body bore hidden scars from his last ordeal, wounds that still throbbed with pain.

Xue Shu wasted no time with pleasantries. He tied Wan Youliang’s hands above his head and hoisted him onto a wooden frame, leaving him dangling like prey. He gestured for a brazier, already roaring with hot coals, and placed a pair of iron shoes into the flames with a pair of tongs.

“The accounts you’ve turned over don’t add up,” Xue Shu began, his voice slicing through the air. “His Highness sent me to find out where the missing funds have gone. Tell me, Wan Youliang—whose pockets have they lined?”

“I don’t know!” Wan Youliang pleaded, his voice raw and desperate. “I’ve told you everything I know!”

Xue Shu chuckled darkly, the sound as chilling as the grave. “Oh, I think you’re unfamiliar with these beauties,” he said, lifting the now glowing iron shoes from the fire. “They’re called Red Embroidered Shoes. Any idea why?”

Without waiting for an answer, Xue Shu leaned in, his words dripping with venom. “Because after long enough over the fire, they turn red-hot—just like this.”

He lowered the burning iron shoes to hover mere inches from Wan Youliang’s dangling feet. The rising heat curled upward, making the man scream before the shoes even touched him. Xue Shu’s voice turned icy, his gaze cold and unforgiving. “I think you’re ready to try them on.”

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” Wan Youliang cried, his legs kicking helplessly as he dangled in place. “It’s Chen He! He had leverage on me—every year, I had to hand over 60% of my profits to him!”

“Chen He, the Assistant Minister of Revenue?” Xue Shu’s tone remained clinical, already filing the information away. “He couldn’t be bold enough to act alone. Who’s behind him?”

“The Third Prince,” Wan Youliang blurted out, the dam of his resistance breaking entirely. He spilled the truth like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. “Chen He had something on me during his salt tax inspection. He used it to force me into compliance. But later, I discovered he wasn’t keeping it all for himself. He was funneling the money to the Third Prince!”

Wan Youliang went on, his words tumbling over one another. His early days as Transport Commissioner, his careless mistake that allowed Chen He to exploit him, and his eventual discovery that the Third Prince was the true puppet master. His schemes, his fears, and even his futile attempts to gather leverage against Chen He—all laid bare under the threat of molten iron.

Xue Shu leaned closer. “Do you have proof?”

“No,” Wan Youliang admitted, his voice breaking. “Chen He’s meticulous. Every transaction was handled by his most trusted men, and nothing incriminating was ever left behind. Once I realized the Third Prince was involved, I didn’t dare dig further.”

Xue Shu straightened, his sharp mind sifting through the confession. It was mostly true, he concluded, but without proof, it was just empty words.

With a flick of his gaze toward the soldiers, he issued his command. “Apply the punishment.”

Wan Youliang’s screams echoed through the bowels of the ship, each desperate cry to Xue Shu’s unflinching resolve. By the time he left to report back to Yin Chengyu, the hold was once again heavy with silence, broken only by faint, pitiful moans.

*

After thoroughly interrogating the suspects, Xue Shu returned just as the hour of Hai began. Upon hearing from Zheng Duobao that Yin Chengyu had finally woken, he wasted no time stepping into the room to deliver the interrogation results.

Yin Chengyu already suspected that Yin Chengjing had a hand in the matter but hadn’t expected the pawn he’d used to be none other than Chen He.

Chen He, a scholar from Jiangzhe and a second-place imperial exam graduate during Emperor Chengzong’s reign, held the esteemed position of Deputy Minister of Revenue. Two years prior, he had been dispatched by Emperor Longfeng to oversee the salt tax operations in Changlu. His political accomplishments and ability to navigate treacherous waters made him a prominent figure among southern officials.

That Yin Chengjing could pull such a figure into his fold spoke volumes of his cunning.

“Since there’s no evidence, we’ll simply create some,” Yin Chengyu mused after a brief pause, his plan solidifying. “Bring the old Taoist in for questioning alone. Have Wan Youliang dictate the letters and let the old man fabricate the correspondence. If I recall correctly, the documents transported back to the capital include files annotated and stamped by Chen He.”

In his previous life, Yin Chengjing had used the Taoist Wangchen to forge evidence against the Yu family. Now, Yin Chengyu would return the favor in kind.

In the past, he would have scoffed at using such underhanded tactics. But now, morals and principles be damned—he would win at any cost.

As old memories stirred to life, a shadow passed over his eyes. He lowered his gaze, veiling the storm within.

When his focus shifted to Xue Shu, lingering by his side, his mood soured further. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man as buried grievances bubbled to the surface. The weight of unspoken history pressed against his chest, breeding malice he couldn’t suppress.

The urge to toy with him—no, to torment him—took root. Letting the thought simmer, Yin Chengyu calmly ordered a basket of pecans to be brought in.

Settling back into his armchair, he interlaced his fingers, leisurely rotating the jade ring on his index finger. “I’ve suddenly developed a craving for pecans. Shell them for me.”

With the nuts came a set of tools for cracking them—a task notorious for its tedium. Pecans, while delicious, were encased in a tough shell, their delicate kernels prone to crumbling. Because Yin Chengyu likes amber-glazed pecans, Zheng Duobao always ensured a fresh supply was on hand each autumn. The basket aboard the ship had been specially procured from a mountain hunter.

Xue Shu glanced at him, silently picked up the tools, and awkwardly began cracking the nuts.

Yin Chengyu, perched above like a ruler surveying his domain, rested his chin on his hand and watched.

The work was intricate, yet Xue Shu showed no sign of impatience. His focus never wavered as he carefully extracted intact kernels, placing them on a porcelain dish. Within fifteen minutes, he’d already improved, and a shallow layer of golden kernels adorned the plate.

Yet the effort only deepened the frustration clawing at Yin Chengyu’s chest. The vexation, stuck like a thorn, wouldn’t budge. Narrowing his eyes, he said, deliberately, “You know, I don’t actually like eating pecans. I just wanted to trouble you.”

Xue Shu paused, his dark eyes lifting to meet Yin Chengyu’s. His confusion was evident. “Why is Your Highness upset?”

He was attuned to Yin Chengyu’s moods. The shift had been noticeable ever since the suggestion of forging documents.

“Why?” Yin Chengyu echoed lazily. “Because too many people have dared to anger me.”

Without hesitation, Xue Shu furrowed his brows and said, “Then I’ll kill them for you.”

The casual brutality of the statement caught Yin Chengyu off guard, leaving him momentarily stunned. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. The bitterness in his chest dissipated like smoke.

“You couldn’t kill them all if you tried,” he said with a smirk.

Leaning forward, he reached out, his finger trailing along Xue Shu’s jawline. Slowly, he pressed against the hollow of his throat, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And what if one of those who angered me… is you?”

His gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a sly smile. “Would you kill yourself too?”

Xue Shu froze. After a moment’s thought, he said seriously, “Your Highness can punish me instead.”

“You’re a clever one,” Yin Chengyu chuckled, his amusement growing. In one swift motion, he grabbed Xue Shu’s collar, yanking him closer. Their faces were so close their cheeks brushed, breath mingling in the narrow space between them.

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Yin Chengyu murmured, his tone almost predatory. “But punishment? Oh, I’d gladly see to that.”

———Author’s note: Doggo Xue Shu—“Punish me with cuddles!” His Highness: “Excuse me?”

———TN: "So what if I’m not in school anymore? Does that mean I shouldn’t study and challenge myself with exams? And what if I’m "too old" to hit the books? Who cares? I’ll do whatever the hell I want to improve myself, and no one gets to tell me otherwise."