Chapter 25.

Xue Shu was summoned to the Qianqing Palace.

The room was heavy with the intoxicating scent of dragon musk incense, its richness saturating the air. Longfeng Emperor lounged lazily on a Luohan bed, his body half-reclined. By his side, two young palace maids knelt dutifully, their delicate hands rhythmically kneading his legs.

When Xue Shu stepped in, the Emperor barely stirred, his sharp eyes lifting to meet him. "So, what have you uncovered during your investigation in Tianjin under the Crown Prince's banner?" His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but the undercurrent of sharp intent was unmistakable. Both men knew the true purpose of Xue Shu’s mission: to act as the Emperor’s eyes and ears, keeping the Crown Prince in check.

Xue Shu didn’t hesitate. He succinctly summarized his findings, then drew a meticulously prepared copy of the seized accounts from his sleeve, offering it forward. "Here are the records, Your Majesty. I personally oversaw the confiscation, ensuring every criminal and their families were thoroughly interrogated. There was no room for concealment or oversight."

The Emperor leafed through the ledger, his expression unreadable. Yet as his eyes skimmed over the neatly documented sums, a flicker of approval crossed his face.

"Not bad," he murmured.

This mission had been a test. Longfeng Emperor had sent Xue Shu to Tianjin for two reasons: to monitor the Crown Prince and to gauge the young eunuch’s capabilities. Xue Shu, with his sharp wit and unshakable discipline, was precisely the kind of subordinate the Emperor needed—efficient, ruthless, and unencumbered by established ties within the palace. Unlike the seasoned officials in the court, who had grown complacent and bold in their schemes, Xue Shu was fresh, ambitious, and dangerous.

The Emperor placed the ledger aside, his gaze narrowing as he studied Xue Shu. "Your timing is impeccable. I’ve been mulling over a matter and need an honest perspective."

"Your Majesty has but to ask. I will speak without reservation," Xue Shu replied, bowing his head, his voice calm but steady.

The Emperor shared the heated debate that had taken place in his study moments earlier. "You’ve seen Tianjin up close. What do you think of the proposal to allow monetary penalties as substitutes for harsher punishments?"

Xue Shu paused, his mind racing. When he finally spoke, his words were measured but piercing. "If someone can afford to pay several times the penalty, it’s safe to assume their household still holds considerable reserves."

It was a single sentence, neither siding with nor condemning the policy, yet it struck directly at the heart of the Emperor’s concerns. Longfeng’s lips curled into a faint smile, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

Sure, the fines seemed substantial on the surface, but for the wealthy southern clans—generations steeped in opulence—it was a pittance. Word of their excessive wealth had long reached the Emperor’s ears, and the thought of those bloated coffers stirred a restless ambition within him.

Still, the Emperor feigned neutrality, his tone contemplative. "If I were to act decisively, uncovering every ounce of corruption, the court’s sycophants would be useless. Worse yet, such a purge would require many heads to roll... The people might call me a tyrant."

"Your Majesty needn’t worry about baseless slander," Xue Shu replied, his voice unwavering. "During my investigation, I observed that Censor Fang is both incorruptible and deeply knowledgeable about the salt trade. Even the Crown Prince values his insights. However, being a scholar, Censor Fang is defenseless against physical threats. If Your Majesty assigns the Eastern Depot or the Jinyiwei to accompany him, who in the south would dare resist?"

"As for those who oppose reform, harsh measures are sometimes necessary. Clearing out corruption and stabilizing the salt trade would only affirm Your Majesty’s role as a wise and resolute ruler. If whispers of cruelty arise, they’ll most likely stem from petty schemers trying to sow discord."

Every word hit its mark, feeding the Emperor’s ego while reinforcing his resolve. Longfeng’s satisfaction deepened, though he remained cautious.

"You seem to align closely with the Crown Prince’s thinking," the Emperor remarked, his voice deceptively casual. "You’ve spent nearly a month with him in Tianjin. Tell me—what’s your impression of him?"

Xue Shu’s head dipped lower, his tone respectful but evasive. "I dare not presume to judge His Highness. However, there is a matter concerning him that I must report to Your Majesty."

The Emperor’s interest sharpened instantly. He straightened, his voice laced with intrigue. "Go on."

Xue Shu recounted the incident at Dagu in meticulous detail.

"During the battle with the pirates at Dagu, the Crown Prince bypassed the Ministry of War, writing directly to Commander Xiao Tongguang of Guangning Garrison to deploy a thousand troops to Tianjin. After the pirates were defeated, the seized spoils were neither reported nor handled by me. Instead, the Crown Prince and Commander Xiao privately divided the loot—two 500-ton warships, three 400-ton cargo vessels, and their entire cargo."

As Xue Shu’s words echoed in the fragrant chamber, the Emperor’s expression darkened. The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of this revelation hanging thick in the air.

According to the laws of the Great Yan Dynasty, all stolen goods must be meticulously cataloged and transferred to the national treasury.

However, due to the immense strain on the coastal garrison from resisting pirates, it had become routine to use these spoils to replenish their resources. Everyone, from the court to local officials, turned a blind eye to this practice—unspoken but understood, as long as the people didn’t complain, neither did the officials act.

Now, Xue Shu had the audacity to report this matter. Emperor Longfeng found it telling. Though Xue Shu might not grasp the underlying politics, the fact that he chose to bring even such a trivial matter to his attention suggested one thing: his rapport with the Crown Prince wasn’t exactly warm.

Or, to put it bluntly, the Crown Prince hadn’t succeeded in winning him over.

This realization put the Emperor at ease. With a casual tone, he remarked, “While the Crown Prince’s actions don’t adhere strictly to protocol, they aren’t exactly egregious.”

Seeing the Emperor’s indifference, Xue Shu bowed his head, saying no more.

Pleased with Xue Shu’s measured restraint, the Emperor decided to throw him a bone. “You’ve been stationed at Tianjin Guard for a month now. From what I see, the Western Depot is in disarray—its system lax, its personnel lazy. The current Supervisor, Zhao Youwen, is getting on in years and clearly lacks the strength for the job. Moving forward, I’ll be counting on you to handle the depot’s affairs.”

The Western Depot had long been abandoned. The Emperor’s words made one thing crystal clear—he intended to revive it.

Xue Shu, however, didn’t let a flicker of excitement betray him. With calm composure, he expressed his gratitude.

Then he added, “Your Majesty, there’s another matter I must report.”

“Speak.”

“When I had the accounts reviewed, we confiscated over 20 million taels’ worth of gold and silver objects. Yet, the deficit calculated by Imperial Censor Fang exceeded 26 million taels. To trace the missing funds, I interrogated the criminals, including Wan Youliang. Under questioning, Wan Youliang admitted that over the past two years, he had been paying seasonal bribes—under the guise of ‘ice money’ and ‘coal money’—to Assistant Minister of Revenue, Chen He, amounting to 2 million taels in total. There are also other beneficiaries, which I’ve listed. I ask Your Majesty to review the details.”

From his sleeve, Xue Shu presented a list along with several letters.

Of course, these letters were expertly forged by the old Daoist. His craft was so flawless that even with Chen He’s genuine handwriting and seals for comparison, no one could spot the difference.

The Emperor’s eyes darkened as he read. Then, with a heavy thud, he slammed the letters onto the table. Fury rippled through his voice. “Go! Arrest every one of them! Interrogate them thoroughly! An Assistant Minister of Revenue accepting 2 million taels in bribes over two years—such brazen audacity!”

With the orders received, Xue Shu bowed deeply, his lips curling ever so faintly. “Understood. However, the Western Depot lacks manpower. May I borrow personnel from the Four Guards and the Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

The Emperor, uninterested in such details, waved him off. “Do as you see fit.”

Xue Shu accepted the command and withdrew, exiting the hall.

As he approached the doors, he crossed paths with the chief eunuch, Gao Xian. Gao Xian’s expression was a mix of false cheer and veiled malice as he quipped, “Young Supervisor Xue, don’t bite off more than you can chew, or you might just choke yourself in the process.”

Xue Shu shot him a cold, indifferent glance and strode past without a word.

Watching Xue Shu’s unapologetically arrogant demeanor, Gao Xian’s smile faded, his face darkening. He stood there, his gaze fixed on Xue Shu’s retreating figure, his eyes glinting with venom.

*

In the Kunning Palace, Yin Chengyu was sitting comfortably, engaged in conversation with Empress Yu.

The empress was still recovering from childbirth, resting her delicate body in the warm chamber. Beside her lay the newly born Yin Chengyan, nestled in a small wooden crib, his every breath soft and steady.

As they chatted, Yin Chengyu’s fingers played lightly with the tiny baby, his mood easing with every gurgle and coo. In just a few days, the little one had grown more lively—his round body soft and plush, his skin tender and rosy. His wide, unblinking eyes glimmered like obsidian jewels. When Yin Chengyu wiggled his finger near him, the baby stretched out his chubby arms, as plump and smooth as lotus roots, to grab at her touch.

The storm of anger and bitterness that had been brewing in his chest for days dissolved entirely. Hia lips curled into a faint smile—a rare softness he hadn’t felt in years.

In his previous life, he hadn’t laid eyes on Yin Chengyan until he was six.

The boy had been spirited away as a newborn, hidden by Nurse Zhao, who fled the palace under cover of night. Forced to live under an assumed name in a desolate rural village, they scraped by on meager earnings, Nurse Zhao stitching embroidery and washing clothes just to keep him alive.

By the time he returned to the palace, Yin Chengyan was a skittish, unruly child, barely able to read, with a temper hardened by years of mistreatment and neglect. His fragile body bore the scars of poverty, and his heart—scarred by abandonment—was steeped in resentment.

He’d been ruthless back then, wielding the rod without hesitation, determined to shape him into a proper crown prince. Slowly but surely, he broke his wildness, molding him into something resembling control. Yet, he never lived to see him grow into the man he was meant to be.

Now, fate had offered him a second chance. This time, with him and the empress standing guard, Yin Chengyan would be spared the cruel hand of destiny. No more hunger, no more wandering. This time, he would thrive.

Yin Chengyu pulled his finger from the baby’s curious mouth, wiping it clean with a silk handkerchief. Then, shifting his attention back to Empress Yu, he inquired about the arrangements for the full-moon banquet.

The empress answered softly, “The banquet is set for the fifth day of April. We’ll keep things simple. I’ve heard the spring rains have been sparse across the land, and some regions are already facing locust plagues. The money we save on unnecessary extravagance will be sent to the relief halls. Let it serve as a blessing for your younger brother’s future.”

Yin Chengyu nodded in agreement, his expression turning pensive as he recalled the reports of famine and disaster. After lingering a little longer to share more quiet moments, he eventually rose and returned to the Ciqing Palace.

*

After leaving the Qianqing Palace, Xue Shu went directly to the Imperial Stables Office to collect his man.

Thanks to Xue Shu’s influence, Wei Xihe had already passed his identity verification, obtained his identification badge, and smoothly entered the palace. However, due to his frail health, he was unfit for duties requiring attendance before the emperor. Without hesitation, Xue Shu brought him straight to the Western Bureau, where Wei Xihe would later oversee the administration of the bureau’s formidable prison.

By the time Xue Shu had everything settled, night had already fallen.

Deciding to stay the night in the Western Bureau, he retreated to his quarters. Out of habit, he considered lighting his snow-plum incense to help him sleep. But the thought of its lingering scent attracting attention restrained him. Instead, he pressed the silk handkerchief imbued with the scent beneath his pillow and lay tossing and turning before finally drifting off.

In his dreams, he saw Yin Chengyu again. But this time, it wasn’t the usual scenes of fervent entanglement between bed linens. No, this was entirely different.

Yin Chengyu sat quietly beneath a veranda, clad in coarse, ill-fitting linen, a sight utterly incongruous with his usual grandeur. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, though his face betrayed lingering illness. His lips, once a vibrant hue of life, were now devoid of color. After stifling two light coughs, he turned to Zheng Duobao, seated nearby, and remarked in a muted tone, “When the wall collapses, everyone pushes. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter. Now that I have nothing to rely on, their behavior is only human nature.”

Zheng Duobao, seething with anger, protested, “But back then—”

"Why waste time talking about the past now?" Yin Chengyu cut in, raising a hand, his composure cool and unshaken, though a restrained cough slipped out. His voice carried a steady, detached confidence, smooth yet razor-sharp. "Relying on anyone else is a fool's game. Quit clinging to what’s already gone. As long as there’s air in my lungs, there will always be a way to claw back to the top."

Zheng Duobao hesitated, his fury giving way to suppressed emotion. He turned his head, secretly wiped at his tears, and choked out, “Then I’ll prepare medicine for Your Highness.”

Yin Chengyu simply murmured an acknowledgment, not even glancing back, remaining seated in the fading autumn light.

The autumn breeze swept through, stirring fallen leaves into spiraling eddies. His long, unbound hair danced with the wind, and those eyes—once brimming with tenderness—now held only a haunting desolation.

Xue Shu, compelled by a surge of emotion, moved forward in his dream. But the instant he took a step, he jolted awake.

Yet even awake, those hollow, sorrowful eyes lingered in his mind, clutching his heart in a vise of unspeakable ache.

Even knowing it was just a dream, Xue Shu couldn’t shake the restless anger coursing through him.

Such a magnificent, noble figure should never be reduced to a desolate shadow beneath some veranda.

No.

Yin Chengyu belonged on a throne, his magnificence untarnished, exalted above all, commanding the reverence of countless souls.

Something deep within Xue Shu stirred violently. He suddenly craved to see Yin Chengyu. But the palace wasn’t like Tianjin—it was riddled with eyes and ears, and his current position made entering the Eastern Palace a perilous task.

Checking the water clock, Xue Shu found it wasn’t yet the third watch. He stared at the cold moonlight streaming through his window for a long time before finally making up his mind. Silent as a shadow, he left the Western Bureau and made his way toward Ciqing Palace.

He didn’t reveal himself, instead avoiding the patrolling imperial guards and slipping to the vicinity of Yin Chengyu’s sleeping quarters.

To his surprise, the lights were still on. The window was half-open, the flicker of candlelight swaying gently in the night breeze.

Xue Shu concealed himself in a tree opposite the window, perfectly positioned to observe the figure inside.

Yin Chengyu sat at his desk, dressed in a dark crossed-collar robe, his long hair cascading loosely down his back. His focus was unwavering as he pored over documents and correspondence, occasionally jotting annotations with his brush.

Each time he raised his eyes, they radiated an unblemished clarity, as if untouched by the bitter frost of his circumstances.

The anger within Xue Shu ebbed away as he watched. Hidden among the branches, he stood silently, his gaze fixed on Yin Chengyu’s every movement.

As long as Yin Chengyu worked, Xue Shu remained there, watching, unmoving.

By the fourth watch, Yin Chengyu still hadn’t rested. Half of the mountain of documents on his desk had already been reviewed, the remainder awaiting his meticulous attention.

He seemed tired, rubbing the bridge of his nose briefly before resting his forehead on his hand and drifting off into sleep. His long hair slipped over his shoulder, tumbling down to his chest, while his flawless face was cloaked in shadows, leaving only the elegant curve of his jaw exposed.

Xue Shu watched him for a while, his gaze sharp and lingering. Noticing no attendants daring to disturb him, Xue Shu deduced that it must have been the man's strict command.

That knowledge stirred something wild within him.

He waited a bit longer, his patience wearing thin as he kept his eyes on the figure. Seeing that Yin Chengyu showed no signs of waking, he finally gave in to the restless hunger clawing at him. Moving like a shadow beneath the cold moonlight, Xue Shu slipped silently into the chamber.

The man, deep in slumber, remained oblivious.

Xue Shu approached from behind, leaning down to study him with piercing intensity. His eyes devoured every detail, as though committing him to memory with obsessive fervor. After a long pause, he reached out, sliding his arms beneath the sleeping figure and lifting him effortlessly.

His movements were calculated, gentle—careful not to wake the man in his arms. Yet his heartbeat betrayed him, pounding violently, a wild drum echoing in his chest. Blood surged through him like a relentless river, heat flooding his veins until his entire body was ablaze.

Still, he restrained himself. Craving simmered just beneath the surface, but his resolve held steady as he carried the man step by step toward the canopy bed in the inner chamber.

Placing Yin Chengyu down, Xue Shu hesitated, a sharp pang cutting through him as if something deep inside him was filled, only to be hollowed out again.

His jaw tightened, tension radiating through him as logic demanded he step back, relinquish his hold. Yet the beast within roared in protest, his grip lingering on the man's slender wrist.

A war raged within him—reason and desire clawing at each other, neither willing to yield.

Just as he teetered on the brink, unable to decide, the wrist he clung to moved.

Yin Chengyu's elegant hand twisted, his fingers curling around Xue Shu's wrist with a firm grip. His eyes opened, sharp yet heavy-lidded, cutting through the tension like a blade. Sitting up with an effortless grace, he fixed Xue Shu with a gaze that gave nothing away.

“Bold thief,” he murmured, his voice cool yet dangerous. “Breaking into the Eastern Palace in the dead of night... What do you intend to do?”

———Author’s note: Xue Shu (the dog): Had a nightmare... Thought cuddling His Highness would make it better. His Highness: …