Chapter 26.

Xue Shu had not expected him to suddenly wake up, those piercing eyes locking onto his. For a fleeting moment, his body tensed, but he quickly composed himself, lowering his head and speaking in a low, even tone. “Your Highness, I had a nightmare and thought I’d come to check on you.”

Yin Chengyu had actually woken up the moment Xue Shu lifted him into his arms. Pretending to sleep was just a game, a way to see what Xue Shu was plotting this time. But hearing such a ridiculous excuse left Yin Chengyu genuinely taken aback.

In his previous life, Xue Shu’s late-night intrusions into his chambers weren’t unheard of. The excuses had always been elaborate and strange, but this—“I had a nightmare and wanted to see Your Highness”—this was a first.

Initially, Yin Chengyu had planned to make things difficult for him, but Xue Shu’s blunt honesty left him with no reason to be angry. In fact, it almost amused him.

He released Xue Shu, shifting lazily into a more comfortable position, propping his chin on his hand as his sharp gaze raked over the man. A faint smile danced on his lips as he asked, “And what nightmare was that? Did it have anything to do with me?”

Xue Shu’s brows furrowed as the memory of his dream resurfaced. Shaking his head, he chose not to elaborate. “Dreams are always the opposite of reality. Speaking of it would only sully Your Highness’s ears and invite bad luck.”

The dream… it couldn’t be true. Not while he was here to protect him.

Yin Chengyu stared at Xue Shu, noting the resistance in his expression. Deciding not to press further, he casually reached for a calming sachet near his pillow and tossed it toward him. His tone was mocking but tinged with a strange warmth. “You’re a grown man, yet you come running to me after a nightmare. Take this and leave.”

When Xue Shu obediently tucked the sachet into his robes, Yin Chengyu’s gaze flickered, sharp and teasing. “If this happens again…”

Xue Shu lowered his head, awaiting punishment, but the reprimand never came. He looked up to see Yin Chengyu rising, waving him off with an impatient hand. “Why are you still standing there? If someone sees you, you’ll be spending the night in the imperial prison.”

Barefoot, Yin Chengyu strode across the plush carpet and rang the bell to summon his attendants. Seeing no other option, Xue Shu slipped out through the window, his figure quickly swallowed by the shadows.

Yin Chengyu watched him vanish, then glanced at the silent palace guards outside. His brows knit together in irritation. “These imperial guards really are useless,” he muttered.

Letting someone like Xue Shu come and go freely in the palace—how absurd. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he paused, a flicker of déjà vu washing over him.

He remembered it now. Xue Shu had said something eerily similar in their past life. Whenever he snuck into Yin Chengyu’s chambers late at night, waking him with his audacious presence, his response to any accusations was always the same: “Your Highness, you can’t blame me. The imperial guards are just too incompetent.”

They were incompetent, Yin Chengyu thought grimly.

Zheng Duobao and the young eunuchs entered the room then, their eyes catching the stormy look on Yin Chengyu’s face.

“Your Highness, are you weary?” Zheng Duobao asked, directing the servants to prepare warm water behind the screen and helping Yin Chengyu out of his outer robe, leaving only his thin inner garments.

Yin Chengyu shook his head, pushing thoughts of Xue Shu aside as he prepared to bathe. Yet, in the depths of his mind, that shadow of a man lingered.

*

Xue Shu didn’t leave. He lingered outside the palace for half the night, watching as the eunuchs shuffled in and out of the sleeping quarters, carrying steaming basins of water. He could guess: Yin Chengyu was bathing.

Time ticked on, and soon the glow of the inner chamber’s candles was snuffed out. Zheng Duobao tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind him with care.

Xue Shu’s gaze fixed on the direction of the chambers. Slowly, he pulled out a fragrant sachet from his robe, lifting it to his nose.

The sachet was filled with calming herbs, the kind that carried a soothing medicinal scent. But it wasn’t just the herbs he noticed. Perhaps it had been by Yin Chengyu’s pillow too long, for it carried faint traces of him—a subtle, elusive note of snowy mountain plum.

He tucked the sachet away like it was the most precious treasure, holding onto it until the first glimmers of dawn crept over the horizon. Only then did he time his departure, slipping back to the Western Bureau just as the patrolling imperial guards were changing shifts.

He didn’t rest. Instead, he dressed in his imperial-bestowed crimson robe embroidered with dragons, called for Wei Xihe, and gathered a hundred of his agents. They set out for Dashiyong District.

The Chen Residence lay there.

As the first streaks of morning light touched the city, the lacquered red gates of the Chen Residence flew open with a resounding crash. West Bureau agents stormed through, waking the drowsy gatekeeper. Startled awake, the man’s face turned pale at the sight of the armed and grim-faced agents.

He gasped, turning to run and alert the household, but barely got a few steps before a boot struck his back, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

The agents gagged him and turned to look at Xue Shu for orders.

Xue Shu’s dark eyes swept over the elegant courtyard with a cold, deliberate gaze. His voice was low, rough, and commanding: “Bring Chen He here. Search the premises.”

Like wolves unleashed, the agents fanned out in all directions, scouring every corner of the residence.

Xue Shu settled into a grand armchair that his men had dragged over, leaning back as he waited. Wei Xihe stood by his side, ever vigilant.

It didn’t take long. Chen He was dragged out, disheveled and humiliated, torn from the warm embrace of his concubine’s bed. His clothes were in disarray, barely covering his shame, and his face burned with anger and embarrassment.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Chen household—family, servants, all—were roused from their quarters and herded into the courtyard like cattle.

Chen He, a man who had witnessed his share of imperial arrests, had never imagined that one day he would be the one hauled out like this.

His bloodshot eyes fixed on Xue Shu, a stranger to him, then flicked to the agents, noting the distinct uniforms that set them apart from the Eastern Depot or the Jinyiwei.

Suppressing his outrage, he growled, “Who are you people? How dare you break into an imperial official’s residence in the dead of night?”

Xue Shu’s lips curled into a cold smirk, but he said nothing.

Wei Xihe, on the other hand, stepped forward, his tone cutting and sardonic. “The Western Bureau acts under the emperor’s orders. Save your breath, Minister Chen. You’ll have plenty of time to talk once you’re back at the Bureau.”

“The Western Bureau?” Chen He froze, the words hitting him like a thunderclap. His bravado cracked, and he roared, “I demand to see the emperor! I demand an audience with His Majesty!”

Though past sixty, Chen He struggled fiercely, twisting and thrashing against the agents holding him.

Wei Xihe scoffed and gestured to the agents with a single, sharp nod. They tightened their grip, forcing him to the ground, his face pressed against the cold, hard stone.

Humiliated, Chen He bellowed curses, his fury echoing through the courtyard.

Wei Xihe, crouched beside him, sneering. “Keep shouting, Minister Chen. Every word you spit out here will be repaid tenfold back at the Bureau.”

As the search continued, agents returned, presenting letters and documents. Xue Shu took one look, his expression unreadable, then rose from his seat. “Take them all back to the Bureau.”

The hundred agents who had arrived like silent phantoms left with a thunderous presence. By now, the entire Dashiyong District knew what had happened.

Neighboring officials, awoken by the commotion, sent their servants to investigate. When they heard it was the Western Bureau at work, a ripple of fear swept through them.

The Western Bureau had returned.

It was a name whispered with dread, a shadow from the days of Emperor Xiaozong. In its prime, the Western Bureau held more power than the Eastern Depot or the Jinyiwei, with jurisdiction over everything from court officials to commoners. Its very name made people bolt their doors and hold their breaths in terror.

Though its influence had waned under the current emperor, replaced with promises of stability and reform, the mere mention of its resurgence sent chills down spines.

By the time court convened that day, ministers were already decrying the Bureau’s actions. One after another, they accused Xue Shu and the Western Bureau of overstepping their bounds, of tyranny, of unlawfully arresting an imperial official. They demanded the emperor release Chen He immediately and punish Xue Shu.

Standing quietly beside the emperor’s throne, Gao Xian lowered his head, a cold, cruel smile curling at his lips.

He had said Xue Shu’s arrogance wouldn’t last long.

The Emperor Longfeng sat on his throne, his expression cold and unyielding as the ministers stepped forward one by one, hurling accusations at Xue Shu. He let them rage, their righteous indignation filling the hall, before finally tossing a stack of letters onto the ground before them. His voice was sharp, cutting through their clamor like a blade.

“Xue Shu merely acted under my orders,” he declared. “But you—so eager to defend Chen He—are you sure none of you have your own hands dirty in the salt tax scandal?!”

Shao Tian, the Vice Minister at the front, picked up the letters and read them. His face blanched. “Your Majesty, please calm your anger. We are not absolving Chen He. It’s just that Xue Shu’s methods have been too... excessive.”

Another official, close to Shao Tian, chimed in quickly, his voice trembling with faux concern. “Your Majesty, during Emperor Xiaozong’s reign, the creation of the Western Bureau stirred public unrest, nearly causing disaster. You must not repeat that mistake!”

But the more they criticized Xue Shu, the more resolute the Emperor became in protecting him. His gaze flicked briefly to Gao Xian, standing nearby, his mind churning with dark thoughts. For years, the Eastern Bureau’s actions had been no less ruthless than the Western Bureau’s, yet not once had these officials dared to criticize Gao Yuan.

What did that reveal?

It was clear as day—these ministers had long since formed an alliance with those closest to him. Traitors, all of them.

The Emperor’s expression turned stony, his voice silencing the room. “Enough. My decision is final. No more arguments.”

With that, he summoned the Chief Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Handing over the list provided by Xue Shu, he issued a command that sent a chill through the hall: investigate everyone connected to the salt tax scandal, without exception.

The lucrative post of Longlu Salt Commissioner had been a hotbed of corruption for over a decade. Countless officials had passed through its ranks, and many more had ties through friends, classmates, or family. Now, with the Emperor openly brandishing this list, it was clear—he intended to settle old scores.

The courtroom fell into an uneasy silence, the ministers’ earlier fervor replaced with dread. Those who had even the slightest connection to the salt tax scandal couldn’t help but feel their hearts tremble. Even the Chief Minister, upon seeing the densely packed names on the list, felt his hands grow cold.

A storm was brewing, and the court was about to be upended.

That morning’s court session ended abruptly, the ministers leaving with faces pale and drawn, as if walking to their own funerals.

When news reached Yin Chengyu, it was already too late—several officials had been thrown into the Judicial Review’s prison.

“How is Uncle doing?” Yin Chengyu asked.

“Sir Yu instructed me to tell Your Highness not to worry,” came the reply.

Of course, Yu Chen’s name hadn’t escaped Xue Shu’s list. As the former Longlu Salt Commissioner, Yu Chen had seen his fair share of corruption. While the salt taxes had remained intact during his tenure, smuggling had long plagued the region—issues too deeply rooted for one man to fix. When Yu Chen left his post, it was Wan Youliang’s insatiable greed that truly allowed the salt smuggling to spiral out of control.

If the investigation dug deep enough, Yu Shen wasn’t entirely blameless, but his crimes would amount to little more than negligence. That had been part of their plan all along.

The Emperor’s discontent with the Yu family was no secret, and they had decided it was better to retreat strategically rather than resist head-on. With Yu Huai’an already serving as Grand Secretary and Minister of Revenue, the Yu family’s power was unparalleled. Since Yu Shen’s transfer to the Ministry of Works, he had kept a low profile as an assistant minister to avoid attracting attention.

This was the perfect opportunity to step back and avoid the storm.

After some thought, Yin Chengyu spoke. “Send some bedding to the Judicial Review in my name. Say it’s out of concern for Uncle’s health. No need to hold back.”

If the Emperor wanted to see a show of loyalty, then Yin Chengyu would put on a performance worth remembering.

*

The chaos raged for nearly ten days before it finally began to settle.

The Court of Judicial Review had dragged in a whole parade of officials, each more nervous than the last. Every morning in court, ministers trembled as they took attendance, wondering who was missing this time. For those lower-ranked officials who weren’t even qualified to attend the court, their disappearances were quieter, whisked away by Judicial Review enforcers without so much as a whisper left behind.

The Judicial Review prison overflowed with the accused, turning the place into a hive of frenzy. For days, officials sifted through mountains of evidence—those whose guilt was irrefutable were held fast, while the lucky innocent ones were grudgingly sent back to their lives.

It wasn’t until the day before Yin Chengyan’s full-moon banquet that Yu Shen was finally released, battered but intact.

Meanwhile, Emperor Longfeng sat fuming in his chambers, glaring at the reports stacked before him. The account books from Xue Shu’s confiscated estate made his blood boil, each number stabbing at his pride. His chest tightened as the realization sank in: these officials were a brazen, shameless bunch!

Oh, how they loved to posture, lecturing him on virtue and restraint every chance they got. Yet this single salt-tax case had unearthed a network of corruption so vast it could shame the heavens. They hounded him endlessly for spending on a single garden, while their own pilfered fortunes could fund ten of them with gold-plated walls to spare!

Fury erupted within the Emperor. He immediately summoned Fang Zhengke back to court, handing him ten imperial censors and an unrelenting mission: head to Lianghuai and the surrounding regions, investigate the salt trade, and leave no stone unturned.

To ensure the operation’s safety, the Emperor pulled 800 agents from the Western Bureau, putting Wei Xihe in charge as the escort commander. Initially, the Emperor had intended Xue Shu to lead the task force personally, but Xue Shu excused himself, citing unresolved matters in the Chenhe case, and recommended Wei Xihe instead. Suspicious of the loyalties of Eastern Bureau and the Jinyiwei after recent betrayals, the Emperor accepted the suggestion without hesitation.

On the fifth day of the fourth month, Wei Xihe and his agents set out from the capital, escorting Fang Zhengke and his team into the turbulent salt lands.

That same day, Yin Chengyan’s full-moon banquet lit up the halls of Jiaoyuan in celebration.

———Author’s Note: His Highness: If there’s a next time… Puppy (excited): There can be a next time?