Chapter 27.

The full moon banquet wasn’t an extravagant affair; everything was kept simple and understated. Aside from the concubines of the harem, Empress Yu invited noblewomen from prominent families to join the celebration within the palace walls.

While Empress Yu entertained the women in one area, the men gathered elsewhere, enjoying wine with Yin Chengyu.

Yin Chengyu, in an unusually good mood, couldn’t help but let his spirits soar at the thought of Empress Yu and Yin Chengyan, safe and sound on the other side. Any guest who approached him with a toast found their cup eagerly met—he drank freely, a warm smile softening his features, no hint of gloom or worry lingering in his eyes.

Nearby, the Second Prince, Yin Chengzhang, and the Third Prince, Yin Chengjing, sat together. Watching the scene unfold, Yin Chengzhang let out a faint snort and muttered under his breath, “Our royal brother’s luck has been downright uncanny lately. So much has happened at court and in the empire, yet not a single storm has touched him.”

His tone was laced with envy.

First, Empress Yu had safely delivered a son—a young child now, but undoubtedly a future ally for the Crown Prince if he grew up strong. Then came the resolution of the salt trafficking case, which earned high praise even from Emperor Longfeng, who had always harbored suspicions about the Crown Prince. And if that weren’t enough, the case, which seemed poised to drag the Yu family down, ended with them walking out of the Ministry of Justice’s prison completely unscathed.

Rumor had it the Crown Prince had even sent bedding and supplies to Yu Shen while he was detained, ensuring he lived comfortably behind bars, untouched by hardship.

Yin Chengjing swirled the wine in his cup lazily, his expression unreadable. He neither agreed nor responded to his brother’s musings. Rising unhurriedly, he swayed a little, his movements casual. “I’ll go toast our dear elder brother,” he murmured, voice light.

Yin Chengzhang, the fool, thought their brother had simply been lucky to evade calamity. He didn’t realize this so-called luck was nothing more than the Crown Prince’s meticulous scheming. He’d not only sidestepped the trap but turned it back on them with precision.

No, the Crown Prince wasn’t the pure and noble figure he appeared to be on the surface.

Suppressing the sharp edge of his thoughts, Yin Chengjing approached Yin Chengyu with a wine cup raised. “Elder brother, your success in resolving the Changlu salt case is truly admirable. As your younger brother, I must offer you this toast.”

Yin Chengyu glanced at him, the warmth in his smile cooling ever so slightly. Lifting his cup, he responded with a faintly loaded remark: “It was merely thanks to Censor Fang. I didn’t do much myself.”

The two exchanged a polite smile and drank together, their expressions polite but their gazes thinly veiled.

Shortly after, Yin Chengjing excused himself, claiming he needed to sober up, and left the banquet hall.

Once he reached a secluded spot, the smile on his face vanished, replaced by a dark and calculating expression. Straightening his posture, any trace of drunkenness disappeared. “Is everything ready?” he asked, voice low and sharp.

A young eunuch bowed his head respectfully. “Everything has been arranged perfectly. There won’t be any mistakes.”

A satisfied smirk spread across Yin Chengjing’s face. “Good. Since my elder brother is enjoying such a streak of fortune, it’s only right I, as his younger brother, present him with a grand gift in celebration.”

With that, he let his eyes glaze over once more, swaying theatrically as he leaned against the eunuch for support. His voice turned slurred, barely coherent. “Send someone to inform my elder brother... tell him I’ve had too much and am finding a place to rest.”

*

Yin Chengyu listened absentmindedly to the eunuch's message and didn’t bother himself with Yin Chengzhang’s whereabouts.

He played along with the formalities a little longer, but as the alcohol began to warm his senses, he excused himself. The cool air along the palace corridor was more enticing.

The Jiaoyuan Garden bordered the grand Taiye Pool, with a long, elegant corridor known as the Snow Walkway skirting its edge. Willows flanked the corridor, their branches swaying in harmony with the rippling water, creating a picturesque escape.

Yin Chengyu found a quiet nook, settling into the solitude to let the evening chill sober his thoughts. Just as he began to unwind, a figure emerged at the other end of the corridor, moving with quiet grace.

The silhouette paused briefly upon spotting him, then advanced quickly with the support of a maid. She lowered herself in a formal greeting, her voice soft and restrained. "Your Highness, the Crown Prince."

Her attire was plain—an unassuming pale-blue jacket and skirt that accentuated her frailty. Though she stood tall, her delicate frame and the pallor of her complexion reminded him of the tender yet brittle willow branches swaying outside.

Yin Chengyu’s gaze lingered. For a fleeting moment, she felt unfamiliar, but recognition soon struck. It was his eldest sister, Yin Ciguang.

"Why is my royal sister not partaking in the festivities at Jiaoyuan? What brings you here?" His tone was casual, though his eyes betrayed a glimmer of unease as he scanned her figure, noting details he had never paid attention to before.

Yin Ciguang’s beauty was undeniable—an oval face framed by soft brows and striking almond eyes. Yet those eyes held a perpetual gloom, and her face bore the haggard traces of long-standing illness, stripping her of vitality and presence.

She was a year older than him, the firstborn of Emperor Longfeng. By right, she should have held the esteemed title of the First Princess of The Great Yan, a symbol of grace and prestige. Yet at nineteen, she remained untitled and unmarried.

Yin Chengyu recalled an earlier life, when the Empress Yu had mentioned Yin Ciguang’s marriage prospects.

Her mother, Concubine Rong, was out of favor with the emperor and constantly targeted by Noble Consort Wen. Coupled with Yin Ciguang’s fragile health, any talk of marriage seemed more like a distant dream. Several noble families had expressed interest in marrying the princess, but Concubine Rong had begged the empress to refuse, tearfully insisting none of them were good matches.

The Empress Yu, soft-hearted as she was, investigated and agreed that those suitors were unworthy. She declined the offers under the guise of protecting Yin Ciguang’s dignity.

But this perpetual state of limbo couldn’t last forever.

At the time, Yin Chengyu had dismissed it lightly, saying the imperial family could well afford to keep an unmarried princess.

Little did he know how the tides of fate would shift. The Empress Yu’s death, the downfall of her family, his own imprisonment in the imperial mausoleum—it all unraveled with devastating speed.

By the time he returned to the palace five years later, Yin Ciguang’s name had become synonymous with scandal.

His gaze flickered to her neck. It was slender and shrouded by the high collar of her jacket, but a careful observer might notice a subtle protrusion—a sign that should never have belonged to a princess.

A memory from his previous life surfaced. He’d heard about Yin Ciguang’s secret only after his release. She had not been the First Princess. She had been the First Prince.

Concubine Rong, for reasons known only to her, had deliberately concealed Yin Ciguang’s identity and raised him as a girl.

The rumors said Concubine Rong had suffered a difficult pregnancy, nearly losing the child before birth. Though she survived, the trauma left her barren, and her child was born frail and sickly.

Yin Ciguang’s health had always been precarious, sustained by a daily regimen of medicines. Rarely did he appear in public, and even when he did, his head was perpetually bowed, his demeanor meek and unassuming.

After Concubine Rong’s death, it hadn’t been long before he followed. When palace attendants prepared his body for burial, the truth was uncovered, shocking the imperial court.

The emperor, who had long been indifferent to Yin Ciguang and his mother, erupted in fury. His anger was swift and unrelenting, leading to their disgraceful burial outside the imperial grounds.

In his past life, Yin Chengyu had barely spoken to this "royal sister" and harbored no lasting impressions of her.

Yet now, looking at her—or rather, him—through the lens of his rebirth, a pang of pity stirred in his chest.

If his guess was right, Concubine Rong had hidden Yin Ciguang’s identity only to protect him from the palace’s merciless games.

Rong Pin’s lowly origins were no secret—she had been a mere courtesan, a dancer from the Imperial Entertainment Bureau. But her exquisite movements caught the Emperor Longfeng’s eye, and soon enough, she was carrying his child. That favor earned her an elevation to the status of a consort.

Fate, however, had a cruel sense of humor. Around the same time, Noble Consort Wen also found herself pregnant. But her joy was short-lived, as she suffered a miscarriage not long after. Ever since, Noble Consort Wen had been convinced Rong Pin’s child had somehow cursed hers, making Rong Pin a target of her relentless hostility.

With the Empress yet to conceive, Rong Pin’s potential to deliver a son—the Emperor’s firstborn—was a threat Noble Consort Wen could not tolerate.

"The eldest princess has a delicate constitution. The spring chill is unkind; it’s better she avoids the wind."

Rong Pin’s heart with a motherly concern that reminded Yin Chengyu of the Empress Yu from his previous life. Back then, his mother had risked everything to send Yin Chengyan away, her heart equally resolute.

Yin Ciguang raised her delicate face to glance at him in surprise, but she quickly lowered her gaze. In a soft voice, she murmured, "Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I was merely looking for my mother."

Yin Chengyu nodded slightly, stepping aside to allow her passage without further exchange.

With the support of her maid, Yin Ciguang curtsied once more before moving away, her silhouette fading into the distance.

"Inform Madam Zhao to provide the eldest princess with more medicinal herbs. If possible, have the imperial physician visit her," Yin Chengyu instructed his attendant, Zheng Duobao, only after Yin Ciguang was out of earshot.

The affairs of the harem weren’t his to meddle in, but he had no intention of burdening his mother, the Empress, with such matters. Thus, he could only rely on Madam Zhao, one of his mother’s trusted aides, to keep a watchful eye.

Zheng Duobao, puzzled by his master’s sudden interest in a largely overlooked princess, complied nonetheless. In the palace, the quality of one’s life often depended on the whims of those in power.

Yin Chengyu’s gaze lingered on the fading figure in the distance. His brows furrowed as he muttered, “Noble Consort Wen is far too audacious.”

Zheng Duobao let out a low "Eh" in agreement and whispered, "It’s said the servants in Jingren Palace have been walking on eggshells lately. Broken porcelain seems to be cleared out daily. With the Empress having just delivered the Emperor’s child, that one must be stewing in jealousy."

"Have someone keep an eye on her," Yin Chengyu commanded curtly before returning to the banquet.

No sooner had he sat down than Yin Chengzhang swaggered over, wine flask in hand, insisting they drink together.

Yin Chengyu, still sour from his earlier encounter with Yin Ciguang, was hardly in the mood for camaraderie. Yet, propriety demanded a polite façade. He accepted the glass, clinking it with Yin Chengzhang’s in forced conviviality, draining three cups in succession.

Satisfied, Yin Chengzhang tossed the flask to a eunuch and slumped back in his seat. Reeking of alcohol, he sneered to his personal servant, "Did you see the look in his eyes? Like he’d love nothing more than to rip me apart, yet he still grins and drinks with me. What a masterful actor."

The servant darted anxious glances around them before exhaling in relief, whispering nervously, "Your Highness, please, not here. There are ears everywhere."

Reluctantly, Yin Chengzhang swallowed his words, drowning his irritation in another cup of wine.

Meanwhile, Yin Chengyu, having downed the three drinks, returned to his seat. But no sooner had he sat down than a strange heat began to spread through his core, clouding his mind in an instant.

A wave of unease crashed over him. Something was wrong. His instincts screamed danger, and he turned to call for Zheng Duobao.

Yet, the loyal attendant who had been by his side moments ago was nowhere to be found. Pressing a hand to his forehead, Yin Chengyu’s mind raced as he pieced it together. This was no coincidence.

The heat surged, relentless, threatening to overtake his senses.

The sensation coursing through Yin Chengyu was all too familiar. He forced himself to maintain composure, standing tall and striding quickly toward the exit without uttering a word.

As soon as he stepped out of Jiaoyuan, a young eunuch approached, offering to assist him. Yin Chengyu shot the boy a sharp glare, shoving him aside before hastening toward the eastern grounds—there was a banquet in Jiaoyuan today, and Xue Shu was stationed nearby.

Barely holding onto his clarity, Yin Chengyu circled half the area before spotting him. His voice, hoarse and ragged, called out, “Xue Shu.”

Xue Shu approached, puzzled, only to be seized by the arm in an iron grip. “Take me away,” Yin Chengyu commanded.

“Where does Your Highness wish to go?” Xue Shu asked, steadying him. His instincts flared as something felt distinctly wrong—the prince’s breath was unnaturally heated, and the faint scent of wine clung to him.

“Anywhere.” Yin Chengyu clung tighter to his arm, his other hand digging nails into his own palm. Pain became his anchor, barely keeping his mind from slipping.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Xue Shu avoided drawing attention and discreetly supported him toward the side hall of Chongzhi Palace.

As they reached the door, Yin Chengyu stopped him, sharp and cautious. “Check if anyone’s inside.”

Xue Shu obeyed, pushing the door open and scanning the room quickly. Finding it empty, he led the prince inside.

The moment they entered, Yin Chengyu released him, striding toward the table. He grabbed the teapot, uncaring whether the tea was fresh, and began downing it in large gulps.

When the pot was empty, he turned to Xue Shu, his voice steady but commanding. “Fetch more water. Quickly.”

Xue Shu hesitated, words forming on his lips, but a sharp rebuke from Yin Chengyu cut him off. “Go now!”

Though shocked by the prince’s uncharacteristic harshness, Xue Shu hurried off to fulfill the order.

The moment the door closed, Yin Chengyu locked it securely. Alone, he grabbed a large vase and bent over, forcing himself to vomit.

By the time Xue Shu returned, Yin Chengyu had purged himself multiple times. Sweat drenched his brow, and a faint flush lingered on his cheeks, but his eyes were sharper, clearer.

Without a word, he took the fresh teapot from Xue Shu and resumed drinking. The bitterness of the tea mixed with the bile in his throat, but it grounded him.

Xue Shu, observing him closely, pieced it together. The prince had been drugged—some vile, underhanded trick. Swallowing hard, he finally broke the silence. “Your Highness... I can help.”

Yin Chengyu froze mid-motion, slowly turning to him. His eyes, rimmed red from suppressed agony, were sharp and piercing. His voice, rough from vomiting, was laced with disbelief. “You can help me?”

There was an edge to his tone, almost mocking. His gaze burned through Xue Shu as though he were seeing someone else entirely.

Before Xue Shu could respond, Yin Chengyu let out a bitter laugh and pointed to the center of the room. “Kneel.”

Xue Shu hesitated but ultimately obeyed, moving to the indicated spot and dropping to his knees.

For a moment, Yin Chengyu’s cold eyes scrutinized him before he shrugged off his water-dampened outer robe, letting it fall to the floor. He turned away and disappeared behind the screen.

This side hall wasn’t meant for long stays; it only housed a chaise lounge and a low bed for brief rests. Yin Chengyu collapsed onto the bed, his breathing heavy, his eyes half-closed.

The worst of the drug’s potency had passed, dulled by the water and the forced purging, but its lingering effects gnawed at him. Even in its weakened state, the residual heat clawed at his composure, relentless and maddening.

Yin Chengyu bit down hard on his forearm, his only means to channel the torment, to keep his body from surrendering entirely to the poison.

Through the screen, he could see the faint shadow of Xue Shu still kneeling. It irritated him. Closing his eyes, he tried to push the image away, but his thoughts betrayed him.

This wasn’t the first time.

He had been drugged before. More than once. And every time, it had left scars far deeper than the physical.

The first time, he blacked out completely. When he woke up, he found himself lying next to a woman. Before he could even piece together what had happened, a mob burst through the door, accusing him of having an illicit affair with a royal concubine, dragging his name through the mud for immorality and disgrace.

The irony? He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the woman’s face.

The second time wasn’t much better. Not long after returning to the palace, he was ambushed during a trip outside. Drugged and half-delirious, he was barely holding on when Xue Shu stormed in with a devilish grin, flanked by two women. “Your Highness,” Xue Shu teased, “will it be them, or me?”

The drug coursing through his veins was strong—mind-numbing even—but somehow, through sheer will, he grabbed onto Xue Shu’s sleeve and refused to let go.

It took him three full days outside the palace to recover. During that time, Xue Shu had every single person in the inn detained and interrogated until they tracked down the one responsible for spiking his drink.

Now, in this second chance at life, Yin Chengyu had narrowly dodged that same bullet—or so he thought. Yet here it was again, the same dirty, underhanded trick.

After surviving two incidents like this, his instincts had become razor-sharp. The moment he took a sip of the wine Yin Chengzhang had offered him, he knew something was off. But Yin Chengzhang was too much of a fool to orchestrate this himself, which left only one suspect: Yin Chengjing.

He could practically picture the scenario. Somewhere in this Chongzhi Hall, a woman was probably waiting for him, carefully arranged to complete the setup. If he hadn’t been on guard, he’d likely be sprawled on some poor concubine’s bed by now, dazed and defenseless.

Yin Chengyu let out a low, irritated hum, sitting upright only after a long pause.

The drug’s effects were fading, clarity returning. Slowly, methodically, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hands clean. Barefoot and composed, he stepped around the folding screen, towering over Xue Shu with an air of cool dominance.

“Go,” he commanded, voice low and sharp, “find me some clean clothes. And send someone to search this hall thoroughly—quietly. Make sure no one else is lurking around.”

Jiaoyuan was far from the main palace, with only Chongzhi Hall nearby as a resting place. If someone wanted to trap him, that hall was the perfect spot.

Xue Shu glanced up at him, unable to help but notice the deep red of Yin Chengyu’s lips, flushed darker than usual. His scent—always a crisp, wintry plum—now carried an undercurrent of something warmer, heavier, intoxicating.

Desire. Subtle, but impossible to ignore.

Xue Shu quickly lowered his gaze, responding with a hurried “Yes, Your Highness,” before retreating as fast as he could.

———Author’s Note: Doggo: “I’m very useful! Why don’t you ever use me?” His Highness: “Scram.”