Chapter 29.

When Xue Shu left Jingren Palace, he headed straight back to the Western Bureau.

Since his triumphant return from Tianjin, bolstered by the Longfeng Emperor’s favor, the Western Bureau had undergone a complete transformation. Xue Shu first promoted a handful of standout soldiers from the five hundred men who had accompanied him to Tianjin to key positions. Then, he requisitioned three thousand elite troops from the Four Camps to bolster his ranks. Though his official rank remained modest—a mere "Commander of Justice"—every soul in the Western Bureau answered to him and followed his lead without question.

The moment he stepped through the gates, a subordinate rushed to greet him. “Inspector, would you like to rest in your quarters?”

Xue Shu waved him off, his voice cutting. “No. Take me to see Chen He.”

Chen He, imprisoned in the Bureau’s dungeon, had already been interrogated once. The old man had proven resilient—loyal to Yin Chengjing to the bitter end—and had refused to confess.

At first, Xue Shu wasn’t in a rush. He figured the man’s age would make him vulnerable to extended confinement. No need for heavy-handed methods just yet. For days, he left Chen He to rot in the pitch-black, soundless cell, letting despair do its work.

But today had pushed Xue Shu over the edge. Rage coiled inside him, sharp and unrelenting. He was done waiting. If Yin Chengjing wanted to play games, Xue Shu would turn the screws. No matter how stubborn Chen He’s bones, he’d find a weak spot.

Everyone had one.

“Bring him to the torture chamber,” Xue Shu ordered, his tone ice-edged.

Dragged from his cell after days without food, light, or even a hint of sound, Chen He was a shell of his former self. His gaunt frame sagged between two guards as they hauled him in. Bleary-eyed, he squinted at Xue Shu, recognition dawning before his rage flared.

“You eunuch dog! What now?”

Xue Shu’s lips curved into a cold, slow smile as he sized him up. His voice, silky smooth and venom-laced, carried the kind of danger that made even silence feel heavy. “Still holding out, are we, Minister Chen? Interesting. The silver confiscated from your home doesn’t match the figures provided by Wan Youliang’s confession. Care to explain?”

Chen He spat, his defiance sharp. “Wan Youliang’s a lying scoundrel! His words mean nothing! I’ve served the court for decades, tirelessly and without reproach. You eunuch filth won’t break me! Kill me if you must, but I won’t confess to your lies!”

Xue Shu chuckled darkly, the sound low and unsettling. “Impressive backbone, Minister. I wonder, though—does your little grandson share that trait?”

Chen He froze, his expression tightening. “What are you saying?”

Xue Shu leaned back in his chair, his gaze searing. “You didn’t think sacrificing yourself would protect your family, did you?”

A sharp clap of his hands brought a guard forward, leading in a boy no older than six or seven. The child looked around, confused and frightened, before his eyes landed on the man bound to the torture rack. “Grandfather!” he cried, rushing toward him.

The guards caught him, holding him back as he kicked and wailed, tears streaming down his face.

Chen He’s face twisted with anguish, his voice cracking with fury. “You bastard! He’s only a child!”

Xue Shu’s smile widened, cruel and deliberate. “I heard you dote on this grandson of yours. The stories seem true.”

He stood, slow and deliberate, picking up a pair of tongs that gripped a glowing red branding iron. Turning it in his hand, he let its heat radiate through the room. “Now, Chen He, let’s consider your situation. Your crimes don’t warrant punishing your family. Your grandson still has a chance—a bright future, perhaps even a comeback for the Chen family one day.”

He paused, stepping closer to the trembling boy. The iron hovered inches from the child’s cherubic face, the heat palpable. “But if this iron leaves a mark, if your grandson carries a scar he can never hide... well, there goes your family’s future, doesn’t it?”

The boy screamed, thrashing as the iron edged closer. His cries tore through the room, each desperate “Grandfather!” lancing through Chen He’s resolve.

The old man’s eyes bulged, veins stark against his temples, his breaths ragged and uneven.

Xue Shu watched him, calm and sure, the brand mere inches from the boy’s cheek. The room was silent except for the child’s terrified wails.

Finally, Chen He broke, his voice raw and guttural. “Stop! Don’t hurt him—I’ll talk! I’ll confess to everything!”

Xue Shu smirked, pulling the iron away with a flourish. Tossing it aside, he barked, “Take the boy outside. Let them reunite once his grandfather has spilled every last secret.”

Chen He’s gaze burned with hatred as he stared at Xue Shu, but he knew better than to test him further. The confession came, word by bitter word, leaving no detail unsaid.

Xue Shu's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he gazed at the signed confession. Turning to Chen He, whose glare burned with resentment, he spoke, his tone sharp and unyielding:

"Master Chen, there's no need to look at me like that. You endured all this suffering in prison just to shield the Third Prince. Yet, have you ever stopped to think? If it weren’t for me keeping an eye on things, your entire family would’ve been ruined long ago. Funny how things work—turns out you owe me your gratitude for saving them."

With that, Xue Shu didn’t bother sparing Chen He another glance. Taking the confession, he strode off to report to Emperor Longfeng.

The emperor was in the middle of a discussion with Ministry of Works officials about restoring a Taoist temple. Having recently confiscated wealth from several noble families, the treasury was flush with silver, and the emperor had taken a sudden interest in grand renovation projects.

When word came that Xue Shu sought an audience, Emperor Longfeng tossed the blueprints back to the newly appointed vice minister with a dismissive wave. "Not grand enough. Revise it again."

The vice minister, his face clouded with dread, clutched the blueprints and made a swift exit. As he passed Xue Shu, his gaze couldn’t help but linger. Xue Shu’s cold, severe features and the barely concealed menace in his eyes sent a chill up his spine. Catching that glance, Xue Shu’s eyes flicked toward him with a cutting edge that froze him in place.

Shaken, the vice minister scurried away without daring another look.

Inside the hall, Xue Shu bowed.

The emperor leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as his piercing gaze fell on Xue Shu. "What’s the matter?"

Xue Shu wasted no time on flattery or pleasantries. He was not like the other sycophants in the court. Without a word more than necessary, he presented the confession.

"Chen He has confessed. Here is the evidence."

The emperor took the document, casually glancing over it—until his eyes locked onto a name. His face darkened, storm clouds gathering.

"The Third Prince?"

Emperor Longfeng’s brows knitted tightly. His third son, Yin Chengjing, had always been the carefree one, never meddling in court politics or associating with officials. He was indulgent, yes—often consorting with actors and performers—but the emperor had tolerated it, considering it harmless. Yin Chengjing’s mother, Consort De, had been with the emperor since his days as a mere prince. Though her beauty had faded, her gentle, understanding nature had earned his occasional fondness.

This indulgence was now crumbling under the weight of the confession in his hands.

The evidence revealed that while the emperor had turned a blind eye, Yin Chengjing had secretly colluded with Chen He, even taking a share of profits from the lucrative Changlu salt mines.

A wave of suspicion surged through the emperor. Yin Chengjing had always seemed harmless, but if he had been scheming in secret, who else in the court might be aiding him?

Could this be the only scheme, or were there more?

Until now, the emperor had viewed the crown prince as his sole threat, even using the second prince as a counterbalance. But now? It seemed the ambition for the throne wasn’t confined to just one son.

Suppressing his fury, the emperor growled, "Summon the Third Prince!"

Yin Chengjing, summoned to the imperial study, was already uneasy. The recent incident at Jiaoyuan weighed on him. Though he had thoroughly covered his tracks, his instincts whispered danger.

Steeling himself, he entered the study.

The sight of Xue Shu standing silently by the emperor’s side made his heart sink. He bent to bow, only to have a heavy inkstone crash at his feet, splattering black ink across his robes.

Startled, Yin Chengjing dropped to his knees, his face pale with panic. "Father, please quell your anger! What has this unworthy son done to offend you?"

Emperor Longfeng’s lips curled into a chilling smile as he studied his son, as if seeing him for the first time. Finally, he flung the confession at Yin Chengjing’s feet.

"Take a look yourself."

Yin Chengjing’s hands trembled as he picked up the document. A single glance sent a jolt through his chest. He pressed his forehead to the cold floor.

"Father, it was my momentary lapse in judgment. I beg you, do not harm your health on account of this foolish son!"

The emperor’s rage cooled slightly at his son’s immediate admission. His tone turned cold, his expression unreadable.

"Explain yourself."

Yin Chengjing’s voice wavered, his eyes downcast. "Father, you know I’ve always been fond of performers. A couple of years ago, I became enamored with a certain star and wished to take him into my household. But my funds were tight. It was then, through drunken conversation, that I learned of a deal between Chen He and Wan Youliang. Temptation got the better of me…"

As he trailed off, the emperor’s glare burned into him, a silent threat hanging in the air.

He knew better than anyone how wary Emperor Longfeng could be, so he framed all his dealings with Chen He as mere transactions of money—nothing more.

After all, a hedonistic, reckless son entangled in salt trade scandals for the sake of indulging performers was far less threatening than a cunning, ambitious prince scheming to win over ministers and eyeing the throne. That narrative would put the emperor’s suspicions at ease.

Sure enough, Emperor Longfeng’s expression softened somewhat after hearing him out. However, ever the distrustful man, the emperor didn’t fully believe him. His face darkened as he declared, "Whatever your motives, meddling in salt affairs is a grave mistake. Since it’s your first offense, I’ll be lenient—your salary is docked for a year, and you’re confined to your estate for three months. As for the performers in your household, they’ve become far too disruptive. Disband them all when you return.”

The prince remained calm as the emperor handed down the punishment—until the mention of dispersing the performers. For a moment, his eyes betrayed his turmoil.

Fines and house arrest meant little to him. But those performers weren’t just for show—many of them were carefully trained spies, using their roles as cover to relay crucial information. If forced to scatter them, his network would be severely crippled, leaving him at a disadvantage.

He opened his mouth to plead his case, but the emperor raised a hand, cutting him off with an impatient wave. He had no intention of listening further and dismissed him on the spot.

Gritting his teeth, the prince bowed and left, swallowing his frustration for the time being.

Nearby, Xue Shu watched the scene unfold, a barely perceptible smirk curving his lips.

After the prince departed, the emperor turned to Xue Shu and shifted to a different matter. "I heard the Crown Prince summoned you today.”

The question sounded casual, but Xue Shu didn’t miss the probing glint in his eyes.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Xue Shu replied without hesitation, bowing deeply. “His Highness drank a bit too much and, perhaps reminded of an old grudge from our time in Tianjin, made me kneel for half an hour. Afterward, he gave me a set of his worn clothes and told me to wash them.”

His tone was as composed and indifferent as always, his head bowed low.

The emperor blinked in surprise at such a peculiar answer but then burst into laughter. “The Crown Prince is usually so mild-tempered. How is it that he only targets you?”

“My personality isn’t the most likable,” Xue Shu replied, as serene as ever. “It’s no surprise His Highness dislikes me. But so long as I have Your Majesty’s trust, that is more than enough.”

The emperor’s laughter deepened, his eyes losing their edge of suspicion.

This was precisely why he favored Xue Shu. Unlike the smooth-talking flatterers in court who ingratiated themselves with princes and ministers, Xue Shu’s unlikable demeanor made him a perfect, reliable tool. The more complaints against Xue Shu, the more reassured the emperor felt.

In high spirits, the emperor commended Xue Shu before dismissing him for the night.

By the time Xue Shu left the study, night had fallen. He cast a glance toward Ciqing Palace, knowing all eyes would be on the Crown Prince tonight. Discretion won over, and he made his way back to the Western Bureau instead.

Though now the undisputed master of the Western Bureau, Xue Shu still resided in the modest room assigned to him at the beginning. The sparse furnishings held only the bare essentials, reflecting his disciplined lifestyle.

Once inside, he closed the door and windows, lit a lamp, and finally retrieved the bundle he’d been given earlier—the Crown Prince’s clothes.

The garments, carelessly stuffed into the package, were wrinkled. Xue Shu’s fingers smoothed over the creases with deliberate care, tracing the fine fabric. The silken texture was exquisite, cool and supple beneath his touch, reminiscent of the softest skin.

Unbidden, his mind returned to the silhouette he’d glimpsed through the paper-thin screen.

That night, the screen hadn’t been enough to conceal the faint sounds or the faintly shadowed movements on the other side.

Xue Shu closed his eyes, the scene playing vividly in his mind—the Crown Prince’s lips curving in that imperious smirk, the effortless dominance in his gaze as he flung the discarded clothes his way, and the barely veiled invitation in every deliberate motion.

It was a trap, of course. An irresistible snare designed to pull him deeper and deeper into dangerous waters. But he stepped willingly, eagerly, unable to resist the allure.

Lifting the pristine inner robe to his face, Xue Shu inhaled deeply.

The mingling scents of winter plum blossoms and faint osmanthus lingered in the fabric, cool and delicate yet tainted with a faint undercurrent of desire. It was intoxicating, maddening, and utterly irresistible—an aroma that teased with promises of conquest and possession.

And so he succumbed, lost in the pull of that forbidden craving.

———Author's Note: Dog: His Highness is clearly seducing me. His Highness: ...

———TN: The Crown Prince is intentionally, irresistibly, and unapologetically turning up the heat, seducing with calculated charm and an undeniable charm.