Chapter 30.

After scrubbing the garments clean, Xue Shu delivered them to the Ciqing Palace the following day.

Yin Chengyu raised an elegant brow as he glanced at the neatly folded clothing, a playful smirk curling his lips. “Who would’ve thought? The high and mighty Supervisor Xue has quite the knack for laundering clothes.”

Xue Shu caught the teasing glint in Yin Chengyu’s eyes but pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Put them in the wardrobe,” Yin Chengyu said casually, tilting his head slightly. His servant, Zheng Duobao, stepped forward to take the garments and carried them into the inner chamber.

Xue Shu remained rooted in place. Yin Chengyu glanced at him, his tone languid yet edged with curiosity. “What, still lingering? Is there something else?”

Reclining lazily, Yin Chengyu propped his elbow on the armrest, his fingers lightly resting against his temple. His gaze, half-lidded and unhurried, carried an intimacy that felt disarmingly close.

Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped maintaining the cold detachment befitting a crown prince whenever Xue Shu was near. More often than not, he resembled a sleek, sinuous cat gliding silently past you—pausing just long enough to glance back, his long, fluffy tail brushing against your ankle. His inscrutable feline eyes, half-closed, always seemed to hold secrets meant to taunt.

That teasing charm clawed at Xue Shu’s restraint. It left an itch he longed to scratch, a desire to seize that tail, grip it tight, and shamelessly indulge himself in the moment. Yet he held back, afraid that one wrong move might drive the creature away, shattering this fragile closeness.

His fingers twitched at his side, rubbing together as if to quell the restless ache in his heart. Forcing his voice steady, he murmured, “Yesterday, Chen He confessed. The statement has already been submitted to His Majesty. The Third Prince has been punished—confined to his residence for a month and ordered to dismiss all the performers in his household. I hear he threw quite the tantrum when he returned home.”

Hearing this, Yin Chengyu’s eyes glimmered with intrigue.

Straightening slightly, he allowed a sly grin to spread across his face. “Dismiss the performers, huh? That must’ve gutted old Third like a blade to the heart.”

Among the emperor’s three sons, Yin Chengyu, the eldest and the crown prince, was a natural threat. Though Emperor Longfeng harbored misgivings toward him, he could do little but prop up the Second Prince, Yin Chengzhang, as opposition.

Without a solid excuse, he didn’t even have the guts to strip the crown prince of his position.

Yin Chengzhang might not have been the eldest son, but his mother, Concubine Wen, had long basked in the emperor's favor. Though she came from an official family, her father wasn’t exactly powerful or remarkable. The Wen family’s prestige clung entirely to this cherished daughter, who had seduced her way to influence.

And Emperor Longfeng? He was shameless in his devotion to her, utterly captivated.

Because of that burning affection, he lavished attention on Yin Chengzhang, his second son, indulging him as if he were the light of his life.

The Third Prince, Yin Chengjing, lacked both legitimacy and substantial backing, but he’d always shown a dangerous knack for persistence. Everything he owns today—his wealth, his family, and everyone in his life—wasn't just handed to him; it was carefully gathered, piece by piece, over time.

Still, Emperor Longfeng’s word alone had unraveled years of Yin Chengjing’s careful scheming. That the man could endure it without immediate retaliation spoke volumes of his self-control.

In the last life, it had been Xue Shu who helped Yin Chengjing stage a remarkable comeback, nearly toppling Yin Chengyu and his supporters. But fate was clear—this throne could only ever belong to Yin Chengyu. Especially now, after the incident in the Jiao Garden.

The darker Yin Chengjing’s days became, the brighter Yin Chengyu’s mood soared.

Yin Chengyu chuckled softly, his gaze flickering with approval as he looked at Xue Shu. “You have impeccable timing.”

It hadn’t been by chance. The report on Chen He could’ve been submitted earlier or delayed, but Xue Shu had deliberately chosen this moment. While the emperor might show leniency for now, news would eventually reach Consort Wen. Her inevitable complaints would fan the flames, ensuring Yin Chengzhang and his mother suffered a prolonged burn.

“It’s all thanks to your guidance, Your Highness,” Xue Shu replied, his head bowed modestly.

“Guidance? I taught you nothing.” Yin Chengyu’s sharp eyes glinted with amusement, though his thoughts lingered.

Some men were born with clarity of mind and sharpness of wit; Xue Shu was undoubtedly among them. There's no way he could've deceived Emperor Longfeng so effortlessly in both his past and present lives without someone pulling the strings behind the scenes.

In the previous life, Xue Shu had effortlessly turned Emperor Longfeng into putty in his hands, all without formal instruction. And if not for his bouts of self-destructive madness, working with him might’ve been the most lucrative alliance Yin Chengyu had ever made.

The sour misfortunes of Yin Chengjing brought Yin Chengyu such satisfaction that even his attitude toward Xue Shu softened considerably that day. Before leaving, Xue Shu received a reward.

The gift came in a flat, lacquered sandalwood box. Yin Chengyu offered no explanation, and Xue Shu asked no questions.

Once outside the palace, Xue Shu took out the box and opened it. Inside was a pristine white handkerchief, its corners adorned with faint embroidery. It was unmistakably Yin Chengyu’s.

The subtle scent of cold plum blossoms wafted up, familiar and intoxicating. Xue Shu stopped in his tracks and turned, his gaze trailing back to the palace’s high rooftops.

Though Yin Chengyu was no longer in sight, Xue Shu could imagine him sitting inside, lips curling into that maddeningly enigmatic smile.

Yin Chengyu always smiled at him like that—a smile as chilling as ice but with just enough warmth to stir something unspeakable. Those faintly narrowed phoenix eyes hinted at emotions that eluded definition, luring him closer only to keep him guessing.

“Your Highness…” Xue Shu’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

He clutched the handkerchief tightly, his rough fingertips creasing the once-smooth fabric. A spark of feverish intensity flared within him, threatening to spill over.

The crumpled cloth reminded him of the white inner robe he’d washed, pressed, and perfumed with snow plum blossoms—erasing every trace of its prior state. That robe now rested neatly in Yin Chengyu’s wardrobe.

Would he wear it again?

The mere thought of Yin Chengyu donning the garment, his skin brushing against something Xue Shu had handled with such care, sent a molten rush through his veins. He clenched the handkerchief until it was a crumpled mess, only releasing it once his pulse settled.

Staring at the fabric in his palm, he smoothed it out carefully and tucked it back into his robe.

*

After Xue Shu left, Yin Chengyu made another visit to Kunning Palace.

Yesterday's incident in the Garden had reached Empress Yu only later, and she had already sent Nanny Zhao twice to inquire about it. Yin Chengyu decided it was better to go in person and put her mind at ease.

Seeing his healthy complexion and spirited demeanor, Empress Yu finally relaxed. Still, the memory of those sordid schemes left a bitter taste in her mouth. In a cold tone, she remarked, "Yin Chengjing usually acts like a frivolous rogue, and Consort De has always kept to herself in the harem. Who would’ve thought the two of them were so devious? It seems I’ll have to give her a proper reminder of her place."

Yin Chengyu poured her a cup of tea, chuckling. "Mother, why trouble yourself? Whether it's Consort De or Yin Chengjing, Noble Consort Wen will handle them as she sees fit. You need only sit back and enjoy the show."

As he spoke, he leaned in close and whispered his plan into Empress Yu's ear.

Her expression softened, and she finally smiled.

The mother and son talked for a while longer, shared dinner, and only then did Yin Chengyu leave Kunning Palace.

As he was about to return to Ciqing Palace, Zheng Duobao arrived to report that the Eldest Princess was waiting for him at Wangshan Pavilion and wished to meet.

Surprised that Yin Ciguang would seek him out on her own initiative, Yin Chengyu paused in thought but eventually decided to head to Wangshan Pavilion first.

Yin Ciguang was already waiting in the pavilion.

She was dressed simply in a light blue jacket and skirt, without makeup. Her long hair was loosely tied back, and she had no attendants with her.

When she saw Yin Chengyu approaching, she rose gracefully and bowed in greeting. If not for her overly frail figure and the sickly pallor on her face, she might have been called a beauty of “lotus cheeks and peach-blossom charm.”

Yin Chengyu's expression grew complex as he looked at her, fully aware of the truth. "What does the Eldest Princess wish to discuss with me?"

Yin Ciguang lowered her gaze, hesitating for a long moment before finally speaking in a quiet voice, "Your Highness, I am already deeply grateful for your mercy yesterday. I shouldn't trouble you further, but… life in the palace has become unbearable for my mother and me. I have no choice but to shamelessly beg for your protection."

Her voice was tinged with hoarseness, as if suppressing a cough she dared not let out.

"I know such a request is unreasonable," she continued, her tone filled with sorrow. "But my health is failing, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on. The thought of leaving my mother alone in this cruel palace with no one to rely on—it torments me. Even in death, I wouldn’t find peace. So while I still breathe, I must gather my courage and plead with Your Highness."

As she spoke of her mother, Concubine Rong, her emotions visibly stirred. She turned her head, covering her mouth as a bout of restrained coughing overtook her.

It took a long while for her to recover, her face pale as she finally looked at him again. "I’ve spent years in the palace, Your Highness. I know things—secrets—that I can offer in service to you."

Yin Chengyu hadn’t expected her to approach him with such a plea.

This palace was a graveyard for too many souls. From overlooked concubines to lowly servants, countless lives hung by a thread every day.

He wasn’t a saint; he could barely safeguard his own survival, let alone save others.

And yet, when he met Yin Ciguang’s desperate, pleading gaze, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy.

Perhaps it was because her fate, and that of her mother, mirrored his own in another life.

If not for Xue Shu, he might have ended up just like her—dying in obscurity, buried in the cold earth, his grievances left unresolved.

A lonely grave, forgotten by time, with no one to mourn him.

Yin Chengyu sighed deeply, dismissing his attendants with a wave of his hand before stepping forward to help her to her feet. "You and I are brothers. There's no need for such formality."

Yin Ciguang’s eyes widened in shock, his pale face retreating a step. "You… you know…"

He didn’t answer directly, only offering a gentle smile. "Ruyue is still young and needs companionship. Mother often grows bored in Kunning Palace. If Concubine Rong is ever free, she should visit more often and keep Mother company."

Yin Ciguang stared at him for a long time, his expression shifting as a myriad of emotions flickered in his eyes. At last, he smiled faintly. "I understand. From now on, my mother will regularly visit Kunning Palace to pay her respects."

Yin Chengyu nodded, noting his ashen complexion. "Take care of your health. If you need medicinal supplies, seek out Nanny Zhao."

There was a strange kind of kinship between them—a shared sense of pity and camaraderie for their similar struggles. Yin Chengyu was willing to help within his means, but his past had taught him to be cautious.

Thus, he had intentionally revealed that he knew his secret—a warning cloaked in kindness.

Yin Ciguang was clever; he would undoubtedly grasp the message.

———Author's Note: The dog: "Mark your territory so no one takes what’s yours." His Highness: "…What?"

———TN: When the author refers to Yin Ciguang as "his" and "he," it’s no slip-up—every word is intentional. The moment Yin Chengyu flips open that card, the truth unravels—he’s in on Yin Ciguang’s little secret, and there’s no turning back.