Chapter 33.

The devastation of the lump plague ran far deeper than anyone had imagined, leaving scars that lingered for years, defying all attempts at recovery. Entire towns and villages turned into ghostly husks, abandoned by life itself. Populations plummeted, children nearly vanished from sight, and the chaos gave rise to growing bands of marauders. Some of these brigands grew so bold as to rally the desperate, staging rebellions that plunged the nation into relentless turmoil. Fields lay barren and untended, swallowed by weeds and neglect.

With dwindling manpower and deserted farmlands, tax revenues dried up, leaving the state coffers pitifully empty. The Ministry of Revenue, already stretched thin, struggled even to pay the troops. And the troops, battered by the epidemic, had already lost many to sickness. Starving and unpaid, their morale hit rock bottom. What should have been minor skirmishes dragged on for months due to their disarray and lethargy. Eventually, some officers, fed up and desperate, defected to the rebellion, taking their soldiers with them.

When Yin Chengyu finally returned to the palace, the capital still reveled in its illusory peace. Yet, beneath the surface, the court's grip on the provinces had weakened to the point of collapse. The once-mighty Great Yan Empire was now teetering on the brink, a storm battering its fragile shell.

Desperate to replenish the treasury, Yin Chengyu had no choice but to squeeze funds from the bloated pockets of corrupt officials. Yet even this wasn’t enough to undo the carnage wrought by years of lump plague. The scars ran too deep, the damage too widespread. The empire’s former prosperity became nothing more than a distant memory.

By the time of Yin Chengyu’s death, the Great Yan Empire still hadn’t fully recovered. It remained a shadow of its former self, weighed down by the long, bitter aftermath of the plague.

In his previous life, when the epidemic broke out, Yin Chengyu had been confined to the imperial tomb, narrowly escaping the disease but also missing the best opportunity to contain it. The court’s negligence and Emperor Longfeng’s indifference allowed the plague to rampage unchecked across the north, eventually creeping south. The court and the people suffered for years afterward.

Even when the court finally recognized the epidemic’s severity, it was already too late.

But now, thanks to Xue Xu’s unintentional discovery of the plague’s source, Yin Chengyu had a chance to rewrite history. He would stop it early, no matter the cost. This time, the epidemic would not be allowed to spread.

Pacing the room, Yin Chengyu turned to Xue Xu, his voice heavy with determination. “Find Ziyuan Zhenren immediately. Deploy more men if needed. Spare no expense. If he remains elusive…” He paused, his gaze cold as steel. “…then find someone to take his place.”

He knew Emperor Longfeng’s nature too well. Even if he presented a detailed report on the plague’s dangers, the emperor wouldn’t care—unless his throne was at stake. To Longfeng, the lives of the common people were worthless. Yin Chengyu couldn’t rely on him. Doing so would only repeat the mistakes of the past.

He had to act independently. He had to seize regency powers as soon as possible.

“Send word to Wei Xihe in Jiangzhe,” Yin Chengyu commanded. “Tell him to investigate the local grain merchants, apothecaries, and shipping routes. Prepare for contingencies.”

If the plague in Shanxi couldn’t be contained and began spreading northward, the south would need to supply food and medicine to aid the effort.

Yin Chengyu began recalling the measures used to combat epidemics in the past. He ordered Zheng Duobao to bring pen and paper, then turned to Xue Xu. “Describe Shanxi’s situation again. Leave nothing out.”

Xue Xu recounted every detail of his journey. Yin Chengyu jotted down key points, his mind deep in thought.

In his previous life, Shanxi hadn’t been the first region hit by lump plague.

According to the archives, the first outbreaks were recorded in Shunde Prefecture, followed by Hejian and Daming. Initially, these were dismissed as minor, ordinary illnesses. It wasn’t until a year later that lump plague truly erupted, coinciding with a drought and locust plague in Daming Prefecture.

The combination of famine and disease decimated the population, leaving countless dead. The plague then spread throughout Zhili Province, eventually reaching the capital.

By the time Yin Chengyu returned to court, the epidemic had been raging for four to five years, leaving mountains of corpses in its wake. Only then had it begun to subside. Determined to understand its origins, he had pored over every official record, yet none mentioned Shanxi as the starting point.

If Shanxi was suffering now, then it must have also suffered in his past life. The absence of records could mean only one thing—Shanxi had concealed the outbreak, managing to temporarily contain the spread.

The reasons were obvious. Shanxi’s governor, Zhou Weishan, was nearing retirement. He had already submitted his request to step down, awaiting approval. Reporting an epidemic at this critical juncture would jeopardize his peaceful retirement. Worse, it might lead to accusations of incompetence and punishment.

As for the containment, Yin Chengyu suspected it had been a fluke rather than Zhou Weishan’s deliberate intent. Perhaps, in trying to cover up the outbreak, Zhou Weishan had stumbled upon effective measures.

Yin Chengyu’s fingers tapped thoughtfully on the desk. Picking up his brush again, he circled two key phrases: “burn the corpses” and “execute the infected immediately.”

He murmured, quoting an ancient text: “The Zhu Bing Yuan Hou Lun says, ‘When people are afflicted by malignant miasma, the disease spreads easily, wiping out entire families and spreading to outsiders.’ Preventing epidemics has always relied on isolating the sick and treating them separately. The Zhi Yi Quan Shu also advises against contact with the sick, their belongings, or their corpses to avoid contamination. From Shanxi’s current situation, it appears lump plague can be mitigated through such methods.”

This time, he would wield both knowledge and power to stop the plague in its tracks. There would be no room for error.

Since the epidemic in Shanxi could be temporarily contained and delayed until the following year before breaking out in places like Daming, it’s clear the ancient methods still work.

If the spread of the Shanxi plague can be controlled and renowned physicians are gathered to seek a cure, perhaps the catastrophic outbreak of the past life can be avoided.

“The Shanxi epidemic must be reported immediately to draw proper attention,” Yin Chengyu declared, setting down his brush as he turned to Xue Shu. “You handle it. Whether it’s pushing the local officials to submit reports or stirring unrest among the refugees—whatever it takes to make noise, do it. No need to hold back.”

This time, Yin Chengyu was determined to stop the plague at its source, no matter the cost.

Xue Shu bowed deeply in acknowledgment. When he lifted his gaze to meet Yin Chengyu’s, his eyes burned with a fiery devotion.

He had always known that His Highness would never abandon the people.

As Yin Chengyu contemplated strategies, Xue Shu was reminded of the godlike figure who had descended upon Yutai years ago. Standing tall and aloof, radiating an icy dignity, yet when his gaze fell, it was more compassionate than any divine being could muster.

The gods may not save mortals, but he would.

Only someone like this—someone who could rise above the heavens yet stoop to shoulder the weight of the mortal world—was worthy of being emperor. Worthy of Xue Shu’s unwavering loyalty.

His heart clenched, an unspoken heat coursing through his veins like molten lava churning beneath the earth's crust. He wanted to worship him, to kneel at his feet—and yet, a darker desire tugged at him, wanting to pull this celestial being down into the dirt, claim him, make him his.

But in the end, Xue Shu did nothing more than gaze at him with solemn resolve, bowing again. “I will not fail you, my lord.”

After issuing his orders, Yin Chengyu suddenly remembered something Xue Shu had said earlier. Curious, he asked, “When did you ever experience a plague? Why have I never heard you mention it before?”

Caught off guard by the question, Xue Shu lowered his eyes, retreating into silence.

The stench of old memories, long buried and rotting in unseen corners, rose to the surface. He had no desire to drag those filthy relics into the light, especially not before Yin Chengyu. As if by keeping silent, he could somehow cleanse himself of the mud clinging to his soul, drawing a little closer to the cold, distant moon above the heavens.

Noticing his silence, Yin Chengyu narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him carefully. His instincts whispered that Xue Shu was hiding something.

Annoyance flickered in his chest. Xue Shu had too many secrets. He had always been this way.

In their previous life, Yin Chengyu had known nothing about Xue Shu’s past or origins. He didn’t know why he entered the palace, what he endured to rise to his unrivaled position, or why he chose to pledge his loyalty to a disgraced, powerless prince exiled to the imperial mausoleum.

If it were beauty, Yin Chengzhang and Yin Chengjing were no less striking. If it were ease of manipulation, the young and orphaned fourth prince, Yin Chengxu, would’ve been a far simpler choice.

Yet Xue Shu had chosen him. Reached out and pulled him from one pit of despair, only to plunge him into an even deeper abyss.

Through countless moments of life and death, Xue Shu had become someone Yin Chengyu both relied on and feared. Yet no matter how much he warned himself not to trust, not to care, he couldn’t help but be drawn to him. They were tangled, inseparable in ways that defied logic or reason.

Yin Chengyu’s expression shifted, the turmoil in his eyes fading into cold indifference. After a long pause, he finally said, “If you don’t want to talk, then get out.”

Xue Shu pressed his lips together, holding his gaze for a lingering moment before bowing silently and leaving.

The sky outside was still dark, the hour just past the fourth watch.

But Yin Chengyu couldn’t sleep. He sat back down, meticulously writing out plans and contingencies, refining his strategies based on the failures of his previous life. By the time dawn broke, half a booklet was filled with densely packed notes.

Closing the booklet, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. After a moment of hesitation, his brush moved, sketching an image of a man draped in a regal python robe, his gaze filled with a dangerous edge.

It was Xue Shu, as he had been in their past life.

Yin Chengyu stared at the drawing for a long time, his thoughts swirling with memories: the crisscrossing scars on Xue Shu’s chest, his enigmatic origins, and those fathomless black eyes that always seemed to hold something unspoken.

“How many lies have you told me?” Yin Chengyu muttered, his voice heavy with both anger and something far more difficult to name. Gripping his brush, he slashed an X across the image. “One day, I’ll make you confess everything yourself.”

He crumpled the paper, tossing it into the wastebasket, and returned to his chambers to rest. But his mind refused to quiet.

*

Ten days from now, on April 21.

A scorching report arrived from Sun Yao, Commander of the Andong Zhongtun Guard in Shanxi's Taiyuan Prefecture. Delivered over eight hundred miles in urgent haste, it accused Shanxi’s provincial governor, Zhou Weishan, of concealing a raging epidemic, disregarding human lives, and embezzling disaster relief supplies.

The consequences? A horrifying outbreak of famine and plague swept through Shanxi.

The living, driven mad with hunger, resorted to eating rats. Those infected were condemned to death by fire. In just half a month, tens of thousands perished. The bodies, too many to burn, piled up while villages and towns became desolate ghostly ruins.

As if that wasn’t enough, Zhou Weishan forced the soldiers of the local guard to handle the corpses. This resulted in the spread of the disease among them too, slashing their numbers from eight thousand to less than four thousand.

In his memorial to the court, Sun Yao painted Shanxi's horrors in harrowing detail, each word stabbing at the heart. His plea sent shockwaves through the imperial court.

Grand Secretary Lu Jing and other officials, deeply moved by the plight of the people, begged Emperor Longfeng to immediately allocate funds and dispatch reinforcements to Shanxi for relief efforts.

But the emperor hesitated. “Perhaps we should first send investigators to confirm the situation. Epidemics happen every year, and Sun Yao’s accusation against his superior already violates the law. There’s a chance he’s exaggerating.”

As the court erupted into heated arguments—should they verify first or send aid immediately—yet another chilling report came in. The governor of Shuntian Prefecture submitted a dire omen: swarms of rats were seen crossing the river, tails linked together—a sign of impending catastrophe.

———Author’s Note: Puppy: Every day, I love His Highness a little more. Puppy: Stick close, Your Highness!