Chapter 37.

How can you understand the plight of these disaster survivors so well?

Because he had lived it himself.

Years ago, after Yutai County was struck by devastating floods, a deadly epidemic followed. The county magistrate sealed the city, leaving the trapped survivors with no food and a deadly disease hanging over their heads.

It was hell—pure and unrelenting.

When people are driven into desperation, they do things they would never dare in ordinary times. Even the most law-abiding commoners would storm government granaries, gang up to rob the wealthy of their food stores.

He wasn’t an exception. He’d been one of them.

He’d even been there the day the Crown Prince first entered the city, bringing relief supplies. When word spread that the granaries were full, some of the survivors had plotted to raid them under cover of night. But the guards were too many, and the starving, feeble survivors were no match for the armed and trained soldiers. The plan fizzled, leaving them to rot in despair.

Even now, when he recalls those days, it feels like wading through a nightmare—half-dream, half-reality. A prison of suffering that never quite releases its grip.

There’s always this gnawing fear: what if everything he has now is just a dying man’s illusion?

Xue Shu avoided the weight of Yin Chengyu’s penetrating gaze, choosing silence instead.

But his silence only fueled the Crown Prince’s conviction. He leaned in closer, his voice dipping into a low, dangerous murmur—intimate, predatory, deliberate. It was meant for Xue Shu alone.

"You won't tell me, hmm? That’s fine. I’ll find out sooner or later."

The two stood mere inches apart, their bodies almost touching. To onlookers, it appeared like a simple, quiet exchange of strategy outside the granary. But only Xue Shu could feel the heat of the prince’s breath ghosting over his ear, the husky, teasing edge to his words carving straight into him.

"Why are you so obsessed with my past, Your Highness?"

Xue Shu finally looked up, meeting the Crown Prince’s gaze with guarded defiance. His fists clenched at his sides, his posture taut, bristling with tension. He was like a cornered beast—agitated, wary, and desperate to defend the last shred of his territory.

Yin Chengyu studied him with a smirk that didn’t quite hide the glint of cruelty in his eyes. Resistance only intrigued him more. The more Xue Shu struggled to bury his secrets, the more Yin Chengyu wanted to dig them up.

He wouldn’t tolerate secrets between them—not in this life.

The prince’s lips curled into a slow smile, the sunlight casting shadows across his face, sharpening his already wolfish features. The refined elegance of the Crown Prince was gone, replaced by something far darker—something reminiscent of a past life’s sinister manipulations.

"I don’t like secrets from those close to me." His tone was velvet laced with steel. As he spoke, his fingers drifted casually—no, deliberately—along Xue Shu’s nape, ice-cold and barely there. The subtle touch sent a shiver down the man’s spine. Yin Chengyu didn’t miss the way his prey tensed, every muscle strung tight.

"Especially not from you. Understand?"

Satisfied with the reaction he’d provoked, the prince withdrew, his hand returning to its proper place behind his back. With the air of someone who had already won, he barked orders to the commander nearby. "Xue Shu’s advice is sound. Have extra men stationed around the granary tonight. No mistakes."

Without sparing Xue Shu another glance, he strode off to discuss the specifics with his officers, leaving the man rooted in place, conflicted emotions swirling in his eyes.

Disheveled. Thrilled.

Memories surged back—like that time in Tianjin when he’d dared to ask, “Do you hate me, Your Highness?” Back then, the prince had only replied, “I’m still angry.” But he’d never said he hated him. Never once condemned him outright.

Yin Chengyu treated him differently—always had.

Xue Shu licked his lips, eyes glinting with a flicker of dangerous hope.

If the prince wanted to unearth the rotten, festering secrets buried deep in his past… then what could he demand in return?

His fingers brushed against the handkerchief tucked inside his robe. A quiet laugh escaped him.

That tiny seed of ambition, of longing—the one he’d sworn to suppress—was finally breaking through the surface. It had taken root in the cracks, watered by forbidden desires and reckless indulgence, until it bloomed into something unstoppable.

*

Following Xue Shu’s shrewd suggestion, Yin Chengyu ordered Hao Cheng, the commander of the guards, to pretend to loosen security around the warehouse. In reality, they discreetly bolstered their forces, spinning a deadly web to ensnare the desperate refugees lurking in the shadows, waiting for them to make their move.

That night, Yin Chengyu didn’t sleep. Hidden alongside Xue Shu and their men, he kept watch from the darkness, biding his time, waiting for the prey to stumble headlong into the trap.

By the time the third watch struck, a commotion stirred outside the warehouse.

More than thirty figures emerged from the shadows, attacking the guards in a frenzied rush. Together, they threw their weight against the warehouse doors, determined to break in. But the solid structure didn’t budge. Frustrated, they resorted to scaling the walls, hoping to breach the building through the roof.

The first to climb up was a wiry, nimble youth. He reached the top with practiced ease, tools in hand, ready to pry open the tiles. But before he could act, his eyes caught sight of the soldiers closing in from all sides. His sharp cry pierced the night: “Damn it! Soldiers!”

The others froze, their heads whipping around. Sure enough, a sea of armed men encircled them, weapons gleaming, faces masked with cloth.

Among the ragged group of refugees were towering young men, frail elders, agile boys, and even a few sturdy women. Yet their shared desperation was plain—sunken cheeks, sallow skin, eyes full of hunger and despair. What began as a desperate plan to steal some grain had suddenly turned into a death trap.

Panic erupted. One man gripped his crude machete tightly, ready to fight his way out, but a commanding voice boomed: “Drop your weapons, and you won’t be harmed!”

The officer shouted the order several times, holding his position without attacking, keeping his troops at a measured distance.

The refugees hesitated, their movements faltering. Seeing the crack in their resolve, the officer signaled his men to lower their weapons. He called out again, his voice firm yet persuasive:

“Listen! The Crown Prince himself has come to Taiyuan to oversee disaster relief. The grain in this warehouse is meant for you, to be distributed tomorrow. Why risk your lives for what will be freely given?”

To drive the point home, the officer pushed an elderly man dressed as a doctor into view. The old man, calm and composed, added his plea:

“Lay down your weapons, and tonight’s actions will be forgiven. One by one, come forward for a health check. If you’re not carrying the plague, you’ll be allowed to leave and head to the porridge stations being set up outside the city gates. In just half an hour, hot food will be ready for everyone.”

The refugees exchanged skeptical glances, doubt clouding their faces.

“Can we really trust this?”

“Is this just another trap to round us up?”

“But I did see them setting up those porridge tents near the gates earlier...”

“They said the Crown Prince is here. Maybe the court is finally stepping in…”

Though wary, the tension eased. Suspicion lingered, but the edge of desperation dulled.

The officer repeated his assurances, while the doctor set up a small table and sat, waiting patiently. To further ease their fears, the doctor pulled his mask down, revealing a face some of the refugees recognized.

“You’ve come to me for medicine before,” the old man said gently. “Do you really think I’d join the soldiers in harming you? The Crown Prince is here, and things are changing. There’s no need for more suffering.”

His familiar face and calm demeanor tipped the scales. Slowly, one man set down his weapon and approached, hesitant but hopeful. Once the first moved, the rest followed, submitting to health checks before being escorted to the food stations.

Watching from the shadows, Yin Chengyu exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. “At least we’ve taken the first step.”

He turned to his men. “What about the others we captured? Take me to them.”

While the warehouse raid unfolded, another group had targeted the medicine depot, looting precious supplies. Unlike the desperate refugees here, it seemed the culprits might be part of a separate plot.

Adjusting the cloth mask covering his face, Yin Chengyu made his way to the scene. By the time soldiers reacted to the breach, several thieves had already ransacked the shelves, scattering medicinal herbs everywhere. Six were caught, bound hand and foot, glaring defiantly as the prince arrived.

Xue Shu stepped in front of Yin Chengyu, blocking his path. “Let the physicians check them for signs of the plague first,” he cautioned.

The prince nodded, his sharp gaze fixed on the captured men. Whether these thieves were sick or not, their motives and connections were about to be exposed.

The royal physician stepped forward, examined the situation closely, and shook his head.

Only then did Xue Shu order the captives to be untied. “These people aren’t infected, yet they risked sneaking into the pharmacy to steal medicine. It’s clear someone back home is gravely ill and desperately needs treatment.”

The city’s pharmacies have long been shuttered, and the remaining supplies have been wiped clean. No one would dare gamble with stealing from the government unless the stakes were life and death.

Hearing this, the ragged refugees’ faces paled with panic.

Yin Chengyu caught the change and pressed, her voice sharp and probing: “So, there are plague victims hidden in the city, aren’t there? Where are you keeping them?”

The group remained stubbornly silent, their lips tightly sealed.

As Yin Chengyu considered how to coax the truth from them, Xue Shu cut in with his usual bluntness. “You’ve run out of medicine, haven’t you? That’s why you’re here, gambling everything. If you leave empty-handed, those sick loved ones of yours might not last the night.”

A few among the refugees glared at him, anger flashing in their eyes, but fear kept them silent.

Xue Shu, unruffled as ever, pressed on with calm authority. “This food and medicine were sent to save lives. If you lead us to the sick now, we can assess the situation. There might still be hope for your family.”

With that, he knelt down, picked up the overturned medicine basket, and carefully gathered the scattered herbs. Then he thrust the neatly packed basket into the hands of a woman kneeling behind the group. “Rhubarb, mirabilite, bitter orange, magnolia bark—these are prepared remedies for the plague. You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

His tone left no room for doubt. The woman, who had been cowering and keeping her head down, finally looked up, her eyes locking onto Yin Chengyu. “Are you really here to help?”

Yin Chengyu gave her a firm nod. “We are.”

The woman hesitated, clearly weighing her options. After a long pause, she bit her lip and said, “Give me two baskets of medicine, and I’ll take you to them.”

Without hesitation, Yin Chengyu nodded, and the officers packed the herbs she requested. As soon as she slung the basket over her back, she gestured for them to follow.

The woman cast one last wary glance at the soldiers surrounding her before turning to lead the way, her companions reluctantly trailing after her.

———Author’s Note: Doggo: Getting real tired of using this same old handkerchief =v=