Chapter 5.

Xue Shu was ordered by the emperor to track down the mastermind behind the demon fox case, but things weren’t going well.

The Emperor Longfeng, ruler above all, was already pissed off with the Jinyiwei and the Eastern Depot for botching their tasks. So, in a moment of casual dismissal, he tossed the case to Xue Shu, who had recently earned favor by saving his imperial hide.

The catch? Xue Shu had to find the real culprit within ten days.

No title, no resources, no backup. The so-called imperial command was nothing but lip service. Xue Shu was still just a lowly errand runner. The Jinyiwei, the Eastern Depot, hell, even the Western Depot lackeys—all of them paid him empty compliments, but when it came to lifting a finger, they vanished faster than a thief in a crowd.

With no one to rely on, he had to do the dirty work himself.

Xue Shu made another trip to the Imperial Supreme Hall.

By morning, the snow had blanketed everything, erasing the traces of the night before.

He circled the hall once, then prowled the surroundings, mentally mapping out distances and locations.

The red mist and ghostly fire had engulfed the entire plaza in front of the hall. It was no amateur stunt—he’d seen plenty of street magicians pulling cheap tricks, but this? This was leagues beyond. The effort to create such a spectacle must’ve been monumental, not to mention the preparation involved.

And yet, not one of those useless Jinyiwei noticed anyone setting this up. They might be incompetent, but they weren’t that blind.

Whoever arranged this had a cover—an insider’s position to move unnoticed.

A palace mole, no doubt.

The pool of suspects wasn’t large. Anyone bold enough to take such a risk must have had a damn good reason to do it.

Xue Shu ran through the faces and actions of those present the previous night. By process of elimination, he quickly zeroed in on a suspect.

*

After a restless night, Yin Chengyu rose late the next day.

Zheng Duobao entered the room at the sound of movement, only to see him lounging on the couch, lazily wrapped in his quilt. His jet-black hair spilled over his shoulders, framing a face so flawless it could shame jade. There was an uncharacteristic languor in his expression, a softness that made him even more striking.

“It snowed all night, and it’s freezing outside,” Zheng Duobao said warmly. “I had the small kitchen prepare some lamb tripe soup. Perfect for warming up, Your Highness.”

Yin Chengyu gave a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment, his energy drained and listless.

He hadn’t slept well. The second half of the night, the quilt had felt uncomfortably cold, leaving him tossing and turning till dawn.

Not that he used to be this sensitive to the cold. This weakness started after his stint at the imperial tombs.

Exile to the tombs—it sounded like a half-measure of mercy, as if Emperor Longfeng couldn’t bring himself to kill his son outright.

But living there? Worse than death.

A living man trapped in a graveyard? No one thrives in a place like that.

Stripped of his crown prince title, branded with infamy, the only one who followed him to that icy hell was Zheng Duobao. Neither had ever known hardship before, but the tombs changed that.

In that frozen wasteland, aside from the meager meals delivered daily, they had to fend for themselves.

Winter was the worst.

When the snow came, the tombs turned into an icebox. As a criminal, he had no right to coal or firewood. That first year, unprepared, he spent sleepless nights grinding his teeth against the cold.

Zheng Duobao, for all his pampered upbringing, ended up with hands covered in chilblains from washing clothes in freezing water. A small price to pay, perhaps, but it etched itself into Yin Chengyu’s memory like a scar.

By the second year, they’d figured things out. They started stockpiling firewood early for the winter. He and Zheng Duobao scoured every corner to gather it, chopping it up and leaving it to dry.

At first, Zheng Duobao didn’t want him to lift a finger.

But seriously, at that point, who was he trying to impress?

A fallen prince playing noble?

What a joke.

No work, no survival. It was that simple.

Somehow, they endured five years of that freezing hell. But those years wrecked his body. Even after allying with Xue Shu and clawing his way back to the Eastern Palace, he couldn’t shake the bone-deep chill of those winters.

The frostbite left its mark: the man couldn’t stand the cold anymore.

Every winter, his room had to be heated early. The floor furnace blazed, and the coal burned hotter than anyone else’s. Xue Shu used to insist on staying over in his room back then. After a few days, the guy was practically roasted alive, bleeding from the nose twice from the heat.

But even then, Xue Shu refused to leave and had the audacity to demand he turn the heat down.

That was the first time he lost his temper with Xue Shu. He had been on edge after, worried Xue Shu might rip up their agreement. But, surprisingly, Xue Shu didn’t hold a grudge. Instead, he started a new habit—boxing before bed.

By the time he got into bed, he was warm all over, way cozier than any furnace heat. Eventually, he just let Xue Shu’s habit of sleeping beside him slide.

Looking back now, if Xue Shu had one redeeming quality, it was how damn good he was at warming the bed.

Yin Chengyu let out a long sigh and said to Zheng Duobao, “Is the floor furnace cooling down? Get someone to stoke it hotter.”

Zheng Duobao checked the room’s temperature. Another boost to the furnace, and it’d feel like a sauna. But seeing Yin Chengyu’s ghostly pale face, he figured the illness from last winter had left him frail and more sensitive to the cold. He quickly agreed, already planning to prepare some medicinal stews to strengthen the prince’s body.

Once the furnace blazed hotter, Yin Chengyu finally got out of bed, tossing off the covers.

Zheng Duobao helped him wash and dress, then had lunch brought in.

Sipping a bowl of lamb tripe soup, Yin Chengyu narrowed his eyes in satisfaction before asking, “Did they catch him?”

Before the New Year’s Eve banquet, he’d stationed men around the Huangji Hall. When chaos erupted and the fox demon appeared, his men had been lying in wait.

“Captain Zhao reported in this morning. They caught two. One poisoned himself. The other’s alive but clammed up tight,” Zheng Duobao said.

“Zhao Lin is too soft,” Yin Chengyu scoffed. “Since Father handed the case to Xue Shu, summon him to take the prisoner.”

Xue Shu, just back from the West Depot, was summoned to Ciqing Palace.

At the palace gates, he brushed the snow off his coat before following a eunuch into the hall.

The main seat was empty. Only Zheng Duobao was waiting for him.

“Follow me,” Zheng Duobao said.

Xue Shu glanced at the vacant chair. “Where’s His Highness?”

“This is minor business. No need for His Highness to appear,” Zheng Duobao snapped. “He is the master; we are the servants. Asking about His Highness’ movements—disrespectful!”

Xue Shu rubbed the handkerchief hidden in his sleeve and lazily grunted in response, half-tuned out.

Zheng Duobao led him to the dungeon.

The suspect was slumped against a pillar, head hanging low. His shirt was stripped off, his body streaked with whip marks. Still fresh.

“This is him. Captain Zhao caught him acting suspiciously last night. One of his accomplices took poison and died, but this one was stopped in time. Unfortunately, he hasn’t said a word. It’s up to you now. His Highness expects results,” Zheng Duobao declared with a self-righteous flair.

It was a convenient handoff—guards catching a suspect and delivering him to the official in charge. Perfectly by the book. No room for criticism.

But Xue Shu was unimpressed. Without a word, he took custody of the man and left.

Meanwhile, Zheng Duobao returned to report to Yin Chengyu.

“Gone?” Yin Chengyu asked, practicing his calligraphy in the Hall of Benevolence (Hongren Hall).

“Yes,” Zheng Duobao replied, dismissing the servants. He started grinding ink and muttered, “Didn’t ask a single thing before taking him away. Captain Zhao spent all night trying and got nowhere. Think that Xue Shu can do any better?”

“Trust me,” Yin Chengyu said without looking up. “If he can’t crack it, no one can.”

Yin Chengyu let out a cold laugh, his lips curling as he remembered Xue Shu’s brutal methods for dealing with enemies. Even he couldn’t help but frown.

In his past life, Xue Shu’s ruthless techniques had partly come from his time with the secret police, but most of it? That came from a deep-seated savagery no one else could touch.

Later, when he took charge of the Two Bureaus and One Guard, he reinvented the torture repertoire of the imperial prison under the Northern Town Command. Word had it, once someone was tossed in, even the toughest bastard couldn’t last more than three days.

“Just watch. You’ll have your answer soon enough.”

Xue Shu headed straight for the Xichang dungeon.

*

Back in its prime, the Xichang prison dungeon was notorious for its arsenal of torture methods, no less cruel than the imperial prison’s. But when West Bureau fell from grace, the dungeon was abandoned, and all prisoners ended up in the imperial prison instead—an achievement the East Bureau and the Jinyiwei liked to claim credit for.

But this afternoon, screams echoed from the long-empty Xichang dungeon, piercing and raw.

The guards stationed at Xichang froze. That sound—it was familiar, yet foreign. They exchanged uneasy glances. Who was interrogating a prisoner?

It didn’t take long for them to figure it out. There was only one possible answer: Xue Shu.

After tossing the prisoner into the dungeon, Xue Shu disappeared. Not long after, the screams began. Endless, bloodcurdling wails mixed with curses that rattled the walls.

The guards left in Xichang were a bunch of cowards and lowlifes, men without skills or guts. Hearing the unrelenting cries, their faces turned pale. Drinking and playing cards became impossible. One by one, they slinked away, each wondering when the screaming would finally stop.

But it didn’t.

The wails went on.

All.

Night.

Long.

By dawn, the dungeon was silent at last. Xue Shu emerged, drenched in the stench of blood.

One guard, bold or stupid, tried to greet him with flattery but froze when he saw the lingering ferocity in Xue Shu’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t dare exhale until Xue Shu walked past. Only then did he gulp down air like a drowning man.

In that moment, Xue Shu didn’t look like a man. He looked like a blade made for killing.

———Author’s Note: His Highness: Barely passable as a bed warmer.

Xue Shu: …Excuse me? I’m good at other things too.