Chapter 42.

If not for Yin Chengyu bringing it up, Xue Shu would have entirely forgotten his own birthday.

He hadn’t celebrated it in years.

That summer in the fourteenth year of Longfeng, a flood struck Yutai, followed by a devastating plague. Death was everywhere, bodies left to rot in filthy water, swollen and reeking. The memory of it was tainted with the stench of decay, clinging to every thought of that time.

He’d lost everyone he held dear. Whenever he revisited that dark, suffocating period, it felt like sinking into an endless mire. Below the surface were the bones of his loved ones and countless restless souls, clawing at him, dragging him deeper into despair.

Only Yin Chengyu stood apart, descending like a god untouched by earthly filth. He reached out a hand and pulled Xue Shu back into the living world.

The memory of his mother’s steaming longevity noodles had long since faded, replaced by the ever-clearer image of Yin Chengyu. The cold, crisp scent of snow-covered plum blossoms in his presence drove out the stench of death that haunted Xue Shu’s past.

Yin Chengyu’s languid gaze held a hint of a smile as he said, “When your birthday comes, I’ll make sure to send a gift.”

And for the first time in years, Xue Shu felt a spark of anticipation reignite in his chest.

Years had passed. Those he had loved were gone, leaving him alone. But even so, His Highness still remembered his birthday.

That thought alone filled him with a quiet yearning, making the monotonous days drag on unbearably.

During the day, Xue Shu worked in the Western Bureau and couldn’t freely visit Ciqing Palace. Unlike their time outside the capital, when he could follow Yin Chengyu constantly, he could only catch fleeting glimpses now while delivering reports or passing by on errands.

Because of the epidemic spreading through Zhili, Yin Chengyu had been summoning officials to the palace frequently for discussions.

Dressed in his formal crown prince attire, his brows sharp, his gaze calm and commanding, Yin Chengyu radiated an aura of authority that made people tremble.

From afar, Xue Shu followed his every movement, tracing every detail from his head to his feet as if etching him into his memory. When he noticed the absence of the lucky charm he had gifted, disappointment tugged at his heart.

Perhaps it was Yin Chengyu’s increasingly lenient indulgence that emboldened Xue Shu. He grew reckless.

That night, restless and sleepless, he snuck into Ciqing Palace under the cover of darkness.

As expected, Yin Chengyu had not yet retired. He was seated in the Hall of Benevolence, reviewing documents by lamplight.

Without the need to meet anyone, he wore only a simple deep-purple robe, the fabric light and flowing, cinched at the waist in a way that accentuated the elegant curve of his figure. The rich color made his skin appear luminous, like polished jade.

Sitting at the desk, his expression cool and distant, he was the picture of unattainable grace.

Xue Shu, hidden in the shadows, held his breath, his gaze fixed on the figure before him. In his distraction, he didn’t notice the patrol guards approaching until they shouted:

“Who’s there?!”

Snapping out of his daze, Xue Shu scrambled to hide, swiftly climbing into a nearby tree as the guards came closer.

The patrol searched the area but found nothing, their confusion evident.

Inside the hall, Yin Chengyu had noticed the commotion. After a brief inquiry, he dismissed the guards with a casual excuse, clearly already aware of who the intruder was.

When the hall was quiet again, Yin Chengyu’s sharp voice cut through the silence, laced with restrained anger. “Are you going to come out, or should I drag you out myself?”

Xue Shu obediently jumped down from the tree, dusting himself off meticulously before slipping through the window into the hall.

Setting down his brush, Yin Chengyu frowned, his tone cold. “You’re growing more and more audacious.”

The rebuke slid off Xue Shu like water off a duck’s back. He ignored it entirely, his eyes glued to Yin Chengyu’s waist, where only a dragon-carved jade pendant hung. His voice held a tinge of grievance. “Why aren’t you wearing the lucky charm I gave you, Your Highness?”

The charm had been a carefully chosen gift, subtle enough not to disrupt Yin Chengyu’s schemes yet meaningful enough to stay close to him.

Yin Chengyu’s irritation deepened, his voice sharp. “My attire and accessories are arranged by Zheng Duobao. Don’t overstep your boundaries.”

Xue Shu pressed his lips together, saying nothing, though his expression betrayed a mix of defiance and wounded pride.

Not one to coddle, Yin Chengyu grabbed a wad of paper from the desk and tossed it at him. “If you have nothing important to say, get out. Try sneaking in again, and I’ll send you straight to the Zhaoyu prison. I’m sure Gao Yuan and his ilk would be thrilled to catch you slipping.”

Thwarted and chastised, Xue Shu could only leave, begrudgingly dragging his feet as he retreated into the night, his bitterness palpable.

*

Throughout June, Yin Chengyu poured his heart and soul into combating the plague ravaging Zhili.

Despite early precautions, the region's densely packed cities, coupled with the influx of Shanxi refugees blending into the local population, had turned into a perfect breeding ground for the disease. The outbreak spread like wildfire among the displaced and soon swept through the common folk, leaving devastation in its wake.

The plague spread mercilessly, and panic gripped the region as desperate reports flooded in from every district—pleas for soldiers, labor, silver, and medical supplies. Zhili became an insatiable black hole, draining the once-recovering national treasury dry.

Determined to stop the plague from spiraling further out of control, Yin Chengyu spared no expense. He ordered an immediate military lockdown of the worst-hit areas, decreeing that all citizens remain confined to their homes under threat of punishment. Refugees were rounded up and forcibly sent to public relief shelters, and major transport routes by land and water were sealed off to prevent further movement of people.

Within the cities, soldiers were divided into task forces: one distributed food and medicines door-to-door every five days; another cleaned the streets and exterminated rats; and the largest team conducted twice-daily health inspections, swiftly isolating the sick in quarantine centers.

These harsh measures temporarily curbed the disease's spread, but fear festered in every corner of Zhili.

Then, disaster struck again. Corruption reared its ugly head—some local officials had been pocketing relief supplies, leaving the desperate masses with empty hands. Starving and enraged, the confined populace clashed with soldiers. Blood was spilled, lives were lost.

The corrupt officials were swiftly dealt with, but the damage was done. Even as order was restored, whispers of discontent spread through the imperial court.

Critics labeled Yin Chengyu’s approach excessive, accusing him of squandering military resources, bankrupting the treasury, and stirring up public unrest over what they dismissed as an ordinary epidemic. At the forefront of the opposition was Vice Minister Shao Tian, who blocked and delayed Yin Chengyu’s every proposed policy, dragging the fight against the plague into bureaucratic deadlock.

Yin Chengyu raged, presenting argument after argument, but his warnings fell on deaf ears. These narrow-minded officials had never seen the horrors of a plague’s full wrath. They scoffed at his urgency, emboldened by the successful containment in Shanxi, mistaking it as proof that this was no different from past illnesses.

By late June, reality struck hard—this time in the capital itself.

It began quietly enough: a fevered waiter at a busy inn. Then others followed, their bodies breaking out in telltale boils. The infected sought treatment at a medical hall, unknowingly spreading the disease further. By the time the reports reached Yin Chengyu, over a dozen lives had already been lost, with countless others secretly infected—including soldiers within the prestigious Five Armies Command.

Yin Chengyu acted with his trademark swiftness and brutality. He dispatched Xue Shu and an elite military unit to seal the city, while his men launched a door-to-door investigation.

The search revealed a shocking truth: even high-ranking officials had contracted the disease. Too proud—or too cowardly—to report themselves, they chose to hide at home, hoping to recover in secret. Their negligence cost lives—several servants were dead, and the infection had spread through their households like wildfire.

Yin Chengyu was furious. He canceled court sessions, issuing strict orders for all officials to remain home and conduct self-inspections. Any who concealed their illness were stripped of rank without mercy. Yet before dismissal papers could even reach one such official, his estate was already marked with white funeral banners.

The capital fell into chaos. Funeral homes were overwhelmed, white banners fluttered on nearly every street, and coffins left the city gates in a grim parade.

Those who had once mocked Yin Chengyu’s “overreaction” now stood silent, their arrogance shattered by the sight of death at their doorstep. The severity of the plague was unmatched—no illness in living memory could compare.

At last, the policies that had been obstructed for so long were implemented without further opposition.

But the capital’s outbreak came at a heavy price. Resources were nearly exhausted—what little remained had been depleted by the earlier crises in Shanxi and Zhili. With medicines and grain running dangerously low, supplies had to be sourced from surrounding regions.

Ever the strategist, Yin Chengyu sent orders to Xue Shu to coordinate with Wei Xihe in the south, commanding them to procure medical supplies and ship them up the waterways as swiftly as possible. The fight was far from over, but Yin Chengyu would not stop until the plague was crushed under his iron will.

The medicinal herbs from the southern lands hadn’t yet reached the capital when Emperor Longfeng’s decree arrived ahead of them.

Though he resided in Nanjing, the emperor kept a tight grip on the affairs of the imperial court in Wangjing. News of the capital’s struggles made its way to him, exaggerated and twisted by the likes of Gao Xian and his cronies, painting an even bleaker picture.

Upon hearing that the plague, known as the "Knotting Pestilence," had spread through Wangjing, Emperor Longfeng flew into a rage. Without delay, he ordered Gao Xian back to the capital. His first act was to reprimand the Crown Prince for his failure to contain the outbreak. Then, he left Gao Xian behind in Wangjing, officially to "assist" the prince.

But everyone knew the truth. It wasn’t assistance—it was a deliberate move to divide the prince’s authority, an open challenge to Yin Chengyu’s competence.

Yin Chengyu, long familiar with his father’s nature, took the blow in stride, his focus locked solely on controlling the epidemic ravaging the city.

Not everyone was so calm. Xue Shu, watching Gao Xian meddle and strut around as if he owned the place, grew colder by the day. His eyes burned with disdain, his patience stretched thin.

Were it not for Yin Chengyu’s private warning—“This is not the time to act rashly”—Xue Shu might have already made his move against Gao Xian, putting an end to the man’s smug interference.

Still, Xue Shu couldn’t stand to see Yin Chengyu endure such humiliation, not without doing something. His simmering anger turned to calculation as he thought of Emperor Longfeng, comfortably tucked away in Nanjing while Wangjing suffered. Suppressing the murderous intent in his gaze, he sent a trusted confidant to deliver a secret letter to the alchemist Ziyuan Zhenren.

The note was short, sharp, and brimming with intent: “The Rejuvenation Elixir can be offered to the emperor.”

*

On July 12, under Yin Chengyu's firm and unyielding command, the rampant plague in Wangjing was finally brought under control.

The city remained draped in mourning with white banners fluttering everywhere, but the endless procession of coffins leaving the city each day had finally ceased.

One day, Xue Shu received an urgent letter from Wei Xihe.

The letter reported that the much-needed medicinal supplies were being transported via waterways to the capital. Alongside the shipment were over a dozen skilled physicians recruited from the southern regions, each experienced in treating epidemics. Among them was a physician from Fujian reputed for his mastery of bloodletting—a technique that had saved numerous plague-stricken patients in the past. Perhaps this method held the key to breaking the hold of this relentless pestilence.

By estimation, the letter was dispatched on July 2 by express courier, with the medical shipment departing the same day by canal. In half a month, the supplies should reach the capital.

Xue Shu folded the letter away and waited until twilight before reporting to Yin Chengyu.

Upon arriving at Ciqing Palace, he discovered someone else was already there—a rare sight—Yin Ciguang.

Yin Ciguang, often overlooked and unloved, had naturally not accompanied the emperor to Nanjing.

This time, he came with a purpose. He had spent recent days poring over ancient medical texts and stumbled upon a recorded bloodletting technique said to combat epidemics. He boldly volunteered himself to demonstrate its use to Yin Chengyu.

Having been frail since childhood, Yin Ciguang had grown knowledgeable in medicine through years of battling illness. Confident in his skills, he wished to test the bloodletting method on the patients in the quarantine zone.

Yin Chengyu hesitated at first. The efficacy of bloodletting was unproven, and sending Yin Ciguang into the plague-ridden quarantine zone seemed reckless. Even robust doctors faced significant risks entering such spaces, let alone someone as physically weak as Yin Ciguang.

However, Xue Shu’s report gave him pause. If one of the southern physicians also practiced bloodletting, perhaps the method truly had merit. But with the shipment and reinforcements still two weeks away, any delay meant more lives lost.

After much deliberation, Yin Chengyu relented.

“You are frail and susceptible to illness. I will assign the imperial physicians to accompany you. Teach them the bloodletting method, and they will perform it in your stead,” Yin Chengyu instructed, his gaze softening with gratitude. “Whether it works or not, I thank you on behalf of the people.”

Yin Ciguang didn’t feign modesty. He bowed his head and replied softly, “It is my honor to serve the Crown Prince.”

Those words alone justified the countless sleepless nights he had spent scouring medical texts, searching for a cure.

The Crown Prince, born noble and supported by the powerful Yu family, had legions of followers. If Yin Ciguang wished to secure his place on this ship of power, he had to make himself indispensable.

This plague was his opportunity, and he had made his move.

———Author's Note: Doggy: Why isn’t the Crown Prince wearing the lucky charm I gave him? Crown Prince: I am wearing it. Just not showing you. :)