Chapter 43.

Yin Ciguang was headed to the Imperial Medical Bureau, and Yin Chengyu, ever cautious, specifically assigned Zheng Duobao to accompany him. After all, it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes in case someone decided to make trouble along the way.

Yin Ciguang, ever the grateful one, expressed his thanks once more before taking his leave.

As he stepped out, he brushed past Xue Shu, who stood composed in the hall. He couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at the man.

Yin Ciguang knew plenty about Xue Shu. Rising from a lowly position in the Western Bureau to becoming Emperor Longfeng’s most favored confidant, Xue Shu’s infamous reputation echoed through the palace halls.

Rumor had it that the emperor’s reliance on Xue Shu stemmed from the man’s long-standing grudge with the Crown Prince—a feud that supposedly simmered under the surface. The latest gossip suggested that Emperor Longfeng’s decision to leave Xue Shu behind to "monitor" the Crown Prince during his southern tour only solidified the notion.

Yet, judging by what Yin Ciguang had seen just now, their relationship might not be quite as hostile as the rumors painted.

The moment Xue Shu’s sharp eyes flicked in his direction, Yin Ciguang quickly averted his gaze and followed Zheng Duobao out.

Earlier, with Yin Ciguang present, Yin Chengyu had only asked some surface-level questions. But now that they were alone, he turned to Xue Shu and got straight to the point:

“Tell me everything about the situation in the southern territories.”

Xue Shu didn’t hold back, relaying the details from Wei Xihe’s latest report.

For over two months, Imperial Salt Censor Fang Zhengke had been making the rounds under Wei Xihe’s armed escort, thoroughly investigating the salt tax offices in every region. Starting in Shandong, through Hedong and the Lianghuai regions, his meticulous scrutiny stirred chaos wherever he went. By the time the report was written, Fang Zhengke had reached the Zhejiang and Fujian provinces, leaving a trail of overturned corruption behind him.

Fang Zhengke’s incorruptible nature and deep understanding of salt regulations, combined with the imperial decree and Wei Xihe’s protection, made him unstoppable. Numerous officials and wealthy elites had been implicated, their embezzled fortunes confiscated faster than records could be filed.

While the north struggled with the epidemic, the south was far from peaceful.

Among the confiscated funds, Wei Xihe had allocated a portion to purchase emergency medical supplies, sending shiploads back to the capital with proper documentation for later accounting. The remaining seized wealth was en route to the treasury, escorted by armed guards.

It was rare for good news to reach them these days, and Yin Chengyu allowed a faint smile to curve his lips.

“Not bad,” he remarked, a rare warmth in his tone. “Just the other day, Prime Minister Yu was lamenting the treasury’s dire state due to the epidemic expenses. This haul couldn’t have come at a better time.”

His improved mood softened his demeanor, even toward Xue Shu, as he glanced at him with an almost teasing smile.

When a servant approached to ask about dinner, Yin Chengyu instructed them to set the table in the outer hall of Hongren Pavilion and invited Xue Shu to join him.

But as he rose, he winced slightly, his brows knitting together.

Xue Shu noticed immediately. “Your Highness, is something wrong?”

Yin Chengyu shot him a look, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

Xue Shu, persistent as ever, pressed for an answer. “Is it serious? Shall I summon someone to—”

“Enough,” Chengyu interrupted, clearly irked. He sank back into his seat, giving Xue Shu a pointed once-over before a smirk tugged at his lips. Tilting his chin up slightly, he ordered, “Close the door. Then come back here and fix my auspicious knot—it’s come loose. You can re-tie it for me.”

Xue Shu obediently closed the door but couldn’t help his confusion. His eyes roamed over Chengyu, searching for the so-called “auspicious knot,” only to find nothing of the sort.

Yin Chengyu propped his chin in his hand, watching him with an indulgent laziness. His command was soft but firm, dripping with intent: “Kneel.”

Xue Shu dropped to one knee before him, his gaze locked on the prince’s.

Yin Chengyu lifted his right leg and rested it against Xue Shu’s knee. His tone turned languid, playful yet authoritative: “Take off my shoe and sock.”

The words hung in the air, laced with a sultry undertone. His dark eyes flickered with an allure that felt almost decadent, like the rich bloom of a spring peony, irresistible to those who dared approach.

Xue Shu’s chest tightened. Something unspoken crackled between them, sparking a heat in his gaze.

He steadied Yin Chengyu’s calf with one hand and, with the other, carefully removed the prince’s shoe and sock. As the white sock slipped away, a jade-green auspicious knot tumbled free, its crimson string unraveling and landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Xue Shu’s eyes fixed on the fallen knot, but it felt as though it had dropped straight onto his heart.

The blow left him aching and tingling, caught in a haze of dizziness and desire.

Instinctively, he tightened his grip, his fingers locking around the delicate curve of an ankle beneath his palm. His voice came out hoarse, rasping with barely restrained heat. “Your Highness…”

A fire ignited in Xue Shu’s eyes, smoldering with an intensity that stripped his restraint bare. His expression and movements were carefully controlled, but his body betrayed him—raw, honest, and utterly at odds with his composure.

Yin Chengyu towered over him, every inch of his figure commanding and unyielding. From above, he regarded Xue Shu with a hunter’s predatory satisfaction, a glint of amusement flickering in his gaze. Slowly, he smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips, like a trap just sprung.

He leaned in closer, tilting Xue Shu’s chin upward with an almost lazy arrogance. His fingers traced the sharp lines of his jaw, slow and deliberate, the caress lingering like an unspoken promise. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, teasing, yet edged with authority. “This rope is too slippery, it won’t hold. Tighten it for me.”

That red cord—Yin Chengyu had threaded it himself.

Every piece of his adornment was meticulously curated by his attendant, Zheng Duobao. Yet when it came to the auspicious charm, he hadn’t wanted to explain its significance. Instead, he asked for a simple red cord and strung it on himself.

His neck and wrists were too conspicuous, so he’d chosen his ankle—a spot hidden from prying eyes. But he hadn’t anticipated the cord slipping loose, scattering his composure along with it.

Not that it was entirely unwelcome.

Yin Chengyu bent his knee, the tip of his foot brushing against Xue Shu’s leg. “What’s the matter? Lost in thought?”

Xue Shu’s breath hitched, his focus fracturing as his hand shot out to seize that slender ankle. His grip was firm, his knuckles taut, veins straining as if barely holding something darker at bay.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally released his hold and bent to retrieve the fallen charm.

The jade-green talisman was threaded with the frayed ends of the red cord, the vivid contrast of colors almost jarring to his eyes. Yet, as he held the cord, wrapping it carefully around Yin Chengyu’s ankle, his trembling hands betrayed him.

Porcelain-white skin under his touch, the stark red cord like a vivid streak of flame against a snowfield—Xue Shu’s fingers faltered again and again, failing to knot it securely.

Yin Chengyu let out a low, mocking laugh, drawing his leg back to rest on Xue Shu’s knee. “Enough. This cord is no good. Make me something sturdier and bring it to me.”

Xue Shu exhaled shakily, as though granted a reprieve. Stowing the charm away, he murmured a subdued response, his voice rough with strain.

“Now put my shoes and socks back on,” Yin Chengyu ordered, his tone dripping with a faintly mocking amusement. He glanced down at Xue Shu, his gaze sharp and cutting. “Is that all you’re capable of? You can’t even tie a simple knot.”

Wordlessly, Xue Shu complied, his expression darkening as he slid the shoes on. When he finally looked up, his gaze was heavy, his voice tight with suppressed tension. “I can do other things.”

That insolence caught Yin Chengyu off guard. His smile thinned, the chill in his eyes deepening as he responded with a quiet snort. “It doesn’t matter what you can do. What matters is what I ask you to do. Understand?”

Their words danced in riddles, but both knew exactly what was being said.

As Xue Shu tucked the charm into his sleeve, his thumb brushed against its polished surface. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, dry from the weight of unspoken thoughts, but he said nothing more.

Yin Chengyu didn’t press. He simply set his foot down and glanced at Xue Shu with mild disdain. “In your current state, you’re hardly fit to join me for a meal. Stay a while longer, then leave.”

Xue Shu rose, his gaze lingering as Yin Chengyu turned to leave. Just as the prince reached the door, Xue Shu called out abruptly, “Your Highness, my birthday is in three days.”

Yin Chengyu paused in the doorway, casting a glance back over his shoulder. His lips curved into an enigmatic smile, his tone light yet tinged with something deeper. “I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

By the time Yin Chengyu returned from his meal, Xue Shu was gone.

Seated at his desk, he should have focused on his tasks, yet his thoughts lingered on that brief exchange. Casting his work aside, he spread a sheet of paper and dipped his brush into ink, strokes flowing effortlessly across the page.

The figure he painted was Xue Shu.

Once again clad in crimson robes embroidered with serpents, though the face he captured was softer, more youthful—a glimpse of someone long gone.

For a long moment, Yin Chengyu stared at the image, his brows gradually relaxing, a faint, nearly imperceptible smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“This… is not so bad.”

In their previous life, the entanglement between them had run too deep, the wounds too raw.

Their meeting came at the worst possible time. He had fallen into the depths of despair, clawing desperately at Xue Shu’s hand—the same hand that once gave him hope and life but also stripped him of his pride and dignity.

He had hated him. Loathed him. And yet, he had depended on him.

In the suffocating darkness, he trudged on alone, but that hand never let go, clearing countless obstacles from his path.

Years passed, lifetimes separated by death and fate.

The once-vivid memories faded, and the intense love and hatred dulled into a faint, lingering melancholy.

Looking back across the miles, the ties that bound them were severed long ago.

Xue Shu had his faults, and so did he.

They were both too proud, too stubborn—probing, testing each other—but neither willing to bow first. As if lowering their heads meant admitting defeat.

But the truth is, at the gambling table of life, the only winner is the house.

Both he and Xue Shu were gamblers, and both lost everything.

Yin Chengyu stared at the painting for a long, quiet moment.

Then, he carefully rolled it up and called Zhao Lin into the room. “You’re going to Jining, Yutai County. Investigate what happened to a woman named Xue Hongying during the Great Plague of Year 14 of Longfeng. She would’ve been around twenty at the time, a concubine in a wealthy household…”

He recounted every detail Xue Shu had briefly mentioned about Xue Hongying, leaving nothing out. “If she’s alive, all the better. Once you find her, keep her safe in secret and report back to me immediately. If she’s no longer alive, at least recover her remains.”

Zhao Lin asked no questions, bowing in acknowledgment.

Before letting him leave, Yin Chengyu added, “Be discreet. Don’t let word get out.”

Once alone, he spread out the unfinished painting and picked up his brush again, painstakingly refining every detail.

In his previous life, Xue Shu had gone to great lengths to help him find the last surviving member of the Yu family. In this life, he would return the favor, ensuring Xue Shu’s only living kin was found, dead or alive.

When Yin Chengyu finally set down his brush, half an hour had passed.

The curling smoke from the gilded incense burner blurred the figure in the painting—a young man in crimson robes with a silver blade at his side, sharp-eyed and brimming with youthful arrogance.

Yin Chengyu studied the painting for a long moment before inscribing a verse with a firm hand:

"In the depths of longing, how much sorrow still lingers? Earnestly, let it wait until we meet again. When we do, it will already be years since our parting."

After a pause, he added:

"Do not waste the passion of nights under shared rainclouds, nor the splendor of flowers beneath the moonlight."

Once the painting was complete, he sealed it with his mark and called for Zheng Duobao.

“Have this mounted and framed. Once finished, bring it back to me. Be careful—don’t let anyone else see it.”

Zheng Duobao gave a quick “Got it!” and left without daring to sneak a glance at the rolled-up painting in his arms.

———Author's Note: The dog: Your Highness, step on me.

PS: The quoted verses are from Zhang Yuanchang’s "Shizhou Man."

———TN: Both of them were far too proud and stubborn for their own good. They pushed and provoked each other, each determined to see how far the other would go. Neither had any intention of backing down first—they saw surrender as a humiliating admission of defeat, and neither was willing to give the other that satisfaction.