Chapter 44.

After returning to the Western Bureau, Xue Shu immediately sent someone to fetch him some red string.

He’d never crafted a knotwork charm before and, naturally, had no clue how to start. Refusing to ask anyone for help, he dismantled a few intricate ones to study their structure, carefully figuring out the technique on his own. It took several ruined lengths of red string before he finally succeeded in creating a piece that met his satisfaction.

The design wasn’t overly complicated—two slender red threads intertwined into a slightly thicker cord. At the connection point, he deliberately tied a sliding knot, making it easy to put on or remove.

In the middle of the vivid red cord dangled a flawless jade amulet, just the right size, its translucence radiating a gentle brilliance.

Seated under the lamp, Xue Shu’s slightly calloused thumb traced the smooth surface of the jade. His touch left no mark on the cool, flawless stone.

Not like His Highness’s skin—so porcelain-white and delicate that even the slightest pressure left faint red marks. The memory of those fleeting imprints, against that snow-like softness, seemed to ripple with unspeakable desire.

Xue Shu toyed with the jade for some time before placing it in an embroidered pouch.

Tonight, the fire inside him burned too hot, and instead of heading to the bathhouse, he drew icy water from the well. With a sharp gasp, he poured it over himself, letting it cool his fevered skin. The cold water tempered his burning thoughts for the moment, but it couldn’t douse the flames that smoldered deep in his chest.

Later, when the lights were extinguished and he lay in bed, his fingers brushed against the embroidered pouch tucked near his heart, then strayed to the jade ring resting against his neck. Even the lingering chill of the water couldn’t stop the warmth rising from within.

Sleep came painfully late, and when it did, his dreams were far from peaceful.

In his restless visions, Yin Chengyu lay face down on the chaise longue, far too quiet, his entire body draped in an almost suffocating calm. The violet robe clung to his form, accentuating every curve as it spilled like liquid silk down his frame. The room seemed flooded with a sensual heat that blurred the air.

Xue Shu sat just behind him, turned slightly, the hem of his embroidered robe blending with Yin Chengyu’s, the intricate designs tangling in a way that made it hard to distinguish where one ended and the other began.

The flickering lamplight danced, casting long, entwined shadows across the room. Silence hung thick, interrupted only by the faint crackle of the flames.

It felt as though only seconds had passed—or maybe it had been an eternity—before Xue Shu moved. His hand reached for a white jade seal stored in a nearby box of ice.

The seal was no longer than a thumb, its base tied with a thin red cord. Cold and dewy from its icy confinement, tiny beads of condensation clung to its surface, glistening as they caught the light.

With a deliberate motion, Xue Shu lifted the jade by its red string and hovered it just above the back of Yin Chengyu’s neck.

The end of the seal, dipped in crimson ink, pressed gently against that porcelain expanse of skin, leaving a vivid red imprint. The ink blurred slightly as it mixed with the condensation, but the two bold characters—“Xue Shu”—remained discernible, etched in small seal script.

The sudden coldness of the jade against his skin made Yin Chengyu shiver. He turned his head, anger flashing in his phoenix-like eyes.

“Xue Shu, don’t you dare take this too far!” His voice was sharp, but his tone carried a trace of helpless frustration.

Xue Shu merely smiled. It was a soft, easy smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, there was something dark, something biting, hidden in his gaze. “His Highness remembers Xie Yunchuan’s birthday so well, even gifting him a personally painted scroll. And yet, you seem to have forgotten mine entirely.” His voice dropped, tinged with mock hurt. “I was so devastated that I had no choice but to claim my gift myself.”

As he spoke, the jade seal, still tethered by its string, traced a slow, deliberate path down Yin Chengyu’s back. It glided along the faint curve of his spine, leaving behind a trail of smudged crimson marks—bold, intimate, and impossible to ignore.

……

When Xue Shu woke, his entire body was drenched in sweat, heat radiating off his skin like a furnace.

It was July, the heart of summer. The blocks of ice placed in the corners of the room had long melted, and the suffocating heat of the season was in full swing. The oppressive warmth made the air heavy, leaving his mouth dry and his throat parched.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, dazed, dragging himself back to reality from the vivid dream that lingered.

Everything in that dream had felt too real.

Every reaction from His Highness in the dream had tugged at his heartstrings, stoking a fire that burned with both desire and torment. Yet every word His Highness spoke felt like a blade, sharp and merciless, plunging deep into his chest without drawing blood.

Even awake, that blend of helpless frustration and seething jealousy clawed at his insides, refusing to subside.

In a moment of desperation, Xue Shu reached for the embroidered pouch he kept close to him. His fingers brushed against the charm inside, and slowly, the storm within him began to calm.

He let out a shaky breath. It was just a dream.

Neither would he treat His Highness like that, nor would His Highness ever do such things to him.

His Highness had accepted the charm he’d given, even promising a birthday gift in return. That much was real—nothing like the bitter illusions that had haunted him.

With steady hands, Xue Shu tucked the pouch away, collected himself, and took a cold shower to wash away the lingering heat and tension. Dressed in fresh clothes, he made sure the embroidered pouch was safely secured before stepping out. Later, when the day cooled, he planned to visit Ciqing Palace and return the charm to His Highness.

The thought of His Highness carrying something he’d gifted brought a wave of heat back to his chest, this time a flush of pride and longing.

After leaving the Western Bureau, Xue Shu headed toward the Imperial Stables for inspection. On the way, he crossed paths with Gao Yuan, the Eastern Depot's Superintendent.

Gao Yuan was dressed in a sharp, yellow-green flying fish robe, a silver pouch hanging from his belt, casually toying with two polished walnuts in his hand. His face wore a veneer of friendliness, but his tone was barbed as he greeted Xue Shu.

“Ah, Supervisor Xue, Western Depot seems rather quiet these days. Out and about so early—what urgent business calls for your attention?”

The animosity between them was no secret. Ever since Emperor Longfeng reinstated the Western Bureau, giving Xue Shu favor while humiliating the Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Guard in the process, Gao Yuan had harbored a grudge.

Though ordered to tread carefully, Gao Yuan’s patience had thinned now that Longfeng was absent and his own patron, Gao Xian, had returned to the capital with the Emperor's decree. Today, his disdain barely veiled itself.

Just a lucky upstart, Gao Yuan thought as his gaze swept over Xue Shu with unconcealed contempt. He had seen plenty of young men who once strutted around with confidence, only to crumble into nothing under pressure. Xue Shu, in his eyes, was no different—a boy who got lucky and thought he could walk among giants.

Feigning a sigh, Gao Yuan smirked. “If you’re so free, Supervisor Xue, why not lend the Eastern Bureau a hand? The lump plague spreading through the city has the people in an uproar, and His Majesty has poured money into relief efforts. Yet instead of gratitude, these ungrateful peasants spread rumors and slander His Majesty. Unforgivable. High Chief Gao has ordered us to round up these rebellious scholars and citizens for questioning. Who knows? There may be treacherous instigators among them stirring trouble.”

Xue Shu frowned, his expression icy as he stared Gao Yuan down, his posture unyielding. “The city is already on edge from the plague. If you start targeting people for speaking their minds, you’ll only provoke further outrage. When that backlash comes, don’t blame me for not warning you.”

Gao Yuan snorted, unimpressed. “You think you can scare me with such talk? I’ve seen more schemes and rebellions than you’ve eaten grains of rice. If you’re just making excuses to avoid the Imperial Prison, be honest about it. Or is it that you lack the guts to step foot inside?”

Xue Shu ignored the insult, weighing his options briefly before replying in a measured tone. “If Superintendent Gao insists, I’ll accompany you to the Imperial Prison.”

Gao Yuan’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he turned on his heel, leading the way. He thought Xue Shu had taken the bait, but Xue Shu’s eyes remained cold and sharp as he followed, already anticipating the games to come.

This little "coincidence" today? Oh, make no mistake—it was meticulously staged by Gao Yuan, crafted just to ensure Xue Shu loses every shred of pride and reputation he’s got. By the time this day is over, Xue Shu won’t dare hold his head high in front of anyone again.

As the two men stepped out of the palace, their destination was clear: the infamous Imperial Prison.

The Imperial Prison belonged to the North Bastion Bureau under the command of the Jinyiwei, but let’s not kid ourselves—the Jinyiwei’s commander, Gong Hongfei, was nothing but a spineless opportunist.

Under Emperor Longfeng’s rule, he’s always been overshadowed by Gao Xian, who reigns supreme as the head of the Eastern Depot. Naturally, the Jinyiwei is no match for the Eastern Bureau’s authority, and the prison itself has long been crawling with Gao Xian’s lackeys.

These days, the prison was packed with scholars, all arrested by Gao Yuan’s men.

As Xue Shu walked through the heavy gates of the prison, they groaned shut behind him with a finality that echoed through the air. The guards, clad in their rough brown uniforms and gripping their weapons with hands calloused by brutality, watched him with cold, predatory eyes. Their stares pressed down like the weight of an axe hovering over a neck.

One sweep of the room was all it took for Xue Shu to realize: this was no chance encounter. Gao Yuan had laid this trap just for him.

But Xue Shu was no stranger to challenges. He didn’t flinch at provocations. No, he’d gone along with this charade for one reason: the Crown Prince. He knew the Prince would care about this situation, and he planned to use this as an excuse to investigate.

His face calm, his demeanor unfaltering, Xue Shu followed Gao Yuan into the belly of the prison.

The hallway stretched long and narrow, a dimly lit passage where flickering torchlight danced over cold stone walls. From the depths came the sounds of agony—hoarse screams, desperate sobs, the occasional, sickening crack of bone. It was a corridor designed to break the spirit before the body was even touched.

Gao Yuan began his performance, spinning his tale with smooth arrogance. “Earlier today, some of our men apprehended a group of scholars in a teahouse. It seems they were composing treasonous poems mocking His Majesty. Upon investigation, we uncovered a little detail—one of these scholars has a grandfather who owned a theater during Emperor Xiaozong’s reign. That very theater, you see, once harbored an assassin who attempted to kill the emperor during a performance.” Gao Yuan let the weight of his words settle before continuing with feigned lament, “These scholars, no doubt, are connected to Xiaozong’s remaining loyalists. Such filth still clings to our Empire.”

He turned a walnut idly in his hand, his tone heavy with mock regret. “And yet, despite our best efforts, these remnants are a stubborn lot. Two rounds of interrogation, and they still refuse to confess. Since the Eastern Bureau’s methods failed, I thought perhaps the Western Bureau might succeed where we could not.”

It was a clever little lie, coated in just enough truth to sting. Xue Shu kept his expression neutral, but inside, his thoughts tightened like a vice.

“Loyalists from Xiaozong’s reign?”

What nonsense.

Everyone knew the so-called loyalists were nothing more than desperate peasants who’d been crushed by Xiaozong’s cruelty. The man’s tyrannical rule had forced rebellion after rebellion until his death finally offered the Empire a chance to breathe. Emperor Longfeng’s subsequent reign had brought peace, but his paranoia over Xiaozong’s enemies lingered like a shadow.

And Gao Yuan? He was milking that paranoia for all it was worth, turning it into a stage for his own self-serving ambition. These scholars were nothing more than unfortunate scapegoats, pawns caught in Gao Yuan’s scheme to curry favor with the Emperor.

Xue Shu’s gaze turned steely as he watched the scene unfold. Gao Yuan’s men dragged in a half-dead scholar, his body broken and bloodied beyond recognition. A few others, battered but breathing, were shoved into cages like livestock. Yet even in their pitiful state, the scholars’ spirits burned fierce. They glared at Gao Yuan with hatred, their voices rising in defiance, hurling curses despite their injuries.

The room darkened with tension. Gao Yuan’s smile disappeared as he barked an order to silence them. His men gagged the prisoners, binding them to interrogation racks without ceremony.

“I wonder,” Gao Yuan drawled, his tone sharpening, “just how long that defiance will last. Let’s see what your so-called backbone is worth.”

He signaled, and a peculiar contraption was rolled forward—a sinister device nicknamed “The Pipa.”

“This,” Gao Yuan said, gesturing toward it with feigned politeness, “is a favorite of mine. Even the stiffest spines bend to its tune.”

The scholar who’d been singled out as a “loyalist” was strapped in. Barely alive, the man still managed to spit a bloody curse before the torture began. But soon, his resistance crumbled.

A chilling scream filled the chamber—a sound that barely resembled anything human. His mutilated face turned toward Xue Shu, his empty eye sockets oozing crimson, as the interrogator’s voice rang out:

“Do you confess?”

The scholar’s jaw hung slack, unable to utter another word. Drool mixed with blood spilled from his gaping mouth, yet he still managed to weakly shake his head.

Gao Yuan, watching Xue Shu’s expression closely, noticed the faint crease of his brows. Misreading it as hesitation, he chuckled slyly, leaning in with a mocking push and a click of his tongue. “Oh? Quite the tough one, isn’t he? My men can’t seem to get the job done. Perhaps, Supervisor Xue, you’d care to handle this interrogation yourself?”

Xue Shu turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze slicing through Gao Yuan like a blade. A hollow smile stretched across his face, skin deep and deadly cold. “Well then... I suppose it’d be rude to refuse.”

With deliberate steps, he moved forward. Passing by one of the executioners, he reached for the blade hanging from the man’s belt.

Gao Yuan opened his mouth to ask what he intended, but before the words could escape, Xue Shu raised the weapon high and brought it down in a single, unrelenting stroke.

The scholar’s head hit the ground with a sickening thud. Blood gushed out in a crimson spray, painting Gao Yuan from head to toe.

Stunned, Gao Yuan wiped the blood from his eyes, staring at Xue Shu in disbelief and fury. “Xue Shu! How dare you?!” he sputtered.

Xue Shu let the blade fall to the ground with a metallic clatter, reaching for a nearby cloth with unnerving calm. Slowly, methodically, he wiped the blood from his hands. Without even looking up, he spoke in an icy, mocking tone. “Didn’t the esteemed Director-General invite me to assist with the interrogation?”

A dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glinting with unrestrained menace. “I handle things differently, you see. Traitors? Kill them. No need for drawn-out games. Clean, efficient, and everyone sleeps better at night. Why waste time playing around?”

Gao Yuan’s hand trembled as he pointed at Xue Shu, his voice caught in his throat.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. Today was supposed to be a power play, a chance to put Xue Shu in his place. But Xue Shu wasn’t just fearless—he was ruthless, a beast far beyond what Gao Yuan had anticipated.

He hadn’t even laid a hand on the scholar, yet the way he looked—those eyes—made seasoned executioners seem like amateurs.

Seeing Gao Yuan pale as a ghost, Xue Shu let out a derisive snort. Tossing the blood-stained cloth at his feet, he said with venomous finality, “Superintendent Gao, I’ll remember your hospitality today. But I’ve got business to attend to, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

With that, he brushed past Gao Yuan, shoulders grazing his as he strode toward the exit.

The guards stationed nearby, hands gripping their weapons tightly, instinctively parted to make way. Not one dared to stand in his path.

———Author’s note: The loyal dog: I’m obedient. His Highness loves me for it. The big dog: Hehe. :)