Chapter 50.

Xue Shu’s words made Yin Chengyu’s mind wander back to his previous life.

In that life, he had been reinstated as the Crown Prince, but his power base was far from secure. During his five years of confinement, his brothers Yin Chengzhang and Yin Chengjing had each built their own factions among the court officials. Power tied by mutual interest was the most unbreakable bond. Even as the rightful heir, those officials wouldn’t turn to his side without weighing their personal stakes.

It took years of painstaking effort to dismantle the networks his brothers had established. By the time they both met their untimely ends, Yin Chengyu finally held unchallenged authority. But even then, one oppressive weight remained above him: Emperor Longfeng.

The old emperor’s reign was nothing but a legacy of mediocrity and selfishness, leaving behind a trail of disaster for the dynasty. True to the saying that misfortune lingers for generations, Emperor Longfeng embodied it to perfection. His health was ruined from years of consuming alchemical elixirs, his mind addled, his body hollowed out—yet the man clung to life with maddening tenacity. Yin Chengyu’s patience wore so thin that he nearly considered taking matters into his own hands to hasten the emperor’s demise.

But Xue Shu beat him to it.

One bold move: Xue Shu poisoned Emperor Longfeng, removing the mountain that weighed down on Yin Chengyu’s ascension to the throne.

The night Emperor Longfeng passed, Xue Shu dragged the alchemist Ziyuan Zhenren before Yin Chengyu. His face was calm, betraying no hint that he’d just committed regicide.

“Your Highness, I had a sudden inspiration yesterday to personally refine a batch of elixirs for the late emperor. With Ziyuan Zhenren’s guidance, I mixed the ingredients myself. However, an unfortunate miscalculation occurred. The dosage proved too strong, and the emperor… ascended to the heavens.” His tone was light, casual. “Fearing you’d be upset, I brought Ziyuan Zhenren here to ease your anger.”

At the time, Yin Chengyu saw Xue Shu as nothing more than a brazen rogue—daring enough to commit treason without batting an eye. But now, upon reflection, it seemed deliberate. It was as though Xue Shu had offered him leverage on a silver platter.

Not that he ever needed to use it.

Yin Chengyu’s gaze locked on Xue Shu. “Why tell me this?” he asked, reaching out to trace a single finger along Xue Shu’s neck, the touch cool and deliberate. His voice was laced with icy amusement. “Regicide and treason… punishable by the extermination of nine generations.”

The faint chill of his touch barely brushed Xue Shu’s skin, but it made his throat tighten. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his voice dropped an octave. “Your Highness once said you despise secrets among those closest to you.”

“Cunning,” Yin Chengyu sneered, though his tone carried more mirth than ire. “If you truly had no secrets, why confess only now?”

His words were cutting, but the subtle curl of his lips betrayed his amusement.

Relieved to see no anger in Yin Chengyu’s eyes, Xue Shu quietly exhaled. His bold action in poisoning the emperor had been an impulsive gamble. He couldn’t bear to see anyone else lording over Yin Chengyu. Even though he knew the prince didn’t hold any deep affection for Emperor Longfeng, committing such a crime still felt like a dangerous line to cross.

Now, seeing Yin Chengyu’s lack of outrage, Xue Shu’s tension melted into a sly sense of satisfaction. In his heart, he believed that he and the prince were allies in the truest sense. Their bond surpassed that of blood ties.

Emboldened, Xue Shu dared to push further. “Does this count as a merit?” he asked, his tone teetering between teasing and yearning.

His height had long since surpassed Yin Chengyu’s, forcing him to tilt his head slightly downward to meet the prince’s gaze. The intensity in his eyes was impossible to miss, raw and unrestrained—like a loyal wolf shamelessly wagging its tail, eager for praise.

Yin Chengyu narrowed his eyes, studying him for a long moment before reaching out to scratch lightly under Xue Shu’s chin. His expression was ambiguous, his voice tinged with amusement. “Fine. I’ll grant you one merit.”

Xue Shu swallowed hard, his lips pressing into a thin line of frustration. He wanted more than just acknowledgment.

But before he could say anything, Yin Chengyu shifted the topic. “What news did Ziyuan Zhenren bring back?”

Reluctantly suppressing his desires, Xue Shu refocused and replied, “Two matters. First, His Majesty recently learned that the epidemic in Zhili has been contained. He instructed Ziyuan Zhenren to divine an auspicious date for his return to the capital.”

The lack of timely communication forced Ziyuan Zhenren to act independently, selecting a later date in September for the emperor’s return. If Emperor Longfeng were to return to the capital, it would undoubtedly complicate things further.

The plague is no longer a threat, and there’s no reasonable excuse left to stop Emperor Longfeng from returning to the capital.

Yin Chengyu furrowed his brows. “How long does it take for the ‘Returning Spring Elixir’ to work?”

“Hard to say,” Xue Shu replied. “Master Ziyuan said it depends on the individual’s constitution. For most, it takes at least a year or so to show effects. If it works any faster, it would certainly raise suspicion.”

Seeing Yin Chengyu’s expression darken even further, Xue Shu added, “But there’s another update from Master Ziyuan: it seems that Xiao Meiren has been enjoying much of His Majesty’s favor lately. She’s already been promoted to consort status. Noble Consort Wen, unhappy with the divided affection, has started dabbling in some shady dealings herself.”

Xiao Meiren was a pawn placed by Consort De.

Back when Emperor Longfeng took his entourage to Nanjing, Noble Consort Wen already bore a grudge against Consort De and her son, Yin Chengjing, over the scheme that set up her son, Yin Chengzhang. While she couldn’t touch Yin Chengjing for now, dealing with the less favored and lower-ranked Consort De was child’s play for her.

Consort De endured for a time. But once Xiao Meiren completely captured the emperor’s favor and was elevated to consort status, she struck back. Using Xiao Meiren’s influence in the emperor’s bed, she planted seeds of discord, poisoning Noble Consort Wen’s reputation with the emperor.

The power struggle between the two factions raged on, with victories and losses on both sides. Refusing to cede her position, Noble Consort Wen turned to some unorthodox methods sourced from the southern provinces to regain the emperor’s favor.

“That’s how the Second Prince got this opportunity,” Xue Shu sneered.

The one accompanying Yin Chengzhang on his mission to quell the unrest in Shandong was none other than Marquis An Yuan—his future father-in-law.

While Marquis An Yuan inherited his title, he wasn’t entirely useless. Years ago, he earned his share of merits suppressing bandits and rebellions. Noble Consort Wen schemed to have him join the mission to ensure her future son-in-law would be protected and have a chance to shine in front of the emperor.

After listening quietly, Yin Chengyu pondered for a moment before saying, “Let them tear each other apart for now. None of it harms us anyway.”

The emperor, meanwhile, was unwittingly taking three different concoctions at once, convinced that he was bursting with vitality and masculine vigor—completely unaware that he was just a pawn in the backroom battles of his harem.

“As for the rest, there’s no rush. It has to be handled step by step.”

Whatever happens, it can’t be worse than last time.

*

Two days later, Yin Chengzhang and the Marquis of Anyuan led five thousand Imperial Guards toward Shandong.

Half a month passed before the suppression forces arrived in Yidu.

Under the cover of night, Yin Chengzhang mobilized soldiers from the Qingzhou garrison to join the Imperial Guards in a surprise raid, catching the rebels off guard. The assault was a stunning success—they even managed to capture a minor rebel leader alive.

The triumphant news spread quickly, drawing praise across the court and the capital. Even the Longfeng Emperor, far away in Nanjing, commended the victory.

But the celebration was short-lived. Barely ten days later, a new report from Shandong turned the mood grim. This time, it was a disaster.

Following the initial victory, the captured rebel leader had revealed a hidden path leading into the heart of Xieshi Fortress. The narrow, treacherous route was the key to the rebels’ stronghold, which had allowed them to hold their ground for so long.

Yin Chengzhang and the Marquis of Anyuan, cautious of a potential trap, first sent scouts along with the captured rebel to verify the path. Once confirmed, they seized the opportunity and launched a second night raid.

But the rebels were ready. As the Imperial forces crept through the path, boulders and boiling oil rained down from both sides. It was a massacre.

Over five thousand soldiers—Imperial Guards and garrison troops—were lost in this single ambush. During the retreat, Yin Chengzhang himself slipped and fell into the mountains. His body was never found.

Meanwhile, emboldened by their victory, the rebels became even more brazen. They looted government offices and grain depots in Qingzhou, swelling their numbers to a staggering 30,000.

In just two months, news of the uprising spread like wildfire. Dozens of peasant militias across Shandong answered the call to arms, rallying under the rebel flag.

The courier dispatched by the Marquis of Anyuan brought two messages: first, a desperate plea for reinforcements; second, confirmation of the Imperial army's devastating defeat.

The court was humiliated.

The situation had spiraled beyond control. Peaceful negotiations were no longer an option. Some officials demanded swift retaliation, urging the Emperor to send reinforcements and crush the rebellion before it could grow further.

But the real question was: Who would lead the campaign?

Originally, the Second Prince Yin Chengzhang had been appointed to command the suppression forces. Yet instead of quelling the rebels, he had vanished into thin air. His failure was a disgrace to the royal family.

If the dynasty wanted to save face, another royal figure would have to take charge.

Among the potential candidates, a few ministers dared to propose sending the Crown Prince Yin Chengyu himself to Shandong. But opposition was fierce. The Longfeng Emperor was still away in Nanjing, and the Crown Prince was overseeing the capital in his absence. With the rebellion already claiming the Second Prince, risking the Crown Prince’s life as well would threaten the stability of the entire empire.

As the court debated endlessly, the Crown Prince remained silent, an unreadable calm in his demeanor.

When Yu Huai’an arrived at Ciqing Palace, he found Yin Chengyu seated alone in a pavilion, silently arranging the final pieces of a chessboard.

The ever-watchful eunuch Zheng Duobao quietly dismissed the palace attendants and personally served Yu Huai’an tea before retreating to a respectful distance.

Taking a seat across from the Crown Prince, Yu Huai’an stroked his beard and broke the silence. “It seems Your Highness already has a plan in mind.”

Yu Huai’an had come intending to warn Yin Chengyu about the treacherous undercurrents brewing beneath the surface. Yet now, seeing the prince’s composure, he realized his caution might be unnecessary.

Yin Chengyu placed the final chess piece with deliberate precision, then raised his gaze with a faint, knowing smile. “Grandfather didn’t come all this way just to remind me, did you? You’re here to persuade me not to go, aren’t you?”

The Crown Prince had expected the army’s defeat from the start. Yin Chengzhang might have been skilled with a sword, but strategy? He was hopeless. As for the Marquis of Anyuan, subordinate to Yin Chengzhang’s command, even his modest capabilities couldn’t salvage the situation.

What puzzled Yin Chengyu was the Second Prince’s disappearance.

Consort Wen was a cautious woman. Before sending Yin Chengzhang to the frontlines, she had deliberately arranged for the Marquis of Anyuan to act as his shield. A reckless move like leading the charge through a treacherous path was completely out of character. Even if the Marquis had fallen, Yin Chengzhang shouldn’t have been in such peril.

And then there was the timing of the message. Shandong to the capital was a mere two-to-three-day journey by relay. Yet the courier’s arrival seemed oddly delayed.

The Imperial Guard suffered a devastating defeat, and Yin Chengzhang's whereabouts remain unknown. Yet, the news took an inexplicable four or five days to reach the capital. Suspicious, to say the least.

It's really abnormal.

To make matters worse, a court official suddenly proposed that the Crown Prince himself travel to Shandong to quell the rebellion. That was enough to put Yin Chengyu on high alert.

Shandong is in chaos. If he were to go and end up slain by the rebels, it would all seem perfectly reasonable—a neatly orchestrated tragedy.

“If this is truly a trap, Shandong must already be a fortress waiting for Your Highness to walk into it,” Yu Huaian warned, his tone grave. “A man of great worth doesn’t gamble his life recklessly.”

Yin Chengyu, however, did not share the same cautious outlook. Pouring another cup of tea for Yu Huaian, he replied coldly, “But there’s another saying: ‘If you don’t enter the tiger’s den, how will you capture its cub?’”

Based on his understanding of Yin Chengzhang, that man lacked the brains to mastermind such a scheme. No, this smelled of either Consort Wen or Marquis Anyuan’s handiwork.

They wanted his life, but that was fine. He was ready to play along—turn their ploy into his opportunity.

If he could eliminate a rival and pacify Shandong in one fell swoop, all the better.

Yu Huai'an opened his mouth to object again, but Yin Chengyu cut him off with a low, commanding voice.

“Your concerns, Grandfather, I understand. But this journey of mine isn’t about crushing a rebellion—it’s about saving the people of Shandong.”

———Author's note: Puppy: His Highness and I are family now! (secretly thrilled) His Highness: …