Chapter 55.

The stalker had been locked up in the military camp stationed outside the city, under the watch of the Four Guards.

When Xue Shu arrived, his subordinates had already conducted the first round of interrogation. Seeing him approach, they hurriedly brought over a table and chair, gesturing for him to sit, while another served him a steaming cup of tea with eager hands.

“Well?” Xue Shu asked, his tone casual but edged with authority. “What did you get out of him?”

“Spilled everything. He’s spineless—sent by the rebel forces to keep tabs on us. Didn’t even finish the full round of torture before he started singing,” one subordinate said, respectfully presenting a written confession with both hands.

Xue Shu took the document, his sharp brows lifting slightly as he skimmed through it. “Internal strife within the rebels?”

According to the prisoner’s account, he had been sent by Gao Youwen, the so-called “Mother Buddha” of the rebels. However, his target wasn’t Yin Chengyu specifically but rather the saintess within their ranks.

The Hongying Red Army, despite its name, was less of a formal military force and more an armed sect born out of the Red Lotus Cult. All the rebels were devout followers, pledging absolute loyalty to their leader, Mother Buddha Gao Youwen.

But even a leader as revered as Gao Youwen couldn’t sustain an entire movement alone. Beneath her stood three key figures: the Saintess and the Left and Right Protectors.

The Saintess, Ying Hongxue, managed the cult’s affairs with an iron hand, while the Left and Right Protectors held strategic military power.

As the confession revealed, Ying Hongxue and Gao Youwen weren’t just collaborators—they were once nuns, raised in the same convent, and co-founded the Red Lotus Cult. But Gao Youwen, being the elder by over a decade, had claimed the title of leader, while Ying Hongxue, the younger and sharper, took the secondary role of Saintess. It was, however, an unspoken truth among their followers that Ying Hongxue was the true power behind the scenes and the assumed successor.

From coordinating their uprising to establishing the Hongying Red Army and masterminding their movements between Puchai and Yidu’s Xieshizhai, Ying Hongxue had been the brains behind their every move.

But as their army grew stronger and clashed repeatedly with the imperial forces, cracks began to show between the two leaders. Gao Youwen sought to strike a deal with the imperial court, aiming for peace and personal prosperity. Ying Hongxue, however, saw the court as a rotting carcass, corrupt and faithless, and refused to entertain the idea of surrender.

The rift began quietly but deepened after they established their base in Xieshizhai. It finally erupted when Gao Youwen secretly negotiated a deal with imperial representatives. Upon discovering this betrayal, Ying Hongxue erupted, condemning Gao Youwen as short-sighted and doomed to self-destruction. Then, with the Right Protector and her closest loyalists, she defected from the Hongying Red Army, vanishing into the shadows.

When Gao Youwen learned the Crown Prince himself had come to Qingzhou to suppress the rebellion, she panicked. Fearing Ying Hongxue would sabotage her plans, she dispatched spies to Yidu to keep a close eye on the situation.

The captured spy had never seen Yin Chengyu before, but spotting two figures sneaking into the city at night—one slouching with their head lowered to obscure their face—he suspected it might be someone from Ying Hongxue’s faction and decided to follow them.

His luck ran out when he fell straight into Xue Shu’s hands.

“Well, isn’t this a twist,” Xue Shu said with a scoff, his gaze sliding toward the trembling prisoner cowering in a corner. “Keep him alive for now. Tighten security. Send word to the scouts we have out there—tell them to stay sharp and double their watch on Xu Hui.”

With that, he left the interrogation and returned to his personal tent at the camp.

As the overseer of the operation, Xue Shu had his own quarters among the Four Guards’ encampment. Once inside, he ordered hot water to be brought in, shedding his robes and sinking into a steaming bath to wash away the day’s fatigue.

His body should’ve been exhausted after a day of constant movement, but his mind remained restless, electrified by what had happened earlier at the brothel.

Immersed in the hot water, Xue Shu let his arm drape lazily over the edge of the wooden tub. In his hand, he clutched a soft, snow-white undergarment.

The fabric was impossibly smooth, still faintly carrying the subtle, clean fragrance of snow plum blossoms.

He pressed his face into the cloth, inhaling deeply. The scent stirred something deep and primal within him, setting fire to a hunger he had barely managed to suppress.

Desire surged through him again, sharp and unrelenting, pulling him into a dangerous spiral he had no intention of resisting.

He closed his eyes halfway, but his mind was far from calm. His thoughts spiraled back to that moment—when he’d clamped his hand over Yin Chengyu’s mouth and forced him to sit on his lap. The fury and fragility etched on Yin Chengyu's face were seared into his memory. They had been so close, their bodies pressed together, Yin Chengyu trapped in his arms, unable to move, like a delicate porcelain doll entirely at his mercy.

That fleeting sense of control ignited a fire in his veins. In that instant, it was as if Yin Chengyu belonged entirely to him, a possession to be claimed, to be toyed with however he pleased.

His breathing grew heavier as the memory consumed him.

What if he hadn’t let go back then?

What if he’d pushed further, claimed what was right in front of him?

A war raged within him now. One part of him whispered reason—if he had crossed the line, His Highness would have been furious. There would be no closeness after that, no soft smiles or fleeting moments of favor. He needed to hide his claws, bide his time, and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Yin Chengyu was like the moon hanging high in the heavens—cold, untouchable, and distant. The mere thought of earning even a sliver of his attention felt like a miracle.

But the darker, more primal side of him growled with frustration, relentless in its hunger. If he wanted something, he had to take it. Seize it. No one, not even His Highness, was exempt. All it would take was a bit more daring, a moment of audacity, and he could pull that icy moon from the heavens, cradle it in his arms, and stain its cold light with his own colors.

Even the possibility sent a thrill through his body, a sharp, electric buzz that he couldn’t shake.

Xue Shu’s eyes darkened, the corners burning with a crimson haze. He grabbed his pristine inner robe and bit down savagely, his teeth tearing into the delicate fabric. The fine material, soft and light, quickly shredded under his assault, and the sound of ripping cloth only fueled his frenzy. His bites grew rougher, his movements more erratic, as if every dark and unspoken desire he couldn’t unleash on Yin Chengyu was pouring out onto the helpless garment.

Within moments, the once-pristine robe was reduced to tatters, hanging limply like a wounded thing. The fragments of cloth, soaked and clinging to the sides of the bath, seemed even more pathetic in their ruined state.

His breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling as he gripped the shredded fabric tightly, twisting it in his hands. He kneaded and crumpled it until it was a crumpled mess, and finally, with a sharp exhale, he plunged it into the water, watching as it sank, disappearing beneath the surface like a reflection of his smoldering desires.

*

The next morning, Yin Chengyu strode into the government office, list in hand, ready to dig into the disaster relief records.

The prefect, Ding Changshun, caught wind of his arrival and felt his heart sink. Forcing a smile to mask his unease, he greeted, “The disaster relief registers are quite disorganized, Your Highness. Why don’t you rest outside for a moment? Tell me which counties you’d like to check, and I’ll have someone fetch the records for you.”

Yin Chengyu shot him a cold glance, his tone razor-sharp. “No need for the trouble. I’ll look through them myself.”

His words sounded casual, but his actions were anything but. With precise intent, he sifted through the records, organizing them by year and county. It didn’t take long before he uncovered the records for Changle, Shouguang, and Linqu.

Next, he referred to the village indexes, efficiently finding exactly what he wanted.

There it was. “August 5th. Li Family Village. Li Wang. Received one dou of rice.”

Yin Chengyu’s expression darkened.

He had been to Li Family Village. He’d even spoken to the Li Wang family himself.

Face set in a cold mask, he continued flipping through the records. To his fury, every household he and Xue Shu had secretly visited during their investigations was listed in the relief registers.

Large households were recorded as receiving one dou of rice. Smaller ones, three dou. Children under five? None.

The records were neat, thorough, and utterly convincing. Had Yin Chengyu not conducted his own investigation, he might have believed this meticulously crafted web of lies.

With a sharp motion, he slammed the register shut and fixed his gaze on Ding Changshun. His voice was icy, cutting through the air. “Do these records contain any errors or omissions?”

Ding Changshun, sensing the storm brewing in Yin Chengyu’s eyes, felt his nerves tighten. But he was confident the records were airtight. He couldn’t fathom what had triggered the prince’s wrath. Forcing himself to remain steady, he answered, “All disaster relief records are documented accurately. There might be minor mistakes here or there, but certainly nothing significant.”

Yin Chengyu gave a curt nod and pulled a list from his sleeve, tossing it onto the table in front of Ding Changshun. His voice was measured, yet carried a lethal edge. “Then how do you explain the names on this list?”

“I visited Linqu, Changle, and Shouguang yesterday,” Yin Chengyu said, his smile fading into a steely glare. “I personally spoke to over a hundred households. Every single one of them told me they never received a grain of relief rice.” His words grew heavier with each sentence, his gaze sharp enough to pierce armor. “You, as the prefect of Qingzhou, care to enlighten me as to why?”

The mention of a hundred households sent sweat beading down Ding Changshun’s forehead.

His hands trembled as he picked up the list, but the words blurred in his vision. Each name seemed to pulse, taunting him, shaking his resolve. Stammering, he fumbled for an excuse. “P-perhaps… perhaps the lower officials failed to notify them…”

Despite his attempt at a defense, his hands were already shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh? Is that so?” Yin Chengyu’s voice dropped, dangerously soft. His gaze bore into Ding Changshun like a blade. “Three counties. Over a dozen villages. Hundreds of households. All just… a coincidence?”

His voice turned colder, harsher, with each word, his fury building to a crescendo. “Is it a coincidence—or are you and your men thieves, lining your own pockets with relief grain meant for starving peasants?!”

Under the mounting pressure, Ding Changshun finally broke. His legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees, head smashing against the ground with a loud thud. “Your Highness, mercy! Please spare me!”

Yin Chengyu rose, his movements deliberate, his expression devoid of pity. He ignored the pleading man groveling at his feet and turned to his guards. “Take him away. Summon Pang Yi next.”

If they dared to steal even disaster relief grain, these parasites had no place in his Qingzhou. They would pay.

*

Once Yin Chengyu finished separating Ding Changshun and Pang Yi, he interrogated them individually multiple times, meticulously piecing together their web of connections. When the picture became clear, he summoned Xue Shu and commanded him to take the list of names provided by Pang Yi and Ding Changshun and begin rounding them up, one by one.

“I have one more matter to report,” Xue Shu said, folding up the list before casually bringing up the events of last night’s interrogation.

“Speak.” Yin Chengyu took a slow sip of his cooled tea, his eyes sharp.

Xue Shu laid out the details of the internal chaos within the Red Lotus Sect.

“Ying Hongxue?” The name made Yin Chengyu frown, stirring a faint sense of familiarity. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table as he tried to recall, but the memory eluded him for now. Setting it aside, he said coldly, “The rebels tearing themselves apart is a blessing for us.”

He paused for a moment, deep in thought, then continued, “The earlier plan to negotiate their surrender has already been scrapped. Yin Chengzhang is desperate to make a name for himself; there’s no chance he’ll broker peace with the Hongying Red Army. But now we hear Gao Youwen has connections with the court, even striking some kind of deal... This reeks of foul play. Assign someone to keep a close eye on Xu Hui. I want every move of his reported immediately.”

Xue Shu nodded. “I’ve already sent word to our spies outside. The moment something happens, we’ll know.”

Satisfied, Yin Chengyu gave a curt nod before rising to handle other matters.

As he passed Xue Shu, his sharp gaze swept over him, noting the fresh change of clothes. With a teasing smirk, he remarked, “Don’t forget to wash my inner robe and return it. Make sure it’s spotless.”

Xue Shu froze, his expression stiff.

———Author’s Note: (Meanwhile, in Xue Shu’s mind: It’s already torn to shreds.)

Yin Chengyu’s brows raised ever so slightly, a silent demand lingering in the air.

“...What?”

———TN: It’s the final day of 2024, and guess what?

I dropped *ten* chapters for you all! Ten.

What better way to close out the year, right?

Oh, but wait—you’re hungry for more, aren’t you? Fine.

You want extra? Here’s five more chapters.

That’s right.

Fifteen chapters to end the year with a bang!

You’re welcome.