Chapter 66.

By the time Ying Hongxue and He Shan had left, night had already descended. Xue Shu, weary from the day, retired early.

The northern region had fully embraced autumn; the air was icy and damp from days of relentless rain. Even with a brazier burning in the tent, Xue Shu's sleep was fitful, haunted by the cold seeping into his very bones, twisting through his dreams like a predator.

He dreamed of the crypt again.

The walls, built entirely of ice, radiated a piercing chill. Spend enough time inside, and even the blood in your veins felt like it froze.

That crypt—Xue Shu had built it for Yin Chengyu.

He oversaw every detail of the emperor’s mausoleum, crafting even the imperial coffin as a double-seater. The plan had been simple: when Yin Chengyu passed, Xue Shu would follow him into death. If they couldn’t share life, they would at least share eternity in the same grave.

But Yin Chengyu’s final decree shattered that plan. His dying wish bound Xue Shu to live. Trapped in the agony of surviving, unable to bear the thought of their separation even in death, Xue Shu had ordered a secret passage to be built into the mausoleum before its completion.

After the state mourning ended, Xue Shu dug a crypt beneath his own residence outside the palace. He filled it with blocks of ice, fashioning a frigid tomb—a frozen palace. He smuggled Yin Chengyu’s body out of the emperor's mausoleum and laid him to rest in an ice coffin.

Five years had passed.

The entrance to the crypt lay hidden beneath Xue Shu’s bedroom. In those early years, when he couldn’t sleep, he would descend into the frozen depths to sit with Yin Chengyu.

Through the transparent ice coffin, he could see Yin Chengyu’s peaceful expression and fool himself into thinking the man was merely asleep, still beside him.

But ice, no matter how cold, couldn’t preserve life.

Yin Chengyu’s exquisitely carved features grew pale and stiff. Frost crept over his hair and brows. Slowly, his vibrant presence decayed, leaving Xue Shu helpless, just as he had been during Yin Chengyu’s illness.

Mortality always stripped human effort to nothing.

Xue Shu longed to see him yet dreaded it too.

The crypt’s suffocating chill wrapped around him, pulling him deeper into darkness. In his nightmares, Yin Chengyu lay beneath him, smiling up at him with warmth. But in the blink of an eye, that warm face withered—flesh rotting, blood vanishing, leaving only a brittle skeleton.

The stench of decay, sharp and unrelenting, enveloped him.

“Your Highness—!”

Xue Shu jolted awake, gasping for air. His wide eyes darted around the room, his chest heaving. The sudden movement tore open the wounds on his back, soaking his clothes in dark red blood.

The boy on night watch rushed in, startled by the commotion. Seeing Xue Shu’s injury, he hurriedly brought the medicine box but froze in fear at Xue Shu’s wild, haunted expression. “S-Sir, your back… the wounds have reopened…”

Xue Shu, still lost in the remnants of his nightmare, turned his hollow gaze toward the boy without a word.

The silence was crushing, but the boy gathered his courage, approached cautiously, and began unwrapping the bandages. As he cleaned and re-dressed the wound, Xue Shu sat motionless, a specter of himself.

When the boy finished, Xue Shu pulled on a robe and stood.

He needed to see Yin Chengyu.

The chill clawed through his lungs, shaking him to his core. The only thing that could steady him was seeing that face, touching that skin. He needed to feel Yin Chengyu’s warmth—right now.

Pale as a ghost, Xue Shu grabbed the medicine box, rummaging through it with trembling hands until he found what he was looking for. Clutching the cloth tightly in his palm, he stormed out into the night, his mind singularly focused on the frozen depths below.

The rain had stopped at some point, leaving behind a damp chill that cut through the air. A gust of cold wind slapped against Xue Shu’s face, making him shiver.

He stepped out of the tent, his movements brisk, but suddenly froze mid-step. His fingers tightened around the handkerchief he was holding as he hesitated in the biting wind.

Just ten paces away stood Yin Chengyu’s main tent. The guards on night watch were already dozing off in the sheltered corners, their spears held loosely in their hands. If he wanted, slipping inside would be almost too easy.

All he needed to do was what he had done last time—ensure Yin Chengyu stayed sound asleep. Then, he could indulge, wrapping himself around that warm, solid body, driving away this bone-deep cold that refused to leave him.

Xue Shu’s eyes flickered with indecision. He took a step forward, then faltered. In his ears, Yin Chengyu’s voice echoed as clearly as if the man were standing beside him.

“I don’t like secrets among those close to me. Especially from you.”

“Be good, and I’ll spoil you.”

Be good...

Xue Shu lowered his gaze to the medicinal handkerchief in his palm. What he was planning certainly couldn’t be called obedient. If Yin Chengyu found out, there would be hell to pay. The warmth he’d painstakingly earned would likely be snatched away in an instant.

He stood there for a long while, staring at the cloth, before finally tucking it away.

Turning into the wind, Xue Shu walked towards Yin Chengyu’s tent. He didn’t enter. Instead, he found the closest spot outside the tent, leaned against it, and sat down.

The thick fabric of the tent wall separated them, two worlds apart.

Xue Shu stayed there through the cold, biting night, unmoving, until the changing of the guard signaled the dawn. Only then did he quietly return to his own tent. His back wound had held together, but the hours spent in the freezing air left him pale as death and sluggish in his movements.

When a servant brought him a calming tonic, he forced it down and finally managed to catch some restless sleep.

By the time Yin Chengyu came to check on him, Xue Shu’s complexion had worsened. His face was ashen, shadows darkened his eyes, and he looked completely drained.

“What happened?” Yin Chengyu frowned. “Didn’t Doctor Liu say you’d recover as long as you took the medicine on time? You look worse than yesterday.”

The young servant glanced at Xue Shu nervously, only to lower his head under the weight of a warning glare.

“It’s nothing serious,” Xue Shu replied evenly. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

His gaze locked onto Yin Chengyu’s, unwavering, and under the cover of his sleeve, he reached out, hooking his fingers around the other man’s. Slowly, deliberately, he tightened his grip, savoring the contact.

Yin Chengyu didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed against the back of Xue Shu’s hand, a faint smile curling his lips. “What’s this? Feeling clingy today? Did you dream of me again?” His teasing tone carried a hint of amusement.

Xue Shu exhaled, his voice low and heavy. “Every night, I dream of you.”

Yin Chengyu shot him a sidelong glance, clearly not taking the words seriously. He assumed Xue Shu’s restlessness was due to the discomfort of his back wound. “I’ll have Doctor Liu prepare more calming tonic for you. If your back is still bothering you, I’ll arrange for you to return to Yidu City. A soft bed there might help you sleep better.”

Xue Shu’s gaze remained fixed on him, his eyes holding nothing but the man before him. Whatever Yin Chengyu said, Xue Shu agreed to without hesitation.

Yin Chengyu seemed surprised at his unusual compliance. After dismissing the servant, he tilted Xue Shu’s chin upward, pressing a reward-like kiss to the corner of his lips. A soft chuckle escaped him as he said, “Take care of yourself. I’ll visit you again when I’m done with work.”

It was time to leave.

Xue Shu reluctantly let go of his hand, watching as he turned to leave. But in the end, he couldn’t hold back. With a sudden, desperate movement, he grabbed his arm, his eyes simmering with suppressed longing.

"What is it?" Yin Chengyu turned back, arching a brow at him.

Xue Shu said nothing. Instead, he yanked him down sharply and captured his lips in a fierce, unrelenting kiss.

His intensity was brutal, yet his movements were cautious, tender, ensuring no harm was done. Their lips and tongues entwined for what felt like forever before he finally released him, his voice hoarse and rough with need. “This... this is what it should be.”

Yin Chengyu licked his lips leisurely, showing neither anger nor reprimand for the audacity.

He calmly pulled out a handkerchief, wiped away the moisture clinging to the corners of his mouth with infuriating grace, and tossed the cloth into Xue Shu’s chest with a faint smirk before turning to leave.

Left standing there, Xue Shu clutched the handkerchief tightly. Slowly, he brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, his lips pressing against the fabric with reverence before carefully tucking it away inside his robe.

Even the bitter chill gnawing at his heart seemed to thaw a little.

*

Outside the command tent, Yin Chengyu was met by Marquis An Yuan, who had come with an air of resignation.

“The Second Prince’s remains have been prepared, but the body cannot be left for long. It must be transported to the capital soon. Now that the Shandong rebellion has been quelled, I humbly request that Your Highness return to the capital swiftly to honor the Second Prince’s memory.”

With Gao Youwen and Shi Hu dead, and Ying Hongxue and He Shan no longer enemies, the rebellion in Shandong had come to an end. The disaster relief efforts were also well underway.

It was indeed time to return to the capital.

Yet when Yin Chengyu thought of Xue Shu’s pale, weary face, unease settled in his chest. The wounds on his back hadn’t healed fully, and the jostling of travel could worsen his condition, delaying recovery further.

“I understand your concerns, Marquis An Yuan,” Yin Chengyu said, his tone calm but resolute. “However, the recent earthquake has left much unresolved. Rushing back to the capital now would be reckless. It would be better to store the Second Prince’s body in an ice cellar temporarily. Once everything here is properly handed over, we will depart. The weather has cooled now, so there’s no need to worry about the body decomposing.”

Though his words were gentle, his stance was firm, leaving no room for debate.

Marquis An Yuan understood then that persuasion was futile and held his tongue.

The Crown Prince had never been particularly close to the Second Prince, so his lack of urgency over the matter came as no surprise. But Marquis An Yuan had already failed to protect the Second Prince. If he couldn’t even ensure the safe return of the body, facing the grieving Noble Consort Wen back in the capital would leave him utterly defenseless. Still, he dared not escort the body back alone.

Returning to the capital alongside the Crown Prince was his safest bet, even if it meant sharing the blame.

With that thought in mind, he promptly left to arrange for an ice cellar.

*

Clearing the disaster zone, treating the injured, and resettling refugees took time. By the time everything was in order, it was already early October.

Once the handovers were complete, Yin Chengyu began preparations for the journey back to the capital.

In addition to the 5,000 soldiers of the Imperial Guard he had brought, more than 3,000 Hongying Red Army soldiers who had accepted the court’s offer of amnesty would also be traveling with them.

After much deliberation, Ying Hongxue and He Shan had ultimately agreed to the amnesty. Of the more than 5,000 soldiers under He Shan’s command, over 1,000 chose to return home, while the remaining 3,000, being homeless refugees, voluntarily joined the Imperial Guard.

This time, the journey back was not as urgent as the trip to Shandong had been. Yin Chengyu saw no need to rush.

The night before their departure, he ordered live pigs and sheep to be slaughtered to reward the soldiers with a feast.

By October, the relentless rains had finally ceased.

The camp buzzed with life under the glow of roaring bonfires. Soldiers lined up with bowls in hand, savoring hearty meat buns and steaming broth. The air was filled with laughter, warmth, and the smell of roasting meat—a rare moment of camaraderie in a life often overshadowed by war and hardship.

Inside the military command tent, Yin Chengyu drank with his generals. Among them were Ying Hongxue, He Shan, and several others.

Unlike the reserved elegance of scholars, warriors preferred straightforward camaraderie, and the best way to bond was over strong drinks.

With the threat in Shandong resolved and his old rival, Yin Chengzhang, eliminated, Yin Chengyu was in high spirits. Tonight, the wine flowed freely.

By the time midnight rolled around, the alcohol was singing in his veins. He finally waved off his generals, leaning heavily on a eunuch for support as he stumbled back to his own tent, still clinging to some semblance of composure.

As he approached, a lone figure waited outside—the ever-loyal Xue Shu, silent and unmoving, though it was unclear how long he'd been there.

Yin Chengyu squinted at him, sizing him up for a moment before casually dismissing the eunuch. With an unspoken command, he extended his hand.

Xue Shu took it without hesitation, steadying him as they entered the tent together.

Collapsing into a chair, Yin Chengyu poured himself a cup of tea, downed it in one go, and then turned his sharp gaze to Xue Shu.

His brows furrowed as he took in the man’s pale complexion. Reaching out, he pinched Xue Shu’s face with an uncharacteristic gentleness, inspecting him closely. “Why do you look so damn awful?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. His mind jumped to the injury Xue Shu had sustained a while ago. Pointing to the bed, he ordered, “Sit over there. Take off your shirt. Let me see.”

Xue Shu’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. His dark eyes held Yin Chengyu’s gaze for a few tense moments before he obeyed, moving to the bed. Turning his back to him, he quietly stripped off his upper garments, exposing his broad, scarred shoulders.

Yin Chengyu settled in behind him, the dim glow of the lantern illuminating the healed wound just below Xue Shu’s shoulder blade. The injury had scabbed over—a brown, egg-sized blemish stark against his strong, honed body.

“Does it still hurt?” Yin Chengyu asked, his voice low, his fingertips grazing the tender, reddish flesh surrounding the scab.

“No,” Xue Shu said hoarsely, though his muscles tightened under the touch. His voice seemed to scrape its way out of his throat.

Yin Chengyu said nothing more. Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. When Xue Shu didn’t hear a reply, he instinctively started to turn his head, only for Yin Chengyu to bark, “Don’t move.”

Freezing mid-motion, Xue Shu stayed where he was, his body taut with restraint.

Then, unexpectedly, he felt a warm, wet pressure against the edge of the wound—a deliberate, lingering touch. Realization struck like lightning. Yin Chengyu’s mouth was on him.

A shiver ripped up Xue Shu’s spine, a hot, electric wave of sensation. His body locked up, every muscle tense as his grip on the silk bedding tightened, knuckles white.

“Your Highness...” His voice was strained, a low, guttural groan slipping out despite himself.

But the heat against his back vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. Silence again.

He waited, trembling, for Yin Chengyu to speak, to act, to do something—but nothing came. Finally, unable to resist, he glanced over his shoulder—only to find the man slumped against the bedpost, his lashes casting soft shadows over his cheeks. He’d passed out, drunk.

Disappointment flickered in Xue Shu’s dark eyes, but it was gone in an instant. With quiet efficiency, he redressed, then stepped outside to call for the eunuch.

He instructed them to bring warm water. With steady, practiced hands, Xue Shu cleaned Yin Chengyu’s face and feet, adjusted his robes, and gently laid him down to sleep.

Yin Chengyu didn’t stir, the alcohol having dragged him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Xue Shu stood by the bed for what felt like an eternity, his gaze fixed on the sleeping figure. Finally, he settled at the bedside, one hand slipping under the silk covers to grasp Yin Chengyu’s.

That touch, warm and steady, anchored him. For the first time in half a month—since that harrowing time spent in the icy depths of the dungeon—he felt a rare sense of peace.

That night, Xue Shu slept soundly. Not a single nightmare dared to haunt him.

———Author's Note: #ObedientPuppyGetsATreat BigDog: Be good? Not be good? Be good? … Fine, be good.