Chapter 71.

When Xue Shu returned with the garments, Yin Chengyu was already submerged in the water.

The delicate steam swirled around him, blurring his figure, leaving Xue Shu to catch only glimpses of porcelain skin, gradually turning a flushed red under the embrace of the hot spring.

Xue Shu set the clothes behind the screen, his ears pricking at the sound of Yin Chengyu’s voice calling from the other side of the pool. He strode over briskly, finding Yin Chengyu languidly draped against the edge, his face tilted up. That alabaster skin seemed like fine porcelain, his lips a bold red like crushed cinnabar, and those deep, glassy eyes swirled with mist, enchanting and perilous.

“Help me wash my back.”

The words fell so casually, spoken with such calm authority that it sounded more like an order than a request, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Heat flared in Xue Shu’s chest, and suddenly the temperature of the hot spring felt oppressive. The steam clung to his skin, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

After a tense pause, he finally lowered his voice, gruffly responding, “As you wish.”

He retrieved a cloth, knelt at the pool's edge, and leaned forward, letting the damp fabric drag across Yin Chengyu’s back in slow, deliberate movements. His gaze trailed after each stroke, intense and focused.

If Yin Chengyu had turned to look, he’d have seen that every inch of Xue Shu’s gaze was fixed on him alone—a storm of desire, a tumult of unrestrained longing brewing behind his eyes. But Yin Chengyu didn’t look back.

Instead, he rested leisurely, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction, his chin propped against his forearm. The black of his neatly tied hair contrasted sharply with the stark white of his slender neck, the smooth curve of his nape dipping inward, a collision of light and shadow that struck Xue Shu like a blow.

Xue Shu tried to avert his gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. But his restraint didn’t last long. His eyes returned, hungry and fixated like a wolf catching the scent of prey, sharp with want yet too cautious to pounce.

Yin Chengyu soaked until his weariness melted away, finally breaking the silence. “That’s enough. No need to continue.”

He straightened with fluid grace, casting a glance at Xue Shu. A faint smirk played at his lips when he noticed the flush painting Xue Shu’s face, his restraint fraying at the edges. “Hand me a larger towel.”

With trembling fingers, Xue Shu grabbed a dry towel and handed it over, averting his eyes as much as he could. Yin Chengyu took the cloth and casually draped it over himself, stepping out of the pool.

The towel obscured most of him, but the glimpse of porcelain skin beneath the fabric was far more tantalizing than if it were all bare.

Xue Shu’s eyes were helplessly drawn to him, watching as that pale figure disappeared behind the screen.

When Yin Chengyu emerged, dressed in soft, dry underclothes and his hair cascading loose over his shoulders, he cast a look at Xue Shu and raised his arms slightly. “Help me dress.”

The words came smooth, unhurried, as if it was his due. Droplets clung to his lashes, one sliding free to glisten as it fell.

Xue Shu caught it instinctively, the cool bead spreading across his palm, seeping into something deeper.

Swallowing hard, he picked up the outer robe, shaking it open with steady hands that betrayed his inner turmoil. As he crouched to tie the sash, his fingers brushed the white underclothes, and he froze.

“This… this underclothing,” he stammered, looking up abruptly, his voice thick. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

Yin Chengyu arched a brow, his lips curving slightly. His slender fingers trailed across Xue Shu’s brow, sliding down to toy with the thick fringe of his lashes. His voice, low and teasing, fell like a caress. “And if it is? Didn’t you ruin one of mine before? Surely it’s only fair to replace it.”

The hint of laughter in his tone mixed with something heavier, a wetness in his words that felt like it clung to Xue Shu’s skin.

Xue Shu’s grip on the sash tightened, and after a long pause, he replied hoarsely, “Of course. It’s only right.”

Satisfied, Yin Chengyu stepped away, settling lazily onto a chaise. Xue Shu knelt, producing a pair of soft leather boots, his hand trembling slightly as he placed one of Yin Chengyu’s feet on his knee. Gently, he slipped the shoe on, cradling the other foot with the same care.

But his attention snagged on a faint red mark across Yin Chengyu’s pale instep.

“What’s this?” Yin Chengyu frowned slightly, raising his leg and resting it on Xue Shu’s shoulder as he pointed to the mark. “A bug bite?”

Xue Shu glanced at the spot, his throat tightening. He knew the truth—it wasn’t a bite. It was a trace he’d left earlier, careless, unable to resist.

His gaze lingered on Yin Chengyu with a shadowy intensity, making it impossible to tell if he had noticed or not. This prince was no longer the transparent, predictable man he had been in another life—now, he was a maze of secrets and sharp edges, impossible to read.

His lips moved before his mind caught up. “Allow me to tend to it.”

Before Yin Chengyu could answer, Xue Shu bent down, his lips brushing the mark with deliberate pressure.

Yin Chengyu stiffened, instinctively drawing his leg back, but Xue Shu’s grip on his ankle tightened. Heat radiated from his touch, and Yin Chengyu’s breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling as a flush spread across his features.

“Shall I serve you, Your Highness?” Xue Shu asked, his voice rough as he looked up, his eyes dark with unbridled intent. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the predatory gleam in his expression unmistakable.

Their gazes locked, tension coiling tight between them.

After a long, charged moment, Yin Chengyu leaned in, his fingers tilting Xue Shu’s chin up. His thumb pressed against Xue Shu’s lips, his voice dropping to a raspy murmur. “And how would you serve me? With this, perhaps?”

Xue Shu’s teeth caught on the pad of his thumb, his voice a low growl. “However Your Highness desires.”

The two lingered for a while longer before finally parting ways.

Yin Chengyu’s long hair cascaded loosely down his back, the corners of his eyes tinged with a seductive flush. He waited as Xue Shu draped the fox fur cloak over his shoulders and fastened it securely. With a hand warmer cradled in his arms, Yin Chengyu moved leisurely toward his courtyard, his every step unhurried yet tantalizing.

Behind him, Xue Shu followed, his gaze heavy and brooding, filled with dark desire that refused to be sated.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

*

The next day marked the start of the winter hunt.

The royal Danxi Winter Hunt would span ten days, with the first day dedicated to feasting and revelry. Nobles, civil and military officials, and envoys from the Oirat and Tatars gathered to indulge in fine wine, lively performances, and camaraderie. This wasn’t just a time to unwind before the hunt—it was also the perfect opportunity to size up adversaries.

The Longfeng Emperor had been savoring his time at the palace these past few days. As he sat at the head of the banquet table, raising his cup toward the Oirat and Tatar envoys, a flicker of pride and ambition danced in his eyes.

“Drink up, everyone! Bottoms up!”

Just days earlier, the death of his second son, Yin Chengzhang, had thrown the court into disarray. The grieving Noble Consort Wen had been inconsolable, her wailing turning the harem into a storm of unrest. The emperor himself had spent a few days in mourning, adhering to a vegetarian diet and performing rituals to pray for his lost son’s peace.

But men’s sorrow, especially an emperor’s, often burns out like a fleeting candle. He was the ruler of the realm, the master of the world. Though he had lost his second son, he still had three other children. Besides, his harem was filled with young, alluring concubines—there would always be more sons.

By the time Yin Chengzhang was laid to rest, the emperor’s grief had all but vanished.

He began avoiding Noble Consort Wen, whose somber presence was a constant reminder of his son’s death. Although she continued to receive lavish rewards, the emperor no longer visited her chambers in Jingren Palace.

Aware of the emperor’s change in attitude, Noble Consort Wen, determined to retain his favor and bide her time for revenge, set aside her grief. When the time came for the royal hunt, she donned her most enchanting smiles and joined the entourage, returning to her former role as the emperor’s captivating consort.

Now seated beside the emperor, her delicate fingers wrapped around a wine cup, she cast a slow, deliberate gaze over the banquet attendees, her eyes finally locking onto the young Oirat envoy, Prince Mubai’er.

This year’s Danxi Winter Hunt saw the Oirat delegation led by the youngest prince, Mubai’er, while the Tatar envoy was their Grand Chancellor, Aharu.

Since the split of the Mongol Empire, Eastern Mongolia had fallen under Tatar control, while Western Mongolia belonged to the Oirat. The tribes were fragmented, engaged in constant skirmishes. Meanwhile, to the south of the Great Wall, the Yan Empire was a plump prize that both factions coveted.

The relations among the three were as intricate as they were fragile.

Both the Oirat and Tatars sent tribute to the Yan Empire, yet whenever their strength grew, they wouldn’t hesitate to launch raids, seeking to carve a piece of flesh from their southern neighbor. At the same time, the Oirat and Tatars waged endless wars over dominance in the northern steppes, with neither side maintaining supremacy for long.

From the mighty reign of Emperor Taizu onward, every ambitious ruler of the Great Yan Dynasty dared to rally their forces time and again, marching out to conquer, to subdue, to dominate—yet none succeeded in taming the unruly northern tribes as thoroughly as they dreamed.

By the time Emperor Xiaozong took the throne, he severed all ties with the likes of the Oirats and the Tatars, cutting off any chance of alliance or diplomacy. The silence held until Emperor Longfeng rose to power, reopening those channels—but it was too late. The empire’s strength had dwindled to a shadow of its former glory, and Longfeng himself lacked the fire, the hunger, the guts to seize the moment. His foreign policy, if one could even call it that, amounted to nothing more than propping up the weak and juggling a precarious balance. No ambition. No conquest. Just a desperate bid to keep the scales from tipping.

The Yan Empire’s strategy had always been to exploit this rivalry. Whenever one side gained the upper hand, the empire extended aid to the weaker faction, ensuring the northern tribes remained mired in chaos.

This spring, the Tatars had launched a surprise attack on the Oirat, gravely injuring their leader. The resulting turmoil had thrown the Oirat into disarray. Rumor had it that Prince Mubai’er, the favored son of the Oirat king, was the intended heir to the throne. His participation in the winter hunt was a move to seek the Yan Empire’s support, possibly through an alliance cemented by marriage.

Consort Wen got all the juicy details straight from Emperor Longfeng himself.

As soon as Emperor Longfeng stepped foot in the palace, the Oirat envoy had already swooped in for a private meeting, slyly suggesting the idea of tying the knot.

The emperor, mindful of his dignity, had not immediately agreed to such a proposition. For over two centuries, the Yan Empire had never sent a princess to marry into the Oirat or Tatars—it was always the other way around.

At the banquet, Noble Consort Wen sipped her wine, her gaze flicking briefly to her stepsons, Yin Chengyu and Yin Ciguang. A fleeting shadow of malice crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it with composure.

The banquet was a spectacle of clinking cups and lavish indulgence. Dancers clad in sheer silk spun gracefully, their bare feet gliding over rich carpets.

At one point, Aharu, the Tatar envoy, rose with a cup in hand. Speaking in fluent official dialect, he declared, “Your Majesty, strong wine deserves strong beauty. In honor of the Danxi Winter Hunt, I’ve brought not only fine horses from the north but also the finest pearl of our steppes.”

His gaze flicked disdainfully toward the dancers in the center of the hall. “Let this daughter of the steppe perform for Your Majesty. Only the fierce beauty of a steppe maiden can match such fine wine!”

His words carried a subtle barb, which did not go unnoticed by some of the sharper officials, their brows furrowing.

But the emperor, oblivious, set down his cup with a hearty laugh. “Well said! Bring out this steppe pearl!”

At Aharu’s signal, a woman dressed in black strode confidently into the hall. Her loose robe obscured her form, and a hood cast shadows over her face. Yet the cinched belt hinted at a figure of exquisite curves.

The dancers parted gracefully, making way for her.

She lifted her head, her captivating eyes sweeping over the emperor, the consort, and finally settling on Yin Chengyu. A sly smile graced her lips.

With a dramatic flourish, she tossed back her hood, revealing a radiant, alluring face. Before anyone could fully react, she reached for the belt at her waist. With a deft pull, her black robe fell to the floor, revealing an intricate, seductive dance costume beneath.

Her figure was perfection incarnate, her movements sinuous and bold.

Raising her arms above her head, she flexed her fingers, jangling golden bells at her wrists. Then, in a burst of motion, she drew a whip from her waist.

The whip cracked against the floor, its sharp report cutting through the music, commanding the room’s attention.

The banquet grew silent, all eyes on the fierce, breathtaking woman.

———Author’s note: His Highness: This is how you treat injuries? Big Dog: Folk remedy. Gets results fast.