Chapter 72.

The music faded, replaced by the crack of a whip.

Her body swayed like a water serpent—graceful yet undeniably strong. Her exposed arms, sculpted and lithe, struck with precision. Each whip she cracked carried the whistle of wind, a sound that even the most skilled warriors in the room knew signaled raw talent, not just a pretty performance.

Her movements, seductive and fluid, were woven with a lethal elegance. She was a masterpiece of danger and allure—beautiful, untamed, and utterly magnetic.

As the dance came to a close, the hem of her skirt swirled around her, revealing the curves of her chest, accentuated by a golden-red bodice, rising and falling subtly with her breath. The sight was captivating, a display of feminine strength and raw sensuality.

With a confident stride, she coiled the whip around her arm and walked toward Yin Chengyu. Her hips swayed with deliberate grace, her steps light yet commanding. Stopping before him, she executed a traditional Tatar salute and extended the whip handle toward him. Her voice, crisp and unapologetic, echoed across the hall:

"In our grasslands, there's a saying—'Women are like wild horses. The more beautiful they are, the fiercer their spirit. Only the bravest warriors can tame them.' I’ve heard the Crown Prince is yet to marry. Would the Crown Prince be willing to become Uju’s warrior?"

Her words hung in the air, crystal clear, leaving the gathered crowd in stunned silence.

The noble sons looked on with envy—what man could refuse such an intoxicating beauty?

The officials, however, analyzed the deeper implications. This wasn’t just a bold move by a girl; it was a political maneuver. A woman so prominently displayed by Aharu must hold extraordinary significance. Her actions spoke volumes about Tatar intentions.

Tatar wanted an alliance with Great Yan, and Uju was their pawn.

A foreign princess like her could never become the Crown Prince’s primary wife, but a secondary consort? If Tatar showed enough sincerity, it wasn’t out of the question.

Only Imperial Consort Wen and the Third Prince exchanged veiled glances, their expressions momentarily betraying their thoughts. But they kept silent, keen not to stir the waters prematurely.

Aharu, meanwhile, radiated pride in Uju’s boldness. Raising his goblet, he addressed Yin Chengyu with a wide grin:

"This is Princess Uju, the youngest and most beloved daughter of Khan Tuo Lie. She’s the brightest jewel of our grasslands. Many warriors have sought her hand but none have succeeded. Today, she has chosen the Crown Prince. We of the grasslands are straightforward and lack your Great Yan etiquette. I hope Your Highness won’t take offense."

Yin Chengyu raised his goblet in return, his lips curving into a polite smile. "The princess is young and speaks from innocence. I won’t take it to heart." He then turned to a palace maid, issuing a calm order: "Winter nights are cold. Fetch a cloak for the princess so our esteemed guest doesn’t catch a chill."

With a few lighthearted words, he dismissed Uju’s daring proposal as childish naivety, making it clear he wasn’t taking her seriously. He didn’t spare her a second glance.

Princess Uju’s face burned with embarrassment. When the maid brought the cloak, she wrapped herself in it and retreated to her seat, her eyes smoldering with frustration and defiance.

This was a first for her—being refused.

She cast a sharp, indignant glance at Yin Chengyu, who sipped his wine with the poise of a man untouched by her presence. Yet, as her gaze strayed, it met the eyes of Xue Shu.

He stared at her with the intensity of a wolf whose territory had been trespassed. Slowly, his lips curled into a chilling, predatory smile.

His gaze was so sharp, so filled with unrestrained menace, that Princes Uju’s body tensed instinctively. Her fingers tightened around the whip at her waist.

Aharu’s voice snapped her out of her trance. He rapped on the table in front of her, his tone firm and commanding as he spoke rapidly in Tatar. "It’s said the Crown Prince is exceptional in both intellect and martial skill. Tonight, he’s proven himself far superior to his father. You’ll need to work harder, Princess."

His eyes flicked briefly toward the delegation from Oirat, his expression dark. "This spring’s conflict has left Oirat weakened. Without Great Yan’s support, the Khan will crush them by next year."

Princess Uju exhaled slowly, relaxing her grip on the whip. She gave a small nod, her voice low but resolute. "Rest assured, I won’t fail."

Even as she spoke, her attention drifted back to Yin Chengyu. But once again, her eyes met Xue Shu’s.

His gaze was as sharp as a blade, cutting through her composure. It felt as if he could flay her skin with just a look. The raw, unbridled danger in his eyes left her restless.

Annoyed, she shot him a glare and quickly turned away, muttering a curse under her breath.

A eunuch—yet somehow, he radiated a ferocity greater than any beast of the plains.

Xue Shu’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, his gaze lingering on her for a long moment before shifting away.

For all her youthful arrogance, Princess Uju wasn’t to be underestimated. Her ambitions were clear, bold, and dangerous.

In previous life, when Yin Chengyu ascended the throne, she had returned with Aharu to Great Yan. By then, Great Yan’s borders were vulnerable, and the grasslands had grown powerful after absorbing Oirat. Under her father, Khan Tore, Tatar thrived, and their ambitions toward Great Yan became more blatant.

Back then, Princess Uju had made a similar move, expressing her “affections” for Yin Chengyu. But her arrogance had grown with Tatar’s strength. She demanded the title of Empress, her words dripping with veiled threats. If Great Yan refused, she warned, her father would lead the warriors of the plains to “propose” in person.

Yin Chengyu, though, had refused her outright. He had contemplated cutting down the Tatar emissaries, including Princess Uju, to send a message. But the plight of the border towns and their need to recover prevented him from provoking a full-scale war. So, he entertained them with civility and sent them away.

When the Tatars invaded after the fact, just as expected, Yin Chengyu had already prepared. Troops had been dispatched in advance, fortifications established, and the Tatar offensive was decisively thwarted.

The Tatar Khan may have long lusted after Great Yan, but the fragmented and mistrustful alliances of the northern tribes, combined with the simmering threat of the defeated Oirat factions waiting to strike, left him cautious. After his initial failure, he dared not launch another full-scale attack.

Thus, a fragile and surface-level peace hung between the two sides. Trade even flourished at the borders, but beneath the polite exchanges, both nations harbored deep ambitions to swallow the other whole.

This tenuous peace endured until three years after Yin Chengyu’s death. His successor followed the late emperor's meticulous plans: pacify the people, bide time, and quietly amass strength. When the treasury brimmed with wealth and the military surged in numbers, he personally led a campaign against the Tatars. The results were brutal and absolute—he crushed the northern tribes in one fell swoop, annexing the vast grasslands into Great Yan’s territory.

As for Princess Uju, the one who had once dared dream of marrying Yin Chengyu to crown herself empress? She met her end at his hand, executed on the battlefield.

Even in the face of death, this foreign princess—now another man’s wife—had tried seduction, hoping to scrape out a sliver of mercy.

Xue Shu only sneered coldly. The sharp glint in his eyes flicked briefly to the smooth white curve of her throat before he finished her.

The banquet raged on.

The Tatars’ move had clearly emboldened others. After three rounds of wine, Prince Mubai’er of the Oirats rose with an open, confident smile. “Your Majesty of Great Yan,” he began, his voice ringing clear, “since the Tatar princess has already extended her goodwill, we Oirats won’t lag behind. I’ve long heard of a Great Yan princess who is unmatched in both beauty and grace. Now that I see her, it’s clear the rumors were no exaggeration—she is truly stunning beyond compare.”

He bent forward in an exaggerated bow, his right fist pressed to his chest. “I, Mubai’er, offer the sincerest respects of the Oirat tribe and humbly request her hand in marriage.”

The young prince’s piercing gaze fixed on Yin Ciguang, his intent as bold as his words. “If His Majesty agrees to this union, in addition to our annual tribute of five thousand warhorses, the Oirat tribe will double the gift—ten thousand horses as the princess’s dowry.”

Ten. Thousand. Warhorses.

The room fell silent. Even the ever-dignified Emperor Longfeng paused, his lips parting in shock. Around him, officials exchanged excited glances, their calculations dancing behind glittering eyes.

This wasn’t just an offer; it was a fortune.

The northern tribes lived and died on horseback, and their steeds were leagues better than anything Great Yan’s plains could breed. In fact, over 80% of Great Yan’s warhorses came from these tribes, secured through tributes and careful breeding programs.

But the annual tribute from Tatar or Oirat never exceeded two or three thousand horses. Great Yan’s military needs were insatiable, forcing the empire to purchase additional mounts at staggering costs. Even the most common horses fetched thirty or forty taels each, while prime northern warhorses commanded 100 to 150 taels apiece.

Ten thousand horses? That translated to over a million taels of silver.

Who wouldn’t be tempted?

A single princess, exchanged for a million-tael cavalry?

Even the Emperor himself was moved. For a moment, he almost spoke the words of agreement. But at the last second, the weight of his imperial dignity pulled him back, and he steadied his tone. “I have only one princess. Sending her far away to Oirat fills my heart with sorrow. If the young prince’s affection is genuine, he must demonstrate his sincerity further to ease our concerns.”

Prince Mubai’er’s smile deepened, his eyes never leaving Yin Ciguang. “Your Majesty and the princess will not be disappointed in my sincerity.”

Yin Ciguang turned her gaze away, refusing to meet his eyes. Beneath the table, her fingers clenched tightly, her face drained of all color.

Even she understood the cold reality of the offer: a princess for ten thousand warhorses was a bargain too good to refuse.

Amid the suffocating despair weighing down on him, a clear, steady voice cut through the tension:

"The eldest princess of Great Yan, unparalleled in talent and grace, is sought after by suitors as numerous as the stars in the sky. If Prince Mubai’er hopes to be worthy of her, he must prove himself a man of exceptional ability. Being merely adequate won't suffice—not when measured against the valor and prowess of Great Yan's sons. And to think, a mere ten thousand warhorses in exchange for Great Yan's esteemed princess? Such an insult to our pride would never stand."

Yin Ciguang's gaze snapped up in shock, only to meet the calm, reassuring smile of Yin Chengyu. Her clenched fists loosened as she exhaled, and a faint smile graced her lips. For the first time, hopelessness seemed to lose its grip on her.

Mubai’er, however, stiffened, his pride piqued. "And what, pray tell, does the crown prince of Great Yan consider proof of true ability?"

"The winter hunt for the Danxi beast is just around the corner," Yin Chengyu replied, his smile cool and sharp. "Let the hunting grounds decide. If Prince Mubai’er can claim victory this year, only then will he be worthy of our princess."

Mubai’er's tension eased, his confidence swelling as he laughed with faint arrogance. "To emerge victorious in the hunt? That’s hardly a challenge." He turned to Yin Ciguang, his voice dripping with assurance. "Princess, await the pelts of the fiercest tigers and bears, which I shall turn into robes fit only for you."

Before Yin Ciguang could respond, Princess Uju’s mocking laugh rang out, slicing through the room. "Mubai’er, you can't even defeat me. How dare you make such promises to the princess?" She sneered, her chin held high, disdain flashing in her eyes. "I’ll also be participating in the hunt this year. If I win, does that mean Great Yan’s princess will follow me back to Tartar instead?"

Her words were venomous, each syllable laced with contempt. "Of course," she added with a smirk, "my father and brother already have wives. Should the princess join me in Tartar, she’d have to settle for being a mere concubine." She batted her lashes innocently, as though oblivious to the insult she’d just hurled.

Mention of the recent spring skirmishes ignited a wave of tension in the room. The envoys from both Oirat and Tartar exchanged heated glares, while Great Yan’s officials darkened in silent fury. Uju's arrogance was a blatant provocation, a slap to Great Yan's dignity.

The music faltered, the air thick with a cold, unspoken challenge. A crisp sound shattered the tense silence as Yin Chengyu, unhurried and composed, set his jade cup down. Straight-backed and poised, he swept his gaze across the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let’s not let tempers flare," he began, his tone placid but unyielding. "The Danxi hunt is a once-in-three-years event. Last time, Oirat claimed victory. The time before that, Tartar reigned supreme. But we have a saying in Great Yan: ‘Thirty years of fortune for the east, thirty years for the west.’ This year, perhaps the winds of fate will favor Great Yan."

His calm eyes surveyed the room, his posture unshakable. "Since both Oirat and Tartar are intent on pursuing the hand of our princess, why not settle this with a wager before the hunt begins? If either of you emerges victorious, the princess will be yours. But…" He let the word linger, his crimson lips curling into a faint smirk. "Should Great Yan triumph, Prince Mubai’er's promised ten thousand warhorses will go toward the princess’s dowry instead. What do you say?"

His gaze shifted to Aharu and Princess Uju. "And as for Tartar—can you match Oirat's wager? If ten thousand horses are beyond your means, we might consider a smaller offer. We're reasonable people."

The softness of his smile belied the iron in his words. Every syllable was calculated, every gesture deliberate. He was neither pleading nor negotiating.

He was commanding.

Aharu’s expression stiffened. The crown prince of Great Yan was far tougher and more astute than he’d anticipated. Yet, no matter how the proposal was framed, both Tartar and Wala had been cornered. To refuse would be to admit weakness, to bow their heads before Great Yan.

After a moment's thought, Aharu cast a discreet glance at Princess Uju, giving her the faintest of nods. Victory, after all, was still within reach. Or so he believed.

The air was thick with the chill of impending battle. Princess Uju stood with her chin arrogantly lifted, her voice dripping with disdain and unyielding pride. "Spare me the theatrics. A mere ten thousand horses? My Tatar clan can afford to lose that."

Mubai'er’s gaze hardened, brushing off even the faintest thought of defeat. His tone dropped, heavy with determination. "Then it's settled. I will win the prize—and the beauty that comes with it."

With a few biting words, the gamble was struck.

As the banquet reached its inevitable conclusion, the delegations from Oirat and Tatar took their leave. Only then did Emperor Longfeng summon Yin Chengyu for a private scolding.

The emperor had clearly drunk too much, his face still tinged red from the wine. Perhaps the elixirs he'd consumed were working, for while he looked energized, his eyes betrayed a growing haze, his face etched with the lines of age.

"The Crown Prince is far too reckless," he chided.

Emperor Longfeng was livid over Yin Chengyu's bold wager with Oirat and Tatar.

In his eyes, the political marriage between Yin Ciguang and the Oirat prince was a strategic masterpiece—simple, clean, and entirely unnecessary to complicate with some foolish bet.

But Yin Chengyu bowed his head, his voice unyielding. "If I dared to propose the wager, it’s because I’m confident."

The emperor’s brows knitted tightly. His urge to lash out was palpable, yet something held him back.

Instead, Consort Wen’s lilting, saccharine voice filled the room. "Victory is never guaranteed, Your Majesty," she teased. "Though the winter hunt may seem like a sport, it’s as cutthroat as any battlefield. If the Crown Prince triumphs, then all is well. But if, as in previous years, he fails..." She laughed softly behind her hand. "Well, ten thousand warhorses and a million taels of silver is quite the price to pay."

Emperor Longfeng nodded in agreement. "The Crown Prince is still young and has much to learn about seeing the bigger picture. As the heir, you must put Great Yan's interests above all else. Emotional decisions have no place in politics, even if you’re fond of your elder sister."

Yin Chengyu’s sharp laugh cut through the room. "Fondness has nothing to do with it. Regardless of this wager, Mubai’er would still have to offer ten thousand warhorses to marry the Princess Royal. By placing this bet, if we win the winter hunt, we’ll secure twenty thousand warhorses at no additional cost. Isn’t Father’s goal in this marriage to obtain warhorses? This should be cause for celebration. And even if we lose, as long as we prevent Tatar from taking first place, Great Yan still walks away with ten thousand warhorses. It’s a gamble worth taking—minimal risk, maximum reward. A victory would not only boost our military but also assert our dominance over the northern tribes. Why hesitate?"

His tone wasn’t the placating one the emperor had grown accustomed to; instead, it was sharp, filled with an almost cutting derision.

Emperor Longfeng faltered, the logic undeniable. Yet his son’s brazenness left a sour taste. He studied Yin Chengyu, realizing with a pang that his once docile son had grown into a man he could hardly recognize—razor-sharp, ambitious, and unrelenting.

The dragon king had aged, while the dragon prince's claws had only grown sharper and more lethal.

———Author’s Note: Big Dog: Enemy troops spotted. Protect my wife at all costs.

Big Dog: You dare lay eyes on her? You’re already dead.