Chapter 77.

Snow coated their hair and clothes, clinging briefly before melting into cold streaks of water under the heat of their bodies. The dark, damp stains left behind on their garments were chilling to the touch.

Yin Chengyu’s hands pressed firmly against Xue Shu’s shoulders. The icy air had drained all warmth from his fingers, leaving them pale—paler than the snow beneath their feet. His head tilted back slightly, resting against the tree trunk as he exhaled softly, his breath condensing into warm clouds that momentarily blurred his vision.

Xue Shu buried his face against Yin Chengyu’s neck, his cold nose brushing against the slender, elegant line of his throat. Slowly, deliberately, he traced every curve, his movements precise and maddeningly patient. The chill of his nose against warm skin sent shivers rippling deep into Yin Chengyu’s core.

Half-lidded eyes, dark with suppressed tension, caught the raw hunger flickering in Xue Shu’s gaze. Yin Chengyu inhaled sharply, pulling in the biting cold air to steady himself, to reclaim a shred of reason amidst the haze.

A chilled hand slid beneath his collar, trailing icy touches along his nape. His voice, hoarse but resolute, cut through the charged atmosphere: “Enough. It’s time to go back.”

The freezing contact jolted Xue Shu, but instead of retreating, it only stoked the desire roiling inside him. He leaned in, his tongue tracing a teasing line over Yin Chengyu’s pale skin before his teeth grazed a tender spot, biting down just enough to tantalize without breaking the line.

“Your Highness…” The words came out ragged, more a needy growl than coherent speech. He pressed against Yin Chengyu with shameless insistence, rubbing his body against him as though desperate for more.

Yin Chengyu’s palm slid to the back of Xue Shu’s neck, gripping firmly like one would handle an unruly beast. He tightened his hold, forcing the man to pull back. His voice was cold, almost indifferent, carrying an edge of threat that left no room for negotiation. “If you delay any longer and make me miss my business, I’ll throw you to the wolves and call it even.”

Xue Shu froze, meeting Yin Chengyu’s unyielding gaze. He could tell the man was done indulging him. Reluctantly, he let go, though frustration still simmered beneath his obedient facade.

“Fix my clothes,” Yin Chengyu ordered curtly, brushing snow and dry leaves from his robes with a flick of his hand. His narrowed eyes held a flicker of disapproval as they fell on Xue Shu.

Chastened but still smug at his earlier audacity, Xue Shu lowered his head and set about tidying Yin Chengyu’s disheveled attire with swift precision.

Minutes later, the two of them rejoined the hunting party. Yin Chengyu mounted his horse effortlessly, casting a sharp glance over the gathered group. “No signs of the deer herd in the valley. Release the hounds and continue the search.”

The hunters obeyed, letting the dogs sniff at dried deer droppings to pick up the trail. But as they prepared to move, the sudden sound of approaching hooves drew their attention. A young soldier from He Shan’s group galloped toward them, his face alight with urgency and relief.

“Your Highness! We’ve found the deer herd!”

Yin Chengyu’s brow arched. “Why come in person instead of using the signal arrow?”

The soldier’s expression darkened slightly. “The herd wasn’t just found by us—Oirat riders have eyes on it too. They outnumber us, and we can’t win a straight fight. General He Shan feared the signal would alert them, so he sent me instead.”

The news sharpened Yin Chengyu’s focus. He ordered the group to follow the soldier, riding hard to rendezvous with He Shan and his men. As they approached, the situation became clear.

He Shan and Ying Hongxue had spotted the deer first, intending to encircle them, but Oirat forces led by Mubai’er had already begun laying their own ambush. With over fifty men, they had the advantage in numbers and were tightening their net around the unsuspecting herd.

Yin Chengyu dismounted when they were still a mile out, motioning for the group to proceed on foot to avoid detection. They moved quietly through the snow, each step deliberate. By the time they arrived, the Oirat had completed their encirclement, cutting off every possible escape route.

The deer, oblivious to the danger, wandered lazily through the snowy clearing, their breath steaming in the cold air.

Ying Hongxue emerged from the shadows to meet Yin Chengyu, her voice a hushed whisper. “The Oirats haven’t noticed us. They’re almost ready to make their move. If we act now, we can beat them to it.”

“Zhao Lin still isn’t here yet?” Yin Chengyu’s sharp gaze swept over the group, immediately noticing the absence.

“Not yet,” Ying Hongxue replied coolly. “But there’s no more time to wait. It’s thirty of us against over fifty of the Oirat. If we strike first, we can secure at least half the herd.”

“Half?” Yin Chengyu’s lip curled, her tone cutting. “That’s far too generous for those bastards. Think of a way to stall them. We’ll drive the deer elsewhere and take the lion’s share.”

A herd this large wasn’t something you stumbled across often—majestic red deer with their towering frames, quick legs, and razor-sharp instincts. Splitting it evenly with the Oirats was an insult, a concession Yin Chengyu refused to make.

Ying Hongxue furrowed her brows, clearly struggling to come up with a way to hold off the enemy and buy them time.

“Use the deer dung.”

The calm, deep voice belonged to Xue Xu, who pointed to the half-dried piles of droppings scattered across the snow. “Light it. The smoke it produces is thick, choking. It’ll mess with their vision and create chaos.”

It made sense. The area was a known grazing spot, littered with the remnants of the herd. Yin Chengyu’s mind worked quickly. This could work.

“Collect the dung,” he ordered, his tone icy and commanding. His people moved with precision, silently gathering the dried pellets and slipping around to the rear of the Wala camp.

“Flank them on both sides. Drive the herd down the narrow pass we came through earlier,” he instructed. That tight mountain path was perfect for corralling and picking off the animals one by one.

With Yin Chengyu at the helm, the team split into three groups: one to unleash the dung smoke on the Oirat, the others to flank the deer and drive them toward the trap.

Meanwhile, in the woods, Mubai’er, the Oirat leader, crouched behind a cluster of trees. His eyes glinted as he watched the unsuspecting deer herd grazing nearby. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“So many red deer,” he said, his voice dripping with triumph. “When we take these back, the Great Yan fools won’t know what hit them.”

One of his men chuckled. “And once the young prince secures the top prize, another beauty will join his collection.”

At the mention of the delicate princess of Great Yan, Mubai’er's grin turned feral. He ran his fingers over the smooth curve of his bow, his voice dark. “For the princess, then.”

Raising his hand, Mubai’er signaled for his archers to prepare. But just as he was about to bring it down, a sharp, foul stench filled the air. He froze, nostrils flaring in disgust.

“What the hell—”

Before he could finish, flaming chunks of deer dung came hurtling through the air, crashing into the ground around them. Smoke billowed, thick and acrid, clouding the forest.

The Oirat camp dissolved into chaos. Soldiers coughed, stumbled, and scrambled for cover as the pungent haze overwhelmed them.

Sensing danger, the deer herd bolted. The lead stag let out a sharp cry, its hooves pounding against the snow as it led the frantic charge.

From the shadows, Yin Chengyu watched with predatory focus. He kicked his horse into motion, leading his soldiers out from their hiding spots.

“Now!”

At his command, a soldier struck a copper gong, the sound reverberating through the trees. Spooked, the deer surged forward, exactly as planned. The herd barreled toward the narrow pass, where another team, led by He Shan and Ying Hongxue, blocked any escape routes.

The deer had no choice but to run straight ahead, where Zhao Lin’s group was waiting at the other end, perfectly positioned to complete the ambush.

Yin Chengyu rode alongside the herd, his movements fluid and precise. Leaning forward, he nocked arrow after arrow, his aim deadly accurate. Each shot pierced the necks of the fleeing deer, one after another. By the time the herd reached the pass, several of the beasts lay lifeless in the snow.

The trap worked flawlessly. The deer were corralled, and the hunters claimed an impressive haul—forty to fifty red deer in total. After releasing a few does and fawns, the final count stood at twenty-six kills.

The weight of their success was so overwhelming that they needed extra hands and horses to haul the carcasses back to camp.

But just as Yin Chengyu’s group was about to leave, Mubai’er finally emerged from the forest, his men trailing behind him, reeking of dung and fury. The earlier attack had left them rattled and humiliated, their formation in disarray.

The Great Yan hunters didn’t even bother hiding their smirks. Their victory was absolute.

The smell of burning deer dung was sharp and suffocating, thick smoke curling into the air, leaving no warning for those caught off guard. Their eyes stung so badly they couldn’t even open them. Forget continuing the hunt—these men couldn’t even figure out which way was up.

Mubai’er had rushed toward the commotion, following the clanging of copper gongs echoing through the forest as Yin Chengyu and his party drove the deer herd.

The chaos in the woods had scattered their group; some had lost their bows and weapons, while others hadn’t managed to keep up. By the time Mubai’er caught up, only a ragtag bunch of about twenty stragglers trailed behind him.

They looked like hell—disheveled and beaten.

When Mubai’er's eyes landed on the heap of deer corpses piled high, everything clicked instantly. Fury darkened his face as he glared at Yin Chengyu, teeth clenched. “Your Highness,” he spat, his voice shaking with rage. “I won’t forget what you did today.”

Yin Chengyu, unbothered, lifted a sleeve to shield his nose from the stench. Though his expression betrayed faint disgust, he maintained a gentlemanly facade, offering a slight bow. “Your help today, dear prince, is deeply appreciated. I shall remember it well.”

Their gazes locked—a searing clash of wills. Mubai’er's chest heaved as his complexion turned an ugly shade of green. But he swallowed his fury, spun his horse around, and rode off in stony silence.

There were still twenty-odd men lost somewhere in the forest, and he had to gather his people.

“Take care, little prince,” Yin Chengyu called out lazily, watching Mubai’er's retreating back. He added in a slow, deliberate tone, “Don’t get lost.”

Mubai’er's didn’t turn around, but in his anger, he loosed an arrow straight into a tree trunk.

*

The hunting ground had been in full swing for two hours now.

Those spectating from the sidelines had already finished their midday feast and were lounging around, bored and restless, making idle conversation.

From their vantage point, they couldn’t see the action within the hunting ground. Yet, they lingered, eager to catch the first glimpse of which team would bring out their kills.

The calm was broken by an excited shout from a young officer peering through a telescope. “Someone’s coming out!”

“Which team is it?” Emperor Longfeng, who had been reclining in his cushioned chair, perked up and stood to take a look for himself.

The officer handed him the telescope. “They’re still too far to tell for sure, but there are five riders. I can’t distinguish which team they belong to.”

The emperor squinted through the telescope, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. His aging eyes struggled to focus, and after a while, he muttered, “Yes, five riders… They seem to be together…”

But he couldn’t discern much more.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, desperate to know which team had made such an impressive show.

Five riders hauling kills?

That was a bold move, as every team had a fixed number of members. Sending out five people to deliver game meant fewer hunters in the field—something only a team confident in their haul would dare to do.

This suggested one thing: they’d bagged something big, likely early on. A beast of significance.

The murmurs grew louder. The Yan spectators speculated feverishly, while the envoys from the Oirat and Tatar tribes craned their necks, eyes fixed on the hunting ground’s exit.

Finally, Emperor Longfeng spoke again, his voice tinged with intrigue. “They’re carrying deer. From the size and the antlers, it looks like elk.”

The Oirats envoy’s face lit up at this, and he laughed heartily. “Then it must be our little prince’s spoils!”

Puffed with pride, the envoy added, “The Oirat king is fond of young deer meat. Our prince, ever filial, has honed his skills in tracking herds and has personally hunted many young deer for his father. If it’s elk, then it’s certainly his doing.”

———Author’s Note: Mubarak (mentally screaming): Damn it! Damn it all! Yin Chengyu (pinching his nose): God, it reeks.