Chapter 9.

The candidate for the Salt Commissioner at Changlu has been decided—Yin Chengyu is gearing up to leave any day now.

Before his departure, he went to Kunning Palace to bid farewell to Empress Yu.

Empress Yu, now eight months pregnant, had grown significantly larger. In just another month or two, the child would be born.

Yin Chengyu helped her to a seat and personally poured her a cup of hot tea. "I don’t know when I’ll return from this trip. Childbirth is dangerous. While I’m away, you must take good care of yourself." He pressed a token into her hand. "I’m not taking all the men from the Eastern Palace. If anything happens, send someone there for reinforcements or inform Grandfather."

In his past life, tragedy had struck Empress Yu on the twenty-first day of the second month.

Now it was only the fourth, but even with the precautions Yin Chengyu had taken—stationing guards in secret and notifying his grandfather to keep an eye on the palace—he still felt uneasy. The fear of repeating that same tragedy gnawed at him.

His somber expression didn’t go unnoticed, and Empress Yu ended up comforting him instead. "What could possibly happen to me here in the palace? It’s you I’m worried about—your journey to Tianjin is fraught with danger. Don’t act recklessly." She knew her son all too well: a man who demanded perfection and refused to tolerate any slip-ups. "Nothing is more important than your safety."

"I understand, Mother."

Yin Chengyu lingered to chat for a while, responding to everything she said with quiet agreement. After three quarters of an hour, seeing the fatigue creeping onto her face, he finally stopped talking and called for her attendants to help her rest.

As he stepped out of Kunning Palace, he spotted Xue Shu waiting outside.

Xue Shu was no longer a mere subordinate. Now the supervising officer of the Imperial Horse Directorate, a commander of the Western Depot, and a leader of the Four Guards, he wielded true power. Gone were the plain uniforms of a low-ranking eunuch. Draped in a black cloak, he wore the emperor’s personally gifted robe of brocade adorned with four mythical beasts and qilin patterns. A gold-embroidered black gauze cap crowned his head, and his lean, strong waist was cinched with a belt of rhino horn. His bearing was upright and commanding, exuding an air of restrained arrogance.

For a brief moment, Yin Chengyu felt as though he were staring at the same brazen, untouchable Jiuqian Sui Eunuch from his previous life.

He hesitated slightly before stepping forward. "Supervisor Xue, waiting for me—do you have something to discuss?"

The emperor clearly intended to mold Xue Shu into a trusted confidant, and Yin Chengyu was all too happy to play along. On the surface, he maintained a polite distance, his tone friendly yet detached.

Xue Shu bowed. "The 500 soldiers of the Four Guards have been assembled, and the ships at the Tongzhou docks are ready. I’ve come to confirm the departure time with Your Highness."

"We leave at the Hour of the Tiger. No delays."

Walking side by side, Yin Chengyu glanced at him again out of the corner of his eye. "Clothes really do make the man. Supervisor Xue, you’ve truly risen to new heights."

Xue Shu didn’t think much of the comment at first, but when he caught Yin Chengyu’s gaze, something clicked. In a low voice, he asked, "Does Your Highness like seeing me in this?"

Yin Chengyu pulled his gaze away and replied coolly, "Just a compliment. Don’t overthink it, Supervisor Xue."

With that, he quickened his pace, leaving Xue Shu trailing behind.

To any bystander, the scene was merely one of politeness laced with subtle distance. But when word reached Emperor Longfeng, it only reassured him further.

Clearly, he’d made the right choice. It seemed the Crown Prince and Xue Shu were already at odds.

*

The Salt Commissioner’s office was set up in Tianjin.

Tianjin, lying at the convergence of nine rivers, had long been hailed as the gateway to the capital. With the Grand Canal flowing through it, the city boasted unparalleled water transport convenience. From Tongzhou Wharf near the capital, one could sail to Tianjin in just two days at most.

At the crack of dawn the next day, before the eastern sky even hinted at light, Yin Chengyu climbed into his carriage. Flanked by Xue Shu and five hundred imperial guards, he made for Tongzhou Wharf to board a boat.

Pressed for time, his vessel of choice was a commandeered grain ship. These boats, built for cargo, were far from luxurious. Though some effort had gone into sprucing up the living quarters, the accommodations fell drastically short of the opulent comfort of imperial vessels.

Shortly after setting sail, Yin Chengyu began feeling seasick.

He slumped weakly on a chaise by the porthole, limbs heavy and drained of strength, skipping breakfast altogether as he languidly let the breeze play over his face. With the ship rocking on the waves, it felt like his insides were churning along, leaving his face pallid.

Zheng Duobao, clearly flustered at the sight, hurried to the kitchen to oversee the preparation of light, appetizing food.

Xue Shu remained at his side, a rare worry flickering across his usually stony expression. After a moment’s hesitation, he offered, “Your Highness, if it’s unbearable, I could massage your pressure points. It might ease the dizziness a bit.”

Yin Chengyu lifted his gaze and shot him a tired, sidelong glance. Clearly too miserable to put up a fight, he nodded after a brief pause. “Do it.”

Permission granted, Xue Shu knelt on the chaise behind him, discarding his boots with practiced ease. He positioned Yin Chengyu’s head on his lap and expertly began massaging his temples, his touch deft and sure.

“Your Highness, starving yourself won’t do. The ship will take a full day and night to reach its destination. By tomorrow evening, we’ll dock. Ginger is good for nausea. I’ll have someone prepare ginger soup—you should drink half a bowl before your meal. It’ll help.”

Yin Chengyu, eyes half-closed, groaned weakly. “I don’t want it.”

But perhaps Xue Shu’s hands had some magic in them, for his spirits picked up slightly. He began talking, though haltingly, to Xue Shu. “In the fourteenth year of Longfeng, Shandong was hit by a flood. I was sent to oversee disaster relief. Took the water route that time, too. My first boat trip—got me way worse than this. There was a cook on board who, hearing about my plight, gave me a small jar of homemade…” He trailed off, frowning. The name of the thing escaped him. After a beat, he went on, “It was made with ginger, tangy and appetite-whetting. That stuff was the only reason I managed to eat during the trip.”

“Pickled ginger,” Xue Shu supplied without missing a beat.

“Yes! That’s it!” Yin Chengyu looked at him with faint suspicion. “How do you know?”

Xue Shu’s gaze dropped, his tone flat. “In the fourteenth year of Longfeng, I was in Jining Prefecture. Everyone there makes pickled ginger. That cook must’ve been from Jining.”

Realization dawned on Yin Chengyu. No wonder he’d wanted to reward the cook, only for her to refuse, saying it wasn’t worth much.

“You’re from Jining?” Yin Chengyu asked, only to realize he knew next to nothing about Xue Shu’s past.

His origins, his family—nothing. When they’d first met, Xue Shu was already the infamous Eunuch Commander, his history buried beneath layers of fear and silence no one dared breach.

“No,” Xue Shu replied. “My ancestral home is in Shaanxi, near Jiayuguan. We later moved to Jining.”

It was the first time Yin Chengyu had heard this. His curiosity stirred. “Why move to Jining? Do you still have family? And how did you end up in the palace?”

The barrage of questions gave Xue Shu pause. After a moment, he replied with measured calm, “Jiayuguan was plagued by Oirat raids. My mother, elder sister, and I couldn’t take it anymore, so we went to Shandong to seek relatives… We settled in Jining, making a small living.”

“Later, Jining was struck by a flood. My mother fell ill and passed. My sister married. Alone and with nowhere to go, I headed to the capital.”

He spoke of his past and lost family so lightly, as though recounting a trivial matter, each word stripped of sentiment.

Yin Chengyu, his earlier curiosity now muted, regarded him in silence for a moment. Then he said, “The past is the past. Nothing more to say about it. Tell me something interesting instead.”

Xue Shu didn’t bother dragging up that old, stale crap anymore. Instead, he picked out the juiciest, most outrageous street gossip to share, keeping it lively.

His voice? Low, smooth, almost sinful. Yin Chengyu didn’t stand a chance. The man practically melted, drifting off into sleep. His face rested on Xue Shu’s thigh, long black hair cascading down, eyes—those sharp phoenix eyes—closed, leaving behind none of that usual aloof, untouchable majesty. All that was left was a rare softness, something fragile.

Xue Shu carefully shifted his head onto a pillow before slipping off the chaise.

He didn’t leave right away, though. No, he lingered. Stood there for a moment, still as stone, and then murmured under his breath, “You know, I was in Yutai back then, too.”

Neither of them had been honest.

The truth? Year 14 of Longfeng wasn’t just another year of floods in Shandong. Sure, floods were old news there. But what shook the whole damn empire? Yutai County, under Jining Prefecture, was hit by a plague that year.

Xue Shu had just settled there with his mother and older sister, barely six months in when hell broke loose.

When the plague hit, Yutai turned into a goddamn nightmare.

The county magistrate? A useless sack of shit. Instead of helping the people, he locked the whole place down—sick, dead, and healthy alike. No food, no hope. Those who weren’t sick at first eventually caught it, and the starving ones? They tore each other apart for scraps. Some even traded their kids to survive.

Xue Shu’s mother caught the plague, too.

Once you got sick, you were as good as dead—shunned, starving, holed up in some half-collapsed temple eating bark and grass. It wasn’t living; it was waiting for the end.

His sister, desperate to save their mother, sold herself to that lecherous bastard Xu Yuanwai in exchange for medicine. It didn’t matter. His mother still didn’t make it.

Before her body had even gone cold, his sister vanished too. Turned out Xu Yuanwai had bribed the guards and fled the city, taking her with him.

Then came the worst news: the plague had gotten so bad, orders came down to burn the entire city.

Xue Shu had hit rock bottom. Couldn’t tell up from down. Death almost seemed easier. What the hell was there to live for in a world this filthy, this broken?

And then, he looked up.

The gates of Yutai were thrown open, and there he was. Yin Chengyu. Dressed in white, hair as black as ink, stepping through like some goddamn deity descending to save the damned.

Xue Shu never believed in gods. Always thought praying was for the desperate, the delusional. But that day? That day he learned different.

Yin Chengyu spoke, and his words were law.

The corrupt county magistrate? Executed.

The city? Spared.

“We’ll face this together,” he said. “No one will burn. Everyone will live.”

And he did live. Crawled out of the muck, clawed his way to the capital, step by step, until he stood in front of him.

From that moment, Yin Chengyu wasn’t just a man to Xue Shu. He was his god.

———Author’s note: Doggy Xue Shu: I’d offer my everything to my god—including my body. His Highness Yin Chengyu: ...Excuse me?