Chapter 87.

Yin Ciguang hadn’t gone far. He stood beneath the corridor, the late evening casting its quiet spell. Outside, snow was falling, soft and relentless, swirling under the flickering glow of the lanterns that painted the flakes in warm hues.

He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, his gaze fixed on one of the lanterns, his thoughts distant. The wind howled, carrying fine snow that stung his face, but it couldn’t quell the searing heat that burned beneath his skin. It only intensified, his cheeks flushed with an unsettling warmth, his body betraying a restless desire that clawed its way to the surface.

Pressing the back of his hand to his face, he tried to cool his fevered skin. His body felt wrong—too hot, too tense. Alarmed, he checked his pulse, finding it erratic and fast. His brows furrowed as realization dawned on him. The redness in his face drained to pale apprehension. Something was wrong.

With trembling hands, he tugged at his robe, desperate to steady himself, and turned to head back to the hall, where he could find one of the maidservants. But before he could take a step, a large hand clamped over his mouth from behind, cutting off his startled cry.

He was dragged backward, struggling against a strength that far outmatched his own. The man behind him was taller, broader, and unyielding. In seconds, Yin Ciguang was hauled into a dimly lit side room.

He thrashed, his muffled cries barely audible as he twisted his head toward the open door, hoping someone might see, might help. But his hope was short-lived. Another hand reached out, slowly and deliberately, to shut the door.

His heart sank. He knew now—this wasn’t an accident. It was a trap, meticulously planned and meant for him.

And the man holding him? That wasn’t hard to guess.

Resignation settled over him as his struggles weakened. His body trembled, his lashes fluttering like fragile wings. Hot tears gathered and spilled, trailing down his flushed cheeks.

The scalding drops landed on the back of Mubai'er’s hand, and his chest stirred with wicked satisfaction. A beauty like this—vulnerable, teary-eyed, trembling—was irresistible.

Mubai'er loosened his grip just enough, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t be afraid, Princess,” he taunted, his voice a low growl. “I’ll be gentle... but I promise you’ll be begging for more.”

Lowering his head, he inhaled deeply at the curve of Yin Ciguang’s neck, his free hand already tugging at the ties of his robe.

Yin Ciguang shuddered, his fear so palpable it bordered on a trembling fragility. Like a willow in the wind, his delicate frame seemed ready to snap, and yet it only fueled Mubai'er’s twisted desire.

Mubai'er wasn’t in a rush. He enjoyed drawing this out, savoring every second of Yin Ciguang’s helplessness. His actions slowed deliberately, his eyes savoring the sight of the other man’s quivering body.

But Yin Ciguang’s downcast eyes hid something sharp, something cold. His trembling hands had crept to his waist, finding the small silver needle hidden there. He clutched it tightly, waiting for the moment to strike.

As Mubai'er leaned in to finally loosen his outer robe, Yin Ciguang twisted sharply, driving the needle into his neck with all his strength.

Mubai'er grunted in pain, instinctively releasing him. Yin Ciguang didn’t waste the opening. Snatching a porcelain teapot from the nearby table, he brought it down hard on Mubai'er’s head.

The brute stumbled, yanking the needle from his neck just in time to take another blow. This time, blood streamed down his face, blurring his vision in streaks of crimson.

But he didn’t collapse. Mubai’er was no ordinary man—his body was trained and resilient. Wiping the blood from his face with a savage growl, he advanced on Yin Ciguang with menacing steps.

“You little bitch,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “You’ll pay for this.”

Yin Ciguang backed away, the fear he had worn like armor slipping away. His expression grew cold, his gaze steely as he faced the man closing in.

He retreated step by step until his back pressed against a tall candelabra. The drug coursing through his veins was relentless now, his body teetering between clarity and haze. His breathing hitched, his skin damp with the heat pulsing from within.

But he didn’t falter. Behind his back, his trembling fingers gripped the heavy candelabra tightly.

He only had one chance. It had to count.

He quickly calculated the distance in his head. Just as Mubai’er lunged to grab him, he suddenly snatched up a candle from the candelabra and hurled its molten contents straight into Mubai'er’s face.

The candle, as thick as an arm, had been burning for so long that its wick sat sunken in the middle, surrounded by molten wax. The scorching liquid splashed across Mubai'er’s hand as he instinctively raised it to shield his face, leaving him hissing in pain.

Taking full advantage of Mubai'er’s distraction, Yin Ciguang gritted his teeth, seized the heavy candelabra, and swung it down with brutal force.

The candelabra was solid cast copper—dense and unforgiving. The blow landed squarely on Mubai'er’s head, sending a wave of dizziness crashing over him. His body collapsed, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

Though not fully unconscious, Mubai'er’s ’s eyes fluttered half-shut as he lay sprawled on the cold floor, dimly aware of Yin Ciguang’s unsteady steps drawing closer.

In the earlier scuffle, Yin Ciguang’s outer robe had slipped to the ground. As Mubai’er watched, the figure before him bent down, retrieved the garment, and carefully draped it over their slender frame. Methodically, Yin Ciguang adjusted the folds, as if savoring the calm after the storm, before turning back to retrieve the candelabra from the floor.

A dark, smoldering intent flickered in Yin Ciguang’s eyes as he gripped the weapon. With one more swing aimed at Mubai’er’s head, it would all be over.

But Yin Ciguang froze, staring down at Mubai’er for a long moment.

No. I can’t kill him.

The thought echoed in his mind as his fingers loosened their grip. The candelabra fell from his hands, landing heavily on Mubai'er’s torso with a dull thud. Without sparing another glance, Yin Ciguang snatched up the silver needle that had dropped nearby and staggered out the door.

The icy wind outside bit into his foggy senses, cutting through the haze just enough to clear his mind, though the drug coursing through his body left him trembling. He dared not return to the main hall and instead stumbled toward the nearby rock garden, his breath ragged and uneven.

From the shadows, a maid watched the side chamber intently. Seeing Yin Ciguang emerge, clothes intact, she clicked her tongue in frustration. “So it failed,” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at the gray-robed eunuch beside her. “Follow him. I’ll check inside.”

The eunuch nodded, silently trailing after Yin Ciguang. Meanwhile, the maid stepped into the room and was immediately met with the sight of Mubai’er sprawled out on the floor, blood matting his hair and staining his face. A vicious curse escaped her lips as she shoved the heavy candelabra aside and bent down to revive him.

It took a full fifteen minutes of effort before Mubai’er groaned awake, his head throbbing in waves of searing pain.

The maid, scowling at his pathetic state, hissed, “Her Grace planned this so carefully, and yet you—our precious little prince—can’t even handle a sickly girl? Look at you! Beaten bloody!”

Still sitting on the ground, Mubai'er’s face darkened, his hands clenching into fists. He could still feel the weight of that candelabra crashing down, the raw fury in Yin Ciguang’s movements. Grinding his teeth, he spat, “A sickly girl? He fights like a damned demon!”

The words hung in the air as something clicked in Mubai'er’s mind. His expression shifted, suspicion flickering across his features.

“Wait,” he muttered, his voice low and hesitant. “Is Yin Ciguang really a woman?”

The maid blinked, confused by the question. “What are you talking about?”

Mubai'er’s lips twisted into a grim smile, tinged with unease. “During the fight, I felt something strange. His lower abdomen—there was… something there. It even pushed up the fabric of that water-blue dress. I know what that looks like, and no woman should have it.”

His tone grew darker, edged with mockery. “Your princess—could she be… a hermaphrodite?”

The maid froze, her brows furrowing in disbelief. “What nonsense are you spouting?”

Mubai’er didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a cold laugh, his gaze venomous.

“Your precious princess might not be what she claims to be,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Though uneasy, the maid knew better than to press him. With a sharp glance at his still-aching form, she turned on her heel and left, heading straight to report the debacle to Consort Wen.

*

Yin Ciguang stumbled into the hollow of the rock garden’s artificial mountain, his body aflame with an unbearable heat that refused to subside. He collapsed against the cold stone, gasping heavily, his breaths ragged as the drug coursing through him refused to relent. Every inch of his being burned like molten iron, searing his nerves, and radiating a suffocating, relentless heat.

Desperation overtook him. Groping blindly, his trembling fingers seized a handful of snow, which he shoved into his mouth. The icy chill burst against his tongue, clawing its way through the oppressive haze clouding his mind. It granted a fleeting reprieve, just enough for him to regain a sliver of control.

He bit his lip hard, his breaths uneven as his hand drifted downward, seeking release from the torment that ravaged him.

…

Time bled away in the dim cavern. Nearly an hour later, Yin Ciguang emerged from the throes of the drug, his body limp and spent, the feral urgency finally ebbing. But in the wake of that searing fervor, a brutal chill seeped into his limbs. His back felt like ice, and shivers wracked his exhausted form.

He coughed sharply, stifling the sound with a trembling hand, before meticulously erasing any trace of his presence. Snow cleaned away the evidence, and his fingers deftly smoothed his disheveled robes. Only when satisfied did he exit the hollow, composure back in place, though his pale face and faintly blue lips betrayed the ordeal.

From a distance, a gray-robed eunuch watched intently, his gaze sharp and calculating. Once Yin Ciguang disappeared, the eunuch crept toward the rock garden’s hollow, searching for clues. But the space was empty, its secrets well-hidden. Frustrated, the eunuch gave up and quietly followed after his target.

Before Yin Ciguang could return to the main hall, he crossed paths with a concerned maid who had been sent to look for him. She gasped at his pallor, her voice trembling with alarm.

“Princess! Are you unwell?”

“Nothing of concern,” Yin Ciguang interrupted, his tone calm and steady despite the ache in his chest. He raised a hand to silence her. “I simply lingered too long enjoying the snow and caught a bit of the chill.”

Reluctantly reassured, the maid fell into step behind him as they made their way back. By the time they reached the estate, the sky had darkened, and the biting wind carried the scent of snow.

Waiting in the courtyard was Consort Rong, her lantern casting warm light across the icy path. Her lined face brightened at the sight of Yin Ciguang, though worry lingered in her eyes. She approached swiftly, her voice hushed yet eager.

“I heard the Crown Prince claimed victory in the winter hunt. Does this mean the marriage alliance with the Oirat clan will be called off?”

Her question hung in the air, but her expression faltered as she noticed his pale complexion. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Yin Ciguang forced a smile, swallowing the sharp cough that clawed at his throat. “No, Mother. Rest assured, the alliance won’t proceed. I indulged in a bit too much wine at the feast and caught some cold on the way back. I’ll be fine after some rest.”

Her worry eased slightly at his reassurance, and she accompanied him back indoors, the flicker of relief softening her features.

Unbeknownst to them, the gray-robed eunuch lingered in the shadows, watching from afar. When nothing else seemed amiss, he retreated to report back to Noble Consort Wen.

Noble Consort Wen, however, was far from satisfied. As her eunuch knelt before her, she pressed him for details, her sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing, Your Grace. The Princess stayed in the rock garden’s hollow for nearly an hour before returning. He left no traces behind.”

Her brows furrowed as she considered this, a murky thought taking root in her mind. She dismissed the eunuch and turned to her maid.

“The young prince from the Oirat tribe claimed Yin Ciguang is... an intersex individual?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the woman confirmed without hesitation. “He said so himself.”

Intersex.

Noble Consort Wen’s fingers brushed over her gilded nail guards as fragmented memories of Yin Ciguang resurfaced. His height, unusually tall for a woman. His unspoken reluctance to marry, despite nearing twenty.

The pieces fit together too neatly, and a sinister light flickered in her eyes. “Send more people to watch him closely. I want confirmation as soon as possible.”

If Yin Ciguang truly was intersex, it would be scandalous enough. But if there was another possibility, a darker truth lurking beneath...

Her lips curled into a bitter smile, venom lacing her thoughts. Memories of the child she had lost long ago filled her mind. If Yin Ciguang and his mother dared threaten her position, she would ensure their downfall, no matter the cost.

*

The next day's luncheon had the hunters tallying up their game.

Yin Chengyu had bagged the big prize—one wolf king, forty-three prairie wolves, twenty-six stag deer, and a few other assorted kills. It was no surprise he was top of the ranks.

Mubai’er came second, with Princess Uju taking the third spot.

Emperor Longfeng beamed with pride as he rewarded the hunters, and even the lesser noble sons who barely contributed walked away with generous spoils.

The court of the Great Yan was alive with celebration, but things were far from cheerful for the Tatar and Oirat factions.

Aharu, with a face like stone, sat beside Princess Uju, though the distance between them spoke volumes. The rest of the Tatar envoys barely dared to breathe.

Over with the Oirat, the young prince Mubai’er was wrapped in bandages after a drunken stumble into a pillar the night before, and he was nursing a pretty serious injury. His dark expression lingered on an empty seat, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Yin Chengyu looked at the glum faces of the Tatar and Oirat envoys with an almost mocking smile. He raised his glass in a polite gesture, his tone courteous, but his words cut through the air with a sharp edge: "Well, the rankings are set, and I guess the wager we made back then should be in effect, right?"

The deal was clear: if Great Yan took the top spot, both Oirat and Tatar were to provide ten thousand warhorses.

Ten thousand horses was no small sum—especially for Tatar and Oirat, both known for their horses—but giving up so many would hurt. Even worse, those horses would be strengthening the Great Yan army.

Aharu shot a look at Emperor Longfeng before replying, his tone controlled, “Your Majesty, gathering such a large number of horses will take time. Perhaps we could settle for something else instead?”

Yin Chengyu didn’t let him finish, interrupting with a smirk, “The Grand Master wouldn't be regretting the deal, would he?” His smile was sweet, but his words had a bite.

Aharu locked eyes with him, silence stretching before he finally replied, his voice slow and deliberate, “Of course not.”

Yin Chengyu gave a mock sigh of relief, flashing a grin. “Ah, that’s a relief. Seems I’ve misjudged you. I was worried you might be the kind of man who would break a promise.”

Aharu: …

Yin Chengyu’s tone was sharp, unyielding, and daring—ready to hold Aharu’s feet to the fire, pushing his limits with every word.

———TN: I'm honestly freaking out, thinking something could go wrong with Ci Guang. I can't shake the feeling that something's going to happen, and it’s driving me wild with worry.