Chapter 95.

Because of Xue Shu's movements, the once peacefully sleeping man furrowed his brows. Beneath his delicate eyelids, his eyes flickered, as though he might wake in the very next moment.

Xue Shu froze immediately, holding his breath as he watched him intently.

After what felt like an eternity, Yin Chengyu didn’t wake. The crease between his brows smoothed out, his expression returning to a serene calm.

Xue Shu exhaled softly, relief washing over him. He carefully adjusted the silk quilt around him, then cautiously sidled closer, wrapping the man in his arms with deliberate care. His legs found their way toward Yin Chengyu’s, letting his chilled feet press against his own warmth to ease the cold.

Maybe it was the chill of winter. Maybe it was the unspoken understanding they had built over countless nights in a shared bed from their past lives. Whatever the reason, this time, Yin Chengyu didn’t resist. Instead, he instinctively shifted closer, molding his body into Xue Shu’s as he drifted deeper into tranquil sleep.

Xue Shu lowered his gaze, eyes lingering on the man nestled in his arms. He reached for the hand lying neatly at his side, pulling it gently into his grasp, palm against palm, their fingers entwined.

This was intimacy in its rawest, most unyielding form—bodies pressed together, heat mingling, merging into one. The gaping void within Xue Shu’s chest filled gradually, steadily, as if this steady warmth was the antidote to years of emptiness.

But as that void filled, something darker surged within him—an insatiable, wild desire that grew like untamed vines.

Xue Shu’s eyes darkened as he studied the man before him. He wrestled with the shadowy thoughts clawing at the edges of his mind, suppressing them bit by bit until only tenderness remained. Then, with infinite care, he brushed the softest kiss against Yin Chengyu’s lips, as though sealing a fragile treasure. Only then did he allow himself to fall asleep, arms wrapped protectively around him.

......

Since the start of winter, Yin Chengyu hadn’t slept this well. No restless tossing, no shivering himself awake in the dead of night. Instead, he felt almost... warm.

When he finally woke, the lingering warmth beneath the covers was a rare indulgence in the biting cold of winter. The cozy comfort made him reluctant to leave the bed immediately. He lazed for a while, his gaze drifting lazily toward the screen nearby. The luohan couch was already empty. Xue Shu must’ve left.

He stayed under the blankets a moment longer, savoring the residual warmth until it began to fade. Only then did he sit up, reaching for the brass bell by the bedside.

As he moved, the pristine white of his sleeve slipped down, revealing an arm like fine porcelain, marred only by faint red marks on the back of his hand.

His eyes paused on the marks, narrowing slightly. Lowering his gaze, he examined the faint impressions on his pale skin—light, but unmistakably the outline of fingers.

Curious, he raised his left hand and placed it over the marks, noting how they aligned perfectly with the shape of a firm grip. His brow arched just slightly, his expression carrying a trace of amusement.

So that’s why last night had been so uncommonly warm.

He let his hand fall, fingertips grazing over the faint marks on his skin. His full lips curled into a faint smirk, and a soft, low chuckle slipped past them.

“Couldn’t hold back, could you?” he murmured, voice rich with teasing and just a hint of indulgence.

*

As the year-end approached, the air grew thicker with obligations and intrigue. On the 23rd day of the 12th lunar month, the Little New Year’s Eve, the Emperor of Longfeng hosted a grand banquet in the imperial Huangi Hall—a send-off for the envoys of the Tatars and the Oirats.

The delegations had lingered in the capital for nearly a month, entertained by officials from the Ministry of Rites and the Court of State Ceremonials. The negotiations had been long and grueling, particularly over the marriage alliance between the imperial family and the Tatars. At last, terms were struck, a wedding date set.

Though Princess Uju bore the title of royalty, the Yan Dynasty held the upper hand. No foreign princess would ever ascend to the position of a prince's primary wife—especially not when Prince Yin Chengjing already had an informal engagement with the daughter of Left Commander Yao Zhao'an.

The compromise? Princess Uju would be relegated to the status of a secondary consort for the Third Prince.

As part of her dowry, the Tatars sweetened the deal with 3,000 mares and an abundance of gold and silver. Yet, to save face, the Tatars demanded that both the primary and secondary brides be married on the same day.

With the prince nearing the appropriate age and the Tatars pushing for haste, the wedding was scheduled for February of the coming year. Time was short. The Tatar delegation, tasked with escorting Princess Uju home for the wedding preparations, declared their imminent departure from the capital.

Meanwhile, the Oirat envoys, spurred by news of Yin Ciguang’s recent “transformation” from princess to prince, also sought to leave.

Three days hence, both delegations would depart. And so, on this festive evening, the Emperor ordered a lavish farewell banquet.

Even Yin Chengjing, still recovering from his injuries, attended. But all eyes were on Yin Ciguang—the former princess now claiming the title of the Emperor’s eldest son.

Draped in a lake-blue robe embroidered with twin fish patterns, a sable-black fur cloak flowing over his shoulders, and his hair tied with a jade crown, Yin Ciguang stood tall, proud, and unapologetic. Gone was the meek, demure demeanor of his past. His sharp features gleamed like polished jade, his stature commanding like a bamboo in the wind.

The Emperor, newly invigorated from his recovery, had become a devout believer in the mystic words of the Daoist Master Ziyuan. Even in seating arrangements, he showed deference to his newfound son.

Yin Ciguang’s place of honor, though beneath the Crown Prince, still preceded that of Yin Chengjing, much to the latter’s silent fury. Yin Chengjing could only clench his jaw and drown his bitterness in wine.

Midway through the banquet, with wine warming his veins, the Emperor decided it was time for his second announcement of the night. Smiling indulgently, he raised his cup and addressed the room. “Today is a joyous occasion, and I have another matter to share. No need for further speculation among you,” he said, gesturing towards Yin Ciguang. “This is my eldest son. When he was born, a celestial dream foretold that his yang energy would clash with mine. To ward off misfortune, he was raised as a girl. But as the Daoist Master Ziyuan recently revealed, that calamity has passed. Hence, I have restored him to his true form.”

The words rolled off his tongue as if he were recounting the weather.

The gathered officials, though already privy to rumors, were unprepared for the Emperor’s blatant declaration. For a moment, murmurs rippled through the hall, but none dared voice dissent. The Emperor had tied the story to divine will and taken full responsibility—leaving no room for doubt or defiance.

The atmosphere in the hall shifted. Beneath the outward calm, undercurrents of tension brewed, though the Emperor remained unfazed.

Turning to the Crown Prince, Yin Chengyu, he issued yet another command. “Your elder brother has resided in Yongxi Palace long enough. Now that his identity is restored, it’s time he leaves the palace and establishes his own household. You oversee court affairs; you’ll see to it his residence is properly built.”

This wasn’t merely an instruction. It was a thinly veiled jab at the Crown Prince, a reminder of his responsibilities and limitations. Yin Chengyu, however, remained unflappable, offering only a cool nod. “Rest assured, Father. I’ll see to it the Ministry of Works handles the matter promptly.”

And so, beneath the glittering veneer of celebration, the ministers thought imperial stage bristled with veiled hostility, simmering ambitions, and unspoken rivalries.

……

The banquet had long ended, the night creeping past the hour of the dog (7-9 PM).

The Emperor of Longfeng, weakened by wine, had retired early. Yin Ciguang, wanting nothing to do with the probing ministers eager to sniff out secrets, left with Yin Chengyu. This departure wasn’t just avoidance; it was a calculated statement. Though he was the emperor's eldest son, Yin Ciguang had no interest in challenging the crown prince.

“Congratulations, brother,” Yin Chengyu said with a sly smile.

Yin Ciguang, seeing no irritation in his younger brother despite the emperor’s earlier jabs, felt a hint of relief and spoke frankly: “Father wants me to rival you, but I have no such intention.”

The position of crown prince was a throne only someone as calm and dignified as Yin Chengyu deserved.

“You needn’t worry, brother,” Yin Chengyu replied, his voice cool and resolute. “I don’t care about such games. Even without you, Father would find someone else to pit against me. But let me make one thing clear: the title of crown prince is mine, and no one else's.”

For once, there was a flash of defiance in his usually serene demeanor. Yin Ciguang glanced sideways, lips curling into a faint smile. “I believe you, Your Highness.”

As they walked off, their voices fading into the night, another figure lingered in the shadows. Yin Chengjing watched the two retreating forms, their camaraderie a stab to his chest. His face darkened, venom brewing behind his eyes.

He already knew Yin Ciguang had thrown his lot in with the crown prince. What he hadn’t expected was the prince’s startling magnanimity—offering aid even after discovering Yin Ciguang’s scandalous secret of cross-dressing.

And this wasn’t just any royal; it was the emperor’s eldest son.

Rumors about Yin Ciguang had been swirling wildly these past days. Yin Chengjing had his men investigate, peeling back the layers of exaggeration to uncover the truth.

The puppeteers behind the gossip? The Daoist Ziyuan Zhenren and the enigmatic Xue Shu.

Most were fooled by the illusion of discord between Xue Shu and the crown prince, but Yin Chengjing knew better. Xue Shu was nothing less than a hidden blade planted by the prince beside the emperor.

And Ziyuan Zhenren? Likely another one of the crown prince’s secret weapons.

With tools like these, it was no wonder the crown prince had the emperor wrapped around his finger.

As the figures of Yin Chengyu and Yin Ciguang disappeared into the night, Yin Chengjing’s gaze burned with hatred. His face was shrouded in darkness, twisted with malice.

The eunuch at his side, sensing his frozen stance, cautiously spoke up. “Your Highness, it’s time for your medicine.”

The mention of the medicine deepened the storm in Yin Chengjing’s eyes.

His fingers twitched spasmodically as rage bubbled beneath the surface. Though his external wounds had healed, no treatment could fix his inability to perform in bed. No matter how many bowls of bitter medicine he choked down, his body betrayed him.

The humiliation festered like a wound. Days turned to weeks of torment and paranoia. Yet, to maintain appearances, he had no choice but to suppress his rage, wearing a mask of control while his insides burned.

Meanwhile, the ones who had brought him to this wretched state were basking in success, putting on a sickening show of brotherly love.

Grinding his teeth, Yin Chengjing spat, “Bring Renwu to me.”

This secret was one the Imperial Concubine Wen didn’t know—yet. He’d make sure it reached her, a spark to light her fury. With her current reckless madness, she wouldn’t stand by while her enemies reveled in peace.

He couldn’t strike now, bound by his own injuries.

But Concubine Wen? She could charge into battle, a storm unleashed.

Brotherly love? Let’s see how long that charade lasts when the crown prince gets bitten by the very ones he trusts.

*

After parting ways with Yin Ciguang, Yin Chengyu returned to Ciqing Palace.

Stepping into his sleeping quarters, he caught sight of someone who absolutely shouldn’t have been there.

He waved his hand, dismissing the attending servants, and turned his gaze to the unexpected guest. A sly, almost predatory smirk played on his lips as he drawled, “Commissioner Xue, here again? Aren’t you getting a little too lax with your duties? How do you plan to keep my father pleased this way?”

Xue Shu closed the distance between them, his voice smooth and daring. “Your Highness, the only favor I care to curry tonight is yours.” As he spoke, he reached for Yin Chengyu, deftly undoing the ties of his heavy cloak and sliding it off his shoulders. “His Majesty has no shortage of people attending to him.”

The closeness between them sharpened the tension in the room. Xue Shu caught the faint trace of wine lingering on Yin Chengyu’s breath and asked softly, “Shall I summon someone to bring you some sobering soup?”

Yin Chengyu had only had a few drinks, just enough to leave him pleasantly buzzed after the chilly evening air stirred the warmth of the wine through his veins. His dark lashes fluttered as he squinted at Xue Shu, the flush at the corners of his eyes deepening.

“No need,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll sit for a while. For now, help me out of this.” He extended his arms, tilting his chin up just enough to assert his authority, waiting for Xue Shu to strip him of his layers.

Winter clothes were always cumbersome, restrictive in their weight and bulk. When the heavy cotton robes were shed, leaving only a thin inner layer, Yin Chengyu exhaled, his body finally relaxing into comfort.

Xue Shu neatly folded and hung the discarded garments, his movements precise and deliberate. Yin Chengyu rested his head against his hand, his eyes tracking the other man’s every motion, his focus uncharacteristically fixated.

Blame it on the alcohol, perhaps. But right now, as Yin Chengyu watched Xue Shu, he couldn’t help but notice how strikingly proportioned he was—long limbs, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, and legs that went on forever. For once, he seemed almost... pleasing to look at.

With deliberate ease, Yin Chengyu rose from his seat, closing the gap between them in a few strides. Pressing up behind Xue Shu, his voice dropped, gravelly and laced with mischief, as he whispered into his ear, “Commissioner Xue says he’s here to serve me. Tell me, then... with what exactly do you plan to serve me tonight?”

———Author's Note: Big Dog: !!!!!!!! Big Dog: Whatever you want, Your Highness.

———TN: It’s all set—let’s hit the road. I’m more than ready to slide into that car and make this happen!