Chapter 109: Chapter 108. Don't be sad for too long.

Chapter 108.

He shed the dignity of his exalted status, descending from his lofty perch as the revered “Jiu Qiansui, Nine Thousand Years.”

From the mountain’s base to its peak, step by step, he knelt and bowed, crawling his way up over seven thousand stone steps. Not once, but three times he made the journey, his knees bruised and his pride laid bare, all to meet the so-called "Immortal Hermit."

But "Immortal" was an exaggeration. The old Taoist wasn’t some divine sage but an unassuming, aged man clad in a plain blue-grey robe. His face was ordinary, his hair and beard snow-white, yet his piercing eyes carried a sharpness that seemed to see through the lies of the world.

As Xue Shu prostrated himself along the way, the old Taoist carried a broom, calmly sweeping fallen leaves from the steps. He passed by him several times, indifferent to the desperate devotion. But perhaps, after witnessing three relentless days of bowing and scraping, the hermit’s heart was stirred.

When he finally agreed to read Xue Shu’s fate, his words were cruel and cutting: Xue Shu was a cursed man, a lone star destined to bring death to all around him. His life would be one of estrangement, calamity, and bloodshed. The stars dictated he would find peace only in the quiet life of a monk. Let go, the hermit advised, abandon your worldly obsessions.

But Xue Shu? He was unyielding. “With a heart as unclean as mine, how could I walk the path of Tao?” he shot back.

The old man, perhaps out of pity or exasperation, cast his divinations again and again. Nine times he read the future, and nine times the result was the same: great disaster.

Fate decreed that he and Yin Chengyu were star-crossed, doomed to nothing but pain and separation. One would die, and one would be left maimed. Even if they sought each other in another lifetime, it would be the same tragic end.

Yet Xue Shu spat in fate’s face. He demanded a way to defy the heavens, to rewrite destiny itself.

The hermit relented, though not without warning. “To defy heaven is no task for mortals,” he said.

To succeed, Xue Shu would have to erect nine towers of rebirth, each one spanning the main dragon vein of the land, from the frigid north to the humid south. These towers would disrupt the natural flow of heaven’s will. On top of that, Xue Shu would need immeasurable merit—acts of kindness and sacrifice—to tip the scales of fate.

But the land was already fractured, once a prosperous empire now splintered into countless warring states. The dragon vein was broken, its power scattered.

Even so, Xue Shu took the impossible and made it his mission. He spent years putting Yin Chengyu’s abandoned policies into practice. He lifted the sea bans and opened trade routes, enriching the people and the treasury. Prosperity returned under his hand, and when the nation was strong, he raised his army and waged war. One by one, he conquered the northern tribes, reuniting them under his banner.

In just five years, the nine towers were completed.

When the final and greatest tower was finished at the dragon’s head, Xue Shu climbed inside an ice coffin and lay down, clutching Yin Chengyu’s body in his arms. They were interred together, sealed within the tower as one.

Neither Yin Chengyue nor Xie Yunchuan could stop him. They raged and cursed, calling him insane and beyond saving. Yin Chengyue swore that when Xue Shu was dead, he would move his brother’s body back to the imperial mausoleum where it belonged.

Even the old Taoist warned him, “No one has ever tried this. It may not work.”

But Xue Shu had nothing left to give. Whether it succeeded or failed, whether he lived or died, all that mattered was that he and Yin Chengyu were together at last.

This was enough.

The old hermit had once told him, “This world is full of suffering, joy is fleeting, and regret is inevitable. Let go of your obsessions.”

But from the moment he first laid eyes on Yin Chengyu, he had gambled everything on this one man. His obsession wasn’t something he could let go of; it had seeped into his very bones.

He had endured agony, humiliation, and countless sacrifices. But in the end, he won. He defied the heavens and claimed the man he loved.

“Once, I vowed that if my wish was granted, I would come to Purple Heaven Hall and light three sticks of incense in gratitude.”

Ever since his memories returned, he hadn’t sought out the old Taoist on his own. But now that fate brought them together, he decided it was time to fulfill his long-ago promise.

"Now that the wish is repaid, you should head back," Yin Chengyu said, his gaze flickering away.

For once, he didn’t press further. Instead, he turned and walked off, brushing past Xue Shu. His fingertips, cool like polished jade, hooked Xue Shu’s hand in passing—a touch both deliberate and unyielding.

Yin Chengyu had always been cold-blooded in winter, his hands freezing as though carved from ice. That chill seeped into Xue Shu’s heated turmoil, calming the restless storm in his chest. The shadows clouding Xue Shu’s eyes lightened as he curled his fingers tighter around Yin Chengyu’s, fully engulfing his hand in a firm grip.

They walked side by side, leaving as they had arrived: together.

At the foot of the mountain, their horses waited. One stamped impatiently, scattering snow with a soft whinny as its master approached.

Yin Chengyu untied the reins and mounted his horse in a fluid motion, but he made no move to grasp the frost-crusted reins. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, eyes locked on Xue Shu. His voice carried a sharp, sultry edge as he remarked, "The cold cuts through the wind so harshly it stings my face and numbs my hands."

He didn’t need to say more. His gaze—dark and glittering—did all the work, pinning Xue Shu in place.

Understanding immediately, Xue Shu set the reins aside and strode over. "This humble servant will guide the horse for Your Highness," he said. Before the words had fully left his lips, he swung up onto the saddle behind Yin Chengyu, his body radiating warmth that melted into the other man’s chill.

Leaning back, Yin Chengyu closed his eyes slightly, content. He sank against Xue Shu’s solid chest, stealing the heat he lacked without hesitation.

Xue Shu adjusted the fur cloak draped over him, then seized the reins and set their horse in motion. The empty mount behind them followed obediently, hooves crunching in the snow.

They rode together like this until they were close to rejoining their retinue. Only then did Xue Shu return to his own horse, leaving Yin Chengyu to his mount.

The party had been moving slowly to accommodate them, so they’d only just left Wuchang Prefecture and entered De’an Prefecture by the time the two men rejoined. Yin Chengyu abandoned his saddle for the comfort of the carriage, the group now heading north toward Wangjing.

In February’s lingering northern chill, travel remained treacherous. The convoy inched forward, crawling through icy roads and harsh winds. It took them until the latter half of the month to cross into the North Zhili region.

At this point, the time had come for Yin Chengyu and Xue Shu to part ways. Yin Chengyu would advance ahead with the main party, while Xue Shu and a detachment of a hundred men took a detour, remaining behind for several days before heading to the capital.

By late February, winter had loosened its grip, though not fully surrendered. Beneath patches of snow, the first hints of green pushed forth, defying the chill.

Yin Chengyu watched from the carriage as Xue Shu’s detachment faded into the distance, their departure marked by the thunderous rhythm of hooves. Only when the noise had died away did he lower the curtain and close his eyes, slipping into rest as the convoy pressed onward.

Five days later, the crown prince’s party finally reached the capital.

Stepping down from his carriage in front of the Meridian Gate, Yin Chengyu wasted no time. He went directly to Longfeng Emperor to report on the disaster relief efforts. He also instructed the accompanying Ministry of Revenue officials to deliver the finalized disaster assessment documents. These would ensure tax exemptions for the afflicted regions.

Once all the official matters were concluded, Yin Chengyu returned to the Eastern Palace, leaving the winter's harshness and the journey's burdens behind.

Just as he stepped out of Qianqing Palace, a maid sent by Empress Yu intercepted him.

"Does Mother need something?" Yin Chengyu asked, lowering his voice as he followed her toward the harem.

The maid glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot, before leaning in to report quietly, "While Your Highness was away, the one in the that palace stirred up trouble again. Although the Empress and the young prince remain unharmed, Consort Rong suffered greatly."

At the mention of Consort Rong, Yin Chengyu's brows furrowed sharply. "What does this have to do with her? Has something happened to Consort Rong?"

The maid sighed deeply, then revealed the full story. "Four days ago, the Empress took the young prince and Consort Rong to Jiaoyuan Garden for a stroll. During a break, they enjoyed some pastries and tea. That day, by sheer coincidence—or not—His Majesty heard about their outing and sent a special batch of pastries and tea as a gift. Since it came directly from the Emperor, no one dared inspect it for poison. Who would have thought that one of the pastries, the osmanthus cakes, was tainted by poison?"

At the word "poison," Yin Chengyu's expression darkened ominously.

The maid's teeth clenched with barely restrained fury as she continued, "Those osmanthus cakes used to be the Empress's favorite. But as fate would have it, she’d been feeling unwell and avoiding rich, sweet foods on the doctor’s advice, so she didn’t eat them. Instead, Consort Rong had one by chance. The poison acted swiftly. She collapsed before even leaving the garden, barely clinging to life. The imperial physicians later confirmed the cakes were laced with a deadly toxin.

"Once the Empress learned the truth, she immediately reported it to His Majesty and requested a thorough investigation. The palace kitchens, eunuchs, and maids who handled the food were all interrogated. Eventually, the culprit was identified—a eunuch who had delivered the cakes. But..."

"But what?" Yin Chengyu demanded, his tone cold and sharp, barely concealing the storm of rage boiling beneath.

The maid shivered under his piercing gaze but steadied herself. "The eunuch claimed his original target was the Empress. He said he bore a grudge because she had scolded him for negligence in the past. He admitted to poisoning the cakes intending to harm her, but when she didn’t eat them, Consort Rong became the unintended victim. Now, the palace is rife with rumors, some saying Consort Rong took the poison in the Empress's stead, while others... others insinuate that the Empress deliberately used her as a scapegoat."

The maid’s voice faltered for a moment, then turned bitter. "But that’s not all. The Empress’s private investigation uncovered that it was Noble Consort Wen who suggested His Majesty send the pastries. And as for that eunuch, after confessing, he bit off his tongue and died. Anyone with eyes can see something is off here.

"Yet His Majesty, unwilling to damage the palace’s reputation, has halted the inquiry. The Empress, worried about Consort Rong’s condition and unwilling to let this escalate, has confined everyone in Kunning Palace, forbidding them from speaking out or confronting others.

"Finally, with Your Highness’s return to the capital, the Empress sent me to fetch you."

The maid's frustration and anger were evident, her expression a volatile mix of rage and indignation.

"How is Consort Rong now?" Yin Chengyu asked, his tone low and laced with a chilling edge.

"The Empress had ordered the Imperial Physician to use the finest medicines. For now, they’d managed to keep the last shred of life hanging on, but the person lying there hadn’t stirred. The physician admitted there was little else to be done—everything rested in the hands of fate now."

Yin Chengyu felt a sharp pressure between his brows and pressed on. “And the First Prince? How is he holding up?”

The lady-in-waiting shook her head. “After receiving the news, the First Prince hasn’t left Yongxi Palace. He refuses to let anyone else handle the decoction or care. He’s been tending to it all himself, even without changing clothes or resting.”

Hearing this, Yin Chengyu’s expression grew heavier. His steps toward Kunning Palace faltered as he weighed his options. After a brief moment, he decided, “I’ll head to Yongxi Palace first. You go and report to the Empress.”

The lady-in-waiting gave a deep bow before hurrying off to deliver the message. Yin Chengyu, however, took long, determined strides toward Yongxi Palace.

Though it was already March and the snow had stopped falling, patches of ice and frost still clung stubbornly to the ground. The early spring wind bit against his skin, carrying a lingering chill that seeped into his bones.

As he approached the gates of Yongxi Palace, his hurried steps came to an abrupt halt. He stood motionless for a moment, the icy wind whipping at his robes, before taking a deep breath and stepping forward.

The palace attendants stationed outside the hall noticed him and prepared to bow, but Yin Chengyu raised a hand to stop them. He softened his steps as he entered the grand hall.

Inside, it was eerily quiet. All the attendants had been sent away, leaving only two senior Imperial Physicians and Yin Ciguang in the inner chamber.

The two elderly physicians stood nearby, ready to act at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, Yin Ciguang sat with his back to the door, carefully feeding a bowl of medicine to Consort Rong with a porcelain spoon. His movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as if he feared spilling even a single drop.

From where Yin Chengyu stood, he could only see a fraction of his elder brother’s profile. The once strikingly handsome features now appeared gaunt and pale, almost unrecognizable. His dark blue robe, embroidered with the four-clawed dragon motif, seemed to hang loosely on his frame, as if the fabric itself had nothing left to cling to.

It hadn’t been long ago—just before Yin Chengyu had left the capital—when Yin Ciguang had regained his rightful place, their family narrowly escaping calamity. He had been radiant then, filled with hope and relief.

But hope in this world was fickle. It could vanish in an instant, leaving only the cold, bitter weight of despair.

Yin Chengyu stood frozen in place, his feet as heavy as if they’d been nailed to the floor. After what felt like an eternity, he finally forced himself to move. Taking a single, halting step forward, he opened his mouth and called out softly, “Elder Brother.”

———TN:

Ci Guang’s life is nothing but a brutal grind, relentless and unforgiving. His struggles are raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically real—life doesn’t just knock him down, it pins him to the ground, daring him to fight back.