Chapter 128: Chapter 127. Scent of Sin at Twilight.

Chapter 127.

Returning to the Hongren Hall, Yin Chengyu got straight to the stack of unfinished documents, swiftly tackling the ones awaiting his approval. By the time the last paper was dealt with, the person he expected back still hadn’t shown up. A faint frown tugged at his brow, but he said nothing. Instead, he laid out a fresh sheet of fine Xuan paper and picked up his brush to paint.

The moment his brush touched the paper, the lines went astray.

Irritated, he discarded the sheet and unfurled another. This time, the composition felt off, so he scrapped it as well.

Again and again, he tried, wasting several sheets of premium Xuan paper. The shadows outside had begun to stretch long across the ground by the time his desk held nothing but a fresh, blank sheet, and his patience was wearing thin.

Just as he was ready to throw down his brush in frustration, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the outer hall.

His wrist paused mid-air as his gaze lifted. In walked Xue Shu.

Today, Xue Shu was dressed in a deep crimson robe embroidered with a golden qilin. The mythical beast on his chest radiated ferocity, its eyes blazing with authority. His hat strings, strung with pearls, were fastened tightly under his chin, the excess length swaying lightly against his chest with each step. The man himself embodied the qilin’s menacing aura, every inch commanding.

Yin Chengyu cast him a fleeting, indifferent glance, his wrist hovering as the brush danced over the paper in idle, sharp strokes.

But then he realized what he was unconsciously sketching. His brow furrowed, and he abruptly stopped, sparing another cold glance at the figure standing silently by his side.

Xue Shu hadn’t said a word since stepping in. His eyes were cast downward, as though lost in thought, a stark departure from his usual demeanor.

Irritation churned in Yin Chengyu’s chest, for reasons he couldn’t quite name. With a sharp motion, he slammed the brush down, the splatter of ink marring the pristine sheet before him.

The noise broke Xue Shu’s trance. His head snapped up, meeting Yin Chengyu’s narrowed gaze.

“Your Highness?” Xue Shu asked cautiously.

Yin Chengyu squinted at him, his tone flat but laced with edge. “This Xuan paper is subpar. I can’t paint properly with it. Go find me better paper.”

The Hongren Hall always stocked the finest Chengxintang paper, Yin Chengyu’s personal favorite. Yet today, he suddenly found fault with it. Xue Shu hesitated but obeyed, heading to the storeroom to fetch a stack of gilded rice paper.

When Xue Shu returned and laid the fresh sheets out, Yin Chengyu ran his brush over the surface. His eyes flicked lazily toward Xue Shu.

“Still no good. Get another.”

So Xue Shu went back.

And back again.

Four, five times he retrieved different varieties, yet Yin Chengyu remained dissatisfied.

Finally, Yin Chengyu tilted his head back, regarding Xue Shu from beneath his lashes. His fingers idly rolled the brush between them as he spoke with deliberate slowness.

“The paper is still unsuitable for painting today. I think it’s time to try something else.”

Xue Shu stiffened under the weight of his gaze, sensing the storm beneath Yin Chengyu’s composed facade. Still, he couldn’t grasp the reason behind it. Quietly, he asked, “What would Your Highness prefer? I’ll retrieve it.”

“No need,” Yin Chengyu murmured, his tone light, but his eyes razor-sharp. His chin tilted toward a low stool across the table. “Sit there, back to me, and remove your robe.”

The command hit like a whip.

Xue Shu’s jaw tightened as his eyes met Yin Chengyu’s. For a moment, he stared, gauging his intention, but in the end, he said nothing. With a curt nod, he strode to the stool and sat, his back turned, peeling his robe down to his waist.

Yin Chengyu rose, one hand holding his inkstone, the other gripping the brush as he approached, stopping just behind him. His gaze trailed over Xue Shu’s muscled back, as if assessing a blank canvas.

The heat of late May was oppressive, and a light sheen of sweat clung to Xue Shu’s skin from his earlier travels. Yin Chengyu frowned at the dampness and pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve.

“Lean forward,” he ordered. “Stay still.”

Xue Shu complied, bracing himself on the table. His back muscles instinctively tensed as Yin Chengyu’s fingers, shrouded in silk, grazed his skin. The cool press of the cloth wiped away the sweat in deliberate, almost maddening strokes.

Once satisfied, Yin Chengyu dipped his brush in ink, lifting it to hover above Xue Shu’s back. The tip of the brush didn’t touch the skin, but the faint chill of the ink’s proximity was enough to set Xue Shu’s nerves alight.

As someone trained in combat, Xue Shu never let anyone near his back. It was his blind spot, his weakness. Yet now, the delicate tease of the brush made his skin crawl more than a blade ever could. His muscles twitched involuntarily, and he could practically picture the faint, amused curve of Yin Chengyu’s lips behind him.

He didn’t know how he’d managed to offend him, but once he had, the man wasted no time finding cruel ways to make him suffer.

At that moment, his lips would undoubtedly curve into the most wicked smirk imaginable.

The thought of those full, upturned lips made Xue Shu’s throat tighten. He swallowed hard, his voice a restrained murmur: “Your Highness.”

Yin Chengyu didn’t respond, seemingly savoring the moment. Finally, as if he’d seen enough, the poised tip of his brush descended, leaving its first mark on the left side of Xue Shu’s back.

The soft bristles, soaked in ink, glided over his skin—a cool stroke that stirred an unbearable itch.

Xue Shu’s eye twitched. He clenched his fists, barely holding himself still.

One stroke. Then another. A third.

Behind him, the man seemed thoroughly pleased with his new “canvas.” His movements grew fluid, inspired, and within moments, the air was broken by a satisfied laugh. “Done.”

Yin Chengyu leaned in, inspecting his work with the precision of an artist admiring their masterpiece. His warm breath grazed Xue Shu’s skin, searing hotter than the summer heat.

“I’m quite proud of this one,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Xue Shu stiffened as something unfamiliar traced his back. It wasn’t the brush—it was Yin Chengyu’s fingers, cool and delicate. They trailed across the inked skin, brushing and pressing in maddening circles.

His throat tightened, his voice dropping into a hoarse whisper, heavy with restraint: “May I see Your Highness’s masterpiece?”

Yin Chengyu chuckled darkly, his voice brimming with mischief. He didn’t refuse. Instead, he summoned a servant to bring a bronze mirror and placed it at an angle behind Xue Shu.

Even the laugh carried a razor’s edge of malice.

Turning to look, Xue Shu first caught sight of a vibrant spray of red plum blossoms sprawling across his back. Only then did his gaze trail lower—to the figures entwined beneath the tree.

A spring palace scene.

“How do you like my work?” Yin Chengyu asked, setting the mirror aside with a sharp grin, one brow arched in challenge.

Xue Shu licked his lips, his voice dropping even lower, like a distant thunderstorm. “It’s remarkably lifelike.”

Yin Chengyu’s eyes glinted as he caught the unmistakable heat in Xue Shu’s expression. With a dismissive laugh, he tossed the brush onto the table and issued a cold, final command. “The painting’s done. You may leave now.”

“Your Highness uses people and discards them so easily,” Xue Shu said, not budging an inch. His voice was a quiet storm, his feet rooted like ancient trees.

“And if I do? What then?” Yin Chengyu leaned in, his finger tracing the bridge of Xue Shu’s nose before pressing it firmly against his lips.

Xue Shu’s gaze darkened, the flicker of something primal sparking in his eyes. Gripping the man’s wrist with a sudden, unrelenting force, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into that taunting finger. Hard.

The bite wasn’t playful—it carried a sharp, dangerous promise. “Your Highness is welcome to try me,” he growled, his tone laced with menace.

Yin Chengyu froze, momentarily stunned. His deep black eyes churned with tension, flickering between anger and a thrilling sort of danger.

But before he could speak, Xue Shu closed the distance, capturing his lips with an intensity that was almost violent.

It was a rough, unrelenting kiss. It wasn't a sweet peck; it was a hungry, demanding press, a raw exploration that left Yin Chengyu reeling. Xue Shu's hands tightened on Yin Chengyu's arms, holding him close, too close, in a grip that was both possessive and thrillingly dangerous. Yin Chengyu made a half-hearted attempt to pull back, a weak flutter of protest, but he knew it was futile. His strength was no match.

This loss of control—a complete inversion of power—ripped open a memory from his past life. The Xue Shu of then had been just as untouchable, an untamed beast who took what he wanted without hesitation.

It had been a long time since Xue Shu had let himself unravel like this.

The metallic tang of blood seeped between them, Yin Chengyu’s eyes widening for a brief moment before fury overtook him. He pushed back, biting down hard and spitting out a breathless retort. “Are you insane?!”

Xue Shu didn’t answer. He pressed forward, relentless, his lips a brutal force against Yin Chengyu's, a bruising, relentless press that stole the air from his lungs. It was a goddamn power play, a blatant disregard for any semblance of consent, a full-on violation of personal space.

…

When it was over, the hall was a wreck. Documents once neatly stacked on the desk were now scattered across the floor, some torn, others ink-smeared.

Yin Chengyu adjusted his robes with deliberate precision, his every movement vibrating with suppressed rage. Surveying the chaos, his glare burned hot as he shot Xue Shu a venomous look before sweeping toward the inner chambers.

“Clean this mess up!” he snapped over his shoulder, his voice sharp enough to cut stone.

That night, Xue Shu didn’t stay in the sleeping quarters.

The next morning, he showed up as usual to assist with the morning routine. But as Yin Chengyu caught sight of his face, memories of the wild, beast-like entanglement from the previous night surged back, igniting a spark of anger. Without waiting for him to speak, he coldly sent him packing.

Once he was out of sight, his frustration finally subsided. He headed to the Hongren Hall to attend to state affairs.

With the ascension ceremony approaching, officials from various departments arrived daily to discuss preparations. Today, the Ministry of Rites and the Hanlin Academy presented their finalized proposals for the late emperor’s temple and posthumous titles, seeking her final approval.

Scanning the list of laudatory titles such as "Wen," "Kang," and "Jing," Yin Chengyu dismissed them all with a single stroke. She picked up her brush and decisively wrote one word: "Ling".

"This fits better," he stated flatly.

"Ling"—a title reserved for those neither illustrious nor righteous. For those whose chaos left no permanent scars. For rulers fond of rituals and ghosts, but not of glory.

It was unmistakably a derogatory title.

In all the years since the Great Yan dynasty was established, no emperor had ever been given such a title, not even the cruel and absurd Emperor Xiaozong. To honor filial piety, even he received a title steeped in virtue.

The officials exchanged uneasy glances, clearly hesitant to protest. Ultimately, the Minister of Rites, quick on his feet, bowed his head and dutifully complied.

After receiving several more delegations, Yin Chengyu finally returned to his chambers at midday. There, he encountered Zheng Duobao holding the newly finished imperial dragon robe.

“The Embroidery Bureau has delivered the dragon robe. Your Highness, please try it on so they can make any necessary adjustments,” he said respectfully.

Nodding, he stepped into his chambers, allowing Zheng Duobao to assist her with the fitting.

With careful hands, he unfastened her belt and ornaments. As he moved behind him to remove the outer robe, his gaze froze mid-motion. A frown flickered across his face as he quickly turned to dismiss the head embroiderer and the attending servants.

“Why are you sending everyone away?” Yin Chengyu asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Zheng Duobao hesitated, his eyes flitting to his neck with a look of discomfort.

"Your Highness," he began awkwardly, "there’s… a bite mark on your neck. It would be best to cover it."

He didn’t say more, but his mind raced.

That bold Xue Shu!

How dare he leave such a blatant mark on the imperial body?

Yin Chengyu’s expression darkened at the mention of the bite. He immediately realized what had happened. He and Xue Shu had always maintained a tacit agreement—no marks where they could be seen. But last night, things had spiraled out of control, and he hadn’t noticed him leaving a mark on the nape of his neck.

He raised a hand to touch the spot. The collar should cover it, but better to be cautious.

"Fine," he said coldly. "Cover it with powder and get on with the fitting."

Zheng Duobao quickly fetched some powder and concealed the mark before helping him into the dragon robe. Once everything was in place, the head embroiderer was called back to check the fit.

After the measurements were taken and the others dismissed, Yin Chengyu changed back into his regular robes. His expression was frosty as he gave his next order.

“Go fetch Xue Shu. Now.”

———TN:

Oh my god, I can't breathe. This is too much. I'm about to die laughing.

These two idiots are so pathetically obsessed, they're practically rubbing each other off with jealousy. They're loving every minute of this twisted little game.

And then there's Xie Yunchuan, just blinking in confusion, like, 'Hold up, am I a prop in your sick little drama?'