Chapter 48: Chapter 47. The door is separated by flowers.

Chapter 47.

Xue Shu cradled the ornate brocade box in his hands as he strode back to his quarters.

The stationed guards, ever eager to curry favor, noticed the sizable box in his arms. One of them stepped forward, all smiles, eager to assist. But before his fingers could so much as brush the box, Xue Shu’s icy glare froze him in place. The guard's outstretched hand stiffened awkwardly in mid-air, caught between advance and retreat.

Xue Shu’s voice was cool, indifferent. “I’ll carry it myself.”

With that, he walked past the guard, his movements brisk, deliberate, and dismissive. Back in his room, he closed the door and latched the windows. Only then did he set the brocade box down, his movements deliberate as he opened it.

Inside were two layers. The top revealed a rolled scroll bound neatly with a crimson cord. Xue Shu untied the cord and carefully unfurled the scroll. The image of a young man emerged on the paper—a painting.

The figure was dressed in a flowing red robe, a silver blade hanging at his side. Behind him, crimson plum blossoms in the snow created a striking, fiery contrast.

This wasn’t just any painting. The young Crown Prince of Yan, heralded for his mastery of the arts, rarely had the leisure to create such pieces. It was well known that his talent for vivid portraiture and lifelike flora was unmatched. His paintings were treasures—sought after by many, possessed by few.

Xue Shu only knew this because of his frequent trips to the Hongren Hall, where he had overheard the court eunuch Zheng Duobao boasting about the prince’s skills. Even then, the prince’s brush rarely touched paper, and most of his works had been hoarded by those who valued them as priceless.

Yet, the prince had painted this—for him.

A rush of emotion swelled in Xue Shu’s chest as he imagined the prince bent over the canvas, his slender fingers guiding each delicate stroke, each bold line shaping his image. The thought alone sent a thrill coursing through him, a dangerous kind of joy that made his heart ache.

His gaze lingered on the portrait, tracing every detail until his eyes fell upon the inscription at the bottom of the scroll.

“When the heart longs deeply, how much sorrow remains? Let us leave it for our reunion, though a year has passed since parting. "Don’t let the storm hit the sheets before you’ve set the stage—flowers blooming, the moon glowing, and the wine spilling. Make it a night worth every drop and sigh."

Xue Shu read the words aloud, his roughened fingertips brushing the ink, each character sinking deeper into him.

He had never set foot in a classroom, but that didn’t stop him from teaching himself to read through sheer willpower and books. Back before the plague tore through Yutai, even though his family was dirt poor, his mother would scrape together some rice and a few bits of silver to pay the old scholar next door to teach him and his sister. She didn’t dream of them passing the imperial examination or rising to great heights—she just wanted them to broaden their minds and grasp the wisdom to navigate life.

He remembered stumbling upon this poem in the old scholar’s collection. It was penned by a man aching with longing for his homeland and the woman he loved.

But now, His Highness had inscribed that same poem on a painting meant for him.

What struck him was the audacity of the change. If memory served, the original line went, "Let down the clouds and rain in front of the pillow, the flowers and the moon in front of the cup." But His Highness had twisted it, rewriting it as "Don’t let the storm hit the sheets before you’ve set the stage—flowers blooming, the moon glowing, and the wine spilling. Make it a night worth every drop and sigh."

The shift wasn’t subtle—it was deliberate, provocative.

The prince had altered the original verse—where it once lamented the waste of fleeting passion, he had rewritten it to urge its embrace.

"Do not let..."

Those words clung to him, stirred something deep and unnamable within. He murmured them over and over, tasting their weight as though savoring forbidden fruit.

He stared at the painting for what felt like an eternity, reluctant to part from it. Finally, he returned it to the box with reverent care.

It was then he remembered—there was a second layer.

He opened it with cautious excitement, only to find a simple cloth pouch. Curious, he reached inside and retrieved its contents.

It was a mouth gag.

Xue Shu stared, the object lying innocuously in his palm. This wasn’t the crude kind used for silencing madmen or criminals. No, this one was crafted with a perverse sort of luxury.

Two slender straps of ebony leather, soft to the touch and studded with fine gemstones, were attached to a piece of polished, intricately carved wood. The craftsmanship was exquisite—this wasn’t a tool for punishment. It was something far more illicit.

Xue Shu had heard of such things in his years wandering. Stories of wealthy men with deviant tastes and brothels catering to their every whim. These gags were used to keep lovers silent during rougher play, muffling cries into helpless whimpers.

At the time, he’d dismissed those tales with disgust. The leering faces of the storytellers made his skin crawl.

But now, holding this beautifully crafted instrument in his hands, his thoughts took a darker turn.

He imagined the crown prince—his prince—on his knees, lips parted to accommodate the gag. His elegant face flushed with frustration or need, forced to communicate through muffled, desperate sounds. The thought ignited something primal, an ache low in Xue Shu’s belly that spread like fire.

His grip tightened on the gag.

Before he knew it, he lifted it to his mouth, tentatively biting down. The wood was smooth, yielding just enough without causing discomfort. It was clearly designed for pleasure, not harm.

Perfectly tailored for its purpose.

For a long moment, Xue Shu stood there, the gag pressed between his teeth, his mind a whirl of unspoken desires and forbidden fantasies. His fingers grazed the leather straps, already imagining how they might look bound tightly around someone else.

Around the prince.

The thought was too much. He dropped the gag back into the pouch, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breath.

For a man like him, indulging in such thoughts was dangerous—yet he couldn’t stop.

……

It must’ve been the damned gag that stirred something dark in him, because that night, Xue Shu couldn’t find an ounce of peace in his sleep.

Even in his dreams, he burned with a fire he couldn’t name.

Meanwhile, Yin Chengyu was in the Hongren Hall, meticulously reviewing official memorials. He didn’t even notice when Xue Shu slipped in silently, his movements sharp, precise, and predatory.

Xue Shu came up behind him without a sound, catching sight of the scroll Yin Chengyu was holding—a petition for the Crown Prince to marry.

“Another one asking you to pick a Crown Princess?” Xue Shu’s tone was casual, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable. He plucked the memorial from Yin Chengyu’s hands, glanced over it briefly, and his expression darkened like an oncoming storm.

Leaning down, he wrapped himself around the other man from behind, his voice soft and dangerous as he murmured into his ear, “Your Highness is already twenty-four, no wife, no concubines, no heirs. It’s high time you got married…” His smile was slow and crooked, but his words slithered like a snake’s tongue, sharp with mockery and seduction. “So, tell me—has Your Highness found someone worthy of the position?”

Yin Chengyu turned his head slightly, his gaze assessing, before a cold, cutting laugh escaped him. “In a court filled with officials whose daughters are of age, do you think I’ll lack for options? The only problem is whether you would allow it.”

The challenge hung heavy between them, Xue Shu meeting his gaze with a seething fury that threatened to boil over.

His hand darted out, fingers lifting Yin Chengyu’s chin with a mocking precision. His grin was all teeth, sharp and humorless. “I’m only looking out for Your Highness’ best interests. After all…” His voice dropped to a silken hiss, laced with cruel amusement. “…after everything I’ve taught you, do you think you can even manage a woman in bed? Imagine the embarrassment if you falter. What would that do to your reputation, hmm?”

“Xue Shu!” Yin Chengyu barked, his voice ringing with rage. His face flushed crimson, his composure cracking as real anger flared in his eyes. “Even a eunuch like you finds a way—why wouldn’t I?”

The air between them crackled, their words like drawn swords, sharp and unforgiving. They stared each other down, neither willing to give an inch, the tension coiled tight and ready to snap.

Then, suddenly, Xue Shu laughed, the sound low and bitter, a mocking edge that cut as deep as his words. “So, Your Highness has grown wings now, hmm? You don’t need me anymore.”

Before Yin Chengyu could respond, Xue Shu’s head dipped down, and without warning, he sank his teeth into the side of Yin Chengyu’s neck, leaving behind a vicious mark.

Yin Chengyu winced but refused to make a sound, his jaw clenched in defiance.

Xue Shu straightened, his lips stained with blood, his gaze dark and heated as he leaned in close, their breaths mingling. “Does it hurt, Your Highness?” he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper.

“It doesn’t,” Yin Chengyu bit out, his face pale but resolute. He wouldn’t give Xue Shu the satisfaction.

Xue Shu’s lips twitched in a shadow of a smile, though whether he believed the answer or not was anyone’s guess. His voice dropped, rough and possessive. “Remember this feeling. No one else will ever give it to you—only I can.”

With that, he tucked the memorial into his sleeve and strode out, his exit slow and deliberate, leaving the room heavy with unresolved tension.

......

Xue Shu jolted awake, his chest heaving as the remnants of the dream clung to him like smoke. There was an ache in his chest, a hollow kind of panic, as though something he was desperate to hold onto was slipping through his fingers.

The harder he tried to grasp it, the faster it seemed to vanish, leaving nothing but frustration and fury in its wake.

He downed two cups of cold tea, the chill liquid doing little to cool the heat simmering beneath his skin. Only then did he let his hand wander to the side of his neck, his fingers brushing over the faint marks left behind.

The bite was deep, Yin Chengyu hadn’t held back, and even after a night’s rest, the outline of teeth was still clear against his skin. Yet, it didn’t hurt—it steadied him.

Dreams were nothing like reality.

In his dreams, Yin Chengyu drifted further and further away, the distance between them widening like an uncrossable chasm.

But in reality, Yin Chengyu stayed close, his loyalty unwavering. And Xue Shu would never allow him to feel that kind of pain. Not in this lifetime.

Dreams may lie, but this—the faint sting of a bite, the warmth of his touch, the unspoken bond they shared—this was truth.

*

After finishing his morning meal, Xue Shu strode out of the palace and headed straight for the Imperial Prison.

The Ministry of Justice had already held preliminary hearings on the Sun family’s case the day before. While the final verdict was still pending, everyone knew the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The only unresolved issue was what to do with Gao Yuan.

Gao Yuan wasn’t just a man—he was an institution. Years of networking and the solid backing of Gao Xian, had made him untouchable. It wasn’t a problem that could be solved overnight. However, those bookish scholars who’d been detained alongside Sun Miao in the Imperial Prison? They were fair game. Xue Shu planned to pull them out today.

The Ministry of Justice’s prison was leagues safer than the Imperial Prison, and escorting the prisoners there would serve another purpose: undermining the Eastern Bureau's influence.

Xue Shu arrived with a whole retinue of Western Bureau agents, their presence loud and arrogant as they marched into the Imperial Prison. Their mission? Take the prisoners from the Eastern Bureau's custody.

When Gao Yuan got wind of this, he rushed over, his face twisted with rage at the sight of Xue Shu’s men practically swaggering through his domain. “These prisoners were arrested by the Eastern Bureau! Who the hell are you to demand their release?”

Xue Shu’s smirk was razor-sharp as he leaned casually on the hilt of his blade. “The Eastern Bureau is floundering under your incompetence, Superintendent Gao. You’re neck-deep in lawsuits and scandals. Let’s face it—the Imperial Prison and even the Eastern Bureau itself will soon belong to the Western Bureau. Right now, I’m only asking for a few prisoners. Don’t make me explain what should already be obvious.”

Today, Xue Shu had dressed for the occasion: a sleek black flying fish robe embroidered with silver, a long blade hanging at his side. His eyes, sharp and cold, swept over the Eastern Bureau lackeys with thinly veiled disdain. Even without drawing his weapon, the oppressive air he exuded made it clear he wasn’t here to negotiate.

“If I were you, Superintendent Gao, I wouldn’t waste time posturing. Hand over the prisoners now, or you’ll be the one answering for it when the scholars turn up dead in custody. Their deaths won’t just bring down your career—they’ll drag your entire clan through the mud. Gao Xian won’t hesitate to let you burn if it means saving himself.”

Gao Yuan’s face darkened. It had been years since anyone dared talk to him like this. But he couldn’t deny the truth in Xue Shu’s words.

Gao Yuan wasn’t the type to tolerate humiliation, but even he felt the pressure mounting. With the Sun case spiraling out of control, his elder brother Gao Xian had already distanced himself, refusing to intervene or even meet with him.

Their “brotherhood” was more of a political convenience than anything else. If Gao Yuan succeeded, Gao Xian would lend him support. But the moment Gao Yuan stumbled, Gao Xian’s foster sons would line up to take his place.

If Gao Yuan couldn’t weather this storm, not only would Gao Xian refuse to help—he’d probably step on Gao Yuan’s neck to appease the furious scholars.

Grinding his teeth, Gao Yuan spat out his orders. “Bring them out. Hand them over to Supervisor Xue.”

The Eastern Bureau guards hesitated, their hands already on their hilts, faces taut with anger. But Gao Yuan’s words stopped them cold. They stared, stunned, as their commander openly capitulated.

Gao Yuan’s patience snapped. “Are you deaf? Move!”

The guards scrambled to comply, disappearing into the prison. A short while later, they returned, escorting eight scholars, shackled and grim-faced.

Xue Shu gave a satisfied nod, his smirk returning. “Wise choice, Superintendent Gao. Rest assured, the Western Bureau will remember your cooperation.”

With that, Xue Shu turned, his men leaving in the same ostentatious formation they’d arrived in. Behind them, the Eastern Bureau agents stood frozen, exchanging uneasy glances as they sneaked looks at Gao Yuan’s stormy expression.

The scholars were loaded into prison carts, their fates now in the hands of the Ministry of Justice. Xue Shu didn’t bother releasing them. The show of power was enough—why make things easy for them?

The scholars, however, weren’t inclined to gratitude. One of them gripped the bars of the cart, his voice hoarse with rage. “Eunuch scum! Give us back Sun’s life! You’ll pay for this! All of you will die miserable deaths!”

The man’s outburst was cut short when another scholar, a slightly cleaner and calmer one, pulled him back. “Enough, stop it. What’s done is done. Sun’s death…” He hesitated, casting a glance at Xue Shu, but swallowed his words.

This one knew better. He’d been there when Sun Miao died, and it didn’t take a genius to see that Sun’s death had been carefully calculated—a mercy, perhaps, but more likely a calculated power play. There was no room for sentiment here, only strategy.

Xue Shu, for his part, didn’t react to the insults, though his gaze lingered briefly on the calmer scholar.

Ah, yes. This one had a name—Xie Yunchuan. Interesting.

Xue Shu’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint clinking of chains as the carts rolled toward the Ministry of Justice. This wasn’t just about saving face for the Western Bureau or cutting down the Eastern Bureau's influence. It was a chess game, and every move mattered.

And today? Xue Shu had won.

———Author's Note:

I couldn’t find any reliable information on the ancient mouth gag, so I created the details myself. Every word in that article is my own invention, tailored to indulge my desire to write about it. It’s all me—purely my creation—and I think we all get the picture.

———TN:

I need you to take a moment, head over to the translation novel, and cast your vote. Don’t stop there—leave a comment too.

I’m counting on your support to push this story forward, and your input is what makes it all matter.

Let’s make it happen!