Chapter 62: Chapter 61. How can we achieve both in this world?

Chapter 61.

No one really knows if Xue Shu managed to live well in the end. Yin Chengyu's thoughts drifted in and out, muddled, uncertain.

Yin Chengyue was brilliant, sharp beyond his years, but he was still far too young. If Xue Shu had remained by his side, loyal and steady, there was no doubt Great Yan could have thrived for decades under their carefully laid plans.

But there was one thing Yin Chengyu couldn’t shake—a gnawing unease that refused to let him rest. Yin Chengyue was even more headstrong than he had ever been, a stubborn streak carved deep by years of turmoil and exile. That coldness had settled in his heart, making him distant and unyielding.

And Yin Chengyue hated Xue Shu.

The brazen, arrogant bastard had never learned to rein in his fire. If that temper didn’t cool, then by the time Yin Chengyue took the throne, their clashes might spiral into a silent, bloodless war—one that would leave neither man unscathed.

Yin Chengyu himself had been unwilling to cut Xue Shu down. Sentiment lingered, a bond he couldn’t bear to sever.

But Yin Chengyue? That boy had no such restraint.

He had foreseen all of this long before issuing his edict, long before fate began to twist beyond control.

Having Xue Shu buried with him would’ve been the cleanest, simplest solution for everyone.

But he had faltered. One moment of weakness, one slip.

He had done what he knew he should not.

"Xue Shu…" Yin Chengyu’s body was growing cold, trembling faintly as his lips murmured the name.

"I'm here."

"Xue Shu…"

"I'm here."

Yin Chengyu’s mind was slipping, hazy, and scattered. Yet he called the name over and over, and Xue Shu, unwavering, answered each time.

One call. One reply.

The body in Xue Shu’s arms was losing warmth, the voice fading into something fragile.

Xue Shu forced his arm to move, each inch an agony that ripped through the wounds on his back. His face twisted, his breath hitched, but he pressed on. His fingers brushed against Yin Chengyu’s side, careful and deliberate, until he felt the sticky wetness there. Blood. Too much of it.

Yin Chengyu had never made a sound.

Xue Shu’s chest clenched, his voice trembling as he called out again. When a faint reply came, it steadied him enough to act. He tore his sleeve with his teeth, wrapping the wound tightly, though each pull of fabric drew a faint groan of pain from Yin Chengyu.

The sound made Xue Shu pause. His hand found Yin Chengyu’s face, his lips pressing to his in a gentle, soothing kiss.

Those lips, usually soft and full, were now cracked, dry, and faintly cold. If there were light, one would see the bloodless pallor of his face, drained and ghostly.

Xue Shu lingered, brushing against him briefly before retreating. Then he bit down on his own wrist, hard, drawing blood.

When Yin Chengyu stirred from unconsciousness, his senses returned in fragments. Something slick and metallic filled his mouth—warm, salty. Reflexively, he swallowed, but the taste made his eyes fly open in alarm.

The flavor was foreign, yet maddeningly familiar. Panic and realization came crashing in, and he began to struggle.

"What are you doing?!" His voice was weak but sharp, demanding.

His hands scrambled to find purchase, pushing against Xue Shu’s chest. But Xue Shu’s arms wrapped around him tightly, refusing to let him move. Their lips met again, a firm, possessive kiss meant to silence him.

"Stop squirming. Save your strength," Xue Shu murmured against his lips.

Yin Chengyu’s limbs were limp and trembling. Overwhelmed, he could only glare up at Xue Shu, furious and helpless. "What did you… What did you just give me?"

Xue Shu dodged the question entirely, his eyes softening as he felt the faint return of warmth to the body in his arms. Only then did he exhale, pulling Yin Chengyu closer, as though trying to fuse them into one. His voice dropped, low and intimate.

"I don't want to stay in the Western Bureau anymore. When we make it out of here, Your Highness, transfer me to serve in the Eastern Palace instead." His lips brushed against Yin Chengyu’s ear, their breaths mingling as he whispered, "I’ll serve you far better than Zheng Duobao ever could."

Yin Chengyu let out a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. "If you take Zheng Duobao’s post, what’s left for him to do?"

"Send him to the Western Bureau. Or the Imperial Stables. Hell, send him anywhere—as long as he’s not in my way," Xue Shu growled, his grip tightening possessively. "I can’t stand to be apart from you, Your Highness."

Yin Chengyu’s hand fumbled to find Xue Shu’s, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. "Then don’t leave."

Xue Shu’s throat bobbed as he swallowed down the surge of emotion, his voice reduced to a husky whisper. "I won’t."

Yin Chengyu’s trembling fingers traced along Xue Shu’s hand, moving upward until they brushed against the rough bandages around his wrist. He paused, his lips thinning as realization dawned.

Closing his eyes, he let out a slow, shaky breath. Turning slightly, he pressed his lips to the corner of Xue Shu’s jaw. The kiss was light but lingering, a silent acknowledgment of what had been done—and what could never be undone.

Xue Shu fed him something—blood.

That taste was far from unfamiliar. He’d tasted it once before, in the life he left behind.

Yin Chengyu leaned against his shoulder, forcing his eyes open, trying to see him, but the effort was useless. All he could perceive was the suffocating darkness—a pitch-black void where even reaching out seemed meaningless.

No sound. No sense of time. Just a desolate, lonely abyss. The only comfort was the warmth of the body behind him, a fragile tether to reality.

He’d been through this before when his eyes were wounded in his last life.

It happened during the deadliest assassination attempt he ever faced. His second brother, backed into a corner after his plans fell apart, unleashed a reckless attack while Yin Chengyu was away from the palace. Poisoned, blinded, and hunted, he stumbled into hell.

Xue Shu dragged him to safety, tumbling down a mountainside in their desperate escape. Outside, assassins scoured the area like ravenous wolves, hunting them without mercy. Trapped in a cave at the base of the cliff, Xue Shu had no choice but to stay by his side, shielding him while sending covert signals to call for reinforcements.

For fifteen long days, they hid in that cave. The barren, desolate wilderness offered nothing—no food, no water. At first, they survived on scraps of grass and tree bark, stretching their endurance to its limits.

But by the tenth day, thirst and hunger had ravaged Yin Chengyu’s body. Weak, delirious, barely clinging to consciousness, he vaguely heard Xue Shu say he’d caught two birds.

Without tools to start a fire, Xue Shu did the unthinkable. He tore into the birds with his hands, feeding Yin Chengyu their blood, bit by bit. He chewed the meat, softening it, before carefully pressing it into his mouth.

Those two birds carried them through the last four, agonizing days until the reinforcements finally arrived.

Back in the palace, the imperial physicians cleansed the poison from his body. He sought out Xue Shu afterward, only to find that Xue Shu’s injuries were far worse than his own.

The physicians claimed most of the wounds were manageable—except for the one on his arm, where a massive chunk of flesh had been torn away. He’d lost an alarming amount of blood.

Yin Chengyu suspected the truth but never pressed for confirmation. Between them lay a tangle of unsaid things, a silent agreement to mask their feelings behind layers of ambiguity.

Neither dared take the first step.

That way, when the day came for swords to clash and blood to spill, their hearts wouldn’t falter. Their resolve wouldn’t waver.

So he’d only asked once, his voice low, “Why me?”

Xue Shu, his tone dismissive, answered, “Because no one’s as beautiful as Your Highness.”

A vague question met with a careless response. The matter was left untouched after that, buried as if it had never been spoken.

Now, that same metallic tang of blood lingered on his tongue. Yin Chengyu’s eyes stung, tears he refused to shed threatening to spill. He tilted his head back, straining to make out Xue Shu’s face in the oppressive darkness.

“Xue Shu… Xue Shu…” he called, his voice hoarse, trembling.

A weak response finally came.

Yin Chengyu turned and kissed him, desperation bleeding into every movement.

Xue Shu’s lips were cold. Yin Chengyu pressed harder, licking them slowly, coaxing warmth into their icy surface.

After a brief pause, Xue Shu kissed back, sluggish and hesitant. Yin Chengyu felt his body tremble, his cheek brushing against damp skin.

“Your Highness?” Xue Shu’s voice was faint.

“Tell me… Have I wronged you?” Yin Chengyu’s tone was rough, scraping against the fragile silence.

Xue Shu shook his head weakly, his reply barely audible. “Your Highness has been nothing but kind to me.”

No one had ever treated him better.

Yin Chengyu said nothing more, simply pressing broken kisses to his lips, trailing down to his jaw.

Every time Xue Shu’s body sagged, slipping toward unconsciousness, Yin Chengyu would shake him awake, forcing him to talk. Xue Shu’s replies grew slower, softer—mere whispers of sound—but no matter how weak, he always responded.

Yet his arms, wrapped tightly around Yin Chengyu, never once loosened their hold.

Yin Chengyu clung to him, staring unblinkingly at the endless void above. He couldn’t afford to miss even the faintest hint of movement.

Time had blurred into an eternity. He had no idea how many days had passed, relying only on the stubble that now shadowed Xue Shu’s jaw to guess it had been at least two or three.

Occasionally, faint noises echoed from above, too distant to discern. The endless darkness slowed time to a crawl, dragging each moment into a torturous eternity.

Every second that passed brought death closer.

Yin Chengyu forced himself to stay alert. Whenever exhaustion clawed at him, he bit down hard on his arm, the searing pain anchoring him to the present.

The pain reminded him he was still alive.

His other hand clutched Xue Shu’s wrist, fingers pressing against his pulse. Only the faint, rhythmic beat beneath his touch kept him grounded, offering a fragile sliver of peace in the suffocating void.

In the pitch-black silence, a sharp drop suddenly echoed, breaking through the void. A single drop of water landed on Yin Chengyu's face.

The cool droplet slid down his cheek, snaking its way to his lips before slipping inside his mouth. He licked his lips instinctively, tasting it, savoring it. Lifting his head, he felt a second drop splatter against him. Then came the third, and the fourth, one after the other.

“Rain,” Yin Chengyu murmured in a hoarse, raspy voice, tinged with an edge of surprise and a glimmer of relief.

Estimating the direction of the falling droplets, he tilted his head and opened his mouth to catch them directly. Outside, the rain must have been pouring for quite some time—what started as occasional drips soon became a steady trickle, then a relentless stream.

He caught as much water as he could, letting it pool inside his mouth before leaning over and pressing his lips gently to Xue Shu's. Sharing the captured liquid, he fed it to him bit by bit.

Xue Shu had been unresponsive for what felt like an eternity. But at least, Yin Chengyu thought, he still had enough reflexes to swallow when given water. After the third time, Yin Chengyu couldn’t shake the faint, desperate hope that Xue Shu’s pulse under his palm was growing slightly stronger.

Bracing his back against the rough surface behind him, Yin Chengyu shifted his body, pressing closer to Xue Shu, trying to offer whatever warmth he had left.

The fleeting comfort didn’t last long. Just as his heavy eyelids began to slide shut again, a sharp, distant clattering sound jolted him back to alertness. Faint voices accompanied it, muffled and indistinct, but unmistakably human.

Yin Chengyu froze, straining to listen. The sound—metal striking against stone—resonated in uneven intervals. He clung to the sliver of hope: someone was digging through the rubble.

Someone was searching for them.

He opened his mouth to call out, but all that escaped was a raw, guttural rasp—so faint that even he could barely hear it. Panic clawed at him as the sounds of digging began to fade away.

Grinding his teeth, Yin Chengyu forced himself to calm down. His fingers scrabbled against the debris around him, searching blindly until he grasped a loose rock. With no regard for the searing pain ripping through his lower back, he twisted his body and swung the stone against the larger boulders behind him.

The sound rang out—sharp, piercing, deliberate.

A thrill of hope shot through him. He tightened his grip on the rock and began striking with renewed fervor, long and short bursts, crafting a rhythm.

A code.

He remembered the West Bureau’s emergency signal, something Xue Shu had offhandedly mentioned during a lazy conversation. Now, he banged it out with all the strength he had left, desperate to make them hear.

On the surface, Cui Ci and Ying Hongxue had been combing through the ruins tirelessly for three grueling days.

The earthquake had brought everything down in chaos, and the rain that followed had only made their search more miserable. Mud, slippery stones, and unyielding wreckage slowed their progress, even with the 5,000-strong Hongying Army Ying Hongxue summoned for aid.

By now, they’d dug out countless bodies—mangled, unrecognizable, their blood and flesh indistinguishable from the earth around them. A few clung to the last threads of life, but most were already beyond saving.

Every time they unearthed another body, it brought both relief and dread. Relief that it wasn’t the Crown Prince or Xue Shu. Dread that time was running out, and the chances of finding either man alive dwindled by the second.

The commander of the Qingzhou Guard had already suggested reporting the Crown Prince’s likely death. Cui Ci, however, had vehemently refused, holding onto the slim possibility that they weren’t too late.

Now, as the rain pummeled them harder, stinging their faces and blinding their vision, Cui Ci assessed the remaining search zones with grim determination. He glanced at Ying Hongxue, shouting over the downpour, “Pull the troops back for now! We’ll resume when the rain eases up.”

Ying Hongxue hesitated, torn between persistence and practicality. Eventually, she nodded, conceding to the inevitable. The soldiers began to retreat, weary bodies trudging through the mud.

Just as Ying Hongxue turned to head toward their temporary shelter, leaning on her bad leg, something made her stop. A sound—faint, inconsistent, barely distinguishable from the rain.

“Wait,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the chaos.

“What is it?” He Shan asked, crouching beside her.

She gestured for him to listen.

At first, the sound seemed like nothing, but then it came again—clearer this time.

A sharp, deliberate rhythm.

Her heart jumped. “Someone’s alive.”

Cui Ci, noticing their pause, rushed over, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the faint knocking. It was barely audible, drowned out by the relentless downpour, but unmistakably intentional.

“Three long, two short, one long…” Cui Ci’s eyes lit up. “That’s the West Bureau signal. It’s Xue Shu!”

Without hesitation, he roared for the soldiers to return and begin digging at the new location, rain be damned.

Yin Chengyu felt the faint tremors from above—vibrations rippling through the stones as shovels and picks hacked away at the debris trapping them. Voices filtered down to him, blurred and indistinct.

His entire body was numb, heavy with exhaustion, but he clung to Xue Shu’s hand tightly, whispering, “They’re coming. Xue Shu, they’re coming to save us.”

Xue Shu didn’t answer, his body limp, but his faint pulse was still there.

As the digging continued, bits of rubble and rainwater trickled down, pelting Yin Chengyu’s face. He closed his eyes, listening to the chaos above. Then, suddenly, a piercing beam of light broke through, blinding him.

He raised an arm to shield his face, barely able to comprehend the surge of activity around him. Voices yelled hands reached for him, and yet his voice rasped out a single command:

“Save Xue Shu first.”

———TN:

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