Chapter 68: Chapter 67. Dragon and tiger eating each other.

Chapter 67.

The next day, at high noon, the army began its march back to the capital.

The journey to the battlefield had been a desperate rush, taking over ten days at full speed. But now, with no urgency, they returned at a steady pace, reaching the capital at the end of October.

The news of Yin Chengzhang's death had already been sent ahead to the palace.

Upon arriving at the outskirts of the capital, Yin Chengyu instructed Ying Hongxue and He Shan to stay with the soldiers of the Four Guards Camp outside the city, deliberately keeping them from entering the capital with him for an audience.

The Emperor, Longfeng, had returned to Wangjing from Nanjing at the end of September, bringing Consort Wen and her entourage back with him. Now that Yin Chengzhang was dead—an outcome entirely of his own making—Consort Wen was unlikely to take it lightly. It was best for He Shan and Ying Hongxue to stay low for the time being.

Yin Chengyu, Xue Shu, and the Marquis of An Yuan escorted Yin Chengzhang’s coffin back to the palace.

The mourning hall was arranged in the northern wing of Prince Yan’s palace. All the funeral rites and necessary items had been meticulously prepared.

When the Emperor and Consort Wen received the news, they rushed to the mourning hall. The Emperor appeared slightly fatigued, but Consort Wen looked genuinely aged. Her once meticulously maintained features were bare, her complexion pale, her expression weathered.

When the news of Yin Chengzhang's death first reached the capital, Consort Wen refused to believe it. She pleaded with the Emperor to send someone to Qingzhou to confirm. When the messenger finally returned, galloping back with undeniable proof of his death, her illusions shattered. Grief consumed her, and she wept endlessly, day after day.

For nearly a month, she waited desperately for the return of Yin Chengzhang's coffin.

The moment it arrived, she threw herself upon it, wailing uncontrollably.

Although the Emperor had often used his second son in his political games against the Crown Prince, he had always indulged Consort Wen and showed favoritism toward Yin Chengzhang, pouring much affection into him. Seeing Consort Wen now, her cries raw and relentless, her body trembling as if she might faint at any moment, his own eyes reddened.

He turned to the soldiers guarding the coffin and said, “Open it. Let the Consort and I look at Zhang’er one last time.”

The coffin had not yet been sealed. Following the Emperor’s command, the guards removed the lid.

Yin Chengzhang's body had been kept in an icehouse for half a month to prevent decay. With the arrival of colder weather in October, his remains were largely preserved, but the mountain collapse that claimed his life had left its mark. Despite efforts to restore his appearance, the damage was undeniable.

The Emperor took only a brief glance before turning away.

Consort Wen clung to the coffin’s edge, her cries growing hoarse. Only when her voice was nearly gone did the Emperor step forward, gently guiding her away by the shoulders and signaling for the coffin to be closed.

To the officials from the Ministry of Rites waiting nearby, he commanded, “Prepare the funeral for the Second Prince with full honors, following the protocol for a royal prince.”

Yin Chengzhang had died at just seventeen, unmarried and without the chance to be formally granted his title.

Hearing this, Consort Wen grabbed the Emperor’s sleeve, her voice raw and desperate. “Your Majesty, we cannot bury him yet! The culprits responsible for Zhang’er’s death have not been punished. How can my son rest in peace like this?”

The Emperor frowned, but seeing her inconsolable grief, his heart softened. He coaxed her gently, “The guards who failed to protect Zhang’er have already been handed over to you. Do with them as you see fit. If that’s not enough, I’ll have them buried alive with him.”

“Just them? That’s not enough!” Consort Wen snarled, wiping her tears away as her bloodshot eyes landed on the Marquis of An Yuan and Yin Chengyu. Her voice dripped with venom. “I heard the Crown Prince was also in danger during the Yidu earthquake. And yet he was saved. Why was there no one to save my Zhang’er?!”

“And I heard he was fine when they found him—so how does he end up dead after being rescued? Could this not be deliberate? Could it not be someone scheming to kill my son?!”

Tears streaming, her voice cut like a blade. “Your Majesty, I beg you to investigate this thoroughly and deliver justice for me and my son!”

Although Consort Wen didn’t name anyone explicitly, the room held only a few key figures. It was glaringly obvious who she suspected.

The officials present shrank into themselves, heads bowed, praying to be invisible.

The grieving Noble Consort’s pain over the loss of her son is understandable, but some words should be said while others must remain unspoken.

Yin Chengyu met Wen Guifei’s sharp gaze with a calm but firm demeanor, a far cry from his past gentleness and deference. His eyes carried a cold edge as he said, “In early August, my second brother failed to suppress the rebellion and fell off a cliff, disappearing without a trace. During this time, the Marquis of An Yuan relentlessly sent people to search for him. When I arrived in Yidu, I expanded the search efforts further, practically turning over every stone in the Fuhu Ridge. Yet, we found no sign of him. It wasn’t until four days after the earthquake that the Marquis finally discovered my second brother buried under rubble near Xiaopan Mountain in Fuhu Ridge.”

“Whatever reason he had for hiding in Fuhu Ridge, let me be clear: no one can control an earthquake. His demise was an accident. The loyal guards who gave their lives to protect him and the Marquis, who searched tirelessly day and night, have all proven their unwavering devotion. If you, Noble Consort, allow grief to cloud your judgment and make baseless accusations, you risk alienating the very people who serve with unshaken loyalty.”

Yin Chengyu sighed softly, as if oblivious to the unspoken accusation that he was the one Wen Guifei blamed for the prince’s death.

Even the Marquis of An Yuan, though he knew he was being used as a scapegoat, couldn’t help feeling a flicker of gratitude. He had failed to protect the second prince. If Wen Guifei wanted his head, so be it—he only hoped his family wouldn’t be dragged into this mess.

Wen Guifei was acutely aware of the shift in the room’s atmosphere. She also knew full well of the scheming between Yin Chengzhang and the Marquis of An Yuan. What enraged her most was that their plans hadn’t snared the Crown Prince as intended, but had instead cost her son his life. Her hatred burned deep as her nails dug into her palms, nearly drawing blood.

Only after much effort did she suppress her fury, lowering her gaze with a forced apology. “The Crown Prince is right. It was my grief that led me astray.”

Emperor Longfeng, who had remained silent, finally stepped in to smooth over the tension. “Now that the matter is clarified, there’s no need to dwell on it further. The Ministry of Rites should ensure the second prince’s funeral is conducted with proper ceremony. Use only the finest.” He then turned to Yin Chengyu, his tone indifferent but firm. “The Shandong rebellion is finally quelled. You’ve worked hard, Crown Prince. Rest for a few days.”

His words brushed lightly over any mention of rewards for the rebellion’s suppression, dismissing the matter with little acknowledgment.

Yin Chengyu wasn’t surprised. After a bow, he withdrew without complaint.

Xue Shu, however, didn’t follow. Instead, he stayed at Emperor Longfeng’s side.

After accompanying Wen Guifei briefly, the Emperor returned to Qianqing Palace, with Xue Shu trailing behind.

Inside the palace, Emperor Longfeng dismissed the servants and settled himself on a central luohan couch. His narrowed eyes scrutinized the young eunuch before him.

The Xue Shu who stood there now exuded a sharper and more commanding presence than when he had first entered the palace—a presence no less imposing than that of the seasoned court eunuchs like Gao Xian. If the Emperor hadn’t personally promoted him, he might not have believed that Xue Shu had only been in the palace for less than a year.

A fine blade indeed, though regrettably one that couldn’t distinguish its true master.

Sipping tea slowly, the Emperor’s tone was cool and distant, devoid of his previous warmth. “Tell me about your trip to Shandong,” he ordered. “Leave nothing out. Not a single detail.”

Standing tall and composed, Xue Shu seemed unaffected by the Emperor’s change in demeanor. Taking the order literally, he recounted every event of the rebellion in painstaking detail, omitting only the parts involving Yin Chengyu and Ying Hongxue.

“That’s all,” he concluded, his eyes lowered, his posture respectful yet devoid of the obsequious flattery typical of other courtiers.

Xue Shu had always understood Emperor Longfeng’s character, in this life as well as the last. The Emperor’s heavy suspicion made him distrust sycophants, whom he saw as scheming opportunists. Despite his reliance on power-hungry ministers to suppress the Crown Prince, he loathed those who sought to encroach on his authority.

A subordinate like Xue Shu—respectful yet devoid of ambition—was precisely the type that made the Emperor feel secure.

In his past life, he climbed his way to the top by earning Emperor Longfeng’s trust, crushing Gao Xian and Gong Hongfei in his rise. With East Bureau and the Brocade Guard under his command, he fortified the power of the West Bureau.

But now, the emperor’s attitude toward him had shifted. Clearly, someone had whispered into Longfeng’s ear, stirring up his infamous paranoia.

As Xue Shu deliberated his next move, Longfeng’s voice broke the silence, casual yet laced with something sharper: “I heard you risked your life to save the Crown Prince during his recent ordeal. Is it true?”

“Yes,” Xue Shu answered, his expression calm, neither denying nor justifying.

Longfeng’s gaze was inscrutable as he remarked, almost to himself, “You’re quite close to the Crown Prince, aren’t you?”

Xue Shu met his words head-on, his tone unwavering. “His Highness is my lord. When a lord is in danger, it is a minister’s duty to protect him with his life.”

“Oh?” Longfeng’s face darkened, his displeasure simmering just below the surface. “You’re so devoted to the Crown Prince, I see. In that case, there’s no need for you to oversee West Bureau or the Imperial Stables anymore. Go serve the Crown Prince personally in Ciqing Palace—attend to his every need.”

The words were a slap, but Xue Shu remained composed, bowing deeply. “As Your Majesty commands.”

Angered by his lack of reaction, Emperor Longfeng hurled his teacup at him. “Get out of my sight!”

The cup struck him squarely, scalding tea soaking through his clothes and trailing down as he withdrew.

Emperor Longfeng’s throw had been no idle gesture; the impact was bruising. Xue Shu glanced down at his soaked robes, frowning slightly as he made his way to change.

But his path was blocked by none other than Gao Xian, the smirking snake who had been waiting for an opportunity to gloat.

“Well, well,” Gao Xian purred. “What could you have done to provoke His Majesty’s wrath so severely? Need me to put in a good word for you?”

Xue Shu, unimpressed and eager to move on, brushed off the bait with a clipped retort. “Where’s Superintendent Gao? Oh, I forgot. He’s already been dismissed, hasn’t he?”

His voice was polite, but the mockery was razor-sharp. “With East Bureau in shambles and the Directorate of Ceremonies on your plate, I didn’t expect you to have so much free time.”

Gao Xian’s expression curdled at the reminder. His ally, Gao Yuan, had overstepped by fabricating charges against innocent scholars, only for the scandal to backfire spectacularly. Sun family’s protest had sparked outrage, and Emperor Longfeng, furious, had Gao Yuan executed to appease the scholars.

Now, Gao Xian’s attempts to replace him with one of his foster sons had been blocked, leaving the East Bureau without a leader—and Gao Xian’s pride bruised.

His smile twisted into something venomous as he hissed, “Enjoy your favor while it lasts. If the Crown Prince ever tires of you…”

Xue Shu didn’t even break stride, letting his gaze flick dismissively over Gao Xian. “No need for your concern,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The Crown Prince had plenty of uses for him—ones that Gao Xian could only dream of.

———Author’s Note:

Big dog: I’m great at warming beds. The Crown Prince can’t resist. What do you even know? (rolls eyes)

Crown Prince: …Excuse me?

———TN:

Emperor: Your punishment is to serve the Crown Prince.

Big Dog: Oh, now that’s a sweet deal! I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better!