Chapter 143: Chapter 142. Epilogue (III).

Chapter 142. Spring in Dongxi awaits our return.

Retired Grand Secretary Yu Huai’an had been enjoying the quiet serenity of his golden years, far removed from the turbulence of court politics. No longer burdened with state affairs, he had found peace indulging in simple family pleasures, doting on his grandchildren and savoring the warmth of familial bonds.

So when word came that Censor Chen and his associates sought an audience, his initial reaction was a frown of annoyance. Yet, recalling the whispers of unrest stirring within the court, he relented and had them shown into the front hall.

By the time he entered, clad in unassuming yet meticulously arranged home attire, his visitors had barely sipped half a cup of tea. The moment Yu Huai’an appeared, their expressions shifted dramatically—hopeful, fervent, and edged with frustration.

They rose to their feet in unison, voices quivering with a mix of respect and desperation as they greeted him, “Grand Secretary Yu.”

Despite their deference, Yu Huai’an’s demeanor was measured, almost indifferent. Decades of navigating court intrigue had honed his instincts, and he knew these men well.

Back in the day, they had been both rivals and allies, trading barbs and outmaneuvering each other in a dance of politics. Now, they were graying remnants of a bygone era, doggedly clinging to rigid principles that left little room for the flexibility governance demanded.

Settling into the seat of honor, he waved off their formalities. “I am no longer Grand Secretary. There’s no need for such titles. Let’s skip the pretense—what brings you here today?”

His words carried a deliberate finality, a reminder of his retired status, yet the gravitas of his presence lingered. Though officially out of power, his decades of service, his vast network of protégés, and his familial connection to the emperor made him an enduring force in the political landscape.

Censor Chen exchanged a glance with his companions before taking the lead. “Have you heard of His Majesty’s dealings with the Duke of Zhenguo?”

Yu Huai’an nodded, his face inscrutable.

Censor Chen wasted no time launching into a tirade, detailing how the Duke had been emboldened by imperial favor, wielding his authority recklessly. He described the Duke’s alleged abuses and the emperor’s blind indulgence, his voice rising with each sentence until he recounted how even the Empress Dowager had refused to intervene. The room thrummed with his indignation, echoed by murmurs of agreement from the others.

“Just recently,” Censor Chen exclaimed, “the Duke sent his men to the homes of officials who dared accuse him of misconduct. They call it a visit, but it’s blatant intimidation! Only the four of us have dared to stand firm, but if even we falter, what hope does the court have? Shall we let the eunuch faction seize control?”

Another censor, Wang Yushi, seized the moment to add, “That’s not all! His Majesty, young as he is, has yet to take a single consort, let alone produce an heir. And why? Because the Duke whispers in his ear! Without an heir, the throne is vulnerable, the empire precarious. This is a crisis waiting to erupt!”

When Yu Huai'an learned that they had first sought the Empress Dowager’s help and failed, a sharp, calculating notion took root in his mind. He recalled the emperor’s remarks from years ago, suggesting that Yin Chengyue should be under his tutelage from an early age.

Such early enlightenment was not common for princes—it was a privilege reserved for those with exceptional promise, those destined to shoulder the heaviest burdens of the throne. The emperor’s choice had been deliberate, and the implications had not been lost on Yu Huai'an.

Yin Chengyue, though a younger brother to the emperor, was separated by nearly two decades. By the time Yin Chengyue was coming of age, the emperor was already navigating the weight of middle age, Yu Huai’an was wary of nurturing a younger sibling who might one day rival his brother.

The emperor had clearly been playing a long game, subtly shaping a narrative that would secure his dynasty while avoiding discord. Yu Huai'an saw through it all, but that didn’t mean he agreed with the emperor’s methods.

Still, Yu Huaian wasn’t merely an observer; he was both the grandfather and the mentor of Yin Chengyu. He had been the one to introduce the boy to the wisdom of the Four Books and Five Classics, molding him into the ruler he was destined to become.

Every lesson, every word of advice, had been aimed at steering Yin Chengyu away from the mistakes of past emperors, ensuring he emerged as a flawless crown prince and a formidable monarch. And Yin Chengyu had exceeded even those lofty expectations.

This grandson was the pinnacle of Yu Huaian’s life’s work, the embodiment of his pride.

But therein lay the rub—because he knew Yin Chengyu better than anyone. This boy-turned-king had always been unwavering, an unshakable figure devoted to his empire, impervious to the distractions of the world.

Yet now, for the first time, he saw something else.

Yin Chengyu had developed a desire, a deeply personal, almost reckless determination for someone. He wasn’t just paving the way for that person—he was reshaping his world to accommodate them.

Yu Huai'an understood the depth of this resolve, the sheer force of will it required to let such desires take root in a man like Yin Chengyu. It wasn’t a matter of whether he should intervene—he knew full well that any attempt to dissuade his grandson would be futile.

The battle had already been decided, long before he even had a chance to draw his weapon.

Yu Huai’an listened, his expression betraying neither approval nor reproach. Only when they paused for breath did he speak, his voice calm yet cutting. “Your concerns are valid, but you underestimate His Majesty.” He stroked his neatly maintained beard, a gesture of authority and patience. “Tell me—since the Duke’s rise, how many officials have been imprisoned? How many have faced the dreaded imperial prisons?”

The men exchanged uneasy glances. “None,” Censor Chen admitted reluctantly. “But—”

“None,” Yu Huai’an repeated, his tone brooking no interruption. “If the emperor truly indulged the Duke as you fear, do you think you’d still be free to lecture me here today? Do you imagine the Duke’s men wouldn’t have silenced you already?”

The room fell silent, their indignation tempered by the weight of his words. Sensing their wavering resolve, Yu Huai’an pressed on. “The emperor is not infallible, but he is no fool. He may favor the Duke now, but favoritism is fleeting. As long as it doesn’t undermine the empire, who he dotes on is of no consequence to us.”

“But the matter of the heir—”

Yu Huai’an waved off the protest. “The emperor is young. Two years, five years—it makes little difference. If you insist on opposing him now, your interference will only fan the flames of his devotion to eight or even ten points. Isn't this self-defeating? Let him enjoy his distractions. Time tempers all passions.”

The sharp practicality of his words struck home. Censor Chen nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’ve been too rigid in our thinking.”

“Exactly,” Yu Huai’an concluded with a knowing smile. “Patience, gentlemen. In a few years, His Majesty will have greater priorities. By then, he’ll need stability, and you will have your opportunity to guide him.”

How could an emperor, the ruler of the entire world, ever be expected to pledge his unwavering loyalty to just one person?

"Fine, then. Let’s play the long game—two years, and we’ll see who’s left standing."

With that, the men departed, their burdens lighter, their fervor cooled. Yu Huai’an watched them go, shaking his head with quiet amusement. He had bought the emperor time, time to cement his authority and prepare for what lay ahead. The seeds of the future were already sown; it was only a matter of tending them until the time was ripe.

*

A few hard-to-crack problems had finally been dealt with, leaving the court in its usual serene state. Time slipped by, and soon March arrived.

Spring in March was intoxicating, like wine in full bloom—an ideal season for life to flourish. The palace bustled with activity, and vibrant peonies were being arranged in grand basins throughout its halls.

There was no grand court assembly today. Yin Chengyu seized a rare moment of leisure, spreading open a sheet of rice paper to paint a sprig of Wei Zi peonies.

Free from the need to meet ministers, he wore only a casual black robe embroidered with floral patterns. His long hair was tied neatly beneath his crown.

From Xue Shu’s angle, as Yin Chengyu bent slightly over his painting, the graceful arc of his phoenix-like eyes was striking, their thick lashes casting faint shadows, reminiscent of butterflies at rest.

Xue Shu stepped over the threshold, his movement drawing the painter’s attention. The lashes lifted, revealing eyes reflecting both him and the spring sunlight pouring in.

“Done with the work over there?” Yin Chengyu set his brush aside, his voice calm yet magnetic.

The wedding of Ying Hongxue and He Shan was set for March 15th. Since Xue Shu insisted she depart for her marriage from the Duke Zhenguo’s estate, he had been frequently leaving the palace to oversee the estate’s renovations and arrangements.

By Ying Hongxue’s original plan, the wedding should have taken place discreetly last year, but the northern expedition delayed it. Now, both she and He Shan held marquis titles, with the Duke Zhenguo’s influence adding to the mix. A low-profile affair was no longer possible.

“Almost everything’s ready,” Xue Shu replied as he approached, pulling an invitation from his sleeve. “This is from He Shan—he asked me to pass it to Your Majesty.”

Yin Chengyu reached out to take it, but Xue Shu drew his hand back, smirking. “Honestly, I don’t know what my sister sees in that idiot. Who sends an invitation to the bride’s family like this? Clueless.”

“Bride’s family?” Yin Chengyu’s eyebrow arched as he reached for the invitation again.

The bright red card bore He Shan’s handwriting. Though his penmanship lacked finesse, every stroke carried a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored.

As Yin Chengyu snatched the invitation, Xue Shu pursed his lips and attempted to take it back. “Of course! Since Your Majesty and I are one family, naturally you count as the bride’s kin.”

Yin Chengyu glanced at him, a glimmer of amusement in his gaze. After a moment, he nodded thoughtfully and let the invitation go. “You do have a point.”

Watching Xue Shu tuck the invitation back into his sleeve, a smile tugged at Yin Chengyu’s lips. He teased, “After all, even the Empress Dowager has acknowledged you as her daughter-in-law. I couldn’t very well go back on it now.”

The mention of the Empress Dowager softened Xue Shu’s expression. She had been sending him tokens of affection—hand-sewn sachets, inner robes, and other trinkets. Although the imperial harem was quiet, the Empress Dowager had taken up embroidery to pass the time. Whatever she made for Yin Chengyu and his siblings, she ensured Xue Shu received as well.

Having lost his mother early and been separated from his elder sister for years, Xue Shu had long been deprived of such familial warmth. His respect and gratitude for the Empress Dowager deepened, and with it, his tolerance for Yin Chengyu’s antics grew.

But when Yin Chengyu’s teasing gaze lingered, Xue Shu couldn’t resist closing the distance between them. He pressed Yin Chengyu into a corner, biting his lip hard before murmuring in a low, dangerous voice, “You’re only good at running your mouth, aren’t you?”

Yin Chengyu’s eyes narrowed. With a deliberate motion, his knee ground against Xue Shu, drawing a sharp intake of breath and igniting a storm behind those dark eyes. Just as Xue Shu leaned closer for more, Yin Chengyu licked the corner of his lips with infuriating leisure and gently pushed him away, picking up his brush again. “There are far too many ways for me to win, Duke Xue. Don’t interrupt my painting.”

Left simmering, Xue Shu bit back his frustration, leaning in with quiet desperation to nuzzle against Yin Chengyu’s neck in an attempt to soften him.

But Yin Chengyu was unmoved, the blunt end of his brush pushing Xue Shu back with unyielding precision. “Didn’t you say the dowry wasn’t sufficient and needed to be supplemented? I had Zheng Duobao prepare an extra set. Go check on it.”

Faced with the unmistakable finality in Yin Chengyu’s tone, Xue Shu had no choice but to back down. After a moment’s pause to collect himself, he departed with visible displeasure to find Zheng Duobao, leaving behind only a faint trace of his lingering agitation.

*

On March 15th, the Duke of Zhenguo’s residence and the Marquis of Zhongyong’s manor were thronged with guests. Officials, whether acquainted or not, arrived bearing lavish gifts to offer their congratulations.

At first, when news broke that Ying Hongxue would be marrying out of the Duke of Zhenguo's household, it sent shockwaves through the capital. Whispers erupted behind closed doors about the nature of her relationship with Xue Shu. Speculations ran rampant, fueled by the scant knowledge of Xue Shu’s origins. The rumors became so outrageous that Xue Shu himself stepped in to quash them.

Yet, he carefully avoided dredging up Ying Hongxue’s sordid past—her days as an outlaw—nor did he elaborate on the reasons behind her change of name and identity. Once he clarified that he was her biological younger brother and considering Ying Hongxue herself was titled Marquis of Zhenjing, with a husband as esteemed as the Emperor’s favored Marquis of Zhongyong, the gossip finally simmered down.

Still, in private, people marveled at this family’s meteoric rise. One family boasting a Duke and two Marquises?

It was a clear testament to the Emperor’s favor.

But on the wedding day, when the Emperor himself and the newly appointed Vice Minister of Revenue, Xie Yunchuan, appeared in the wedding procession, the crowd realized they had underestimated the Emperor’s partiality.

For the Son of Heaven to personally escort the bride was extraordinary. Ostensibly, it was a gesture to bolster Ying Hongxue’s standing, but beneath the surface, it was clearly meant to solidify the Duke of Zhenguo’s influence.

The Duke, orphaned and a eunuch, had no heirs to carry on his legacy. Under normal circumstances, his future would be precarious if the Emperor were to pass away and a new ruler ascended the throne. But things were different now.

With Ying Hongxue and her husband holding hereditary titles, both with real military power, their positions seemed unshakable. The Emperor’s overt favor toward Ying Hongxue was yet another layer of protection, ensuring that as long as neither Marquis committed a grave mistake, their influence could only grow.

For the Duke of Zhenguo, the Marquisates of Zhongyong and Zhenjing would serve as his ultimate shield and support.

Amid the clinking glasses and murmurs of admiration, envy inevitably crept into the hearts of the guests. The Emperor’s benevolence toward a eunuch was astonishing. What if their own daughters could capture the Emperor’s attention and bear his offspring?

The boundless imperial favor such a scenario would bring was beyond imagination.

Eyes turned toward Xue Shu, blazing with envy and longing. Why was he the one to earn the Emperor’s favor?

If only it could have been their daughter…

But when Xue Shu’s sharp gaze swept over the crowd, they instinctively shrank back, burying their ambitions deep within.

Xue Shu, oblivious to their thoughts, was focused elsewhere. Watching the grand wedding procession and the radiant groom, He Shan, bedecked in his wedding robes, he turned to Xie Yunchuan and said, “Minister Xie, your talent for words is unmatched. Today, I’ll leave the literary challenges to you.”

Xie Yunchuan, still reeling from the lingering embarrassment of the New Year’s palace banquet, couldn’t refuse. Cornered into attending today’s event, he had no choice but to face the uncomfortable reality, especially with the Emperor standing right beside Xue Shu.

The memory of Xue Shu once teasingly saying, “My family gets jealous when I’m too close to Xie Daren; I must avoid suspicion,” resurfaced.

Back then, Xie Yunchuan couldn’t fathom what “family” a eunuch could have. Now, knowing exactly who Xue Shu had been referring to, he deeply regretted ever finding out.

Unable to meet the Emperor’s gaze, he forced a smile. “Rest assured, Duke. I’ll do my utmost.”

Satisfied, Xue Shu nodded.

The Emperor, however, remarked, “He Shan seems to have brought military men with him. Asking Minister Xie to face them might be overkill.”

Xue Shu’s smile turned sinister. “He only succeeded last time because I wasn’t around. Now, if he wants to take my sister, he must earn it.”

He Shan, apparently forewarned of the challenges, had come prepared. Not only had he brought military strategists, but he also managed to invite the second and third-place scholars from Xie Yunchuan’s examination year. The ensuing battle of wits and might in the main hall was a spectacle, but ultimately, He Shan triumphed, passing Xue Shu’s grueling test.

As celebratory music filled the air, the bride, resplendent in her phoenix coronet and bridal robe, emerged from the inner courtyard. Though Ying Hongxue tried to mask her limp, the faint trace of it was still evident—a lasting injury from her tumultuous past, impervious to the finest medicines.

No one dared to comment, yet Xue Shu’s eyes darkened at the sight. Striding forward, he knelt in front of her and said firmly, “I’ll carry you.”

Ying Hongxue released her attendant’s hand and leaned onto his back. With steady strides, Xue Shu carried her to the bridal sedan.

When he finally entrusted her to He Shan, his voice was heavy with meaning. “I leave my sister in your care.”

He Shan, solemn and sincere, replied, “You have my word.”

Accompanied by the sharp, piercing echo of the ceremonial cry, "Lift the sedan chair," the honor guard advanced deliberately, their movements slow yet commanding, each step a deliberate display of strength and precision.

Xue Shu, Ying Hongxue's younger brother and sole surviving kin, played an integral role in her wedding proceedings. Taking on the responsibility with a commanding presence, he stood as the one to formally escort the bride. With unwavering resolve, he joined Yin Chengyu, ensuring that Ying Hongxue was delivered for her marriage, a gesture laced with an undeniable air of authority and intimate finality.

As the procession departed, winding through the city before finally reaching the Marquis of Zhongyong’s residence just in time for the auspicious hour, the couple completed their wedding rites.

Unlike a typical bride, Ying Hongxue, now in her casual attire, joined He Shan in the front hall, exchanging toasts with guests, many of whom were her comrades-in-arms.

Xue Shu and Yin Chengyu commanded the room as the distinguished guests of honor, their presence impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, Xue Shu ensured He Shan drank copiously, taking full advantage of his brother-in-law’s hospitality.

Despite He Shan’s legendary drinking prowess, by the time darkness claimed the sky and the guests scattered into the night, he was already teetering on the edge of intoxication.

Ying Hongxue, having indulged far less than him, maintained her sharp composure. With a commanding tone, she instructed the servants to haul his drunken form to the bridal chamber.

By the time the last guest departed, He Shan was thoroughly inebriated, leaning unsteadily against a bedpost, mumbling, “Even the Emperor had me drink so much today… Your little brother, he’s practically the Empress, isn’t he? I told you they weren’t normal, but you wouldn’t listen…”

Ying Hongxue rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. “Enough rambling. Go wash up—you reek of wine.”

*

Leaving the Marquis’s estate, Yin Chengyu didn’t head straight back to the palace.

The night was still young, the curfew yet to take hold. Lanterns swayed gently along the bustling streets, casting pools of golden light over merchants and passersby, their laughter and chatter filling the air with vibrant energy.

He waved the palace guards into the shadows with a flick of his fingers and turned to Xue Shu, his voice low and teasing, yet commanding. "Shall we take a stroll?"

Two years had passed since his rebirth, a whirlwind of schemes and battles that left little time for leisure. Moments like these—unhurried, free from the weight of their respective responsibilities—were rare, almost foreign.

Xue Shu's dark eyes lingered on him for a beat too long before he extended a hand, his grip firm, possessive. "Why not spend the night outside the palace?" he countered smoothly, his words laced with quiet intent. "I recall Your Majesty has a taste for the wine from Wanghelai."

Ah, Wanghelai.

The grandest inn in the capital, renowned for its exotic dancers and rich, velvety grape wine. In their previous lives, they’d once taken refuge there, drowning in indulgence as the machinations of their enemies swirled just beyond its walls.

A flicker of something darker, hungrier, glinted in Xue Shu’s gaze as he spoke, undoubtedly recalling the opulent chaos of Wanghelai’s private chambers. Yin Chengyu caught the spark and knew precisely what lingered in the man’s mind. Yet instead of rebuffing him, he tightened his grip on Xue Shu’s hand, a smile curling at the corners of his lips—sharp, wicked.

"Lead the way," he murmured.

The two walked side by side, their shadows stretching long and entwined under the lantern light, their hushed voices carried off by the heady spring breeze.

Tonight, the wine might flow, but it would be more than liquid heat that burned between them. After all, the finest spring nights were meant to be shared, deeply and dangerously, with only one who truly understood.