Chapter 2: Chapter 2. A dream in my life, you and I.

Chapter 2.

Xue Shu was dragged back to the Eastern Palace, bound like a hunted animal.

The Eastern Palace, also called Ciqing Palace, stood north of the three gates within Donghua Gate. It was the residence of every Crown Prince of Great Yan for generations. Ever since Yin Chengyu was named Crown Prince at the age of seven, he had lived there alone.

A decade later, Ciqing Palace had become an impenetrable fortress. These days, there was no need to hide anything. Yin Chengyu sat lazily in the main hall, his movements unhurried. A fresh cup of tea was brought in by the eunuchs, and he held it lightly, sipping with lowered eyes.

Moments later, Xue Shu was hauled in, trussed up like a sacrificial lamb, and shoved to his knees in the middle of the hall.

Yin Chengyu’s gaze flicked downward, cold and sharp as a knife, sizing him up.

The boy kneeling before him was no more than seventeen or eighteen, tall and wiry, his features sharply defined yet still tinged with a youthful greenness. The hostility etched between his brows gave him the air of a wild wolf cub, freshly separated from its pack—feral, but not nearly menacing enough to strike fear.

Yin Chengyu couldn’t help but think back to their first encounter in his previous life.

Back then, Emperor Longfeng was in his twilight years, obsessed with the pursuit of immortality, cloistered away in Daoist temples, leaving state affairs in disarray. Xue Shu had saved the emperor’s life during an assassination attempt and earned unparalleled favor, rising to command the imperial court’s every move. Ministers, scholars, concubines, and princes all sought his good graces.

When Yin Chengyu learned that Xue Shu would accompany the emperor to the imperial mausoleum for a ritual, he began plotting their meeting. He needed Xue Shu’s power to regain control of the court, and he was willing to pay any price.

Xue Shu had indeed helped him—but the price had been himself.

He vividly remembered Xue Shu’s reaction to his proposal. The man’s eyes had gleamed like a predator locking onto prey, a cruel, calculated glint. “Any price?” he’d asked, voice sharp and cold.

Even sensing danger, Yin Chengyu hadn’t had the luxury of retreat. He nodded.

Xue Shu’s response was a feral grin. He had leaned in, gripped Yin Chengyu’s jaw, and bit down on his neck hard enough to leave a deep mark. His tongue followed, languid and deliberate, before he spoke in a tone that dripped with mockery: “How about this? Acceptable?”

Even now, years later, Yin Chengyu couldn’t quite remember how he’d felt in that moment.

Shock? Humiliation? Desperation?

Probably all of it.

But what had burned itself into his memory was Xue Shu’s face—dark, severe, and unrelenting.

The man had sharp features and narrow, piercing eyes that were jet black, the kind of face that exuded aggression and danger. Draped in a crimson ceremonial robe, he had looked like a venomous snake coiled to strike, vibrant yet deadly, hissing out an icy invitation Yin Chengyu had no choice but to accept.

Five years of imprisonment had left him no other option. The weight of revenge, the sting of injustice—he couldn’t wait passively any longer. So, he submitted, clenching his teeth and staking everything on a single gambit.

And Xue Shu? He had answered his call.

In the years that followed, bound to the man in a twisted dance of power and submission, Yin Chengyu had felt anger, resentment, and frustration—but never regret. Without Xue Shu, he wouldn’t have survived to see his vengeance fulfilled.

Still, lack of regret didn’t mean acceptance. This time, things were different. Reborn, in control, and sitting again as the Crown Prince, Yin Chengyu had the upper hand. Xue Shu, on the other hand, was no longer the feared and untouchable Grand Eunuch of the previous life.

The boy kneeling before him now, dressed in rough-spun clothes, silent and restrained, was far more pleasing to the eye than the overbearing tyrant of the past.

A smile spread across Yin Chengyu’s face, slow and indulgent.

“What’s your name?”

“Xue Shu.”

Even on his knees, Xue Shu’s back was ramrod straight, his defiance blazing. His eyes locked onto Yin Chengyu, unwavering. His hands clenched slightly at his sides, like he was grasping for something invisible.

Yin Chengyu didn’t care. He was feeling rather magnanimous. His mood, light and buoyant, even softened his tone.

“Come closer. Let me take a good look at you.”

Xue Shu obeyed, shuffling forward on his knees until only a breath of space separated them.

The proximity was startling. The faint fragrance clinging to Yin Chengyu’s robes—a cool, sweet scent like winter plum blossoms—invaded Xue Shu’s senses, lingering in the air between them. It was unlike anything he’d ever encountered before.

So this is what he’s like, Xue Shu thought.

Xue Shu pressed his lips together, his fiery gaze locked on Yin Chengyu, closing the gap between mortal and celestial with a defiant intensity.

He didn’t bother hiding it, not even a little. In fact, his stare was brazen, borderline insolent, enough to ignite a flicker of annoyance in Yin Chengyu. With a cold smirk, Yin Chengyu slammed his teacup onto the table, tipped Xue Shu’s chin up with the toe of his boot, and sneered from his lofty perch, “Hoping to serve me, are you?”

The question wasn’t a question. It was meant to humiliate.

In a previous life, Xue Shu had toyed with him mercilessly. Now the tables had turned, and Yin Chengyu wasn’t about to let him off easy. Every ounce of humiliation would be repaid in full.

But Xue Shu didn’t flinch, didn’t cower, didn’t even look offended. Instead, his wolf-like black eyes shot up, filled with a strange surge of excitement and hunger. His voice came low, heavy, and unwavering: “Yes.”

That wasn’t how Yin Chengyu had expected this to go.

For a moment, he froze, then his irritation deepened, twisting into something sharper. Xue Shu, of all people, had no redeeming qualities. He deserved nothing better than to be tossed into the filth and left to rot.

“You’re not worthy,” Yin Chengyu said, leaning closer, brushing his hand against Xue Shu’s face in a gesture so patronizing it could’ve been a slap.

Xue Shu didn’t waver. His voice cut through the air, calm but resolute. “I’ll make myself worthy.”

His gaze wandered briefly before landing on Zhao Lin, the captain of the guards standing nearby. Xue Shu’s chin lifted in challenge, and his tone turned bold, downright reckless. “I’m better than him. He doesn’t dare kill. I do.”

Zhao Lin’s expression twitched, though he didn’t refute the claim. It wasn’t about courage—Zhao Lin had his principles. He’d never harm the innocent, not even under orders. But Xue Shu? He was a weapon without a sheath, ruthless and untamed.

The man was a blade honed for killing, a creature born to obey orders without hesitation or morality. Zhao Lin had seen his kind before—back in the dungeons of the Eastern Bureau, where executioners followed orders as casually as pouring tea. Xue Shu wasn’t just dangerous. He was a monster, barely leashed.

Zhao Lin's temples were throbbing. He didn't know why the always kind and benevolent prince suddenly brought such a person back.

Yin Chengyu chuckled softly, his amusement tinged with cruelty. Xue Shu, for all his audacity, wasn’t wrong. He was a handy weapon. But Yin Chengyu wasn’t about to let him get cocky.

Propping his chin lazily on his hand, his gaze drifted south, a flicker of calculation crossing his features. “If you want to stay by my side, you’ll need to be... cleansed. Still interested?”

Xue Shu paused, meeting Yin Chengyu’s gaze with a flicker of confusion, then nodded. “Yes.”

That gave Yin Chengyu pause. If he hadn’t dragged Xue Shu back himself, he might already have been “cleansed”—and willingly, it seemed. The thought was almost comical.

Almost.

Yin Chengyu doesn’t give a damn who ends up regretting it later.

He remembers those days—Xue Shu would mess with him, and he'd spit out curses like "useless eunuch," just to piss Xue Shu off even more. It was a game—one where Xue Shu would double down, just to put him in his place. But that was back when he was cocky and reckless, too dumb to appreciate what was right in front of him.

Now? Yin Chengyu's got nothing but time to kill, and not a shred of shame shows on his face. That’s what really eats at them.

Yin Chengyu scoffed, a dry laugh escaping his lips. This one—this foolish, reckless, maddening man—was bound to regret it later. Yin Chengyu could picture it now: the curses, the struggles, the desperate attempts to claw his way out of the trap he walked into so naively. And Yin Chengyu? He’d savor every moment of it.

“Fine,” Yin Chengyu said, waving him off like a bothersome fly. “You’ve got my permission.” He turned to Zhao Lin. “Take him and find a place for him. Out of my sight.”

Xue Shu cast him one last glance before retreating, trailing after Zhao Lin without a word.

Once they were gone, Yin Chengyu settled back, taking a long, deliberate sip of his tea. His servant, Zheng Duobao, hesitated before speaking. “Your Highness... Are you really keeping him here in the Eastern Palace?”

“What for?” Yin Chengyu snapped, his irritation flaring again. “To be a constant nuisance?”

The thought brought an even deeper scowl to his face. Once, in another lifetime, Xue Shu had lived here too.

He was the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Supervisor of the Eastern Depot. With residences inside and outside the palace, he could live wherever he pleased. Yet, he had to insist on blatantly, defiantly moving into the Eastern Palace—sharing bed, meals, and every step of daily life with the Crown Prince.

He dressed it up as “serving the Crown Prince,” but let’s face it—he just wanted easier access to torment him.

Those shamelessly indulgent memories made him itch to throw Xue Shu straight back into the silkworm room the moment they resurfaced.

Zheng Duobao, noticing his shifting expression, dared not probe further. Instead, he cautiously asked, “What should we do with Young Master Xue—”

“Send him to the Western Depot.” Before he could finish, Yin Chengyu cut him off decisively.

Anger was one thing, but Yin Chengyu wouldn’t let personal grievances ruin the grander scheme.

Xue Shu wasn’t just a sharp weapon, but a reliable ally who could watch his back. Letting him act this time spared Xue Shu from castration, but Yin Chengyu had no intention of disrupting the path history had paved.

In the previous life, Xue Shu started in the Directorate of Palace Attendants before moving to the Western Depot. Through ruthless cunning, he climbed to the position of Supervisor of the Western Depot, crushing the once-mighty Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Uniform Guard (Jinyiwei) underfoot.

Currently, the Eastern Depot was still under Gao Yuan, who, along with Gao Xian—the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial—were brothers in everything but name. Outwardly loyal to the emperor, they steered clear of the Crown Princes' power struggles. Behind the scenes, though, they’d been thick as thieves with conniving second prince for years.

As for Commander Gong Feihong of the Embroidered Uniform Guard? The man was a spineless opportunist. Right now, Gong was all smiles and flattery while Yin Chengyu held the upper hand. But the moment Yin Chengyu faltered, Gong Feihong would pivot straight to supporting the second prince.

In his last life, Yin Chengyu had been the perfect filial son, never thinking to win over the emperor’s confidants. Now, counting the people he could actually use, he realized his hand was empty.

Xue Shu was his best shot.

He’d spared Xue Shu’s most vital asset, so it was only natural for Xue Shu to repay him with loyalty and service.

With that thought, Yin Chengyu added, “Keep the matter of his castration—or lack thereof—strictly confidential.” After a pause, he continued, “And don’t let anyone link him to the Eastern Palace.”

Zheng Duobao mulled over the instructions, baffled. He’d practically raised the Crown Prince and yet couldn’t wrap his head around the Crown Prince’s attitude toward this Young Master Xue.

If he valued him so much, why exile him to the Western Depot?

Despite the minor difference in name, the Western Depot was a glorified wasteland—a place where ambitions withered. But if he didn’t value him, why go to such lengths, even delaying state affairs for half a day over this man?

The Crown Prince had always been the epitome of self-control, yet Zheng Duobao had never seen him so out of sorts.

After pondering the matter in vain, Zheng Duobao finally acknowledged the orders with a “Yes” and set about arranging Xue Shu’s fate.

*

Xue Shu got hauled off to the Western Bureau by an old eunuch.

The Western Bureau’s headquarters, planted west at Xi’an Gate, squared off against the Eastern Bureau at Dong’an Gate—one East, one West, staring each other down. Back in Emperor Xiaozong’s time, the Western Bureau was founded to keep the Eastern Bureau and the Embroidered Guard in check. At its peak, it commanded double the agents of the Eastern Bureau, wielding power so vast it could arrest and interrogate suspects—hell, they didn’t even need the emperor’s permission to snatch court officials. [1]

That kind of unchecked power?

It bred disaster. The Xiaozong era saw wrongful arrests left and right, stirring the public into a full-blown rage. So when Emperor Longfeng took the throne, he made it a point to clip the Western Bureau’s wings.

These days, the Western Bureau’s just a hollow shell of its former glory, barely limping along under the Eastern Bureau’s thumb.

The old eunuch strode in with Xue Shu, and there in the courtyard, a handful of agents sat lounging around, pounding back drinks. They wore pointed hats, coarse brown robes, and polished white boots. At the sight of newcomers, they scrambled to stash the wine bottles and stumbled to their feet.

The head agent, spotting the eunuch’s royal pedigree, plastered on a grin so oily you could fry a fish with it. “What an honor, Your Excellency! You grace this wretched place with your presence.”

“Save the ass-kissing.” The eunuch sneered, tilting his chin high like he was looking down on ants. “I heard you’re short on men, so here’s someone for you.” He jerked a thumb toward Xue Shu, then turned on his heel. “He’s yours. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Safe travels, Excellency. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.” The head agent saw him out the gate, then swung back around, giving Xue Shu a once-over. He clicked his tongue in disdain.

Another stiff-necked troublemaker. Probably pissed off someone in the palace and got dumped in this godforsaken wasteland.

He’d seen plenty like this before and couldn’t be bothered to waste any effort. He waved for someone to hand over a uniform and point Xue Shu to a room, then went back to his own business.

Why bother?

In this backwater dump, even the toughest bastard breaks eventually. No need to lift a finger.

Xue Shu silently swapped his clothes for the drab brown robes and white boots of the Bureau lackeys. Sitting on the bare cot in his assigned room, he found himself with nothing to do but brood.

From outside, the rowdy sounds of drinking games and drunken laughter drifted in. His mind wandered to Yin Chengyu, perched in judgment on the high dais.

That man, swathed in a snowy-white fox-fur robe, skin so pale it made the fur look dull, eyes dark as onyx, lips a blood-red slash. Sitting there like some untouchable immortal.

A faint whiff of cold plum blossoms brushed past his nose.

Xue Shu flexed his fingers, curling them into a loose fist. His tight-pressed lips eased upward into the barest hint of a smirk.

Untouchable? Hardly.

The distance between them wasn’t insurmountable—it was close enough to breach. Close enough to seize.

*

Once the Laba Festival was over, Yin Chengyu lazed around for another five or six days before finally shaking off his cold.

When he recovered, did he rush back to play the dutiful crown prince and ease Emperor Longfeng’s burdens like before?

Not a chance.

Claiming he still needed rest, he shut himself in the Eastern Palace, refusing to see officials, ignoring state affairs, and only showing up on time at the Hall of Benevolence for lectures. A "model prince" on paper, doing just enough to avoid being accused of stepping out of line.

But the more obedient he acted, the more anxious Emperor Longfeng became. The old man even sent his lackey, Gao Xian, to the Eastern Palace to "check on his health."

Check his health? Sure.

It was nothing more than a thinly veiled order to get his ass back to work.

After sending Gao Xian packing, Yin Chengyu sat back with a cup of tea, lips curled in a cold sneer. His dear father—dumb luck put him on the throne, but talent?

None to speak of.

A man of limited skills and boundless appetite for pleasure, yet thanks to the mess left over from Emperor Xiaozong's reign, he's been reduced to a paranoid wreck, constantly convinced someone’s out to kill him or snatch his throne.

On one hand, he leaned on Yin Chengyu and the cabinet, pushing as much work onto them as possible. On the other, he feared them, terrified the crown prince might grow impatient for the old man to kick the bucket.

So, what does this genius do? He pits Yin Chengyu against his second brother, playing clumsy balancing games.

Back then, Yin Chengyu still held onto some naive notion of familial loyalty, turning a blind eye to these petty schemes.

Not anymore.

This time, he’s giving the old man exactly what he wants—keeping out of state affairs entirely. And surprise, surprise, now Emperor Longfeng’s not happy with that either.

He’d been sick for over half a month, and the emperor didn’t send so much as a word of concern. But the second no one’s there to pick up the slack?

Suddenly, it’s a national emergency.

Too bad. Yin Chengyu wasn’t about to jump just because the old man said so.

In his last life, he thought being upright and transparent meant he had nothing to fear, even in the cutthroat world of palace politics. How wrong he was. The schemes he faced were filthier than he could’ve imagined, and the emperor’s heart colder than he ever realized.

This time, he’s out. Whoever wants to sit on that precarious throne can have it.

Yin Chengyu finished his tea, calmed himself, and made his way to Kunning Palace to pay respects to Empress Yu—his mother.

This was the first time he’d visited her since his rebirth.

As he grew older, to avoid suspicion, his visits to the inner palace had grown infrequent, limited to the first and fifteenth of each month. But with his cold last month, and knowing his mother was pregnant, he hadn’t wanted to risk spreading illness. A month had passed since they last saw each other.

Standing before Kunning Palace, he paused, steadying the turbulence in his chest before stepping inside.

Hearing of his arrival, Empress Yu came out to greet him with the help of her attendants.

Six months into her pregnancy, her movements were slow and cumbersome, but her every gesture remained as poised and graceful as ever. Seeing her son trudging through the snow to see her, she dismissed the attendants, took out a handkerchief, and brushed the snow off his hair herself. Then she had someone bring over ginger tea.

“Your cold just cleared up, and now you’re out in the snow again?” she chided, but her eyes couldn’t hide her joy.

“I missed you, so I came to see you,” Yin Chengyu said, helping her to a seat and thoughtfully placing a cushion behind her. “Has the imperial physician been coming regularly? What do they say?”

“The physician says all is well,” Empress Yu replied, patting her swollen belly with a soft smile. “Come the new year, you might have a little brother or sister.”

“A brother,” Yin Chengyu said with a warm laugh. “I dreamt about it a few nights ago.” His voice was gentle, but his lowered eyes were dark with hidden emotions.

It would be a brother.

In his previous life, when the Yu family fell, Yin Chengyu was deposed as crown prince. The empress, devastated by the news, went into premature labor.

With the Yu family and himself in ruins, Kunning Palace descended into chaos. Someone used the opportunity to sabotage the empress’s delivery. She hemorrhaged during childbirth, leaving the midwives with an impossible choice—save the mother or the child.

His mother gave her life for the baby, smuggling him out of the palace to be raised in secret, replacing him with a stillborn infant.

Yin Chengyu learned all of this only after his release from imprisonment, when he tracked down the wet nurse who had raised his brother, Yin Chengyan.

He could hardly imagine the despair his mother must have felt, alone in the palace, faced with such a cruel decision.

Even though he eventually tracked down and flayed the culprit—Concubine Wen—alive in front of Kunning Palace, it could never undo the torment his mother endured.

This time, he would let no one harm them.

“Take care of yourself, Mother,” Yin Chengyu said with a soft smile, burying the shadows in his heart. “Once my brother is born, I’ll teach him to read and write myself.”

“Talking about this already?” Empress Yu shot him an amused glance.

Before she could say more, a palace maid rushed in, pale with panic.

“Your Majesty! Something terrible has happened—the demon fox! It’s attacking again!”

———Author’s Note:

Yin Chengyu: Should just castrate it and be done.

Xue Shu: Even castrated, I can still do plenty.

Yin Chengyu: …

[1] Part of this article is quoted from Baidu Encyclopedia.

———TN:

锦衣卫 (Jǐn yī wèi): The Embroidered Uniform Guard. This was a special force that served as both the imperial bodyguard and secret police during the Ming Dynasty in China.

They were responsible for the personal safety of the emperor and his immediate family.

The Jinyiwei had broad powers to investigate crimes, arrest suspects, and carry out punishments, often without the need for a formal trial. They gathered intelligence, both domestic and foreign, and maintained a network of spies.

The Jinyiwei were answerable only to the emperor, giving them a great deal of power and independence. This made them a formidable force and a symbol of imperial authority.

As their name suggests, they wore distinctive embroidered uniforms that set them apart from other military units.