Chapter 25: Chapter 24. To have lofty ambitions.

Chapter 24.

"I won’t kill you. But punishment? Oh, that’s inevitable. What do you think?"

The words were few, the tone light, but they struck deep—each syllable a calculated twist on Xue Shu’s most vulnerable nerves, unraveling him from the inside out.

A husky voice, deliberately drawn out, wove an intoxicating web of ambiguity, wrapping him up tight. No escape, but then again, did he even want to?

Reason buckled under the weight of temptation. The caged beast inside strained at its confines, ready to break free. Xue Shu stood rigid, his dark eyes brimming with suppressed violence and raw yearning.

Suddenly, he seized Yin Chengyu’s wrist, his grip hard, almost bruising. The tension in his arm spoke of restraint stretched to its limits, his veins standing out against taut muscle. Crimson threads lined his eyes, a feral gleam barely held in check.

He was the wolf closing in on its prey, ready to sink sharp fangs into the throat of its quarry.

“However Your Highness chooses to punish me,” Xue Shu rasped, “I’ll take it.”

Pain flared faintly in Yin Chengyu’s wrist, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his gaze lazily tracing the dark hunger clouding Xue Shu’s expression.

Ah, youth. So volatile, so eager to burn.

His lips curved in a wicked smile as he glanced at his captive wrist, pale and delicate beneath Xue Shu’s unforgiving grip. Fingertips lightly skimmed over Xue Shu’s forearm, tracing the raised veins down to the back of his hand, before curling to tap gently. “You’re hurting me, you know. I should add that to your punishment.”

Despite the reproach in his words, his tone carried not even a hint of displeasure.

Xue Shu’s gaze dropped to the elegant wrist in his grasp. Yin Chengyu’s pale skin was sensitive, and already it bore the red imprint of his fingers. A vivid mark of transgression, but one that only deepened the allure.

He loosened his grip instinctively, the vivid red streaks now fully visible, decorating that wrist like some forbidden masterpiece.

His throat tightened, his breath coming harder as the heat inside surged again.

Yin Chengyu rotated his wrist languidly, his eyes sharp, half-lidded. “Under the Great Yan’s laws, offending one’s liege is disrespect. A capital crime. You tell me… what kind of punishment should I give you?”

Xue Shu clenched his jaw, refusing to respond.

Yin Chengyu watched him intently, savoring every ounce of restraint etched into the man’s tense posture. A long moment passed before he sighed theatrically, the sound almost indulgent. “Fine, I am nothing if not merciful. I’ll let you off this once. But you’ll repay me—go and prepare my bed. Make it warm. Consider that your penance.”

His gaze swept over Xue Shu, lingering just long enough to provoke. “The damp chill of the river air can be such a bother, but your fiery temper might finally serve a purpose. Warm my bed properly, won’t you?”

Xue Shu’s fists clenched tight at his sides, his body a battlefield of restraint and longing. The vortex of Yin Chengyu’s presence drew him deeper, robbing him of air and reason, leaving him willingly drowning for just a fleeting moment of closeness.

He tore his gaze away, his voice hoarse with effort. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Go on, then. When it’s ready, come fetch me,” Yin Chengyu murmured with a dismissive wave, settling back to nibble on a walnut.

As Xue Shu moved to the inner chambers, Yin Chengyu reclined on his chaise, thumbing through a book and savoring the taste of roasted walnuts between sips of tea. By the time Xue Shu reemerged, nearly an hour had passed.

The bed was prepared, warmed to perfection, and Xue Shu stood like a sentinel, waiting for further instruction. Yin Chengyu cast him an amused glance before waving him off for the night.

In the privacy of his own cabin, Xue Shu locked the door and allowed his emotions to surface at last. In the darkness, his heavy breaths filled the room, the crushing tide of suppressed desire finally breaking free.

The cold night air seeped in slowly, cooling the heat that had burned so fiercely. Steadying himself, he lit a lamp and began washing a soiled handkerchief, his motions precise, almost reverent.

His reflection in the water wavered, but his thoughts stayed fixed—on the pale wrist marked by his grip, the faint smile that haunted him, and the seductive torment of Yin Chengyu’s every word.

The white cloth soaked in water, but Xue Shu’s thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.

By now, His Highness should be asleep.

That bed—it’s not that big. Maybe, just maybe, His Highness is lying in the very spot he once occupied, wrapped in the lingering warmth… and his scent.

Xue Shu lifted his hand, brushing his fingers beneath his nose, searching for any trace of that scent.

Nothing.

He had been careful—too careful. His Highness probably wouldn’t notice, would he?

And even if he did, what of it? Xue Shu lowered his eyes, fingers deftly working the damp cloth. At worst, His Highness would punish him again.

The thought of today's punishment made his tongue dart out, wetting his dry lips. Somewhere deep inside, he couldn’t deny it—he was looking forward to it.

*

The journey back to the capital took two days and a night along the canal before the ship finally docked at Tongzhou.

At the pier, the Crown Prince's elaborate entourage was already waiting. The officials from the Ministry of Revenue were on hand to catalog the illicit goods seized on the voyage, but Yin Chengyu, unbothered by the logistics, returned to the Ciqing Palace without delay.

Xue Shu, however, had the task of escorting Wan Youliang and the other prisoners to the Court of Judicial Review and would not accompany Yin Chengyu back to the palace.

As they passed each other, Yin Chengyu lowered his voice. “If the Emperor calls for you, you know how to respond, don’t you?”

“Rest assured, Your Highness,” Xue Shu replied with a slight nod.

He was a sharp man. One reminder was all it took. Without another word, Yin Chengyu climbed into his carriage and made his way back to Ciqing Palace.

Xue Shu stood motionless, watching until the carriage disappeared from view, before turning to attend to his duties.

Back at the Ciqing Palace, Yin Chengyu changed into fresh robes before heading to Wuying Hall to report the details of his recent mission in Tianjin to Emperor Longfeng.

Word of his return had clearly spread. Apart from Grand Secretary Yu Huai’an, who was still feigning illness, the other cabinet ministers had all found excuses to gather at Wuying Hall. They weren’t just there for appearances—they were eager for firsthand information.

Although news from Tianjin had trickled in over the past weeks, the distance inevitably caused delays. Everyone knew the Crown Prince held the most accurate updates.

The moment Yin Chengyu stepped inside, five pairs of eyes locked onto him.

Unperturbed, he approached the Emperor, bowing deeply. “Your son has returned, mission accomplished.”

“Rise. You’ve been gone for nearly a month; both I and the Empress have been worried for you.” Emperor Longfeng’s expression was warm, his gaze filled with paternal affection.

He already knew from the reports sent by Fang Zhengke that the confiscated funds amounted to an astonishing fifteen million taels of silver. Even though the Emperor usually resented this son’s knack for overshadowing him, the sheer size of that windfall was enough to soften his demeanor.

After ordering Gao Yuan to bring a chair for Yin Chengyu, the Emperor finally asked about the state of Tianjin.

Yin Chengyu spared no details, painting a damning picture of the chaos in the salt administration.

“Within the Changlu saltworks, corrupt officials have been falsifying documents, issuing unauthorized salt permits, and embezzling tax silver. Simultaneously, they’ve been colluding with salt merchants and transport gangs, facilitating the illegal transport of official salt to southern markets for enormous profits. Some, like Guan Haishan, have even joined forces with pirates.

“These crimes have devastated the region. Fields lie fallow, troops have grown lax, and households have abandoned honest work to boil salt in their own courtyards.

“From Changlu alone, dozens of officials are implicated. One can only imagine the situation in other regions like Lianghuai and Zhejiang.”

His tone turned stern as he bowed deeply. “The salt tax is the backbone of the empire’s finances. If we don’t eliminate these vermin, the treasury will never prosper. I beg Your Majesty to issue orders for a thorough investigation and harsh punishment.”

“Indeed, it must be investigated!” Emperor Longfeng’s face darkened with rage. “It’s because of these corrupt officials that the treasury is so depleted. All those involved in Changlu will face severe punishment—execution and confiscation of property. Let it serve as a warning to others. As for the other salt bureaus, send imperial censors to conduct thorough investigations. Not a single corrupt official is to be spared.”

That one casual decree sent a jolt through the gathered ministers.

Apart from Changlu, the empire had five other major salt bureaus—Lianghuai, Zhejiang, Shandong, Fujian, and Hedong—each overseeing multiple inspection offices. The web of interests was vast, and the number of officials involved unimaginable.

If the Emperor truly meant to root out corruption, how many heads would roll?

Especially in regions like Lianghuai, Zhejiang, and Fujian, which fell under southern jurisdictions. Of the four ministers present, three were deeply entangled with the southern faction.

They exchanged uneasy glances before Second Grand Secretary Shao Tian broke the silence. “Your Majesty, please reconsider. As the ancients said, ‘Too clear a stream leaves no fish.’ Smuggling of private salt has been an age-old issue. While reforms and punishments are necessary, acting too harshly could spark chaos.

“Perhaps a more measured approach would suffice. Execute only the ringleaders, but grant leniency to accomplices who willingly surrender their illicit gains. Let them atone for their crimes with silver rather than their positions. This way, the salt officials will self-correct, and the treasury will be replenished without unnecessary bloodshed. Would this not be a win-win?”

“Second Grand Secretary speaks wisely,” added Chancellor Chang Qi. “If all implicated officials are purged, not only will local administrations be paralyzed, but history may also brand Your Majesty as a tyrant. Better to temper justice with mercy.”

The Emperor, who had been brimming with fury moments before, began to waver. Greed for silver was the true driver of his outrage, not a principled stand against corruption. As he mulled over Shao Tian’s suggestion, the fire in his eyes dimmed.

Yin Chengyu watched it all unfold with cold detachment, his lowered gaze concealing a trace of scorn.

Longfeng Emperor was exactly this kind of man—mediocre in knowledge, indecisive at heart. He was the ruler of the realm, yet his eyes were fixed solely on his own selfish gains.

When it suited his pocket, he'd send investigators to the salt administration in Changlu, leaving no corrupt official unpunished. But when it suited his pocket just as well, he'd turn a blind eye to the law and spit on its very principles.

Yin Chengyu said nothing, but Grand Scholar Lu Jing, who also served as the Minister of Personnel and knew all too well the poison of these corrupt officials, couldn’t hold back. He snapped, “Assistant Minister Shao and Elder Chang, where do you place the laws of Great Yan with your words? If corrupt and lawless men go unpunished, allowing this rot to fester, won’t it embolden everyone to steal and cheat without fear?”

“Grand Scholar Lu, aren’t you being overly dramatic…”

It was then that another scholar, Song Guangxuan, who had remained silent until now, joined the fray.

The four men bickered endlessly, sharp words slicing through the air.

Longfeng Emperor, now thoroughly irritated by the chaos, slammed his hand on the table and barked, “Enough! We’ll discuss this later.”

He glanced at Yin Chengyu, who had remained silent the entire time, but his earlier tenderness was gone. “The Crown Prince has been worn out these days. Go and rest.”

With a flick of his sleeve, the emperor stormed off to Qianqing Palace.

Once alone in his chambers, the emperor mulled over Shao Tian’s proposal. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The treasury was running dry—he didn’t even have the funds to build a few Longevity Pagodas he’d planned. But if they thoroughly audited the salt administrations and fined the offenders heavily, they wouldn’t just have money for pagodas; they could build entire palaces with the surplus.

Besides, selling official positions wasn’t exactly new—every dynasty before had done it. He could even frame it as upholding tradition.

The emperor grew increasingly pleased with the idea. He turned to Gao Xian and ordered, “Go, summon Xue Shu.”

*

Yin Chengyu, meanwhile, didn’t return to Ciqing Palace immediately after leaving the Wuying Palace.

He stood beneath the corridor for a long while, watching the spring scenery—lush grass, vibrant birdsong. It took a while for the fury churning in his chest to settle.

Finally, he exhaled a long, slow breath, letting the frustration drain from him. Stepping into the interplay of sunlight and shadows, he made his way toward Kunning Palace.

———Author’s Note:

The dog: I’ve had enough, I’m fighting back now.

The prince: … Excuse me?