Chapter 91: Chapter 90. Can drink a cup of.

Chapter 90.

As the saying goes, "speak of the devil, and he shall appear."

Yin Chengyu’s gaze darkened as he lifted his eyes toward the figure strolling slowly into view.

The man wore a red-gem-encrusted three-peaked hat, its strap fastened tightly beneath his sharp chin. His crimson robe, adorned with intricate patterns of coiling dragons, clung to his form, cinched at the waist by a black leather belt. The dragon emblazoned on his chest stared out with menacing eyes, claws bared, as if ready to leap out at any moment. The vibrant colors heightened the wicked allure in his narrow eyes and accentuated the cruel curve of his thin lips—like a beast ready to pounce and tear its prey apart.

As he approached with unhurried steps from the end of the corridor, Yin Chengyu felt an eerie déjà vu, as if the infamous Jiu Qiansui Eunuch Xue of his past life had clawed his way out of his memories. But just as quickly as the illusion gripped him, it shattered under the weight of reality.

Xue Shu spoke first, his lips forming words that dripped with feigned deference. “Your Highness, could it be you sought this humble servant?”

His tone was light, but the look in his eyes betrayed him—a simmering resentment tinged with grievance, as though silently accusing, Had I not approached, would Your Highness even remember who I am?

Such a sharp contrast to the ruthless and calculating shadow of his past life. This Xue Shu knew how to play the part of a loyal servant to perfection.

But Yin Chengyu wasn’t fooled. He’d already uncovered the man’s secrets, stripped him of his pretenses, and laid his true nature bare.

What a performer.

Yin Chengyu let out a soft chuckle, ignoring the piercing gaze Xue Shu cast his way. He neither offered a seat nor softened his tone. Instead, he spoke deliberately, his voice calm yet unyielding. “Yes, there is a task I need you to handle.” Then, turning to Yin Ciguang, he added, “It concerns you. Rest assured, Xue Shu won’t utter a word until the matter is resolved.”

The unspoken question lingered in the air—was Yin Ciguang willing to entrust the delicate matter to Xue Shu?

Yin Ciguang, who had crossed paths with Xue Shu at the Ciqing Palace before, had long suspected that his relationship with the Crown Prince wasn’t as hostile as the rumors suggested. Still, he hadn’t expected the Crown Prince to place such unwavering trust in Xue Shu.

After a moment’s contemplation, Yin Ciguang nodded lightly. “I have no objections.”

Only then did Yin Chengyu explain the situation to Xue Shu. “This concerns the royal bloodline. To avoid incurring Father Emperor’s wrath, we’ll need an impeccable excuse and the perfect timing. Do you have a plan?”

If anyone understood Emperor Longfeng’s temperament, it was Xue Shu. Twice over, this man had played the emperor like a puppet, bending him to his will. Not even the emperor’s own son could boast such influence.

Xue Shu’s smirk was subtle but telling. “Excuses are easy to fabricate. His Majesty is a devout believer in the divine. Spin it as a decree from the heavens. But belief alone won’t stop him from punishing someone. To ensure his compliance, the matter must benefit him in some way, compelling him to claim ownership of the secret willingly.”

Longfeng Emperor was a man of paranoia, stubbornness, and an iron will.

Yin Ciguang’s situation could be dismissed as a minor identity shift, yet at its core, it entangled the sacred royal bloodline. Learning the truth after being deceived for so long would not only enrage the emperor but deeply wound his pride. Without clear incentives, he’d likely mete out punishment in the name of preserving his dignity and authority.

Seeing Xue Shu’s calm expression, Yin Chengyu knew the man had already devised a plan. With a raised brow, he probed, “It seems our Commissioner Xue has a solution?”

Xue Shu didn’t miss a beat. “The emperor has yet to recover from the cold he caught after returning from the imperial hunt. Nightmares plague him nightly, leaving him restless and frail.”

Yin Chengyu understood instantly. Emperor Longfeng, having overindulged and mismanaged his health, was now reaping the consequences. His recent encounters with danger and overindulgence in vices had taken a visible toll. Whispers of his rapid decline were carefully contained, yet the imperial physicians were practically living within the palace, their presence a constant reminder of the emperor’s deteriorating state.

With a faint smile, Yin Chengyu said, “Very well. I leave it in your hands.”

Xue Shu bowed, accepting the task. Yet, as Yin Chengyu remained seated in the pavilion, leisurely sipping tea, Xue Shu hesitated before speaking. “Your Highness, there is... another matter I wish to report.”

His gaze lingered on the Crown Prince, unflinching, filled with an unmistakable longing.

For a brief moment, Yin Chengyu met his eyes, a sardonic laugh escaping his lips. Then he turned away, addressing Yin Ciguang. “Next time, Sister, I’ll invite you for tea again.”

Yin Ciguang nodded, rising to see them off.

Xue Shu trailed half a step behind Yin Chengyu as they left, murmuring in low tones. The Crown Prince turned his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips—one that seemed to hold secrets only they shared.

Watching them disappear down the corridor, Yin Ciguang felt a pang of envy. The bond between the two was undeniable, a closeness that left no room for others.

A flicker of melancholy stirred in his heart. Suppressing his wistful thoughts, he turned to his maid. “Pack the tea set. Let’s return.”

The maid obediently gathered the items, following him back to the secluded Yongxi Palace, its distant location a symbol of their isolation within the imperial harem.

Yongxi Palace, tucked away as the farthest of the East Six Palaces, exudes an air of quiet isolation. It's a secluded corner, sparsely graced by inhabitants—only Rong Fei and her son, Yin Ciguang, have ever called it home.

In the beginning, when Rong Fei was just another concubine, she and her son were relegated to a mere side hall, far from the center of power. But when her status was elevated, she claimed the grandeur of the main hall, seizing her rightful place as the mistress of the palace.

The journey back took time, and as he crossed the snowy pathways, Yin Ciguang’s mood matched the desolate cold.

Upon entering the hall, his gaze landed on an unexpected visitor seated within. The smile he’d worn faded instantly.

“What brings you to Yongxi Palace, Aunt Qiu?”

Aunt Qiu, Consort Wen’s most trusted attendant, had always looked at them like they were dirt, her eyes practically rolling to the heavens whenever she crossed paths with their mother and son duo.

But today, she wore a sugary smile, her voice dripping with faux kindness as she said, “With the year-end festivities approaching, the Inner Weaving Bureau has delivered an abundance of fabrics to Jingren Palace. Her Grace, the Noble Consort, instructed me to inform all the palace ladies to come and select what they need.”

This was Jingren Palace’s usual custom. However, Consort Wen had always made it her mission to exclude them from such courtesies. For her to suddenly extend an invitation?

Something reeked of treachery.

Yin Ciguang instinctively wanted to decline, but Aunt Qiu cut her off with a sharp pivot, leaving no room for protest. “All the other palaces have been notified already. Only Consort Rong and the Princess remain. If you dawdle any longer, I fear Her Grace might hold me responsible. So please, come along quickly.”

Though she kept smiling, her eyes betrayed impatience and an edge of menace.

Yin Ciguang exchanged a glance with her mother, Consort Rong, and reluctantly nodded. “Very well. Mother and I shall accompany you.”

The smirk that flitted across Autumn Auntie’s lips was brief but telling. She turned and led the way, her satisfaction barely concealed.

When they arrived at Jingren Palace, the expected crowd of consorts was notably absent. A few rolls of fabric were haphazardly strewn across a table.

Aunt Qiu's excuse was laughably half-hearted. “It seems you’ve come a bit late. The best fabrics have already been picked over by the other ladies.”

Perched lazily on her main seat, Consort Wen chuckled. “No matter. I had something special reserved for the Princess. The Inner Weaving Bureau assures me this pattern is the height of fashion. It’s a little too playful for my tastes, but it should suit the Princess perfectly.”

A maid brought forth a bolt of water-red fabric. Consort Wen stroked the material delicately, her gaze predatory as it landed on Yin Ciguang.

“Chief Zhao, the chief tailor of the Sewing Bureau, is here to take my measurements for a new outfit,” she purred. “Since you’re here, why don’t you have her take yours as well? It’s only fitting you wear something splendid for the festival.”

Her tone was pleasant, almost motherly, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

Chief Zhao approached with the fabric in hand, her smile cold and professional. “Princess, please follow me to the back for your measurements.”

The air bristled with tension. Even Consort Rong, usually composed, paled visibly. She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it, swallowing her words.

Hands clenched beneath her sleeves, Yin Ciguang replied smoothly, “There’s no need to trouble Her Grace or Chief Zhao for such a minor matter. Our measurements are on file with the Sewing Bureau. Please proceed as usual.”

Consort Wen’s smile widened, a predator savoring its prey. “As you wish.”

With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed Chief Zhao and the other attendants, leaving the room eerily quiet. Aunt Qiu returned, now flanked by four burly maids who radiated brute strength.

Yin Ciguang’s jaw tightened as she stepped protectively in front of her mother. “What is it that Her Grace intends to do?”

Consort Wen didn’t bother with pretense anymore. The earlier exchange had confirmed her suspicions. She toyed with the sharp, claw-like guards on her fingertips, her voice cold and cutting.

“Eldest Princess? Or should I say Eldest Prince? Let’s drop the charade. This is my domain. If I order my maids to strip you bare right here and now, do you think the truth would stay hidden for long?”

Her words hit like a blade, slicing through any hope of denial.

The color drained from Consort Rong’s face as Consort Wen turned her scornful gaze on her. “To think you had the gall to pull off such a ruse! How bold! How desperate!”

The truth was clear as day to Consort Wen. Yin Ciguang wasn’t some mystical hermaphrodite or intersex anomaly as others might assume. No, the truth was simpler—and far more damning.

After all, which woman in the harem doesn't want to give birth to a prince and become famous because of her son?

She fixed Consort Rong with a fiery, piercing glare. They had been pregnant at the same time, yet fate had played her cruelly—her baby was lost, while that conniving, wretched woman managed to bring her child into the world unscathed.

Consort Rong had dared to disguise her son as a daughter to keep him safe. A son that, had Consort Wen known about earlier, would never have been allowed to grow up.

She leaned back with a wicked smile, the rage simmering in her eyes. “An offense against the throne—deceiving the emperor himself. Tell me, do you think His Majesty will spare you once I reveal your little secret?”

Yin Ciguang dropped the act entirely. His fingers slid firmly around Consort Rong's hand, a bold and deliberate gesture of comfort, while his gaze locked intensely onto Consort Wen, unflinching and loaded with a dangerous edge.

Yin Ciguang’s lips curved into a sardonic smile, defiance burning in his eyes. “So is this why we were brought here? To listen to your petty threats?” He stepped forward, his tone laced with mockery. “If you have something to do, Consort Wen, do it.”

Consort Wen’s amusement deepened. “A loyal dog, I see. But loyalty comes at a price.” She gestured, and Aunt Qiu emerged holding a small sachet. "Alright then, let’s see how far that devotion goes. Who's it gonna be? The Crown Prince... or your dear, precious mother?"

“This little trinket,” Consort Wen said silkily, “is laced with powdered snake gall. Prolonged exposure erodes the mind, and it’s undetectable even by the imperial physicians."

"A perfect gift for the Empress, don’t you think? And who better to embroider it than Consort Rong herself?”

She raised a hand to silence the protest forming on Consort Rong’s lips. “Ah, but before you refuse, consider the alternative. The Emperor is ill, you see. Imagine if he were told that a ‘demon’ in his court was responsible for his declining health. Do you think you’d leave this palace alive?”

The trap snapped shut, cruel and inescapable. Consort Wen’s smirk widened as she reveled in their helplessness.

———TN:

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