Su Yan was so enraged by Yu Wang that steam practically poured from his ears. I won’t concern myself with that shameless, lecherous scoundrel anymore. Let him live or die as he pleases!
Leaving Yu Wang behind, he departed from the garden path, lantern in hand, weaving through the woods. Under the ancient camphor tree, the evidence-stuffed bundle was still where he had left it. As he approached the wall, he saw the “wind hole” still clinging precariously to the palace wall, exposing a small, dark gap—sinister as a beast’s unblinking eye.
It seemed Yun Xi really had fled, making this an act of evading justice. If he were to be caught later, it would only add to his crimes.
Su Yan sighed and walked a short distance along the base of the wall. Lifting his head, he suddenly caught sight of Yun Xi.
The man stood atop the gap in the palace wall, hands behind his back, gazing into the pitch-black night sky. The moonlight outlined his tall, stoic silhouette and the endless stretch of the wall, forming a somber, melancholic tableau.
Su Yan stepped closer and looked up. “Why haven’t you left?”
Yun Xi answered as if in a trance, “Leave? To where? The world is vast, but there is no place for me.”
“Come down,” Su Yan urged. “This case with Ye Langzhong—at its heart, it was born of emotion. There’s a cause behind it, and if you confess, plead for clemency, and beg the Emperor’s leniency, there might still be a glimmer of hope. Perhaps you’ll face exile or penal servitude instead of death…” His voice trailed off, even he doubting his own optimism.
Yun Xi’s expression remained unreadable, as though Su Yan’s words hadn’t even registered. He murmured to himself, “He took a sword to the chest, with nothing but the abyss below to meet his feet. Only the railing held the last thread of his life. What must he have felt in that moment?”
“He must have hated me—hated me for existing in his life, hated himself for not seeing through the cruelty I concealed beneath my aloofness. To escape one trap only to return to me seeking comfort, and for that, he lost his life.”
Though Yun Xi’s tone was calm, his words cut like a blade. Su Yan’s heart wavered with pity. “Brother Wuchen,” he coaxed gently, using Yun Xi’s courtesy name, “what’s done is done. Self-loathing changes nothing. Please come down.”
He extended a hand toward Yun Xi. Yun Xi leaned forward slightly, as though responding to the gesture, and said, “The view from up here is quite something. Would you like to join me?”
“I’m afraid of heights,” Su Yan replied, shaking his head.
“He was afraid of heights too,” Yun Xi said, a faint, choking laugh escaping his lips. “But when I invited him to meet at the top of the Fu building, he still climbed up.” His voice grew softer. “Enough. This view is mine alone to see.”
Su Yan said, “I just encountered a few assassins at the entrance of the rear garden and narrowly escaped with my life. I feared they might have backup and that a search of the garden might involve you as collateral damage, so I came back to warn you to be careful.”
Yun Xi lowered his head to look at him, his expression obscured by the night. Only a few loose strands of disheveled hair swayed in the wind, his voice ethereal: “It is I who should warn you. Be wary of Feng Que.”
Su Yan was startled. “You know the assassins were sent by him? This case… is Feng Que also involved?”
“The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend. Two people who appear to share the same goal often only use each other. When someone outlives their usefulness, silencing them to avoid being implicated—it’s not so hard to understand, is it?”
Yun Xi’s tone turned cold. “I don’t want to speak of that man anymore. It sullies the wind that passes by.”
He slowly climbed up the slope toward a breach, ascending to the top of a wall three or four zhang high. Su Yan felt a sense of dread rise in his chest and called out, “Come down at once—”
But Yun Xi, like a wounded lone swan, leaned forward resolutely and fell from the city wall. The night wind lifted his mud-stained white robes and the ink-painted plum blossom branch upon them, carrying his final, faint sigh to Su Yan’s ears:
“If I had known it would come to this, I wouldn’t have done it in the first place…”
Su Yan, holding a dim yellow lantern, stared up at the now-empty palace wall, desolate and still. The wind blew from the vast, boundless sky, leaving his heart hollow and rootless, adrift without anchor.
Behind him, faint footsteps sounded, but he didn’t turn around.
A searing warmth pressed against his back as a tall man embraced him tightly from behind, his low voice murmuring, “You’re cold as ice. If you don’t treat your injuries soon, even superficial wounds will sap your strength.”
That heat felt like a solid anchor, giving something weightless a place to land and take root. Su Yan’s taut nerves loosened. He closed his eyes, and his body softened as he collapsed, unconscious, into the man’s arms.
***
Meanwhile, Shen Qi spurred his horse through the night, rushing back to the Northern Surveillance Bureau.
The imposing vermilion gates of the Northern Surveillance Bureau, with their brass-studded surface, loomed ahead. Stone lions flanked the entrance, their fierce stances and snarling visages exuding menace.
Shen Qi’s expression was grim, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his embroidered spring blade as he strode purposefully through the courtyards and corridors, heading straight for the inner hall.
Once inside, he dropped to one knee and lowered his head in a salute to the middle-aged man seated in the head chair. “My lord, this subordinate has come to report.”
Feng Que, clad in imperial-bestowed crimson robes embroidered with golden flying fish, exuded an aura of commanding authority. His waist was cinched with a gold dragon belt, and his presence radiated both wealth and power. Though his posture was relaxed, leaning slightly against the armrest of the Eight Immortals chair, his right hand never left the hilt of the embroidered spring blade at his side. His gaze was as sharp and penetrating as the blade itself as he regarded his trusted subordinate kneeling before him.
“Do you know why I summoned you back tonight?”
Shen Qi pressed his forehead lower. “This subordinate has failed in his duties and is prepared to accept punishment.”
Feng Que’s eyes narrowed as he asked again, “In these ten years, how did you rise step by step from a mere bannerman to a fifth-rank officer?”
“With your lordship’s grace,” Shen Qi replied respectfully. “My lord recognized my potential and nurtured me. I owe everything to your benevolence, and even a lifetime of loyalty wouldn’t repay a fraction of the debt.”
Feng Que leaned forward slightly, his gaze darkening. “Do you know why I chose to nurture you?”
“Because this subordinate has always been loyal and willing to serve as your blade and steed.”
“Exactly. Because you, Shen Qi, are capable, articulate, and most importantly—loyal. Your loyalty is the foundation of your survival. Lose that loyalty, and your life will follow suit.”
Shen Qi raised his eyes, his expression slightly agitated. “Does the Lord suspect my loyalty? Though I am dull-witted, I understand the principle of repaying even the smallest kindness with great gratitude. Everything I have now—my rank, authority, wealth—all were granted by you, my lord. Even my life belongs to you. With a single command, I would willingly face fire and water. My loyalty has been unwavering for the past ten years. If my lord doubts me, I have no way to prove otherwise. Whether I live or die is entirely at your discretion.”
Feng Que sneered. “Fine words. But if your loyalty truly hasn’t wavered, why is it that you’ve been unable to take the life of a mere Shidu to the Crown Prince?”
Shen Qi’s face fell with shame. “Each time I attempt to strike, some stroke of luck saves him—either unforeseen circumstances or an outside force interrupts. I can’t make sense of it myself. Could it be…his fate is incompatible with mine?”
Feng Que slammed the armrest heavily, laughing in anger. “Fate?! You dare use such baseless superstition as an excuse to deceive me?”
Shen Qi appeared equally bewildered, shaking his head. “Even I find the thought absurd. I beg your pardon for my careless words. Please grant me one more chance. Even if it costs my life, I will bring Su Yan’s head to you. I am willing to swear an oath: either he dies, or I do!”
His voice was resolute, filled with murderous intent, as the blade at his side unconsciously slid an inch from its sheath. This display left Feng Que uncertain—could there truly be something to this idea of incompatible fates?
It is said one should rather err in killing than in trusting. Yet Feng Que felt uneasy about entrusting Shen Qi with another attempt on Su Yan’s life. However, to dispose of Shen Qi altogether based solely on repeated failures felt wasteful.
After all, capable subordinates like Shen Qi were scarce; there were barely three to five as competent in the entire Northern Surveillance Bureau.
Moreover, if Shen Qi truly harbored mercy for Su Yan, what could be the reason? The man was nothing more than a lowly official of the fifth rank, with little influence. Even if his eloquence had gained favor in the Eastern Palace or momentary notice from the Emperor, it was hardly sustainable. Could it be for lust? While Su Yan was indeed handsome, Shen Qi had never shown any interest in men. Even if he had a sudden inclination, with his temperament, he’d likely resort to taking him by force and then killing him—why would he risk severe punishment to protect him?
Feng Que pondered, growing increasingly uncertain.
Shen Qi’s repeated failures could not go unpunished. If not, Feng Que’s authority would be undermined, and his other subordinates might grow discontented.
Since Shen Qi declared himself loyal and willing to face any hardship, a severe punishment would test his sincerity—whether he remained loyal or grew resentful.
Finally, Feng Que made up his mind and addressed Shen Qi. “Since you admit your incompetence, you must be punished. Tell me, how should I punish you?”
Shen Qi replied, “I leave it to your discretion, my lord. I will not complain.”
Feng Que smirked. “I’ve heard you have a preference for certain tortures in the imperial prison—‘combing’ and ‘playing the pipa.’ They’re said to be quite effective for extracting confessions?”
Shen Qi lowered his head, his face pale. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Does my lord intend for me to endure one, or both?”
“Both.”
“…Understood.”
Shen Qi rose to leave, but after a few steps, Feng Que reconsidered. “Choose one. Your life is still needed for future tasks.”
“Understood. Please choose for me.”
Feng Que produced a copper coin, flipping it casually to the floor. It landed heads up. “Combing.”
Shen Qi nodded, said nothing further, and walked toward the imperial prison.
***
The torture chamber was illuminated by blazing torches, casting flickering light over racks of instruments glinting with a cold metallic sheen. The floor bore dark stains of blood and grime, so deeply embedded they could not be scrubbed away. The air reeked of dampness, rot, and a nauseating stench that assaulted the senses. Yet for those accustomed to it, it became as inescapable as the foul odors of a fish market.
Shen Qi stripped off his outer garments, leaving only a pair of dark trousers, his upper body bare.
The torchlight reflected off his deeply tanned, muscular physique, giving his skin a bronzed, almost polished appearance. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and his abdominal muscles sculpted in perfect symmetry. The contours of his back were firm yet fluid, a testament to his strength.
The attending officer hesitated, admiring the sight for a moment before snapping out of it, regret flashing across his face. “Do we really have to proceed with ‘combing’? Lord Commander, couldn’t you plead with the Commandant to change the punishment?”
Shen Qi laid down on the torture bench, his tone calm. “No need to say more. Begin.”
The officer retrieved leather straps to bind his hands and feet, ensuring he wouldn’t thrash about during the pain.
“There’s no need for restraints,” Shen Qi said. “I can endure it.”
Reluctantly, the officer put the straps aside and murmured, “I take no pleasure in this, but if I don’t carry out the punishment properly, the Commandant won’t spare me.”
Shen Qi said, “I don’t blame you. Just be quick about it and spare me as much suffering as you can.”
The subordinate nodded, scooped a ladle of boiling water, and slowly poured it over Shen Qi’s back.
As the scalding water hit his flesh, a faint sizzling sound rose, and wisps of steam curled upward. His skin immediately turned white and blistered. Shen Qi let out a muffled groan, his fingers gripping the edges of the torture bench like iron clamps, sweat pouring down his forehead in torrents.
Four or five ladles later, his entire back was half-cooked, the flesh swollen and seared. Shen Qi clenched his teeth, refusing to utter a single scream of pain. But the effort was evident: all ten of his fingernails had broken, and his legs strained against the iron bench, making it groan under the pressure.
The subordinate set down the wooden ladle and picked up an iron brush bristling with jagged spikes, gripping its handle nervously. If Shen Qi had begged for mercy, it might have eased his guilt, but the eerie silence only made his hands tremble. His voice quavered as he said, “I’m about to begin, sir.”
Shen Qi panted heavily and barked, “Quick!”
Steeling his resolve, the subordinate raked the iron brush down Shen Qi’s back. The half-cooked skin and flesh immediately split open, cracking and tearing under the spikes. Bits of red and pink flesh clung to the bristles and fell to the ground in strands. There wasn’t much blood—the boiling water had already cooked it.
Shen Qi endured the excruciating agony with gritted teeth, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. It felt as if his skull had cracked open, and his brain matter splattered with each “combing” motion. There was nothing left to remind him he was alive except the unrelenting pain.
He could no longer see, hear, or feel anything. All he knew was endless, relentless pain.
The Buddhist scriptures say that those who commit the ten unforgivable sins will fall into Avīci Hell. This must be what it looks like.
It felt as though his brain matter had drained away, leaving his mind utterly blank. His entire existence was consumed by agony. Yet, amid this extreme pain, Shen Qi suddenly caught a whiff of linden honey.
What an intoxicatingly sweet and rich fragrance! It seemed as though if he could drink it all in, every torment he had endured up to now would be worth it….
Shen Qi tilted his head back, his neck arching into a grim, tragic curve. He thought about all the suffering he was enduring now for Su Yan’s sake and how, in the future, every ounce of this pain would be repaid in tenfold, a hundredfold, with unimaginable pleasure. H*ll and paradise—perhaps they were two sides of the same coin, rising and falling in tandem.
From the depths of his throat, he forced out a rasping sound, “Heh…heh.”
The subordinate administering the punishment thought Shen Qi had finally broken down and was crying in pain. But upon listening more closely, he realized with horror that Shen Qi was laughing!
The laughter was low, twisted, and eerie, a chilling sound that echoed through the dark and sinister punishment chamber like the wails of ghosts and the cries of demons. It sent shivers down the spine of everyone who heard it.
It was said that Shen Qilang had a heart as ruthless as a demon’s, known for his cruel and venomous methods. Who would have thought he could be even more ruthless toward himself! The subordinate’s hand trembled, and the iron brush clattered to the ground.
He hurriedly bent down to pick it up, but before he could, Shen Qi rasped hoarsely, “How can you not even hold your tools properly?” The subordinate was so shaken that he dared not continue. He clumsily scraped the brush two more times and ended the punishment in a rush.
Shen Qi laid sprawled on the punishment bench, panting weakly and intermittently letting out sinister chuckles.
The subordinate nervously applied medicine to the gaping, bone-deep wounds on Shen Qi’s back and wrapped them tightly with layers of gauze. He then brought over a bowl of freshly brewed mantuoluo water.
Shen Qi scoffed, “I won’t drink that.”
The subordinate urged, “If you drink it, the pain will ease. Otherwise, the next few days will be unbearable.”
Shen Qi slowly sat up, poured the bowl of medicine into the brazier, and handed back the empty bowl. “There’s a jar of linden honey in my room. Go fetch it and mix it with water.”
The subordinate obeyed, returning shortly with a small bowl.
As Shen Qi reached out to take it, a delayed gush of fresh blood suddenly soaked through the gauze, drenching it entirely.
The subordinate quickly helped him lie back down. “You mustn’t move! You’ll have to stay firmly on your stomach for ten days to half a month until new skin grows and the wounds close. Otherwise, you’ll strain your tendons and blood vessels, leading to uncontrollable bleeding, which could cost your life!”
He brought the bowl of honey water to Shen Qi’s lips and watched as he took small, laborious sips. Unable to hold back, he complained, “The Commandant has always valued you, Sir. Why punish you so harshly over a small mistake? Such cruel punishment seems—”
“Silence.” Shen Qi’s voice was icy. “The Commandant has his reasons for acting as he does. How dare you criticize him? Who gave you such audacity? If I hear another word, I’ll have your tongue cut out and your skin flayed. That should teach you a proper lesson!”
The subordinate fell silent, trembling. After helping Shen Qi finish the honey water, he carried the empty bowl out.
In the corridor, he knelt before Feng Que, bowing humbly. “I had to provoke Lord Commander to test him, and I spoke disrespectfully of you. Please punish me.”
Feng Que stared at the iron door of the torture chamber, a satisfied smile curling his lips. Then, without a word, he turned and left.
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