“What day is it… today?” In the depths of the imperial prison, a ragged and unkempt prisoner clung to the iron bars of the cell door, his face pressed outward as he hoarsely asked.
The jailers, gathered around a table playing cards, snickered. “The day your head hits the ground.”
“Wasn’t it a sentence of waist-cutting? It should be the day your chest hits the ground, ha-ha!”
“What, still hoping the emperor will have a sudden change of heart and pardon you, reinstating your rank? Keep dreaming. Have your last meal and get ready for the road.”
“Whoa, he’s glaring at us! Look at that! Still has the strength to glare! I say, Feng Que, you’re no longer the high-and-mighty Lord Commandant. The Embroidered Uniform Guard isn’t your playground anymore. Times have changed! From top to bottom, the whole place has been swept clean by that iron-tongued Su Twelve. Even your hand-picked deputies and assistant commissioners didn’t escape. Guess who’s calling the shots in the Northern Surveillance Bureau now? It’s—”
The jailer’s voice abruptly cut off as he noticed a figure at the corridor’s corner. An ingratiating smile replaced his mockery. “Lord Shen…”
Shen Qi stood there in a deep blue brocade robe adorned with gold-threaded flying fish embroidery that shimmered in the firelight. A black gauze cap and an official’s girdle accentuated his imposing presence. The cruel ferocity in his gaze, now tempered by newfound authority, made him even more strikingly handsome.
Ignoring the jailers, Shen Qi approached the cell, crouched slightly, and tilted his head, scrutinizing the disheveled prisoner behind the iron bars.
“June sixth,” Shen Qi said calmly, his tone edged with chilling menace, like a blade hidden in its sheath. “Today marks the fifty-seventh day since I endured my punishment.”
Feng Que stared at him intently and cracked a grin. “You actually survived! Judging by your recovery, it seems you’re doing well. Congratulations.”
“It’s all thanks to you, so I must extend my congratulations in return—mutual congratulations indeed.”
Shen Qi stood upright and beckoned with a flick of his finger. A few officers, fierce as wolves and tigers, rushed in, opened the cell door, and dragged Feng Que out. One of them exclaimed loudly, “The torture chamber’s been cleaned up and prepared. Time to get you washed up and properly dressed, Lord Feng!”
Fear flickered in Feng Que’s eyes. He gritted his teeth and said, “The Emperor has already decreed the abolition of cruel punishments in the imperial prison. Do you dare to defy his orders?”
“Still well-informed for a man behind bars,” sneered the officer. “Unfortunately for you, while news can come in, it can’t go out. So don’t worry about us.”
Feng Que thrashed wildly like a fish dropped into boiling oil, but the officers dragged him forcefully into the torture chamber.
Shen Qi was the last to enter, closing the door behind him. With a cold grin, he said, “Don’t worry. I promised we’d share the joy equally, so I won’t take advantage of you. However many lashes I endured before, you’ll get exactly the same—no more, no less.”
He instructed the officers handling the punishment, “Be careful not to go overboard. Lord Feng still needs to appear dignified for the public execution at noon.”
As Feng Que was bound to the iron torture rack, the full weight of realization struck him. The brutal punishments he had inflicted on countless dissenters were now about to befall him. Staring at the familiar yet now terrifying instruments of torture, he succumbed to a flood of abject terror and screamed uncontrollably, “No! No! I won’t submit to torture—”
“That’s not up to you,” said one of the officers as he scooped a ladle of boiling water from a nearby cauldron.
Like a cornered, desperate animal, Feng Que turned pleading eyes toward the one man who now held his fate. “Shen Qi! Shen Qi, spare me! I’d rather be executed—cut me into pieces, take my head—but don’t subject me to this petty torment. I’ll apologize! I’ll kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. Just spare me!”
“When you tormented me, Lord Feng, you didn’t show such a cowardly face,” Shen Qi retorted, a satisfied sneer curling his lips.
Seeing no mercy, Feng Que clenched his teeth and made a desperate gamble. “If you spare me, I’ll tell you a secret—a massive one.”
“A secret?” Shen Qi scoffed. “I couldn’t care less. You can take it with you to your grave.”
“Don’t you want to know why I framed Yu Wang, tried to undermine the Eastern Palace, and abandoned my secure position as Commandant of the Embroidered Uniform Guard to scheme in secret? Why I provoked the one person I shouldn’t have, ultimately costing me my life?”
Shen Qi fell silent, his gaze dark and inscrutable.
Sensing an opening, Feng Que pressed on. “This secret could overturn the world. It might bring you unimaginable disaster—or unparalleled opportunity. It all depends on whether you have the courage to listen.”
After a moment’s consideration, Shen Qi curled his lips in a slow, menacing smile. “There’s no need to question my courage. But compared to a baseless bargain, I’d rather trust a confession wrung out under torture.”
He sneered as he stepped closer. “Let’s begin, Lord Feng. The water’s cooling.”
***
On the morning of June 7th, Su Yan, excused from duty at the Dali Temple for his birthday, indulged himself with a rare late sleep. He only stirred lazily from his bed when the sun was high.
On the table laid a set of bright red round-collared robes, newly embroidered by his mother, Madam Lin, with golden cranes, symbolizing longevity. The style was modern and fashionable, though the waist felt a little snug. After all, he had been away from home for over half a year, and his youthful frame had grown. His mother, unable to take measurements, had inevitably misjudged the size.
Su Xiaojing helped him wash and dress, exclaiming in delight, “Lord, you look so much better in this! Those official robes you wear every day are too baggy. Now, with this fitted outfit, your broad shoulders, slim waist, and long legs are perfectly highlighted. Just like the books Brother Bei reads, describing someone as… what was it again? Oh, ‘graceful and elegant.’ Yes, that’s it!”
Su Yan chuckled at the flattery but silently agreed. The clothing of this era—apart from the more practical flowing robes—was often overly loose, with straight hems and wide sleeves, cinched only at the waist. Walking in them felt drafty. This snug outfit, however, brought back a sense of security. A glance in the mirror revealed that he did, indeed, appear more dashing.
Su Xiaobei entered with a lacquered tray, presenting a cup of wine with a cheeky grin. “Wishing the master good health and long life!”
Su Yan hesitated, gesturing at the wine cup. “Do I have to drink this? First thing in the morning? On an empty stomach?”
“Of course! It’s your birthday. Start the day with a cup of birthday wine and end it with another before bed. Anyone who offers you a toast during the day, you must graciously accept. That’s the proper way to celebrate. What, you don’t do it like this back home?”
Su Yan vaguely remembered eating longevity noodles and eggs for birthdays in his past life, but modern youth had mostly abandoned such traditions for beer, barbecue, movies, and karaoke. A full night of revelry was the norm. Now… well, when in Rome.
He took a sip of the wine and found it mild. Emboldened, he drained the cup in one go.
Su Xiaobei beamed. “It’s watered-down wine, specially prepared to be gentle on the lord’s stomach.”
Su Yan chuckled and playfully pinched the boy’s nose. “Clever little rascal.” Su Xiaojing, not to be outdone, shoved forward for his turn at affection, squabbling with his brother like two kittens vying for attention.
After breakfast, Su Yan, in high spirits, strolled into the front courtyard and came across Wu Ming practicing swordplay beneath a tree. He paused to watch.
Finishing his routine, Wu Ming sheathed his sword and picked up a small wine flask from a stone table. Approaching Su Yan, he hesitated before offering it with a slight bow. “Wishing the Lord good health and long life.”
Su Yan accepted with a warm smile.
Wu Ming’s stoic expression wavered with a hint of awkwardness. “This is my homemade red rice wine. It’s strong, with a bit of a sour aftertaste. Rustic fare—you might not find it to your taste.”
“Not at all. I’ve had red rice wine before and enjoy it. In my hometown, it’s said to aid digestion, improve circulation, and warm the stomach.”
Su Yan uncorked the flask and took a few hearty gulps, handing it back with a grin.
The wine glistened on his lips, lending them a jewel-like sheen under the morning sun. The sight was so vivid it outshone even the brilliant crimson of the blooming pomegranate flowers. Wu Ming, long accustomed to emotional restraint, found his chest inexplicably tight. Even his inner strength faltered momentarily, and he had to lower his head, covering his unease by taking a swig from the flask himself.
Suddenly, he realized something wasn’t right: the wine gourd had been specially prepared for Su Yan. After Su Yan drank from it, Wu Ming had also drunk directly from the same gourd—wasn’t that…?
Wu Ming swiftly tucked the gourd into his robe, muttered, “I’ll find a better one for you,” and strode away at a brisk pace.
Su Yan stared blankly at his retreating figure. “This wine was fine. I rarely drink as it is—what’s the point of searching for more?”
Su Xiaobei hurried up from behind, carrying a bundle. “Master, here are the belt and soft armor you mentioned. Are you really going to give them away? That soft armor isn’t something ordinary; it would be such a pity to part with it.”
Su Yan explained, “I’m not giving them away; I’m returning them. It’s called returning a jade intact to Zhao.”
The belt and soft armor had been lent to him by Shen Qi—one for emergencies, the other for protection. Technically, he should have returned them upon returning from the East Garden. However, at the time, Shen Qi was gravely injured and on the brink of death, leaving no opportunity to discuss it. Later, when Su Yan brought it up, Shen Qi had said, “There’s no rush. With Feng Que still alive and the case unresolved, you’d better keep the soft armor for now, just in case. Once everything’s settled, you can return both together.”
And so, what should have been a simple matter was postponed until today. Su Yan decided to visit Shen Qi’s residence to return the items and perhaps share a birthday drink with his brother.
Just as they opened the courtyard gate, they ran into Fu Bao, a young eunuch lifting one arm.
Fu Bao greeted them with a smile. “Ah, perfect timing! I was just about to knock, and here you are. This must be the luck of the birthday star—everything goes smoothly!”
Having grown familiar with Fu Bao, Su Yan didn’t bother with formalities and joked, “Your clever tongue is as sweet as ever. If you’ve got more to say, go on.”
“I wouldn’t dare waste your time,” Fu Bao replied, “but the young master has requested your presence at the Eastern Palace to discuss some pressing matters.”
“Pressing matters?”
What pressing matters could that little rascal have? Did he need help drafting a window poem again? Was he bored with his old tricks and looking for new entertainment? Or was it about harboring a grudge against Marquis Fengan for the carriage search incident, seeking advice on how to exact revenge?
Whatever it was, if Su Yan went to the Eastern Palace, the crown prince wouldn’t let him leave before nightfall—and might even insist he stay over. Su Yan frowned. “Can it wait half an hour? I need to deliver something first.”
Fu Bao hesitated. “You know the young master’s temperament, Lord Su. When he has a whim, it must be satisfied immediately, and no one can dissuade him. Apart from the emperor, you’re the only one who can appease him. Before I left, the young master explicitly instructed that any delay would cost me my dog legs.”
Su Yan sighed helplessly, shaking his head. “That little rascal… Fine, I’ll head to the Eastern Palace first. Xiaobei, put the items back for now. I’ll return them when I’m back.”
Fu Bao pretended not to hear the disrespectful “little rascal” and invited Su Yan to board the carriage waiting outside the residence.
“Will you be home for dinner, Lord?” Xiaobei called through the curtain.
Su Yan lifted the curtain and replied, “Not sure. If I’m not back by the evening, just eat without me.”
