Since he had obtained the next clue, Xiao Jinye probably wouldn’t reveal any more information until he met Ning Bi.
Liu Yuanxun was about to leave when he suddenly remembered something. He looked toward Xiao Jinye, his face showing clear hesitation.
Xiao Jinye seemed to read everything from his expression. His maimed left hand twitched slightly, and he couldn’t help but lower his head.
He had guessed what Liu Yuanxun wanted to say. Having endured eight years in the Imperial Prison, his greatest worry had always been his family, and he longed every moment to hear news of them.
But now that he had finally met someone who could bring him such news, he didn’t dare to listen. He feared that the moment Liu Yuanxun opened his mouth, the beliefs that had sustained him all these years would come crashing down.
His fear and reluctance were so obvious that Liu Yuanxun decided not to speak.
With the matter resolved, there was no point in lingering any longer.
Liu Yuanxun rose to leave, but after squatting for so long, the world went abruptly dark the instant he stood. If Gu Lianzhao hadn’t flashed forward to catch him in his arms, he might have toppled face-first to the ground.
This frail body was always holding him back. Liu Yuanxun touched the tip of his nose in embarrassment and murmured softly, “Thank you, A’Qiao.”
After wrapping an arm around Liu Yuanxun’s waist, Gu Lianzhao instinctively pulled him closer. The two of them were now intimately close—far beyond what an ordinary relationship would allow.
And that affectionate nickname…
Xiao Jinye’s eyes went wide, shock rendering him speechless. He finally realized the source of the vague unease he’d sensed.
The warden of the Imperial Prison actually… actually…
Gu Lianzhao seemed to notice his stare. He lowered his gaze and shot Xiao Jinye a cold glance, the chill in his eyes utterly undisguised.
Gu Lianzhao had served in the Imperial Prison for three years, his methods even more ruthless than those of his predecessor.
The prisoners he interrogated viewed death as a mercy. He himself was the most sinister instrument of torture in the entire prison.
Though Xiao Jinye had never endured punishment under Gu Lianzhao’s hand, the prison wasn’t that big. Even covering his ears couldn’t block out those terrifying sounds.
When Gu Lianzhao interrogated a prisoner, even if the victim had only one breath left, they would let out hair-raising screams. Just hearing those agonized wails was enough to fill the other inmates with an overwhelming urge to confess…
A man who struck such terror into the heart… actually… Xiao Jinye shuddered instinctively and hurriedly bowed his head, not daring to look anymore.
Liu Yuanxun, oblivious to Xiao Jinye’s averted gaze, rested in Gu Lianzhao’s arms until the dizziness passed. Then he steadied himself on his feet.
On the way in, Liu Yuanxun had been so focused on the task at hand that he’d gritted his teeth through his discomfort with the darkness and the stench of blood.
But now that it was done, the return journey felt endlessly long. Every step was pure torment, and he even imagined the air itself was thick with damp, metallic blood.
His legs trembled faintly. After just two steps, he felt himself pitching forward. He reached out instinctively for the wall, but before his hand could touch it, Gu Lianzhao caught his wrist.
“Don’t touch it,” Gu Lianzhao said in a low voice. “This prison doesn’t hold just people—there are inhuman things here too. Get too close to the cells, and you might get hurt.”
Gu Lianzhao’s voice was ghostly soft, and eerie noises echoed sporadically from the cells. Liu Yuanxun’s heart nearly stopped in fright. He curled his fingers to tickle Gu Lianzhao’s palm, urging him, “A’Qiao, A’Qiao, let’s go—quickly.”
Having successfully startled him, Gu Lianzhao’s lips curved in a faint, almost imperceptible hook. He took Liu Yuanxun’s hand and led him out of the Imperial Prison.
The moment the massive gates slammed shut behind them, Liu Yuanxun drew in a deep breath. Fresh, cool air flooded his lungs, bringing with it a profound sense of rebirth from a sea of blood.
He tilted his head to gaze at the birds wheeling overhead and suddenly remembered something. “A’Qiao, you were only fifteen when you first entered the Imperial Prison, right?”
Gu Lianzhao looked up at the sky alongside him. After a moment, he murmured a soft “Mm.”
It had been a pivotal turning point in his life—one he would never forget.
Liu Yuanxun turned to him, his clear, gentle eyes brimming with purity. “Were you afraid?”
Afraid? How could he not have been?
No—he hadn’t been afraid at all.
He remembered that time vividly. Staring at the man about to be tortured, he hadn’t seen a person at all. He’d seen a ladder to rapid advancement, a tool that would bring him boundless glory.
Intoxicated by his first taste of power, he’d trembled with excitement. He knew that if he could break the prisoner, he would secure his place at Liu Xun’s side for good.
With such thoughts in mind, how could he have been afraid?
Only those who feared blood could never become butchers. If he’d been scared back then, he wouldn’t have what he had today.
But he had no intention of sharing those past events with Liu Yuanxun. He merely curved his lips in a faint, subdued smile and said lightly, “Your Highness, that’s all in the past. I’m doing just fine now.”
He reached out to adjust Liu Yuanxun’s hood, shielding him from the chill wind and cutting off the conversation. “It’s getting late, Your Highness. Time to return to the residence and take your medicine.”
Assuming he’d touched on a painful memory, Liu Yuanxun lowered his eyes silently and asked no more. They walked side by side out of the Commandery Office gates.
…
Ling Ting drove the carriage onward, the wheels rumbling steadily. Inside the cabin, Liu Yuanxun brought up the old topic again.
“What kind of place is Lamp Melody Alley?” Liu Yuanxun asked, curiosity lighting his face.
Gu Lianzhao glanced at him, his expression calm as he uttered three words: “A red-light district.”
Liu Yuanxun was about to ask what a red-light district was when memories of the stories he’d read came flooding back. His eyes widened slightly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he whispered, “The kind I’m thinking of…?”
Gu Lianzhao merely watched him silently, saying nothing.
“Ah…” Liu Yuanxun understood in an instant. He traced nervous circles on his clothes with his finger, his voice growing even smaller. “Are there rules you have to follow in a place like that?”
Seeing him like this made Gu Lianzhao’s heart itch like a kitten’s claw—part of him wanted to tease him mercilessly, but another part worried it might backfire and cause trouble.
He cleared his throat lightly, suppressing the urge to play around, and explained offhandedly, “No need. In a place like that, as long as you have money, you can do whatever you want.”
“Oh.” Liu Yuanxun mumbled a vague acknowledgment and fell silent, his gaze dropping as he lost himself in thought.
But Gu Lianzhao didn’t like seeing him so still and quiet during the day. When Liu Yuanxun sat motionless, he resembled a serene statue of Buddha—detached from worldly desires, radiating nothing but compassion.
That was why Gu Lianzhao always wanted to provoke some reaction from him, whether fear or embarrassment. He thought Liu Yuanxun looked far more alive with some emotion on his face than when he sat there blankly.
Yet Gu Lianzhao himself wasn’t much of a talker. After racking his brain, the weighty matter that had long pressed on his heart surged back to the forefront.
When it came to his own life, whether Liu Yuanxun seemed human or divine hardly mattered anymore. What he wanted most was to pry some answers from Liu Yuanxun’s mouth.
“Your Highness,” Gu Lianzhao called softly.
Lost in thought, Liu Yuanxun lifted his head instinctively. Their eyes met, and he let out a bewildered “Ah?”
Gu Lianzhao gave him no time to think. He leaned close to Liu Yuanxun’s ear and whispered, “Are you poisoned?”
The question came too abruptly and struck too close to home. No matter how deep Liu Yuanxun’s composure ran, his expression faltered for an instant.
He desperately wanted an excuse to deflect, but he had no idea how much Gu Lianzhao knew. Combined with utter shock, a whirlwind of thoughts crashed through his mind, leaving it blank.
In his three years at the Imperial Prison, Gu Lianzhao had interrogated countless prisoners—and Liu Yuanxun was so transparent and easy to read. By staring straight into those eyes, he saw everything in a flash.
Everything Liu Yuanxun wanted him to know, and everything he wanted to hide, was laid bare in that single probing moment.
But Gu Lianzhao had no desire to alert him prematurely or foster wariness. Pretending it was a joke, he teased, “They say the air in the Imperial Prison carries a toxin that silences people. When you went quiet, I thought it had taken effect on you.”
Liu Yuanxun’s tense body gradually relaxed. Forcing a smile, he said, “I was just thinking about something.”
“Sorry to interrupt you.” Gu Lianzhao smiled, lifting the carriage curtain for a glance outside before adding, “Take your time. It’s still a ways to the prince’s residence.”
Liu Yuanxun nodded absently, but his eyes remained fixed on Gu Lianzhao’s face.
He desperately wanted to dismiss it as a mere jest, but this concerned his Consort Mother’s reputation. He couldn’t allow even the slightest leak.
But what could Gu Lianzhao possibly know?
Only three people knew about the Gu Poison afflicting him. Even if Hong Fu was infuriating, he understood the gravity of such matters and would never breathe a word. As for his Imperial Brother, there was no need to even mention it…
There was absolutely no chance of a leak. Gu Lianzhao couldn’t possibly know.
Gu Poison was incurable, undetectable even in one’s pulse. Unless you were the victim yourself, not even a divine physician could spot the signs.
Had he simply been too sensitive?
…
Gu Lianzhao could sense Liu Yuanxun watching him.
On any ordinary day, he might have spun an airtight excuse to dispel the suspicion. But today was different—the shock weighing on his heart was too great, his thoughts a chaotic jumble.
He had finally pieced it all together.
He had finally connected every dot.
He finally understood what Hong Fu had meant by those words, why Liu Xun was so certain he could never return to the Imperial Prison, and the true purpose behind the emperor marrying him off to Liu Yuanxun.
They were right—this marriage’s ultimate goal was for him to save Liu Yuanxun’s life.
But they hadn’t told him or Liu Yuanxun that saving Liu Yuanxun’s life would cost his own.
Last time, Liu Yuanxun had asked what required such frequent intimacy. He’d answered that it was for cultivating Internal Force.
But what if that “thing” wasn’t Internal Force at all… but a poison?
Liu Yuanxun might not possess Pure Yin Internal Force, but his physique closely resembled a Pure Yin Physique. If he assumed Liu Yuanxun was afflicted by a poison infused with supreme yin power, then it all made sense.
Liu Yuanxun was poisoned.
Eunuch Hong said frequent intimacy could save his life.
Liu Xun was convinced he would die after being sent to the prince’s residence.
And the reason he’d been chosen was his Pure Yang Physique.
If all four were true, it formed a perfect circle—one link unlocking the next.
His Pure Yang Physique was the key to the cure. But yin and yang sought balance in union; with his Supreme Yang Body countering the Supreme Yin Poison in Liu Yuanxun, he would at best lose all his Internal Force, at worst forfeit his life. That explained Liu Xun and Eunuch Hong’s attitudes toward him…
It all fit. Perfectly.
No wonder Eunuch Hong had so readily promised all those benefits back then. He had long known his own fate, and thus had never planned to let himself return alive.
The night before, he had still been prostrating himself at Liu Yuanxun’s side, tormented by uncertainty over which path to take and what attitude to show toward Liu Yuanxun.
Yet fate had never offered him a choice.
In the end, he and Liu Yuanxun could only have one survivor between them—from the very beginning.
