Liu Yuanxun had never heard of an illness that could claim a life in a single day—unless it was poison. Was the palace under strict investigation, barring him to keep him out of trouble?
Seeing Chang An and Chang Shun’s blank expressions, though, he could only have Ling Ting see them out for now.
Ever since he had fallen out with Liu Yuanze three years ago, Liu Yuanxun had rarely entered the palace. He seldom saw Liu Yuanze himself, let alone the Eldest Prince. With so few meetings, their bond could hardly be called deep. Compared to lamenting the child’s untimely death, he was far more concerned about Liu Yuanze’s current state.
But he could not enter the palace, so even his worry changed nothing.
“Master, please take a moment to compose yourself and have something to eat first,” Ling Ting said. “Rushing won’t bring results any faster. Follow Eunuch Hong’s advice and take care of your health. Once things settle in the palace, you’ll naturally be able to see the Emperor.”
Liu Yuanxun sighed helplessly and could only nod in agreement.
He had planned to ask Gu Lianzhao about any news from the Embroidered Uniform Guard once he returned, but ever since that night, Gu Lianzhao had not come back for two nights in a row.
…
There were countless prisons across the realm, but only the cells of the Embroidered Uniform Guard truly deserved the name Imperial Prison.
The character for “edict” represented the Emperor’s command, so the Imperial Prison held those detained by imperial decree or interrogated at the Emperor’s personal order.
Most prisoners there had endured inhuman torture, yet one stubborn hardliner had withstood every method Liu Xun threw at him without uttering a single word.
In the dim, lightless Interrogation Room, only a single ghostly candle flame flickered. Even the fire in the Imperial Prison seemed deathly pale.
A man hung from the torture rack on one side, no longer resembling a human. His body was covered in scars, marked everywhere by burns from hot irons—old wounds unhealed before new ones layered atop them. But as long as his torturer refused to let him die, he could only writhe in agony.
Gu Lianzhao had taken over the case several days ago, yet he had not even seen the man’s face until now, much less laid a hand on him.
Today was the final deadline Liu Xun had given him. Only now had he brought the prisoner from the depths of the Imperial Prison, then dismissed the others, leaving just the two of them in the room.
Liu Xun’s informant pressed his ear to the iron door, listening intently. He expected screams or groans, but the silence inside was unnerving. The faint sounds that drifted out resembled nothing more than casual conversation.
After standing guard at the door for over two hours, Liu Xun finally hurried back from the palace.
With such a major incident in the palace, he was naturally overwhelmed. He arrived at the Imperial Prison without even changing out of his official robes. His powerfully muscled frame lent an unexpectedly scholarly air to the martial officer’s attire.
At the Interrogation Room door, he did not push it open right away. Instead, he asked the Embroidered Uniform Guard stationed there, “Any sounds from inside?”
“Reporting to Sir, no sounds of torture. Probably got nothing out of him.”
Liu Xun felt a surge of certainty.
Gu Lianzhao was the man Liu Yuanxun had personally placed in the Imperial Prison. On the surface, he could not afford to offend him outright, but undermining him in secret to reclaim authority was no great challenge. Such a position demanded competence; if you lacked it, not even Prince Rui could intervene directly without handing him credit on a platter.
Yet thinking of Gu Lianzhao’s past achievements left Liu Xun’s emotions tangled.
He straightened his collar, pulled out his key, and unlocked the Interrogation Room door.
The Imperial Prison reeked perpetually of mildew and blood, a stench especially thick in the Interrogation Room. Even after days without torture, it assaulted the senses viciously—not that the room ever lacked fresh victims.
The moment Liu Xun stepped inside, his eyes fell on Gu Lianzhao standing before the iron rack and copper basin, washing his hands.
Unlike the typical ger, Gu Lianzhao had broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his lean frame brimming with explosive power—a rare and striking physique. At that moment, his back was to Liu Xun as his long, strong fingers scooped up water to meticulously clean his palms.
The dim yellow candlelight stretched his shadow across the floor. The Interrogation Room lay in utter silence. The man dangling from the rack resembled a dead dog, his breathing faint, his body bearing no fresh blood.
Liu Xun asked knowingly, “How did it go? Get anything out of him?”
Gu Lianzhao pulled the cloth from beside the basin and dried his hands. With a faint acknowledgment, he lifted his chin toward several sheets of paper on the table. “The confession.”
Liu Xun’s brow furrowed. He strode to the desk, snatched up the papers, and pored over them intently.
After a long moment, he set down the confession with a complicated expression and looked up at Gu Lianzhao.
Gu Lianzhao’s face remained calm—no trace of fury at being framed, no smug triumph at turning the tables.
He spoke as if wrapping up routine business. “Since it’s signed and sealed, please handle the filing and sentencing, Sir.”
Liu Xun gripped the papers tightly, knowing he had lost this round.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “How exactly… did you do it?”
What bloodless method had he used?
Or had he seized some leverage to force the man’s mouth open?
Gu Lianzhao replied offhandedly, “The Imperial Prison is infamous for its tortures, but how many mouths can torture really pry open? For those dead set on denying guilt, no amount of pain helps. Far better to bypass them and verify the evidence. With solid proof and a clear case, a hard mouth is useless.”
Everyone knew that principle. But verification was easier said than done. Without that elusive breakthrough, they wouldn’t have wasted so much time.
Yet Gu Lianzhao had managed it.
Liu Xun could not pinpoint his own feelings. As someone privy to the full scheme, he even felt a twinge of pity for Gu Lianzhao.
If Gu Lianzhao did not possess the Pure Yang Physique, if he had not been dragged into Prince Rui’s affairs, Liu Xun would have nurtured him despite his wariness—cherishing such a once-in-a-century genius and grooming him as a successor.
Liu Xun had commanded the Embroidered Uniform Guard for nearly a decade, encountering countless talents, but none surpassed Gu Lianzhao in interrogation and case-solving.
The Imperial Prison, which ordinary men shunned, was paradise to him. He cracked the toughest nuts, unearthed the deepest weaknesses in the hardiest foes. He seemed born for it—a torturer thriving in darkness, reveling in bloodshed.
The first time Liu Xun saw Gu Lianzhao, the boy was only thirteen. Even with his exceptional bones marking him as a natural martial prodigy, that alone did not impress.
What truly sparked Liu Xun’s desire to recruit and cultivate him were Gu Lianzhao’s eyes.
They were eyes that had never known light, set in a boy forged in shadow. Every inch of him screamed with the hunger to climb.
For the Embroidered Uniform Guard, beyond surface skills lay a vital trait: they needed not men, but blades.
Blades honed sharp, lurking patiently amid darkness and gore, willing to sever all for ascent.
Only such a person could devote himself utterly to the Emperor, the staunchest defender of imperial power.
And only one who had never glimpsed light could endure the dark like Gu Jiu.
Liu Xun gazed at Gu Lianzhao and let out an involuntary sigh. “You were born for this place.”
Gu Lianzhao stood silently in the shadows. He merely tugged at the corner of his mouth in a smile devoid of real meaning.
Liu Xun was about to speak when a soft knock sounded from outside. “Sir, Ninth Lord—someone’s here asking to see Ninth Lord.”
Liu Xun blinked in surprise. “Who could come to the Imperial Prison looking for you?”
Gu Lianzhao tossed the drying cloth into the basin and said flatly, “I’ll go see.”
After traversing the dim, decaying dungeon, he emerged into the sunlight once more. But it was a blustery day, the sun pale and cold, offering no warmth.
Gu Lianzhao quickened his pace to the entrance and spotted a young servant in gray short robes standing there.
Though bundled up, the servant shivered in the eerie chill, unnerved by the grim-faced gate guard. He hugged his arms, trembling nonstop.
Spotting Gu Lianzhao emerge, the familiar face brought instant relief, and he broke into a grin. “Attendant Consort! Attendant Consort!”
But on closer look, he saw the chill radiating from Gu Lianzhao, no less intimidating than the guard’s. His joy faded, his tone turning cautious. “Attendant Consort.”
Only the prince’s mansion would address him so.
Gu Lianzhao’s expression eased slightly. “What is it?”
“In reply to Attendant Consort, His Highness sent me to ask if you’ve run into any trouble—and whether you’ll return to the mansion for lunch at noon.”
Gu Lianzhao paused, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.
He had spent far more days in the Imperial Prison than at Liu Yuanxun’s side, so returning here had immediately pulled him back into his old state. It simply had not occurred to him that anyone might worry.
Since meeting Liu Yuanxun, his life had filled with novel, unfamiliar experiences. Whether asking about trouble or lunch, both were things he had never known.
He had been a plant rooted in a dark wasteland, yet Liu Yuanxun insisted on watering him, dragging him into the sun.
In all his past years, no one had offered him kindness or warmth. When it finally came, he did not even know how to react.
People differed profoundly. Some were swaddled in love from birth, giving and receiving it effortlessly. Others never learned what “love” meant—even sunlight in their palms felt nameless.
With the case freshly closed, sentencing and filing still fell to him. Skipping one meal was no issue; no need to delay proper work. Gu Lianzhao fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No trouble, just busy. Go back and tell him I’ll return this evening.”
The servant assented and turned to leave, only to be called back.
“Wait,” Gu Lianzhao said. Seeing him go, he changed his mind. “I’ll go with you.”
The servant blinked, then grinned and hurried off to fetch the carriage.
Liu Xun had trailed behind Gu Lianzhao but stopped short of the door. Once the servant was gone, he stepped out slowly, standing beside Gu Lianzhao with a meaningful remark. “His Highness truly treats you with sincerity.”
