Deep in the night, at the Court of Judicial Review.
Screams of agony echoed without end from the inner prison cells. The interrogating official’s brow was tightly furrowed.
At a certain moment, the screams stopped abruptly. The petty officer in charge of the torture approached nervously to request instructions: “Your Excellency, the man has fainted.”
The official wiped the sweat from his forehead and barked harshly: “Wake him up!”
A basin of cold water was thrown onto the tortured man’s body. Following a groan, a new round of severe torture began.
After an unknown amount of time, a bloodstained confession was carefully presented before the desk.
“Your Excellency, he has confessed everything.”
The official finally breathed a sigh of relief. He scrutinized the confession carefully, and only after confirming there were no issues did he bow and hand the paper to the man beside him: “Director Lu, he’s confessed it all… shall you review it?”
The person beside him raised his eyes. Under the hood was the face of a man, appearing to be just over forty years old.
Upon closer inspection, it could even be called a handsome face. Unfortunately, a scar stretching across his entire face obscured his true features, adding an unsightly, fierce sharpness to an otherwise gentle temperament. Under the dim, ghastly lights of the prison, it looked a little terrifying at first glance.
He said nothing, merely glanced at the confession before tucking it into his sleeve:
“That will do.”
His voice was a raspy, sandpaper-like hoarseness.
A delighted look appeared on the official’s face.
While the aftermath was being dealt with on one side, Lu Zhong was walking out with the confession on the other. He went all the way to the entrance, only to see a familiar figure. His footsteps came to an abrupt halt.
The other person was also startled upon seeing him, removed his rain hat, and politely greeted him: “Director Lu.”
It was Mu Ke, who had just come from the Imperial Palace.
“Director Lu, are you here to interrogate a prisoner?” Mu Ke asked.
He wasn’t familiar with the man before him, only knowing he was Yun Yin’s trusted aide. As for when he became a trusted aide or what his background was, he knew nothing.
However, Lu Zhong was ranked sixth in the Yun Clan’s Covert Guard system. The Yun Clan’s Covert Guard system had always used numbers as codenames for mutual identification outside; the lower the number, the closer to the core member. Even Mu Ke was only ranked ninth. Therefore, Lu Zhong was his superior.
This was just casual small talk, but Lu Zhong took a long time to answer.
Yet Mu Ke had heard of his coldness and didn’t mind. He continued on his own: “Then I’ll go inside now. I also have business, someone to find.”
He walked inside, but after only a couple of steps, he heard the person behind him suddenly speak. A hoarse voice, devoid of any discernible tone: “You are Mu Ke. Why are you here?”
Mu Ke was stunned for a moment.
For an instant, he almost thought Lu Zhong knew about his mission. But within the Covert Guard system, everyone’s missions were independent of each other. His mission was top secret.
He composed himself.
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” He said with a smile. “It’s all for the Lord. Director Lu, this humble one can’t quite understand what you mean by that.”
Lu Zhong remained silent.
Mu Ke’s curiosity was finally piqued. Just as he was about to say a few more words to him, Lu Zhong suddenly raised his eyes and strode quickly outside.
Mu Ke: “Huh?”
Before the words fully left his mouth, Lu Zhong’s figure had already vanished through the doorway. Mu Ke’s mouth twitched.
“Walking so fast.” He muttered. “No one’s chasing you. What a strange man.”
Then, shaking his head, he went straight inside.
–
On the other side, Lu Zhong left the Court of Judicial Review and immediately mounted a fast horse.
Someone tried to stop him, but hastily retreated after seeing the token he flashed.
With no obstacles, his speed only increased. The icy rain struck his face, making that knife scar appear even more fearsome.
In the silent night, he galloped all the way through the palace gates, dismounting at the designated spot, and hurried quickly inside. Only when he saw the distant Bright Clarity Hall brightly lit did he take a deep breath and stop.
His knuckles were white from clenching, resting on the saber at his waist, but he dared not approach further. He simply stared intently at the movements behind the door.
At one moment, a Palace Servant came out hurriedly.
He immediately raised his eyes.
“The discussion is over. His Majesty wants a bath,” the Old Eunuch said in a low voice. “Quickly, go prepare the hot water. His Royal Highness just gave instructions: there’s no need for Morning Court tomorrow. In the afternoon, His Majesty is to receive a guest. Prepare everything in advance.”
The young serving girl voiced her acknowledgment and departed.
Lu Zhong’s hand pressing on his saber slowly loosened. Only after a long while did he exhale a breath.
He watched the room for a while longer, only turning to leave when movement stirred in the distance.
Meanwhile, inside the room, Li Zhaoyi sat silently at the table. The candlelight flickered, illuminating his delicate yet shadowed face.
Behind the long desk, Yun Yin, propping his head on one hand, was casually reviewing the Imperial Memorials before him.
Once the stack in his hands was finished, he swapped it for another stack without raising his head: “Wasn’t Your Majesty going to bathe? It’s already this late. Still not going?”
So, the person not far away, like a startled fledgling once more, fluttered his eyelashes and raised his head.
~
Half an hour earlier.
The icy blade was barely an inch from the delicate, tender skin. Li Zhaoyi’s body was rigid, his eyelashes trembling slightly.
He could feel his heart racing. It was the most instinctive reaction of a normal person facing a life-or-death threat.
And behind him, Yun Yin also didn’t speak.
He shouldn’t have been distracted, but this angle was truly subtle. He could see Li Zhaoyi’s delicate, white neck, his small, soft earlobes, and his curled, fluttering eyelashes.
Li Zhaoyi was always unguarded towards him, obedient as if he carried complete, innate trust for him. It was precisely because of this that no small number of rumors circulated within the palace. But for the past fortnight, Yun Yin had never taken them to heart—until Chang Zixuan’s several provocative jokes today.
Now, Li Zhaoyi’s obedience had to be temporarily marked with a question mark. Yet even if it were mere surface obedience, when combined with Li Zhaoyi’s outstanding appearance and clean aura, the feeling it gave someone was hard to stop simply at “easy to handle.”
Chang Zixuan had noticed this. With his astute mind, there was teasing in his words, perhaps even some subtle, farsighted warning as well.
Yun Yin’s eyes suddenly deepened.
Li Zhaoyi had no idea what he was thinking.
The moment he saw the blade at his neck, his mind nearly went blank. Only now did he finally regain his senses. His throat dry, he probed tentatively:
“…Yun Yin?”
His voice trembled noticeably.
The person behind him didn’t speak. Li Zhaoyi could hear his steady breathing and strong heartbeat.
This action had come too abruptly. The previously quiet room instantly became deathly still.
A breeze passed, making the candle flicker, barely holding on to a sliver of light.
Li Zhaoyi heard a very soft sigh from behind him.
It sounded like regret, or perhaps… pity.
Pity for a man about to die.
The knife’s edge pressed closer.
Li Zhaoyi’s eyes suddenly widened. He stared at the dancing candlelight in the distance, his vision blurred by involuntary tears, his fingers unconsciously grabbing onto something. Looking from the corner of his eye, he saw it was the Small Portrait on the table. So he subconsciously released his grip, afraid that any force from him would crumple the paper.
And it was at that moment, the knife at his neck stopped.
Li Zhaoyi heard the other’s voice, suddenly sounding somewhat ambiguous: “Does Your Majesty like this painting very much?”
Li Zhaoyi couldn’t speak.
Yun Yin leaned down to look at him—at his smooth forehead, his trembling eyelashes, and his eyes that had lost focus from fear and tears.
After a moment, Li Zhaoyi nodded his head in small motions.
Then he said something else, but his voice was too low.
Yun Yin lowered his eyes to him. He repeated it again: “…No one has ever drawn a portrait of me before.”
A stretch of silence.
Li Zhaoyi’s neck was completely stiff. He stared at an empty point in space, time stretching on infinitely.
In that stretched-out moment, the fear of hanging by a thread suddenly vanished. Replacing it was an empty vastness.
He thought, Is that so?
So be it.
He didn’t know why Yun Yin, perfectly fine just before, suddenly wanted to kill him. But he had already been born into this world bafflingly and lived until now just as bafflingly. No one had ever expected him to live, but there had always been people anticipating his death.
If that person was Yun Yin, it didn’t seem so hard to accept.
Thinking this, Li Zhaoyi almost calmed down.
He closed his eyes. His hands clenched the armrests of the chair.
The knife moved.
A faint sound reached his ears. Li Zhaoyi bit his lip in fear.
But just a second later, the anticipated pain did not come. He froze, then somewhat dazedly, tentatively opened his eyes.
Yun Yin sheathed his blade, not looking at him. He said very calmly: “A newly bought knife. Testing the feel.”
Li Zhaoyi looked at him.
He moved his lips.
“But, you,” he said quietly, entirely by instinct, his voice still trembling. “You didn’t test anything at all.”
Yun Yin glanced at him flatly.
Li Zhaoyi stopped talking.
