Chapter 82 Part 2

Wang Ben lunged for another strike, but a searing pain lanced across his cheek, followed by warm liquid trickling down. He touched it instinctively—his fingers came away bloody from a flying splinter.

The sight of his own blood ignited his savagery. As he charged again, Liu Xun stormed in and bellowed, “What do you think this place is!”

Wang Ben instantly pulled back his strength and dropped to one knee, cupping his hands as he confessed his guilt. “This subordinate deserves death.”

Infighting among the Embroidered Uniform Guard was commonplace, and Liu Xun never bothered with the reasons behind it. Anything that didn’t reach his ears, he ignored entirely; but if it happened right under his nose, he punished without regard for right or wrong; and if anyone dared argue, the penalty doubled.

Gu Lianzhao was a step slower. He too dropped to one knee, head bowed in silence, the picture of someone resigned to whatever punishment came.

Liu Xun’s brows furrowed tight enough to crush a fly. He turned his head toward the Embroidered Uniform Guards gawking at the doorway and barked, “Get out!”

Once the others had scattered, he snapped coldly, “I haven’t died yet, and you’re already brawling in the Imperial Prison! Courting rebellion, are you?”

Wang Ben cupped his hands again. “This subordinate wouldn’t dare.”

Liu Xun glanced at him. “You first. Out.”

Wang Ben started in surprise. He hadn’t expected to escape unscathed today. He rose hastily and withdrew. As he reached the door, he shot a smug glance at the still-kneeling, silent Gu Lianzhao, as if utterly convinced he’d won Liu Xun’s favor.

With everyone gone, only the two of them and the half-dead prisoner remained. Liu Xun looked at Gu Lianzhao. “Get up.”

Gu Lianzhao rose to his feet without a word.

The table lay kicked over, the chair hacked to pieces; there was nowhere to sit in the entire Interrogation Room. Liu Xun had no choice but to stand. “Wang Ben’s one thing—he’s just a fool. But what’s your excuse?”

Gu Lianzhao closed his eyes, his voice hoarse. “I just don’t like the sight of him.”

“Come off it. He’s been strutting around under your nose for three years, and you pick today to snap.” Liu Xun stepped forward slowly and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re probably just worn out. Go back and rest.”

Gu Lianzhao murmured his assent. He brushed past Liu Xun’s shoulder to right the overturned table, but Liu Xun added, “Leave it. I’ll have someone clean up later.”

Gu Lianzhao murmured again and pushed through the door.

Some time later, an Embroidered Uniform Guard crept up to Liu Xun and whispered, “Sir, the Ninth Lord didn’t return to the Wang mansion. He went to the camp barracks instead.”

“Understood,” Liu Xun replied flatly. “Tell Wang Ben not to get too cocky. Gu Jiu belongs to the Prince—if he angers the Prince, don’t come crying to me for protection.”

The messenger bowed his head. “Yes, sir.” He retreated as soundlessly as he’d come.

…

How utterly dull.

Clashing with Wang Ben had been dull, the entire Embroidered Uniform Guard was dull, and even his own loss of control felt dull.

The sudden blaze of fury flickered out as quickly as it had ignited. It left him drained of his last scrap of strength, nothing but cold ashes in its wake. Those ashes clogged his stomach, stuffed to bursting, leaving a bitter taste rising in his mouth.

He lay on the bed, staring up at the sparse ceiling of the camp barrack. His heart felt empty, his mind empty—only his stomach, crammed full of the lunchtime mutton soup, churned with nausea.

The thought of mutton suddenly reminded him of one thing: Broom Tail was still hungry.

“Wait here.” Summoning what strength he could, he rolled out of bed and patted Broom Tail’s head. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Broom Tail’s eyes lit up at the word “eat.” It sprang to its feet. Gu Lianzhao took the chance to glance at its belly—sunken and flat, proof it’d been starving for a while.

A faint flicker of conscience stirred. Gu Lianzhao fetched a hefty slab of meat from the kitchens and dumped it into a basin when he returned. “Dig in.”

Starved as it was, Broom Tail wolfed it down. Once full, it sidled close and nudged Gu Lianzhao’s belly with its damp nose—as if to say, You should eat too.

“I’m not hungry,” Gu Lianzhao said.

Then he let out a sudden laugh.

He’d never once not been hungry. Back in the famine, fleeing with the refugees, he’d been so ravenous he’d fantasized about eating people—but seeing those who did, he knew they’d stopped being human and become ghosts. So he held out and nearly starved to death before scraping by on the court’s relief rations.

After that, even when he wasn’t hungry, he ate on schedule, filling up properly. A full belly gave a man strength; even the greatest hardships could be tackled one by one.

But this time, he truly couldn’t stomach a single bite. It was like the famine days when his gut was packed with kaolin clay—heavy, bloated, his intestines aching from the pressure.

“Good thing I have you,” Gu Lianzhao murmured, gently rubbing Broom Tail’s head. He sighed. “You’re all I’ve got.”

It was for the best, really. Everything ought to return to its proper course.

In all these years, this wasn’t the first trouble he’d faced, and he’d weathered them all. Even with Liu Yuanze throwing a wrench in things, it was just one more ordeal. Careful scheming and calculation would pull him through, as always.

This time hadn’t been for nothing, at least. He’d tasted flavors he’d never known—even if only for a month, even if it was all illusion. That was enough.

With all the tangled knots here, getting too deeply entwined would cost him his life. Better to cut it short and gain release sooner.

“Sleep,” he told Broom Tail—and himself. “Everything will be better after sleep.”

There was a vast chasm between having and losing; he couldn’t leap it in a single bound. A nap or a meal wouldn’t set his days right again.

No big deal. He wasn’t dead or crippled. If anything, he’d gotten the better of Liu Yuanxun.

That was a prince, after all.

Pity he’d only touched him that once.

The first day, Liu Xun assigned him no duties, and no one came to the barracks to rouse him. He spent it lying in bed. The second day passed the same, and the third.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Gu Lianzhao finally felt hunger—or rather, the weakness of prolonged fasting. So when he fetched food for Broom Tail, he got himself a bowl of noodles too.

He didn’t overthink it, didn’t dwell on whether he was truly hungry. He just figured it was time to eat.

He shoveled down the bowl at his usual pace, polishing it off in just a few bites.

The cook ladled another helping. “Ninth Lord, one more?”

Gu Lianzhao nodded. He scarfed that one down too.

Then a third bowl, and he finished that as well.

With three bowls in his belly, a hint of solidity finally settled in his hollow chest. He set the bowl by the stove and turned toward the barracks.

He’d taken only two steps when his stomach rebelled, and he vomited messily onto the ground.

A violent spasm wracked his gut, like someone had plunged a hand inside, balled up his stomach, and lashed it tight with his intestines. The agony in his abdomen was so intense it nearly made him convulse.

Once his stomach was empty, he heaved up bile. Soon the retching triggered tears that trickled from his eyes.

Two cleaning lads watched from nearby. They wanted to help him up but feared his reputation—and the wrath he might turn on them. They exchanged uneasy glances for a good while but didn’t dare approach.

Gu Lianzhao braced himself against a tree trunk, eyes closed, resting until the dizzying wave fully ebbed. Then he straightened and walked on, step by steady step. His face was paler than before, but otherwise showed no sign of distress.

He’d lain abed for three days. He couldn’t go on like this.

No one had his back. If he didn’t pull himself together soon, no one would even notice if he died or went mad. First things first: a bath to clean up, then live with spirit.

The shock of the cold water made him shudder. For one with an innate Pure Yang Physique, it was the first time water had ever felt this cold—but cold or not, he adapted quickly.

Cleaned up and clad in Embroidered Uniform Guard standard garb, he headed to the Imperial Prison.

Reviewing files, interrogating prisoners, spotting loopholes, cracking cases, earning merit, claiming rewards—that was his familiar routine.

The thought of rewards made him realize he was broke.

Where had his money gone?

Gifts for that noble of golden branch and jade leaf.

Standing on the path to the Imperial Prison, Gu Lianzhao regretted expressionlessly: If the fight had broken out half a day earlier, he wouldn’t have squandered every last coin.

Oh, right. He’d held back one gold ingot.

Good thing he’d held back that ingot.

Otherwise, after three hard years, he’d end up a pauper.

When he’d set it aside, he’d planned a gold hairpin for Liu Yuanxun. But at the door, he’d remembered the man never wore gold ornaments—always jade. Fitting enough; gold was too vulgar. Only jade suited him.

What prince was this?

More like a princess.

Yet even the most pampered princess in the realm wasn’t so fragile.

He wanted jade? Too pricey—he couldn’t afford it.

Gu Lianzhao stood dazed in the sunlight, stray thoughts flickering through his mind, all circling back to Liu Yuanxun.

These three days, he’d deliberately kept his mind from the prince’s mansion. But under the sun, his brain seemed to loosen up, snagging on Liu Yuanxun with every idle notion—like ink dropped in water, blooming into a vast stain.

Had his illness improved?

Did he still vomit after eating?

Did he feel cold at night without him there?

What poison had he been hit with?

What secrets linked him and Noble Consort Ling?

Would he die?

When?

He…

Never mind.

Gu Lianzhao shut his eyes and gave a self-mocking laugh.

Liu Yuanxun was doing fine. He was a prince, surrounded by servants. As if he needed Gu Lianzhao’s worry. Better to fret over himself. If Liu Yuanxun died, his own fate wouldn’t be much brighter.

It was all his fault.

Entirely his doing.

Without Liu Yuanxun, he’d have been a fine Pacification Commissioner, future bright as day. Would he have sunk this low?

Liu Yuanxun thought the debt cleared? Cleared? At minimum, he owed compensation to put things back as they were—plus extra for these days of suffering.

He had compensated, in flesh. That body of gold and jade, explored top to bottom; every flavor savored.

Never mind.

Having catechized himself, Gu Lianzhao told himself once more: Never mind.

There was no perfect fairness in this world. Saving Liu Yuanxun’s ailment had been his misfortune; meeting him hadn’t done Liu Yuanxun any favors either. Letting a man like him deceive and grope him over—once he reflected on it afterward, he’d hate enough to kill.

He didn’t even need to reflect. He’d already set his mind to murder.

In his mind’s eye, Liu Yuanxun’s icy gaze suddenly appeared—clear, cutting. It chilled him to a shiver in an instant.

Never mind.

He told himself for the third time.

But what exactly he was telling himself to let go of… he didn’t know.