The lights in the Imperial Prison were dim and ashen. Shen Zechuan’s hands and feet were icy cold, and he was growing more and more short of breath. The hemp rope was tied so tightly that no matter how he rubbed his wrists together, it was useless.
The sack of dirt pressed against his chest. It felt as though he had been thrown into deep water—his ears rang, his breathing went ragged, and he could no longer draw air, as if he were drowning.
Shen Zechuan rolled his eyes, staring at the candlelight beyond the bars.
Several Embroidered Uniform Guards in the hall were drinking and gambling, shouting as they played finger-guessing games. They could not be bothered to spare Shen Zechuan even a glance. Pinned to the rough straw mat by the dirt sack, the suffocating nausea surged over him like a flood, burying him alive.
His vision blurred. Shen Zechuan lifted his head, gritted his teeth, and began to move his feet. His legs had been beaten nearly numb by the staff punishment. When he raised them now, they felt as though they no longer belonged to him. He stepped onto the left corner of the wooden bed, where insects had gnawed it hollow. Just the day before, he had already broken part of it by sitting there.
Breathing became harder and harder.
Shen Zechuan kicked at that corner with all his strength. But his legs were weak; he could not even make a sound. The bed plank did not budge. Cold sweat poured down his body, soaking through the clothes on his back.
He wanted to live.
A frantic, muffled sound spilled from Shen Zechuan’s throat. He bit through the tip of his tongue and kept kicking the bed board.
The mangled corpse of Ji Mu lashed at his will to survive like a whip. In his ears, Ji Mu’s voice seemed to echo once more.
He had to live!
Shen Zechuan slammed into the board with ruthless force. At last he heard a thud. Half the bed collapsed. His body tilted sideways, and the dirt sack rolled off with it. Like breaking the surface of water, he fell to the ground and sucked in huge gulps of air.
The floor was ice-cold. His injured legs would not obey him. He propped himself up on his elbows, sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose. The prison was cold, yet his entire body felt as though it were burning, so hot that his organs churned inside him. At last he could not help but bow his head and retch dryly.
Shen Wei deserved to die.
Zhongbo had one hundred and twenty thousand troops, stationed across six prefectures in defensive lines. After the defeat at the Chashi River, the Biansha cavalry invaded the Dunzhou front. Just as the interrogator had said, there had still been a chance to turn things around. Shen Wei not only commanded strong troops and sturdy horses, but also had the garrison forces of three cities in Duanzhou at his disposal. Yet instead, he abandoned Duanzhou without warning and shrank back in fear to the Dunzhou princely residence.
That retreat became the beginning of Zhongbo’s fall. The three cities of Duanzhou were completely massacred by the Biansha cavalry. The defending troops’ morale collapsed, and they fled south in panic. Everyone believed that Shen Wei would make a desperate stand at Dunzhou against the Twelve Biansha Tribes. Instead, at the first hint of danger, he fled again.
The Zhongbo army retreated again and again. The Biansha cavalry were like blades of naked steel, nearly stabbing through all six prefectures. They rode in lightly equipped, sustaining themselves through war, and chased their way to within eight hundred li of the Great Zhou capital, Que City.
Had Shen Wei burned the city granaries during the retreat and implemented scorched-earth tactics, the Biansha cavalry would never have been able to advance this far. They carried no supply trains and relied entirely on seized grain for provisions. Once the city stores were burned clean, no matter how fierce the Biansha cavalry were, they would have gone hungry.
And hunger makes sustained warfare impossible. At that point, the Libei Iron Cavalry would have crossed the frozen river from the north to cut off the Twelve Biansha Tribes’ retreat, while the Qidong Five Prefectures’ garrison troops would block their escape routes at Tianfei Pass. Those curved blades would have become turtles in a jar, unable to survive the winter no matter what.
But Shen Wei did none of this.
He not only abandoned resistance, but left every granary intact for the Biansha cavalry. Fed on Great Zhou grain, the Biansha cavalry slaughtered Great Zhou cities. The horses Shen Wei had raised grew sleek and strong. At the Chashi River, they drove civilians and captured soldiers alike and buried them alive in a single night, wiping them out completely.
Shen Zechuan had escaped death by sheer chance.
Now Que City was settling accounts. Every order Shen Wei had issued in life appeared reckless beyond measure. He truly seemed to have been coordinating with the Twelve Biansha Tribes. But Shen Wei, fearing his crimes, had burned himself alive. One fire reduced him—and all documents—to ashes. Even the famously efficient Embroidered Uniform Guards were left helpless.
The emperor demanded answers. All they could do was repeatedly interrogate Shen Zechuan, the one who might know something. But Shen Zechuan’s birth mother had been a Duanzhou dancer. Shen Wei had too many sons. As a concubine-born child ranked eighth, he had never mattered. Long ago he had been driven out of the Dunzhou princely residence and raised wild in Duanzhou. Shen Wei himself likely did not even remember having such a son.
Someone wanted him dead.
This was no secret. From the moment he entered Que City, he was meant to take the blame for his father. He was the last remnant of the Shen clan of Zhongbo. A father’s debt was paid by the son. Once the interrogation in the Imperial Prison ended, the emperor would certainly use his life to appease the spirits of the thirty thousand soldiers buried alive at Chashi River in Dunzhou.
But it should not have been an assassination like this.
Shen Zechuan wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and turned his head, spitting out the blood foam in his mouth.
If Shen Wei truly had colluded with the enemy to plot rebellion, Shen Zechuan would die sooner or later anyway. Why bother with a covert assassination of an obscure, nameless illegitimate son? Someone in Que City was worried about what might come out of the interrogation. If so, then the defeat at Chashi River had to conceal some hidden truth.
Shen Zechuan knew nothing.
He had a master in Duanzhou. His brother had been Ji Mu, his master’s only son. To him, Shen Wei was merely the Prince of Jianxing, nothing more. Whether Shen Wei had colluded with the enemy or not—he truly did not know.
But he had to bite down and deny it to the death.
The ground was bone-chillingly cold. Shen Zechuan lay there, frozen, yet clearer-headed than during the day. He was a prisoner personally designated by the emperor. All warrants, summons, and sealed approvals had been issued directly from above. He had been taken straight from the hands of Xiao Jiming, the Heir Apparent of Libei, into the Imperial Prison—bypassing even the joint review of the Three Judicial Offices.
This alone showed the emperor’s resolve: no leniency, a thorough investigation at all costs. So who had the nerve, under such circumstances, to still take the risk and attempt to kill him before the emperor’s personal interrogation?
The cold wind continued to howl outside the window. Shen Zechuan rolled his eyes, staring at the wall in the darkness, afraid to close them again.
At dawn the next day, Shen Zechuan was brought once more into the main hall. A fierce snowstorm raged outside. The interrogator who had been all cold severity in previous days now wore a beaming smile, holding tea in both hands and standing respectfully beside the grand chair.
Seated above was an elderly eunuch with a pale, beardless face. He wore a crane-down fur smoke-cap and a robe with a gourd-patterned rank badge. His cloak had yet to be removed, and he cradled an exquisitely wrought gold-and-jade plum-blossom hand warmer as he rested. Hearing the movement, he opened his eyes and looked at Shen Zechuan.
“Godfather,” Ji Lei, who had been ordered to conduct the interrogation these past days, bent at the waist and said, “this is the remaining spawn of Shen Wei, Prince of Jianxing.”
Pan Rugui looked at Shen Zechuan and said, “How did he end up in such a state?”
Ji Lei knew Pan Rugui was not asking why Shen Zechuan was filthy and foul-smelling, but why nothing had yet been wrung from him.
Sweat beaded at Ji Lei’s temples. He did not dare wipe it away, maintaining his bent posture as he replied, “The brat is ignorant and muddle-headed. He was already delirious when brought back from Zhongbo. I do not know who instructed him, but he has stubbornly refused to confess.”
“A prisoner personally designated by His Majesty,” Pan Rugui did not accept the tea. “A child of fifteen or sixteen, brought into the illustrious Imperial Prison, personally interrogated by Lord Ji—yet to this day, not a single confession has been produced.”
Ji Lei held the tea and forced a bitter smile. “Precisely because he is a prisoner designated by His Majesty, I dared not apply severe torture without authorization. He was already suffering from a cold when he arrived. If we were careless and he died, the Shen Wei case would become an unsolved mystery.”
Pan Rugui studied Shen Zechuan for a while, then said, “We are all dogs beneath our master. If our teeth are no longer sharp, we are useless. I know your difficulties, but this is your duty. His Majesty now wishes to see him—that is His Majesty’s consideration for you Embroidered Uniform Guards. How can you still voice complaints?”
Ji Lei hurriedly prostrated himself. “What Godfather says is absolutely right. Your son has been instructed.”
Pan Rugui gave a nasal “hm” and said, “Clean him up properly. Looking this filthy, how could he appear before His Majesty?”
Shen Zechuan was taken away by menials to be washed. The wounds on his legs were simply bandaged, and he was dressed in clean padded clothes. He was handled like an object. His body was unsteady, and it took effort for him to climb into the carriage.
Only then did Pan Rugui accept Ji Lei’s tea. Watching Shen Zechuan’s departing back, he said, “Is this truly a remnant of the Shen clan?”
Ji Lei replied, “It is. He is the sole survivor of the Chashi Heavenly Pit. He was personally captured by the Libei Heir Apparent, Xiao Jiming, and held all along in the Libei Iron Cavalry’s prison cart. No one else touched him along the way.”
Pan Rugui sipped the cold tea. After a long while, he smiled without warmth and said, “The Xiao Heir Apparent is a cautious man.”
Shen Zechuan stepped down from the carriage and was escorted by the Embroidered Uniform Guards along the long road. Goose-feather snow lashed his face. The eunuchs leading the way moved briskly, speaking not a word.
When Pan Rugui arrived before the Hall of Bright Principle, the young eunuchs waiting under the eaves hurried forward. One removed Pan Rugui’s cloak, another changed his face covering, and then they took the hand warmer from him. Inside, the announcement had already been made. Pan Rugui knelt at the doorway and said, “Your Majesty, this servant has brought the man.”
After half a quarter-hour, a low, measured voice came from within. “Bring him in.”
Shen Zechuan’s breath caught. He was already being hauled inside. Incense burned within, but the air was not stifling. He heard intermittent coughing and glimpsed, from the corner of his eye, feet on both sides of the hall.
Emperor Xiande wore a dark-blue Daoist robe. His back was so thin that the bones showed through. His body was frail; in the three years since his accession, illness large and small had never left him. Now seated in his chair, his long face looked particularly refined and delicate due to his lack of blood and energy.
“Ji Lei has interrogated him for several days,” Emperor Xiande glanced at Ji Lei kneeling behind. “Has it been made clear?”
Ji Lei knocked his head to the floor. “Reporting to Your Majesty, this child speaks in a confused and contradictory manner. The matters he has confessed over these past days are riddled with inconsistencies and cannot be trusted.”
Emperor Xiande said, “Present what he has confessed.”
Ji Lei took the neatly arranged confession from his robes and handed it with both hands to Pan Rugui. Pan Rugui then stepped forward quickly and respectfully presented it to Emperor Xiande.
Emperor Xiande read through it. When he reached the Chashi Heavenly Pit, he covered his mouth and coughed. Refusing Pan Rugui’s assistance, he wiped the blood from his lips with his own handkerchief and said heavily, “Thirty thousand soldiers perished in the pit. If Shen Wei had not died, heaven and man alike would have been enraged!”
Shen Zechuan closed his eyes briefly. His heart began to pound violently. As expected, the next moment he heard Emperor Xiande say:
“Lift your head!”
Shen Zechuan’s breathing quickened. His palms pressed against the icy floor. Slowly, he raised his head, his gaze carefully stopping at Emperor Xiande’s boots.
Emperor Xiande looked at him and asked, “You are Shen Wei’s son, and the sole survivor of the Chashi Heavenly Pit. What do you have to say?”
Shen Zechuan’s eyes reddened. His body trembled slightly. He wept in silence.
Emperor Xiande’s expression did not change. “Answer me!”
Shen Zechuan suddenly looked up. Tears streamed down, dripping along his cheeks. He lifted his head for only an instant before slamming his forehead back to the ground. His shoulders shook violently as sobs burst from his throat.
“Your Majesty… Your Majesty! My father’s heart was devoted to the state. After the defeat, he felt he had failed both family and country and had no face to see the elders of Zhongbo again. Thus he burned himself to death in atonement!”
Emperor Xiande snapped, “Nonsense! If he was truly devoted to the state, why did he retreat again and again?”
Shen Zechuan sobbed hoarsely. “My father sent all his sons to the battlefield. My eldest brother, Shen Zhouji, was dragged alive to death behind Biansha horses on the Chashi official road! If he were not loyal to the core, how could he have gone so far?”
Emperor Xiande said, “How dare you bring up the Chashi battle? Shen Zhouji fled in the face of battle—his crime was unforgivable.”
Shen Zechuan raised his head to look at Emperor Xiande, tears pouring like rain as he cried out, “At the Chashi River, blood flowed like canals. My elder brother was muddle-headed and incompetent, yet he held the line for three days. Within those three days, military reports were sent to Qidong and Libei. Without those three days—”
He choked, unable to go on.
Emperor Xiande looked down at the confession in his hand. Silence filled the hall, broken only by Shen Zechuan’s sobbing. In that unbearably long pause, Shen Zechuan’s fingertips dug deep into his own flesh.
Suddenly, Emperor Xiande let out a long sigh and said, “Did Shen Wei collude with the enemy?”
Shen Zechuan answered without hesitation, “He did not.”
Unexpectedly, Emperor Xiande set the confession aside. His voice turned icy in an instant. “Crafty brat, attempting to deceive the throne. You cannot be spared! Pan Rugui, drag him out and beat him to death at Duancheng Gate!”
“This servant obeys the decree!” Pan Rugui responded at once, bowing as he withdrew.
It was as though a bucket of icy water had been dumped over Shen Zechuan’s head. His entire body turned freezing cold. He struggled violently, but the Embroidered Uniform Guards clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him out of the Hall of Bright Principle at once.