After lingering hesitantly at the mansion's gate for a quarter of an hour, murmuring to himself and wrestling with his thoughts until the gatekeepers and guards suspected their lord had lost his mind, Li Jing finally departed. He was bound for the palace. To others, the imperial palace was a sanctified, solemn realm of life and death, but to Li Jing, it was a treasure trove. Beyond his favored concubines, he could obtain anything he desired within its walls. This time, Li Jing sought to secure trust for the Duke of Anguo's household. He could vouch for Ye Chang Geng, vouch for Ye Jiao — though the siblings were impetuous, they would never betray their country nor side with enemies. Li Jing had even prepared his words of counsel. "For profit? The Duke's house lacks no silver. For fame? The greatest honor under heaven must be bestowed by the emperor himself." He recited this phrase repeatedly in his mind until it was etched indelibly, eager to declare it to anyone he met.
Yet before he could enter, a eunuch barred his way. "Prince Zhao," greeted Chief Eunuch Gao Fu with a bow, "Her Majesty the Empress is indisposed. His Majesty has decreed that Your Highness personally oversee the brewing of her medicinal decoction at the Imperial Medical Office. This task must not err." Li Jing glanced toward the palace gate, puzzled. "What ails Mother? Has it not always been palace consorts who tend to her illness? Why must this medicine be brewed under watchful eyes?" Only he dared defy the emperor's decree. Gao Fu lowered his voice gravely: "Prince Zhao, please tread lightly. This is Her Majesty's plan for you." In other words, the Empress wished him to attend the medicine brewing, and the emperor had acquiesced.
Li Jing stood dumbfounded, a foreboding chill creeping over him. His mother was not truly ill; she merely anticipated his attempt to petition the throne and sought to preemptively thwart him. That she forbade him meddling in the affairs of the Duke's household meant only one thing: the Anguo mansion's fate was bleak. "I shall enter the palace to see Father and Mother before proceeding to the Medical Office," he declared, steeling himself as he strode forward. Gao Fu pleaded desperately, fearing a scene. "Prince Zhao, please reconsider." "If you persist, only the Imperial Guards can expel you." "One request, Your Highness — do not go."
But Li Jing's stature and determination overwhelmed the weary Gao Fu. Just as he breached the palace threshold, a sharp female voice rang out: "Summon the guards." He looked up to see a palace attendant before the Empress. "Sister Xiaoran," Li Jing smiled warmly, moving to embrace her but turned, aggrieved, pointing at Gao Fu: "He forbids me from seeing Mother." The usually stern attendant, suppressing a smile, raised her hand and commanded clearly: "Prince Zhao is unfamiliar with the Medical Office. Please escort him." "I know the way! Isn't it just beyond the Court of Imperial Sacrifices..." Before he could finish, two Imperial Guards seized him by the arms, hauling him off toward the Medical Office beyond the palace walls.
"I will not leave! I must see Father... I have grievances..." They released him briefly, but before he could relish freedom, a cloth was thrust into his mouth. Lifted again, the guards warned, "This is a sacred imperial precinct. Prince Zhao must remain silent." Panting, he mumbled through the gag, "My shoe..." Wearing only one shoe, Li Jing was thrust into the Medical Office, confronted by a giant cauldron perched atop a stove, a faint flame flickering beneath.
An official of the Medical Office instructed him, "This is the decoction. Prince Zhao, please watch the fire closely. It has been brought to a boil over a fierce flame and now must be simmered over a gentle fire." Li Jing eyed the vast cauldron of medicinal broth with disdain. "Are we to feed the entire realm this potion?" The official bowed slightly. "Your Highness jest. The goal is to reduce this cauldron to a mere bowlful before extinguishing the fire." Li Jing collapsed to the floor. Was this brewing medicine? It was torment. The official left; the guards stationed themselves at the door. "Forgive us, Prince Zhao."
With a cold snort, Li Jing grabbed a bundle of firewood and flung it fiercely into the stove. "Little Nine... Brother is doing his best. If it fails, you shall at least have a bowl." This man was unlike Ye Chang Geng — who faced imprisonment with unbowed dignity, as if guarding the court prison. Ye Jiao stood outside the cell, watching as Lin Jing's anger dissolved instantly. The youth knelt with forehead to the floor, knees pressed hard against the wood, groaning softly as if willing himself to sleep. His tattered garments barely concealed the bruised, scarred flesh of his chest, abdomen, thighs, and even his feet. A broken, displaced rib jutted outward beneath his skin, a gruesome protrusion. Subjected to brutal punishment, he could neither lie nor prostrate himself — only kneel in weary rest.
"Lin Jing," Ye Jiao called softly. The boy flinched as if struck by lightning, trembling as he turned to face her. Disbelief shadowed his lips as he gripped the floor and bars, hauling himself up to stand and speak despite his agony. He tightened his clothes, determined not to disgrace himself before her.
"Commander Wu Hou... I..." A torrent of unspoken words swelled in his heart, but none found voice. Regret and pain gnawed at him, wishing only for death's release. Yet death was forbidden — if he died, others could forge his confession, sealing Ye Jiao's fate with their false witness. So he endured, though death was deserved, he must persist.
"Do you recognize Sang Qing?" Ye Jiao asked. Sang Qing had perished under torture in the prison, having confessed all he could, even summoned by the prison chief. The evidence was irrefutable: Commander Wu Hou colluding with thieves. Ye Jiao's dereliction in condoning his subordinates' crimes was undeniable. Lin Jing lowered his head, biting bloodied lips, then despairingly whispered, "Commander, I deserve death a thousand times over — a rat in the gutter, a worm in a rotting house. Leave me be, let me perish." He released the bars, attempting to shuffle away.
"Lin Jing!" Ye Jiao's voice cracked with emotion. "A rat in the gutter would dare defy the Great General at the city gate? A worm in a broken house endure such torment without confessing to false charges? I have come bearing salves, bedding, and food. If you wish to reform, to honor my trust in you, come here! Sit, eat, and speak honestly!"
Lin Jing's shoulders shook as he bowed his head, suppressing a flood of tears, crying so fiercely as if to unleash years of pent-up anguish in a single moment. "Stop crying for now," Ye Jiao pressed her hand gently to his moist eyes. "I'm pressed for time." Unaware of his tastes, she had brought only what she herself favored, and her questions revolved solely around what concerned her.
"I assigned you to guard University Lane. Why did you leave your post to loiter outside the Tubo Embassy?" "How many times have you aided Sang Qing? Whom among his men do you know? Where do they reside? Any peculiarities?"
The scent of food was sweet; Lin Jing's stomach growled, yet he answered every question thoroughly. Only when assured she had no further inquiries did he resume eating. When Ye Jiao departed, she left the bowls and boxes behind.
"I'm a tidy person," she said as she rose. "When you're released, clean these and return them to me." At the box's bottom lay a bowl of brown sugar. In the cold, dark prison, unable to drink the medicinal broth due to blood loss, this sugar would stave off death by cold and starvation. Ye Jiao also placed the bedding inside.
"You can keep this," she sighed in relief. "Do not take it when you leave. Bedding used in prison brings misfortune." Lin Jing clutched the bedding like a dutiful younger brother, nodding, "Commander, I will remember." He no longer wept; his tear-streaked face retained a certain resilience.
Within a grand mansion, Commander Bai Xianyu stared at the letter he had written, hesitating whether to send it. His previous letters to Li Ce were trivial trifles — chatter about Ye Jiao speaking with Yan Congzheng, a friend asking about her, or a peach blossom embroidered on her dress — none likely to stir trouble even if posted publicly. But today was different. He had written of Ye Chang Geng's plight, of Ye Jiao's suspension. This letter deserved swift delivery to Li Ce, yet Bai Xianyu hesitated. He wished to avoid entanglement.
The Bai family had no ambition for power — a single heir for three generations, his sister a palace consort, his father commanding the prosperous Jiannan Circuit. Their only desire was a quiet post for him at the Wu Hou barracks. Last time, his sister said the emperor favored Ye Jiao and urged him to wed her to please His Majesty. Bai Xianyu declined, and his sister did not press. His father said he was hopeless — a simple man who should marry and have children quietly. But sending this letter would mark him as the informant for the Prince of Chu, binding him to that faction. When the Prince of Jin returned, could he still curry favor?
Moreover, Ye Jiao's prolonged suspension meant he could reclaim the Commander's post. Conflicted, Bai Xianyu's gaze drifted to the wall, noticing something missing — his prized sword. That sharp, treasured blade had been seized by Ye Jiao. She was vexing, yet her peach pastries were delicious. Perhaps that was reason enough. The world's tides shifted unpredictably; was Li Ce easy to provoke? When he returned to such upheaval, would he not rage madly?
"Send the letter out!" Bai Xianyu commanded, rising abruptly.