Chapter 27: Visiting a Friend in Prison

Chapter 27: Visiting a Friend in Prison

Amid the chaos of the imperial harem, Prince Gong, his white hair disheveled and his body covered in blood, strode forward holding a blood-stained sword. Eunuchs and palace maids carrying heavy bundles passed by him continuously. In the past, Prince Gong would have severely punished them all, but now, everyone pretended not to see.

He arrived at the Palace of Fortunate Tranquility, where Empress Yu and the young emperor resided. Inside, only Empress Yu sat, dressed neatly as if prepared to attend a court assembly.

“Uncle, you have come,” she said, lifting her head with a bitter smile. Though this outcome had been expected, the reality was desolate beyond words.

“Better to die now than to endure humiliation,” Prince Gong sighed. This niece-in-law, married into the royal family, had never known a day of happiness, living under the tyranny of the Empress Dowager. Now, with the kingdom fallen and her family destroyed, she was to perish along with them.

“Has the group sent to Changbai Mountain returned?” Empress Yu asked, still holding on to a shred of hope. Sometimes, her folly was almost laughable.

“They have returned. All they found was an empty temple, nothing else,” Prince Gong replied, tightening his grip on his sword. “My blade is swift; you will not suffer.”

Though once a rank eight official—through the grace of others—even with his age and diminished strength, Prince Gong could still kill swiftly.

“No need, Uncle. I know what to do,” Empress Yu said, standing and walking to a white silk cloth prepared beforehand. She stepped onto a stool, placed her neck on the silk, cast a lingering glance at the outside world, and kicked the stool away.

Shortly after, she lost her breath.

Prince Gong then entered the inner chamber, found the young emperor Long Xuan fast asleep, and plunged his sword in. The boy, only four years old, died silently before uttering a sound.

As he stepped out of the palace, he was met by one of his sons. His pace quickened abruptly.

“Fa… Father,” the son stammered, retreating.

“Being born into the imperial family has its privileges, and also its burdens,” Prince Gong said coldly, driving his sword through his son’s not-so-solid chest.

Crimson blood flowed down the blade to his hand, painting it scarlet.

“Stop—”

The voice cut off abruptly. Pulling out his sword and looking at his fallen son, Prince Gong wept silently and departed.

He encountered several princesses and killed them all as well. Those well-versed in history knew all too well the fate that awaited if they were spared.

After a long while, a dazed Prince Gong arrived at Meishan, where the Empress Dowager’s coffin had once rested. His gaze settled on an old crooked tree nearby—the former emperor had hanged himself here.

More than two centuries had passed; it seemed like a cruel cycle.

“Enjoying the emperor’s treatment before death,” Prince Gong muttered with blasphemous words.

He strode to the tree, tied his belt, and was about to hang himself when a deep voice rang out:

“Regent, what are you doing? The Marshal never ordered your death.”

The voice was too familiar.

Turning, he saw one of Wei Ting’s trusted men—a general of the palace guards named Duan Hu—smiling at him.

“Hu’er, do you really believe such nonsense? How can the new regime make room for its own nobles without wiping out those of the previous dynasty? How else to seize their wealth and provisions? Without resources, how to maintain officials and the army, how to quell rebellions? Should we borrow from the Haixi states?” Prince Gong sneered.

Having lived many years and held court power multiple times, he knew all too well the art of deception. He had outwitted countless passionate fools, and Duan Hu would never come close to his skill in deceit. Yet, here Duan Hu was, trying to hoodwink him.

“Ugh.”

Duan Hu was left speechless. Indeed, he was trying to deceive Prince Gong, merely hoping he would cooperate with the dynastic change, lending legitimacy to the new regime.

“Hu’er, come, join the founding duke,” Prince Gong said.

“I apologize, General,” Duan Hu said, suddenly leaping to the ground and transforming into a black tiger. Before Prince Gong could react, the beast pounced, biting off his head.

In the next moment, Duan Hu resumed his human form, but his eyes still burned with wild frenzy. Looking down at the corpse, he swallowed hard.

“No,” the beastly look faded, replaced by humanity. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he said, “This cursed cultivation method will eventually turn me into a demon.”

“But I cannot stop; the world has changed. If I do not practice, I will be cast aside.”

The next day dawned bright and clear—a rare good day. Yet the prison was overcrowded and filled with wails.

Qin Yuan walked down the narrow corridor, feeling as if he were passing through the legendary endless hell.

“Wei Ting’s treacherous dog deserves no good death!”

“Damn the heavens for not striking Wei Ting down!”

...

These were the diehard supporters of Prince Gong.

“I have no connection to Prince Gong’s faction. You’ve got the wrong man.”

“I don’t want to die!”

...

And here were people of all sorts.

Qin Yuan reached the end and stopped before a narrow cell emitting a foul stench.

Inside, Lu Yunfei sat among a pile of straw, looking pale and defeated. He bore no wounds—likely because no one cared enough to harm him. Among Prince Gong’s faction, Lu Yunfei was a marginal figure.

Lu Yunfei turned his head slightly and saw Qin Yuan.

Two men, one outside and one inside, looked at each other without a word. The scene felt strangely familiar.

When the guard opened the cell, Qin Yuan entered and laid out food and drink.

“Eat. This will be your last meal.”

Qin Yuan had asked beforehand; some prisoners would be beheaded at noon, including Lu Yunfei. The reason was overcrowding—to make room for new captives.

No one understood why this young man’s luck was so cursed.

“So soon?” Lu Yunfei was stunned. He had expected an execution after the autumn harvest.

“Peking roast duck, shredded pork in Beijing sauce, and a ten-year-old porcelain-headed spring wine—all your favorites,” Qin Yuan said, bringing a piece of roast duck to Lu Yunfei’s lips.

Lu Yunfei bit into it, tears streaming down his face. “I regret it all. I gained nothing and lost my life.”

From Shao Guilin years ago to Lu Yunfei now, the only lesson humans ever learned from history was that they never learned from it.

“Drink more wine. Get dizzy. It won’t hurt as much on the execution ground,” Qin Yuan said, handing over the aged spring wine.

Initially, Qin Yuan had wanted to buy something finer but remembered that all the silver notes had been spent on various poisons. The saying “law of wealth and land” was no exaggeration.

Lu Yunfei took the cup, swallowed the duck, and took a large gulp, coughing violently. His cheeks flushed red. Despite often drinking, his tolerance was mediocre.

“The head warden committed suicide,” Qin Yuan said.

“What? Isn’t he Wei Ting’s brother?” Lu Yunfei was puzzled. If it were him, he would be jumping for joy.

Qin Yuan said nothing. Lu Yunfei was too weary to inquire—he was close to death and had no energy left for others’ fates.

“When I’m gone, please entrust my family to Yuanda,” Lu Yunfei bowed deeply. Though he had many relatives, he dared not trust any of them. Often, those seemingly close were more terrifying than strangers.

“I will,” Qin Yuan promised.

Suddenly, Lu Yunfei stood and took out a map from his bosom. “I found this in a secret box inside Prince Gong’s chamber when no one was around the residence.”

(End of Chapter)