Inside the cell, there was no lamp, only the faint glow of torches from the outer corridor.
Scarlet shadows tangled with the darkness. Xie Ci trembled, choking back sobs, as scalding tears slid down his cheeks and soaked into Gu Wan’s fingertips.
Xie Ci forced a nod. The movement was slight, but it was clear he had spent all his strength. That was enough.
Gu Wan exhaled in relief. She eased him back onto the ground, calming herself—what mattered was that he still had the will to survive. With wounds this grave, without that fierce desire to live, it would be nearly impossible to endure. But before anything else, she had to tend to his injuries.
After laying him down, she quickly pulled off her shoes and drew out a slender silver pin hidden in the sole—something she had prepared for herself in case of shackles or danger. She hadn’t expected it to be used like this.
It was said that ancient locks often relied on spring mechanisms: find the core, press, withdraw, then twist. With patience and effort, it was not so difficult.
She worked at it for a while until at last a crisp *click* rang out—the iron-barred door was unlocked.
Carefully setting the copper lock and chain aside, Gu Wan slipped into the cell. She pulled open Xie Ci’s tattered, blood‑stained robe and gasped.
Whip marks and blade cuts crisscrossed his body; burns from hot irons seared one patch after another. His ten fingers were mangled by thumb screws, bloodied and unable to straighten. She quickly pressed his joints—thankfully, no bones were shattered.
Her heart twisted. A boy, not yet even a soldier—was this truly necessary?
She scooped snow from the wooden bowl, scrubbed her hands clean, then gathered the rest into her palms and clenched it tight. She had no salt, no medicine—nothing at all. She could only grit her teeth and melt the snow this way.
Ordinarily she would have grimaced from the cold, but after seeing Xie Ci’s mangled flesh, that chill seemed trivial.
Gu Wan pressed the snow for a long while, forcing out a little water. Mixed with ice, it was barely enough to wash a wound. “Bear with it,” she whispered.
Xie Ci gave a silent nod.
The moment the icy water splashed down and she scrubbed hard, his torn flesh convulsed like a blood‑soaked gourd. He clenched his fists, teeth grinding, but uttered no sound, nor did he resist. The snow water quickly turned to bloody slush. One bowl was gone in an instant.
Gu Wan darted out through the dry channel, fetched another bowl of snow, and returned. She lost count of how many times she ran back and forth. In the bitter cold, she broke into a sweat, though her hands remained numb. At last she had carefully cleaned every wound.
The boy was still conscious. Even after the brutal washing, he lay weakly on the prison robe spread beneath him, never once fainting.
Gu Wan was impressed by his willpower. Yet with injuries this severe, sheer determination might not be enough. She paused, glanced toward the corridor outside, then crept forward on quiet feet. She reasoned that with so many sick and wounded prisoners in this ward, the guards must keep some medicines on hand.
Licking her lips, she crouched at the iron gate, observed for a moment, then decisively slipped the silver pick into the lock once more. She eased the door open and slipped out.
The corridor lay silent. Every twenty or thirty meters, a pine torch sputtered, nearly burned down, scattering sparks and ash as it crumbled.
This long passage was lined with sick prisoners. Beside it stood three or four larger cells in similar condition; farther ahead were smaller solitary cells, each enclosed by iron bars, holding adult convicts—some shackled, some sprawled, all motionless. Whether conscious or not, none lifted their heads; only the occasional groan broke the stillness.
Gu Wan’s steps were light and swift. Soon she reached the end, pressed herself into the corner, and peered out. A square of open ground, ten meters across, held a long desk and a square table. The square table was for the warders’ meals; the long desk served as their office. Shelves at the side carried registers and bowls. On the desk lay an oil lamp and cudgel. To the left, a stone stairway climbed upward.
No one was there—just as she had hoped.
She glanced up the stairway. At its end, moonlight and snowlight filtered through the barred gate, casting a lattice of pale beams. From outside came the crunch of patrol soldiers’ boots on snow. It was New Year’s Day; with patrols, gates, and locks in place, the warders of the sick‑prison had clearly slipped away.
Gu Wan hurried to the long desk, pulling open drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet. At last she uncovered a dozen jars and bottles. She uncapped each, sniffing carefully, until she found white powder medicine—and deeper inside, several finer blue‑and‑white porcelain bottles. Opening one, she discovered *jinchuang yao*, the golden wound salve.
This remedy had long since been lost to later ages. Its chief ingredients were “dragon bone” and “male ground beetle.” The beetle was common enough, but dragon bone—fossilized remains—was rare beyond measure, hence its disappearance.
*Jinchuang yao* was once standard in the army. The Xie family had it too. Its effect was extraordinary: once a soldier’s wounds were cleaned and the salve applied, healing came swiftly, faster and surer than with ordinary white powder.
The moment Gu Wan saw the medicine, joy surged through her. She swiftly gathered seven or eight bottles of varying sizes and hurried back down the corridor.
With this, Xie Ci truly had a chance at survival.
She broke the seals on the bottles and applied the salve to his wounds, using up three full jars before she was done. Then she stripped a fresher prison robe from a newly dead body, dressed Xie Ci in it, and used the soiled garment to wipe away the bloody water from the floor—before slipping it back onto the corpse.
Finally, she dissolved five medicinal pellets in melted snow, remedies for fever and internal injuries, and fed them to him. He was burning with fever, his body ravaged, his skin chilled from the snow wash. In the short time she had been gone, he had grown drowsy with heat. Now he forced his eyelids open, struggling to swallow the bitter draught. His nostrils flared with effort, each breath searing like fire.
Gu Wan pressed the remaining wax pills into his palm. This was all she could do.
Xie Ci fought to keep his eyes open. His throat, raw with blood, rasped: “Th‑thank you.”
Gu Wan patted his left shoulder—one of the few places where the flesh was still whole—and answered with a faint smile. She settled him onto the heap of straw she had arranged, outwardly messy but dry beneath.
No thanks were needed. Boy, living on is the greatest gratitude you can give.
She had already spent a long time here. Dawn was near.
After placing him on the straw, Gu Wan quickly stuffed the leftover snow into an empty medicine jar and sealed it with a wooden stopper. She worked only with the freshly sealed bottles, leaving the half‑used ones untouched. Each wax seal she carefully pressed back into place, smoothing it with her fingernail, then reattached the paper slip before tucking the bottles deep inside again.
Dust clung to the shoulders of those jars—signs they hadn’t been touched in some time. Short of discovery, they should remain unnoticed for days. That was all she needed.
Gu Wan restored the bottles to their original order, tidied both the storeroom and the large cell, and before leaving, cast one last glance at Xie Ci. He lay in heavy sleep, utterly still. She turned away and slipped back through the dry channel.
…
Outside, dawn was breaking.
She replaced the cover on the channel and reset the iron latch. The design was clever: even if a prisoner discovered the vent, without knowing the latch’s position, they could never pry it open to escape.
Gathering up the snow, she crawled back through the tool room.
The prison dormitory was still shrouded in darkness—the coldest hour of the night. The warders snored thunderously under their thick coats. Gu Wan crept along the fence, slipping back through the gaps. Sleepless all night, Second Sister-in-law Xie exhaled in relief and quickly shifted aside to make room.
Gu Wan lay down slowly. The straw rustled faintly, and from the opposite cell came a similar sound, as though someone had turned to glance her way.
But this spot had been chosen carefully by her and Second Sister-in-law Xie. Cloaked in shadow, nothing could be seen.
Once she lay down, Gu Wan exhaled a long, silent breath. Only then did she realize how cold her hands had become—likely bad enough to bring on frostbite this year.
Second Sister Xie-in-law tucked Gu Wan’s hands into her own bosom to warm them.
Gu Wan didn’t protest. She curled on the straw heap, gazing at the faint dawn light seeping through the cracks of the boarded‑up window. Her body wasn’t cold—she was even sweating—but once the sweat cooled, she knew the chill would bite. The thin cotton underclothes she had swapped into when hiding the silver pick were soaked through. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, twisting painfully. Another two or three months of this, and she’d surely end up with chronic illness.
What rotten luck.
In the modern world, Gu Wan had been a detective, trained in forensic medicine at university. She came from a family of police officers—her grandfather, father, and uncle were all veteran detectives. From childhood, her dream had been to fight crime and become a brilliant, dashing policewoman. But the year she filled out her college applications, her father was stabbed while pursuing a suspect. He survived only after losing a kidney. Her mother, a doctor, and her grandparents forbade her from enrolling in the criminal investigation program. After much weeping and pleading, she compromised and chose forensic medicine instead.
Forensics was still part of the police system. Yet after graduation, for personal reasons, she gave up the profession and opened a detective agency with friends. She had grown up steeped in police work, auditing countless investigation classes, and thrived. Within two years, she had bought a spacious home, becoming a modern young woman with a house and a car.
Just as she was ready to push further, fate dropped a flowerpot squarely onto her head—literally. It struck her skull and sent her hurtling back into the ancient past.
Gu Wan: “…”
What rotten luck—she hated everyone who hurled things from above!
Once her memories of the past life finished playing out, dawn had fully broken. The wardens dragged in a huge bucket to dole out breakfast, cheerfully announcing, “Lucky you lot—today’s New Year, so you get two flatbreads.”
Gu Wan took the two coarse vegetable cakes, so hard they could crack teeth, and nearly wanted to slap her thigh in frustration. She’d seen plenty of prisons in her time, but sitting here inside one was a first. There was no way she could ever get used to it—but still, being alive was better than being dead. Thinking of it that way, her heart felt lighter.
Gnawing laboriously at the coarse vegetable flatbread, Gu Wan had already made up her mind. The original soul had few kin, lived under others’ roofs, and was never fond of going out to make friends. The only bond she could not let go of was the Xie family.
So Gu Wan resolved: she would help settle them, free them from the tragic fate they had suffered in the previous life. That would be her way of fulfilling the original soul’s last wish.
Though she had taken her own life, this other girl—Gu Wan, same sound but different character—had done nothing wrong. Since Gu Wan had been given another chance to live, she thought, at the very least, she ought to do something for her. Helping others was also a way of helping herself.
As for the Xie family, once they were properly settled, Gu Wan had no particular interest in Xie Ci. Fortunately, the customs of Great Wei were fairly open—especially in the frontier towns. She could save up, open a small tavern, and play the role of a cheerful proprietress, selling wine across the counter.
The soaring life and grand house of her past were already gone, waved away with a final farewell.
Feeling a little dejected, Gu Wan finished her flatbread and crouched in the corner, rubbing her hands together. If she could ward off even one chilblain, it was worth the effort.
As for Xie Ci’s condition, she whispered only a few words to Second Sister-in-law Xie, and said nothing to the others. After all, this women’s prison was overcrowded—not the place for secrets.
Whenever she thought of him, worry gnawed at her. She feared he wouldn’t survive the fever. In an age without antibiotics, such a grave wound meant truly walking through the gates of hell—and not everyone came back. She also worried he hadn’t eaten, trying too hard to keep up appearances, which would only make things worse. So she saved half a bowl of gruel, planning to slip it to him later that night. If nothing unexpected happened, in a few days they would set out against the wind and snow, beginning the long road of exile. And a few days—long or short—could mean everything. For now, she could only pray to the gods and Buddha, hoping all would go smoothly.
Yet things did not go as she wished. Events unfolded in a way utterly different from Gu Wan’s expectations—veering off in the opposite direction entirely. Her best hope had been simple: once Xie Ci recovered enough, they could load him onto a cart and take turns pushing him along the road. But that was never going to happen.
On the second day of the new year, she couldn’t go at all. A jailer had molested a newly arrived girl, and the girl, fierce in spirit, dashed herself against a pillar and died. Since her family’s crime was light and they had relatives to bribe the officials, Squad Leader Cao erupted in curses; the prison was in chaos for half the day, and that family wept all night in the cell opposite.
With all the commotion, Gu Wan had no chance to slip away. By the third night, however, she rose quietly in the dark. Following the same route, she crept through the gate and storeroom, bowl in hand, heading straight for the sick ward. Her foot pressed down on the straw with a faint crunch, and at once Xie Ci lifted his head.
In the pitch-black cell, Gu Wan hushed him with a “shh.” She tiptoed closer, peering at him. His lips were cracked and dry, his face deathly pale, his hair damp with sweat that had dried in streaks—but his eyes were clear. After two days of struggle, he had finally broken through the fever and regained his senses.
Gu Wan lifted his clothes to check. The wound had begun to dry, the bloody surface contracting, scabs hardened, the powder that had soaked through now crusted, with no sign of fresh seepage. She was overjoyed. Such a wound, if kept stable, would not turn to infection—it would heal in time.
“You’re amazing. This is wonderful!” Gu Wan praised him warmly.
Xie Ci slowly pushed himself upright, holding the empty bowl that had once contained half a serving of cold gruel. Gu Wan had already inspected his wounds, even tugging down his trousers to check—but at that moment, neither of them felt the slightest hint of impropriety. He seemed about to say something to her, lips just parting—when suddenly he froze. Both of them heard it: footsteps, voices.
Boots descended the stairway, several men stopping in the open space below. Keys jingled as they were passed along; voices continued, then two sets of steps broke away, heading down the corridor.
The sound grew nearer, heavy military boots striking the stone with unmistakable weight, echoing sharply in the gloom. In moments they reached the end—precisely at Xie Ci’s cell—and the iron door swung open.
Startled, both Gu Wan and Xie Ci reacted instantly. He thrust the bowl toward her; she snatched it, hurriedly locked the iron gate again, then rolled across the floor and darted back into the ventilation shaft, carefully lifting the cover into place.
Xie Ci collapsed back down, feigning the delirium of a fever.
The intruders came fast—barely had they finished their frantic preparations when the men arrived.
Gu Wan held her breath. From her vantage point, she saw the cell door crack open with a sharp snap, and two black-clad figures stepped inside. Their purpose was clear. After adjusting to the darkness, they strode straight toward Xie Ci’s small cell.
One bent to peer inside, studied him for a moment, then nodded to the man behind. The other reached into his robes—and drew out a long strip of white silk.
Gu Wan’s eyes flew wide open. Her heart pounded violently—and in that instant, she understood everything.
They wanted Xie Ci dead!
By law, since he was not yet sixteen, the harshest sentence he could face was exile. But a “death by illness”? That was no accident. It was inevitable.
Inside and outside the cell, both Gu Wan’s and Xie Ci’s faces changed at once.