Nan Rao had been unconscious for a long time. When she woke, all around her was pitch black.
It was another dim, gloomy dungeon.
The light from torches in the distance flickered faintly, and all was silent.
There was no difference from before—only that her clothes had been changed, and she was no longer so cold. She curled up in the corner of the cell, head lowered, lashes drooping, unable to say what she felt in her heart.
Thinking about it, this was the expected outcome.
She had held a pair of scissors to keep them at bay and had spoken so defiantly. Those officials, accustomed to the meek and the fawning, must have been displeased with her behavior and no longer taken up her case.
But in these troubled times, as a woman, was it only right to swallow one's pride and seek protection to get things done? What did that even count for?
The night deepened.
Nan Rao's head grew heavy, and she gradually drifted back to sleep.
In her drowsy haze, she heard footsteps approaching from afar.
Nan Rao opened her eyes and saw a jailer unlocking the cell door, gesturing for her to come out. She rose unsteadily and followed behind him. This time, she was not taken to some strange place, but to an interrogation room.
Only when she reached the doorway did she see the walls hung with instruments of torture, whips, and a brazier of burning red coals—a sight that chilled the heart at a glance.
Her eyes stung as if pricked by needles, and she quickly looked away.
The man in official robes seated there had been waiting with nothing to do. Noticing her arrival, he smiled and greeted her, "Madam Nan Rao."
Yan Zhan had become an official at a young age, brilliant and accomplished. Now assisting the Chancellor in managing the various departments, he was respected by all in court. Compared to a few days ago when he wore plain clothes—light robes, loose sash, gentle and refined—today's official attire lent him an air of authority and pressure.
"Chief Clerk Yan…"
"No need to be afraid. Today, Lord Wang and I are only asking questions according to procedure. We will not use torture on you."
Yan Zhan raised his hand, gesturing for her to sit.
Yan Zhan always spoke in a gentle, cultured tone. Nan Rao felt slightly reassured, walked over, and sat down. The iron chains around her wrists clinked and clattered as they collided.
Yan Zhan observed her condition without revealing his thoughts.
The dungeon light was dim; the torchlight cast from her shoulder illuminated her pale, snow-white face with a faint glow.
Her long hair hung loosely behind her, so frail she seemed as if a gust of wind might blow her over.
He sighed inwardly.
The winter night was cold and damp. Even though they had changed her into warmer clothes and fed her medicine yesterday, without taking her away, it would likely have little effect.
Fortunately, after today, there should be a turning point.
He calmly unrolled the bamboo slips, picked up the writing brush, and said, "I ask, you answer. Every detail, no matter how small, must be explained clearly."
Nan Rao: "Very well."
"When did you and Duan Xun marry? You claim to be the wife of the young master of the Duan family, and though you have a token to prove it, why have you never appeared in Luoyang before?"
"Five years ago, I was gravely ill and was saved by Duan Xun on the outskirts of Luoyang. Afterward, because my illness was too severe, my husband took me far from Luoyang, traveling everywhere in search of renowned physicians… Later, even after I recovered, some old ailments would frequently relapse. Luoyang was bustling with affairs and people. My husband wanted me to rest in peace and quiet, and also feared that with my humble origins, I would struggle to establish myself there. That is why we remained in Qingzhou, where the Duan family's ancestral home is."
Yan Zhan had heard something of the rumors about the Duan family's third young master—how he had been a willful, unruly prodigal who defied discipline. Recalling it now, he could only say that fate played cruel tricks.
Who would have thought that this young man was the one who had taken His Highness away?
Yan Zhan asked again, "Then how can you be certain that the Duan family never committed treason?"
Nan Rao smiled faintly. "Does Your Excellency not know in your heart? If the Duan family truly intended to rebel, why would Duan Xun's eldest and second brothers have died in battle? All three sons of the Duan family died on the battlefield resisting foreign invaders! The common folk all say the Duan family was fond of recruiting private soldiers, but last year during the drought in Yanzhou, locusts destroyed the grain and famine was severe. Duan Xun and I set up relief stations to aid the refugees, to the point that we were stretched thin. I ask you—where would the money for recruiting soldiers have come from? If Your Excellency does not believe me and wishes to audit the accounts, I have records here as well. Beyond that, the correspondence between Duan Xun and his father before he left for battle is also preserved in my hands."
Her voice was weak and faint, and she forced herself to finish speaking before lowering her head in a fit of violent coughing.
As she coughed, her eyes reddened, and she unconsciously clenched the shackles around her wrists.
Yan Zhan's brush paused slightly. He exchanged a glance with Wang Che beside him, then continued with other questions.
The interrogation proceeded smoothly, taking two shichen in total. Wang Che organized the case files and testimony, then rose and left with the bamboo slips. Nan Rao was about to follow the jailer back to her cell when Yan Zhan called her to a stop.
A steaming bowl of medicine was set before her.
Yan Zhan said with gentle concern, "Though you are in the imperial prison, madam, you must still take care of your life."
As he spoke, he reached into his sleeve, intending to pull out a few malt candies. The Chancellor had personally instructed him to bring them before he left today, saying that His Highness had always feared bitterness and such.
But before he could even take them out, Nan Rao had already walked over directly, picked up the bowl of medicine from the tray, and drained it in one gulp.
After finishing, her expression unchanged, she said softly in thanks, "Thank you for your concern, Your Excellency."
Yan Zhan withdrew his hand awkwardly and gave a dry laugh. "Ah… no need to be polite."
Although the medicinal brew was bitter, Nan Rao had been accompanied by medicine for the past five years and had long since lost her fear of bitterness. What she truly wished to ask was something else. Gazing at him, she said, "May I ask, sir, when I saw that esteemed official yesterday, I fainted and knew nothing afterward. Was today's interrogation ordered by that esteemed official?"
Her heart was filled with unease, unable to grasp the current situation.
Her collapse yesterday had been so sudden that she remembered nothing afterward, not even having discerned that official's stance on the case.
When Yan Zhan heard her take the initiative to ask about the Chancellor, he immediately smiled and said, "Naturally. Yesterday there was nothing pressing—I merely wished to ask you some specific details. Who would have thought you'd faint so quickly…" He paused, lowering his voice slightly. "However, this case involves many matters. Since you are a key witness, even here in the heavily guarded prison of the Commandant of Justice, you must take care of yourself—especially with food and drink. Be extra cautious."
His admonitions were exceedingly thorough.
Nan Rao's heart stirred, and she readily agreed.
After being returned to her cell, she curled up in the corner with her knees drawn to her chest, carefully mulling over Yan Zhan's words.
Key witness… take care of yourself…
Especially with food and drink…
That evening, the jailer came to deliver the routine meal, setting thin porridge and steamed buns on the ground outside the cell door before leaving. Nan Rao was somewhat hungry, but an inexplicable premonition rose in her heart, and she did not touch the food.
Perhaps she was not overthinking.
"Ah—"
Suddenly, a hoarse cry of agony pierced the air.
Nan Rao's eyes flew open.
The sound came from a female prisoner held in a cell not far from hers. The woman had barely eaten half her meal before collapsing heavily to the ground, both hands clutching her abdomen as she writhed wildly as if in tremendous agony. Her flailing arms knocked over her bowl, her eyes bulged and bloodshot, and a gurgling sound escaped her throat.
These symptoms—it looked like severe poisoning.
Nan Rao stared at the scene in terror, her hands and feet turning ice-cold. She sprang up, dragging her shackles as she rushed to the cell door, shouting urgently through the bars: "Someone come quickly—help! Someone's been poisoned—"
"Someone come!"
She only managed two cries.
The poison was extraordinarily potent. Within moments, the female prisoner began vomiting blood, her white garments instantly stained with a blinding swath of crimson. Thick black poisoned blood seeped from her eyes and ears, and the struggle of her limbs gradually weakened.
Soon, she lay still.
Nan Rao stood frozen, gripping the cell door, staring fixedly at the corpse. The blood in her veins seemed to congeal in an instant, her mind a whirlwind of chaos.
She was dead.
Who had secretly administered the poison?
Had it been meant for her? Then why had it killed someone else? Was there poison in her own bowl as well?
The prison was damp and cold, gradually becoming suffused with a nauseating stench of blood. Nan Rao felt a bitter dryness rise in her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth, gasping for breath, while her legs seemed to have been struck by an invisible cold whip—her knees went weak, and she swayed precariously, clinging desperately to the cell door for support.
For the first time, she witnessed with her own eyes a living person die before her.
She could not control herself, staring fixedly at the corpse, her jaw clenched tight, her eyes red and bloodshot.
Before long.
Footsteps finally sounded in the distance.
The one approaching was not alone—it was a group.
Nan Rao jerked her head up to look, and to her surprise, it was the esteemed official she had seen that day. Wang Che, Chief Clerk Yan, and others all followed respectfully behind him.
An attendant opened the cell door, examined the corpse, and rose to report: "She has already stopped breathing."
Wang Che let out a sharp hiss of cold air. "This poison was administered ruthlessly—it took effect so quickly. Clearly, no intention of leaving any chance of survival." He gestured to the attendants on either side. "Go quickly, check whether anyone else has been poisoned as well."
The attendants hurried away.
Yan Zhan stepped forward, crouched down to observe the dead woman's condition, then drew a silver needle from his sleeve and inserted it into the half-eaten meal. Sure enough, the needle turned black. "Blood seeping from all seven orifices, and judging by the speed of the poison's effect, I'd say arsenic was mixed into the food." He rose and walked to the cell where Nan Rao was held, reached through the bars to pick up the untouched steamed bun, inserted another silver needle, and withdrew it.
It too had turned black.
Nan Rao saw it clearly, and a chill shot up her spine. Her fingers dug hard into the wooden bars as she pressed her lips tightly together.
So it truly was meant to kill her.
Had she reacted even slightly slower today, she too would have been poisoned to death.
Yan Zhan rose and said, "Every prisoner in this jail receives the same food. I believe the culprit wasn't certain which meal would go to whom—preferring to kill indiscriminately rather than let the target escape—so they poisoned everything. In truth, the real target was Nan Rao."
He paused, then looked at Wang Che with a teasing tone: "Tell me, Magistrate Wang—we went to the palace this very day to report this matter to His Majesty, and by nightfall someone is dead. Surely you can't claim to know nothing of this?"
Wang Che started in fright and denied it repeatedly: "Upon my conscience! This humble official has been with the Chancellor all day." As he spoke, he glanced sidelong toward a figure in the distance.
There, Pei Ling was gazing at the corpse on the ground, his brow slightly furrowed, as if lost in thought.
Pei Ling said coldly, "Whoever was in charge of the prison meals today—detain them as well for questioning. Use whatever means of interrogation necessary, but pry their mouths open."
"Yes."
Wang Che hurriedly acknowledged, then stepped forward and cupped his hands toward Pei Ling. "Rest assured, when you reminded me this morning, I had already sent people to keep watch in advance. We will surely trace the thread to find the one behind this. As for how to report this before the throne, I know what to do."
Wang Che had navigated the officialdom for years, adhering to the principle of taking no one's side and staying out of harm's way, yet now he was forced to run errands for Pei Ling.
"You may go."
"Your subordinate obeys."
After Wang Che withdrew, Pei Ling turned his gaze sideways toward Nan Rao.
She still stood there in a daze, her face pale, tears glistening on her lashes, as if frightened and yet to recover her senses.
He walked slowly to stand before her.
The torches on either side cast bright light, gradually illuminating his features hidden in the darkness, rendering those eyes deep black and piercingly cold.
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked up, meeting his gaze through the prison bars.
"Frightened?" he asked.
Compared to the tone he had used with the others moments ago, his voice now was calm and gentle—so much so that in this cold, grim prison, it was set off into something subtly tender.
Nan Rao closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, saying nothing.
Pei Ling's gaze lowered. By the firelight, he saw two teardrops lingering on her cheeks and instinctively reached out to wipe them away.
Yan Zhan was about to clear his throat to remind him that since they had not yet acknowledged each other, a man and woman should not touch—this would be improper.
However, Nan Rao had already turned her face away first, dodging his hand.
Pei Ling's fingers froze mid-air.
She lifted her lashes, the tears in her eyes like silk soaked in water—damp, cold, and icy—staring straight at him, filled with disappointment and indignation. "Since you, sir, were here all along, why did you not save me when I cried for help just now?"
"Blaming me?" He withdrew his hand into his sleeve and asked flatly.
She remained silent.
The prison was still, leaving only the sound of breathing. In the silence, one might have heard the faintest sigh from the other, and then the man's clear, steady voice sounded again: "In this prison, a death is nothing out of the ordinary. There is no shortage of reasons—either suicide out of guilt, or unable to bear the humiliation, or succumbing to torture. As long as the person is dead, there is no one left to bear witness."
"This is the consequence of your beating the drum to appeal. The commandant accepted your petition yesterday, and today someone came to kill you. As for the few who were mistakenly killed, no one will care."
"The path you walk is a dead end."
A dead end.
Two cold, cruel words, stated plainly and without mercy.
She gritted her teeth in secret.
Her chest heaved as her hands gripped the prison bars ever more tightly, her knuckles turning white.
Pei Ling had no intention of frightening her, but the harsher the words, the more they could knock a person awake. He glanced sideways at the woman's corpse and said coldly, "They failed to kill you today; tomorrow they will find another way. You cannot even protect yourself."
"I know."
She lowered her eyes, her voice hoarse. "The Duan clan has produced generations of military commanders. Even if they are not the foremost of the great houses, they are worthy of being called a distinguished family. Think on it—anyone in this world who dares to move against them must hold immense power. I have neither power nor influence, yet I dared to come alone to beat the drum of justice. It is no different from a mantis trying to stop a chariot—courting death."
But these past days, whenever she fell into dreams, she would repeatedly see those scenes.
Sometimes she dreamed she was waiting at home for A-Xun to return as usual, only to hear many people discussing how General Duan had recently lost a battle, saying that all three sons of the Duan family had died on the battlefield. Other times she dreamed she was walking down the road and heard many scholars in the teahouse bitterly cursing the Duan clan.
They were indignant and spoke with great conviction, as if they had personally witnessed their rebellion.
The Duan clan hailed from Yingchuan, with ancestors serving as officials for generations—producing chancellors and generals alike, renowned ministers one after another. Their family's learning and integrity were admired by all. Duan Xun was the youngest son; his elder sister had entered the palace as empress, mother to the realm, and his two elder brothers had long weathered the battlefield with countless military achievements.
Against such a family of unyielding loyalty and honor, words became knives of slow execution—able to kill a living man and pierce his heart, and after death, to flog the corpse and strip the bones.
If the Duan family were to be convicted of treason this time, all four hundred and more members of the clan would be beheaded, their bodies discarded outside the city, uncollected and unburied, subjected to the world's scorn and insults.
Before A-Xun left, he had given her a token. If anything happened to him, she could seek refuge with his former friends and continue living in comfort, watching coldly as they were wrongfully put to death.
It was she herself who was unwilling.
"Do you want to live?"
Three unexpected words made her look up.
"What?"
She wondered if she had misheard.
But Pei Ling walked slowly closer, looking down at her through the wooden bars. The two faced each other, close enough to touch.
"If you want to live, then today's dead can be 'Nan Rao.' This case will no longer require your testimony. You can take this opportunity to leave the prison and preserve your life."
Nan Rao took a moment to process his meaning, then her eyes widened slightly.
"Since someone has already died, why not turn this to our advantage—let the dead woman take her place, and claim that the witness in the Duan case was poisoned to silence her. That way, we can make a case of it, and it will also make the mastermind behind this look guilty. Once the poisoner is found out, it will be even harder for them to escape."
And she could leave the imperial prison from then on, with no further threat to her life.
For her, it was a way out.
The petition drum was always a choice of last resort—to trade death for vindication was already a stroke of heaven's mercy, let alone to keep her life and have others finish what remained. She could entrust all of this to the man before her.
But if she did, the Duan case would have nothing more to do with her. In the eyes of the world, "Nan Rao, wife of Duan Xun," would be thoroughly dead.
Should she agree?
Nan Rao fell silent for a long time.
The prison was dim, and the wall lamps stretched the few standing figures into long, thin shadows that flickered with the flames, drifting like ghostly apparitions. A normal person confined here for too long might begin to feel a strange delusion—unable to tell, between themselves and others, who was human and who was ghost.
Before her, the man stood with sleeves hanging still, his profile clean-cut and upright.
One look at him made one instinctively want to trust him.
"I don't agree," Nan Rao suddenly spoke.
Pei Ling lifted his eyes slightly, and Yan Zhan also looked over in surprise.
She lowered her lashes, gazing at the wavering shadow at her feet. "The conditions you've offered, my lord, are indeed tempting. But if I were to trust you and truly 'die' today, and you were to go back on your word later, I would have no standing or identity left to do anything even if I wished to."
"I've known you for only two days, my lord. Forgive me for not trusting you fully. I choose to seek justice simply because I believe it is what I ought to do."
She raised her eyes calmly.
Their gazes met, and she neither dodged nor flinched.
Though her face was streaked with dust and grime, her slightly upturned phoenix eyes burned bright and clear, staring straight at the man before her.
"This is my own choice. Even if I were the one poisoned today, I would not regret it."
Pei Ling listened to her speak these words that dismissed life and death, his thin lips pressed together, silent for a long while.
Poisoned to death and still no regret?
He had never expected to hear such words. His princess—once so clever and decisive—had, in merely five years of lost memory, become so utterly devoted to another.
What kind of bewitching potion had that Duan fed her?
He was the one who was her husband.
The gentle smile that Pei Ling had barely mustered at the corners of his lips suddenly faded. He was not a man given to smiling to begin with, and now he turned away as if irritated, his gaze landing on the woman's corpse. "Dying is easy enough—a moment's relief. If I hadn't had Yan Zhan warn you today, you would have been dead already."
She was taken aback, never expecting that Yan Zhan's warning had been at his instruction.
A strange feeling stirred in her heart. They were nothing to each other, yet from their very first meeting, he seemed to show her such care, leaving her at a loss.
Nan Rao thought for a moment, took a step back to put distance between them, then knelt properly before his back and kowtowed, speaking softly: "Thank you for your kindness, my lord. I ask only that you judge this case fairly. Beyond that, I seek nothing else."
The man before her said nothing more.
She could not see his expression, and could only speak the sincerest thoughts in her heart.
Yan Zhan watched as the Chancellor had planned so much for her sake, only to be flatly refused—he was utterly stunned. When the Chancellor remained silent for a long time, he couldn't help but glance at him.
The prison was dim, and the man's profile was handsome and cold. A sliver of light fell across his face, carving a stark line of light and shadow along the bridge of his nose. Beneath that light, his dark eyes flickered with unreadable emotion.
The hand hidden in his sleeve had long since clenched until the knuckles turned pale.