Chapter 2

Thinking of this, Gu Wan grew anxious.

When she was transferred from the inner prison to the Iron Gate Monastery jail, she saw Xie Ci—wounded all over, unconscious, his body thrown onto a cart with several other gravely injured prisoners. His wrists were shackled, the iron rings stained dark with blood, the wounds so deep the bone was visible. Wind and snow whipped around him; dried blood crusted over, his complexion feverish and ashen, so motionless he seemed almost dead.

It was said that when he was carried out of the inner prison, he was still muttering and struggling. A jailer struck him with the edge of his hand to keep him from rambling nonsense and bringing them unnecessary trouble.

The Xie family’s case had already been pronounced by imperial edict, the dust settled.

Xie Ci—fifteen years old, two months from his sixteenth birthday.

Once the most arrogant and unrestrained young master of the Duke’s household—both literate and skilled in arms, exceptionally gifted yet notoriously unruly. The pride of the Five Mausoleums’ youth, the darling of every gathering, born the year his family was granted the title Marquis of Loyal Courage and Duke of Jin. His life blazed as brightly as the golden plaque inscribed by the Emperor for the Xie ancestral hall—“Loyalty through Generations.”

At three, he began his studies, able to recite the Thousand Character Classic backwards. At five, he had tutors who were so exasperated they’d wail aloud, and by twelve, his teacher resigned, claiming there was nothing left to teach him.

After that, the House of Loyal Courage never again hired a scholarly tutor.

The precocious Xie Ci once perched on his father’s desk and declared earnestly that he would not pursue the literary arts. “Third Brother can’t even carry a chicken—completely useless! I want to take up arms, become a great general, ride into battle like Father and Brother.”

Xie Xinchong agreed.

Because Xie Ci’s martial talent surpassed his literary gifts. Though mischievous from childhood, he worked hard under his father’s and brother’s stern supervision—training through summer’s swelter and winter’s biting cold. He claimed he learned to read so he could study military strategy.

A lanky youth, his waist narrow, he would ride a swift horse through the streets, every day upholding justice and helping the weak.

He was wild, he was unrestrained—dressed in fine clothes, riding fierce horses, his eyes bold and lively. He played with crickets, listened to opera, tossed silver at musicians in exuberant approval.

Afterward, he’d be chased and scolded by his father or brother for his mischief—told he did not know the hardships of life or the struggles of his ancestors, called a little scoundrel.

He became a fixture of the capital’s streets, a favorite topic for neighbors to laugh about over tea.

He was strikingly handsome. In the original owner’s memories: long, dark brows, a beauty mark at his brow’s center, sharp and elongated eyes, a noble nose, pupils pure and black, skin as white as jade—a rose tinged with frost, vivid and intense.

Yet his bold brows, inherited from his father and brother, added a heroic air and made his delicate features more resolute.

But he disliked his own fair skin, always wearing shorts to sunbathe, trying to tan himself a wheat-gold.

He’d boast, “This is the color a general should have.”

He’d even don the silver armor his father and brother had made for him, wearing a helmet, holding a silver spear, standing in the sunlight—truly the image of a young general.

In the original owner’s fading memories, what she recalled most was this dazzling, sun-bright youth.

Gu Wan had seen him once, too.

After his father and brother were imprisoned, the arrogance faded from him. He stayed home, never leaving. The day the imperial guards broke down the door, he stood at the threshold in black, form-fitted clothing, silver spear in hand, barring the way.

“My family did not collude with the enemy!”

The youth’s desperate shout and the whistle of his spear.

Gu Wan was just crawling out of the well, trembling, racing back to the little courtyard in her final moments of freedom, when she heard that cry.

She looked back—between door and post, armored soldiers with drawn blades, the youth with silver spear and red tassel, blood splattering within five steps.

But in the end, he never became a general.

He was on the verge of adulthood, yet tortured and wounded, ultimately dying in prison from his injuries and illness.

...

At the end of the corridor, the iron cell door creaked open. A portly, middle-aged head jailer in indigo livery entered, tucking a roll of registers under his arm. Two wardens promptly hurried over to greet him.

Gu Wan glanced in their direction.

She carefully untied the cloth wrapped around her injured head, digging through her messy hair to retrieve two sparkling ruby earrings.

These rubies were valuable indeed. Ancient cutting and polishing methods were poor—most rubies looked murky and dull. For stones as bright and vivid as these, only natural gems would do—exceptionally rare and precious. They were part of Princess Yongjia’s dowry, left to her by her mother when she decided to remain at the Marquis’s household.

Pressed for time, Gu Wan had spotted the earrings at first glance, hurriedly tucked them under her hair, and almost immediately the imperial guards broke in.

Her head still ached from the original owner’s jump into the well, but fortunately the wound wasn’t deep—just a lump the size of a small egg. She believed, since she’d managed to get up, the swelling would eventually go down.

She couldn’t worry about that now. She had to think fast—could she save Xie Ci? He absolutely could not die here!

If only he survived, things would be much better afterward.

As for the rest, she’d deal with the chaos later.

After quietly observing for two days, Gu Wan finally picked a certain middle-aged head jailer named Cao.

In this prison, the young and new were too afraid to accept bribes—fearful that the tables might turn and their families suffer. The old hands took money but rarely did the work; on the chopping block, equality and respect were hard to come by.

This Head Cao was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, commanding the lesser jailers with ease. Wherever he went, all bowed and scraped—clearly a man of means. During his daily headcount, Gu Wan always caught the pungent scent of rice wine on him—a sure sign of an old-timer in jail.

Yet, he had one merit: he never took advantage of the female prisoners.

In a place like the Central Capital Prison, noble young ladies—soft-skinned, fair-faced beauties whom these jailers would otherwise never see—were sometimes locked up here. Many wardens would seize the opportunity to molest them.

But Gu Wan observed carefully—this man never did.

Just yesterday, a girl collapsed near him, her brains splattering onto his shoe. He brushed it off with his foot, frowning with disgust. He glanced at her tear-stained, bloodied, despairing face, then simply cursed and ordered her body removed.

Every day, women tried to kill themselves in this prison. The jailers cursed and kicked at the corpses, sometimes even desecrating them.

Head Cao, at least, had some lines he wouldn’t cross.

After considering, Gu Wan settled on him. She wanted to observe more, but time was running out.

On one hand, she feared Xie Ci wouldn’t survive; on the other, the imperial verdict had been issued—they wouldn’t remain long in the Iron Gate Monastery. The original owner’s memory was vague, but she recalled staying only four or five days. This was already the second day.

Gu Wan steeled herself, gripping the two rubies, waiting by the barred door. As Head Cao approached with his register, she rushed forward, dropping to her knees in a sliding bow—a sharp pain in her heart, but survival mattered more than dignity.

If he could help, Gu Wan would be grateful to his entire family.

Head Cao weighed the two rubies in his palm, held them to the light, obviously satisfied. He eyed Gu Wan, who quickly pulled her feet and padded shoes under her, hiding the fine cotton lining of her worn gray clothes.

He didn’t care whether Gu Wan was clever or not. He tucked the rubies into his belt, then, amid the noise and staring eyes, leaned in close, speaking so only the two of them could hear. He nodded toward the end of the row. “See that cell at the very end? There—the one with the loose blue brick at the base of the wall.”

“Behind that wall, there’s a dry ditch. Crawl to the end, and you’ll find your husband there.”

Gu Wan stared, then glanced back.

...This was not how she’d expected the story to go.

But she was thin, and the wooden bars between the cells should be just wide enough for her to squeeze through.

She frowned, sat back down, then, after a moment, whispered to Second Sister-in-law Xie.

Second Sister-in-law Xie turned to her, the two exchanged a look, and then she nodded.

Gu Wan hesitated, then decided boldly—if she was going to act, she’d do it. She’d already gained this life; if she ended up in misery, so be it.

Late at night, with the wardens dozing by the iron door, the cell fell silent. The sobbing had faded, replaced by faint snores. After half an hour, even the soft shuffle of turning bodies ceased.

Gu Wan quietly got up. Under her cellmate’s cover, she took a deep breath and slipped through the bars into the next cell, quickly curling up on the ground like the other prisoners, pretending to sleep.

After about ten minutes, she slowly inched along the floor. When she reached the edge, she stood and moved ahead.

Cell by cell, it took her nearly an hour to reach the last one.

That final cell was a storeroom filled with bowls, lamps, oil, and brooms, with a pile of bloody rags and gray prison clothes in the corner.

Gu Wan shoved aside the brooms and cloth, and sure enough, the wall’s plaster was pitted and crumbling, soaked through by years of rain and snow, split by a crack.

She chose the most loosened brick, dug at it with her fingers, pried it free, then knocked out its mate on the other side. Once the first brick was out, pulling out ten more was easier. The gap left was just large enough for her to squeeze through.

She lay down, carefully poked her head through to scout the other side—a quiet little yard, seemingly a storage area. She didn’t hesitate, forcing her body through.

She quickly patted herself down, turned back, and covered the gap with broom and cloth.

Gu Wan finally stood upright. The little courtyard was still. After days of snow, the wind had abated at last. She realized, with surprise, that today was the first day of the New Year—the wind carrying a faint scent of firecrackers, the drifting clouds parted by gales to reveal a sliver of moon. The air was cold but fresh.

She hadn’t seen the sky so clearly since arriving—only a small patch, but it made her happy.

As long as there’s life, there’s hope.

She encouraged herself, quickly surveying the area for the dry ditch.

It was a tiny yard; peeking through the window, she saw it was a firewood storeroom, packed full for winter, the door unlocked but unattended.

She searched and soon found the dry ditch Head Cao had mentioned.

There were two drains in the yard—one, on the left, showed signs of water flow under the snow. The right, due to poor design, held only dust and dead leaves under the snow.

—A proper prison wouldn’t have a dry ditch; the old sewer must have been blocked, then replaced, leaving this section sealed at both ends—now a dry crawlspace.

Figuring this out, Gu Wan picked a stick from the storeroom and went straight to the right drain. The cover—blue stone with iron bolts—was heavy. With much effort, she pried it aside, revealing a bed of twigs and rotting leaves.

It wasn’t deep—nothing like a modern sewer—just big enough for a small person to crawl along on hands and knees. At the rear was an iron grille, sealed beyond with bricks. She washed her hands and gathered some clean snow in a wooden bowl, then squeezed herself inside.

At first, the twigs and leaves creaked under her elbows and knees. Gu Wan held her breath, moving as quietly as possible. Soon, the debris ended; it was pitch dark. Something scurried against her knee—she hit out, a rat squeaked and fled, and she crawled onward, bowl in hand.

At the end, she found another cover, half lifted, cold air drifting in.

Wait—

Gu Wan realized this was not just a dry ditch—it was also a ventilation shaft.

She slowly poked her head out, peered for a long moment, and soon discovered—this was the sick ward.

A foul stench unique to the gravely ill and wounded filled the air, underlain by the scent of blood. There were the sounds of people struggling and moaning, broken and weak.

But Gu Wan’s heart settled.

She was in the right place.

Head Cao really was a good man—he’d done as promised.

...

Gu Wan waited a moment, seeing no jailers—it was the New Year, and these dying prisoners weren’t going anywhere.

She shifted the cover aside and jumped out.

It was a large cell, the floor layered with rotting straw. Men lay everywhere, limbs mangled, bodies feverish and festering. Gu Wan even saw one whose wound had been left so long white maggots writhed within it.

She shuddered, quickly skirting past.

It didn’t take long to find Xie Ci.

He was locked in the innermost of five cells with reinforced iron doors—no doubt because he knew martial arts and the wardens wanted to be extra cautious.

But in his current state, there was no chance of an escape.

He was drenched in blood, his prison clothes soaked through, his wrists bound with shackles and irons. Any movement set the chains jangling.

He was feverish, muttering and struggling. Hearing footsteps on the straw, he suddenly tried to turn over.

In the dimness, perhaps he saw a figure. This once-proud and radiant youth was now disheveled, his face streaked with blood and tears. He lunged weakly, the chains clattering against the bars.

He gripped Gu Wan’s ankle, crying, head thrown back, blood mingling with tears. “My family—my family did not collude with the enemy—”

“No! No! ...”

His voice was hoarse, as if ground raw by gravel, like a cuckoo’s cry in the night. Crawling, he seized Gu Wan’s hand with the other, “Do you believe me? Do you believe me?”

Mumbling, weeping, he asked.

He was delirious, didn’t even recognize Gu Wan.

They’d never been close—he lived in the outer quarters, wild and free; she was a guest in the family, raised in seclusion, gentle and reserved. Boys and girls past seven didn’t share a room.

On their wedding day, she was menstruating—they hadn’t consummated the marriage.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted the match. The youth had stamped his feet, “Why must I marry an orphan? I want a noble lady, the most beautiful in the land.”

But he’d been forced to marry her; in red robes, he’d plucked the embroidered ball from his chest, sullenly saying, “In the future, mind your manners, manage the household well, you hear?”

The subtext: Only then will I reluctantly accept you.

He stripped off all the bells and ornaments, spread out his bedding, and promptly fell asleep on his side of the bed.

Those weren’t happy memories, but they became the brightest recollections in the original owner’s bleak years that followed.

Gu Wan was not a naïve girl—she knew that once Xie Ci accepted his wife, the Xie family’s traditions were strict; father and sons all honored their wives. If not for this calamity, the original owner would probably have lived a happy life.

Xie Ci would have grown up. Perhaps looking back, he’d have smiled and apologized to his wife for those days.

But there were no ifs in life.

“Do you believe me? The Xie family did not collude with the enemy—do you believe me?...”

He muttered, lips pale under the crusted blood, tears or blood indistinguishable on his face.

“My father served loyally all his life, my brother too, both of them...”

Gu Wan felt a pang—she could not bear to see the good and loyal wronged. The dead were dead; what use was justice after the fact?

She said, “I believe you. I believe it all.”

At her words, Xie Ci’s tears fell in torrents.

Suddenly, he collapsed, curling into himself, sobbing in agony.

The sound was mournful, like a wounded young beast.

Gu Wan exhaled deeply, stood for a moment, then crouched and shook Xie Ci by the shoulder. “You have to live! Only then is there hope for your family!”

“You still have your sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces, and your mother!”

If you die, they will all die soon after, and terribly.

She shook him hard, though she didn’t want to treat a wounded man so, she had no choice.

She lowered her voice, speaking into his ear.

When Gu Wan mentioned his sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces, and mother, Xie Ci stiffened. Fevered confusion parted for a moment, clarity striking through.

He turned abruptly, staring at Gu Wan.

His eyes were beautiful—long dark lines, slanting upwards, exquisite and clear. Now, mixed with blood and tears, they glistened like a rose after a hard frost.

His tears flowed, stunned and silent.

“You know I’m right.”

Youth, let’s save each other, shall we?