Chapter 3

There was no lamp in the cell, only a faint glimmer from the torches in the outer corridor. Scarlet and darkness intertwined. He trembled with choked sobs, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, soaking into Gu Wan’s fingertips.

Xie Ci nodded with all his might—a feeble motion, but it was clear he was giving it everything he had.

Good. Gu Wan let out a breath of relief. She gently laid Xie Ci back down on the ground. Calmness was enough; the will to survive was enough. With such grievous injuries, without a burning desire to live, he would never endure.

But before anything else, Gu Wan had to hurry and tend to his wounds.

After setting Xie Ci down, she quickly took off her shoe and pulled out a slender silver pin hidden in the seam—a precaution she’d taken for herself, in case of shackles or other restraints. She hadn’t expected to use it so soon.

It was said that ancient locks were often spring-based; the technique was to find the core, press and withdraw, then twist. With patience and effort, it wasn’t difficult. Gu Wan fiddled for a while before a crisp snap rang out. She’d unlocked the iron-barred gate.

Carefully cradling the brass lock and iron chains, she set them on the ground, pulled open the barred door, and slipped inside the cell. Lifting Xie Ci’s tattered, bloodstained collar, she drew a sharp breath.

Whip and knife marks crossed his body, brands of scorched flesh one after the other. His ten fingers, crushed in the finger press, bled and could not straighten. She quickly felt his finger bones—thankfully, none were shattered.

Gu Wan felt an ache in her chest. Just a boy, not yet truly enlisted—was this really necessary?

She grabbed the wooden bowl of snow, scrubbed her hands clean, then scooped all the snow into her palms and squeezed tightly.

She had no salt, nothing else; she could only melt the snow this way.

Normally, the cold would have made her wince, but after seeing Xie Ci’s mangled flesh, the chill seemed trivial.

Gu Wan held the snow until a bit of water seeped out, just enough, mixed with ice, for washing the wounds.

“Bear with it,” she told him. Xie Ci nodded silently.

The freezing water stung as she scrubbed away the blood. The raw flesh beneath her hand tightened and spasmed, but Xie Ci clenched his teeth and fists, uttering no sound, making no struggle.

The snow quickly turned to bloody, dirty water. When the bowl was empty, Gu Wan crawled out through the dry canal, fetched another bowl of snow, and returned.

She made countless trips, breaking out in sweat despite the bitter cold—only her hands remained numb. Eventually, she had washed Xie Ci’s wounds thoroughly.

He was still conscious, lying weakly on the straw mat made from prison uniforms, never once fainting. Gu Wan was pleased by his fortitude.

But such grave injuries required more than willpower alone. After a moment’s thought, she glanced toward the corridor and slipped out softly.

She reasoned: with so many injured prisoners here, the guards must keep some medicine on hand.

Gu Wan licked her lips, peered through the iron gate, then deftly picked the lock once more.

She slipped out quietly. The corridor was silent, pine torches set every thirty paces, their ends burning low, embers drifting down.

This was the sick ward—a long corridor with several large cells alike, and ahead, smaller solitary cells surrounded by iron bars, each holding shackled or prone adult male convicts.

She couldn’t tell if they were awake, but none moved; only the occasional groan broke the silence, with no one looking her way.

Gu Wan moved lightly, soon reaching the end of the corridor. She peeked around the corner. There was a square yard, about ten meters across, with a long table and a square table—the latter for meals, the former for paperwork. Shelves at the side held registers, bowls, and other items. On the tables sat an oil lamp and a staff. To the left, a stone staircase led upwards.

No one was there.

Gu Wan hurried out, glanced up the stairs. Through the barred gate at the top, moonlight and snowlight formed a grid on the ground. The crunch of armored patrol boots on snow could be faintly heard—it was New Year’s Day, and with patrols and locks in place, the guards in the sick ward had slipped away.

She dashed to the long table, swiftly opening several drawers and cupboards. Sure enough, she found over a dozen jars and bottles. She sniffed each in turn and soon located white healing powder, as well as several small blue-and-white porcelain bottles, more precious and hidden deeper within. Opening one, she found trauma medicine.

Trauma medicine was a lost art in the modern day—its main ingredients, “dragon bone” and “male ground beetle,” were now nearly impossible to obtain. Ground beetle might still be found, but “dragon bone” was likely fossilized bone, a rarity.

This trauma medicine was a military staple, once kept by the Xie family. Its effects were superb—once a wound was cleaned and the powder applied, healing was rapid, far faster than with ordinary white powder.

Gu Wan was overjoyed. She grabbed seven or eight bottles, large and small, and hurried back down the corridor.

With this medicine, Xie Ci truly had a chance.

Gu Wan unsealed the bottles and applied the medicine to Xie Ci, using up three entire jars. When she finished, she stripped a dry prison uniform from a fresh corpse, dressed Xie Ci in it, and used the soiled clothes to mop up the bloody water, then dressed the body once more.

Finally, she melted five medicinal pills in snow water—fever reducers and internal injury treatments—and fed them to Xie Ci.

He was burning with fever; after being wiped down with snow water and left alone while Gu Wan fetched medicine, he had slipped into a daze. Now, with effort, he opened his eyes, forcing down the medicine.

His nostrils flared with labored breath, each exhale like fire.

Gu Wan pressed the remaining wax pills into his hand. This was all she could do.

Xie Ci struggled to open his eyes. His voice, hoarse and raw, rasped, “Th-thank you.”

Gu Wan patted his relatively unscathed left arm and smiled, shifting him onto the dry straw she’d arranged.

No need for thanks. Boy, if you survive, that will be thanks enough.

She’d spent a long time at this. As dawn neared, Gu Wan packed the leftover snow into an empty medicine bottle and sealed it with a wooden stopper.

She’d only used freshly sealed bottles, leaving those already half-used untouched. She carefully resealed each jar with wax, smoothed it as best she could, replaced the paper seals, and put them back in their hidden places. The new bottles were dusty—unlikely to be disturbed soon. If she could just make it through the next few days, all would be well!

Gu Wan arranged everything as before, cleaned up both here and the large cell, and, before leaving, took one last look at Xie Ci—who was now fast asleep—then slipped away through the dry canal.

Outside, dawn was just breaking.

Gu Wan replaced the cover on the canal and fastened the iron latch. The design was ingenious—unless one knew exactly where the latch was, even a prisoner who could move wouldn’t be able to open it from below.

She tidied the snow and slipped back through the toolshed.

Inside the prison block, darkness lingered. This was the coldest hour of the night. The guards snored thunderously, wrapped tight in heavy coats. Gu Wan crept through the bars and back to her spot; Second Sister-in-law Xie, who hadn’t slept all night, breathed a quiet sigh of relief and shifted aside.

Gu Wan lay down, the straw rustling softly. Across the cell, someone turned to look her way, but this spot—chosen on purpose—was so dark, nothing could be seen.

She lay down and finally let out a long, silent breath.

Only now did she feel how frozen her hands were; this year, she’d surely get chilblains.

Second Sister-in-law Xie took her hands and warmed them against her chest.

Gu Wan didn’t protest. Lying on the straw, she gazed at the first glimmers of light seeping through the cracks of the boarded-up window. Her body still felt hot from exertion, but she knew she’d chill once the sweat cooled. Even the cotton underclothes she’d changed into to hide the silver pin were soaked through. She was hungry, her empty stomach twisting with pain. If this went on for two or three months, she’d likely develop stomach problems.

What bad luck!

In the modern world, Gu Wan had been a detective, majoring in forensic science. Born into a family of police officers—her grandfather, father, and uncles all veteran detectives—she’d always dreamed of upholding justice, becoming an outstanding and dashing policewoman.

But the year she applied to university, her father was stabbed while chasing a suspect and survived only by losing a kidney. Her mother and grandparents—both doctors—refused to let her study criminal investigation. After much argument and tears, she compromised and chose forensic medicine.

Forensics was still a police position.

After graduation, for personal reasons, she gave up the forensics career and opened a detective agency with friends.

Raised in that environment and having audited countless investigative classes, she thrived, buying a big house within two years—an accomplished, modern woman with her own home and car.

Who could have guessed, just as she was ready for greater things, a flowerpot fell from the sky, struck her on the back of the head, and sent her spiraling back to ancient times!

Gu Wan: “……”

Bad luck personified! She hated everyone who dropped things from high places!

After her recollections, dawn fully broke. The guards came with a large bucket to distribute breakfast, announcing cheerfully, “Lucky you—it’s New Year’s, you get two cakes today!”

Gu Wan received two coarse vegetable cakes, hard enough to break teeth, and wanted to pound her thighs in frustration. She’d seen many prison cells in her life, but never actually sat in one—this was a first.

There was no getting used to it, but living was better than dying.

With that thought, she felt a bit better.

Gnawing at the hard cakes, Gu Wan made up her mind: the original host had few relatives, was quiet and rarely socialized, and her only lingering wish was for the Xie family. Gu Wan resolved to settle things for them, to help them escape a miserable fate, and thus fulfill the original host’s final wish.

Though the host had taken her own life, this girl named Gu Guan—same pronunciation, different character—had done nothing wrong. Given a second chance, Gu Wan wanted to do something for her.

By helping others, she helped herself.

As for the Xie family’s future arrangements, Gu Wan had little interest in Xie Ci himself. Fortunately, the customs in Great Wei were quite liberal—especially in border towns. She planned to save up, open a little tavern, and be a small-time proprietress, selling wine as she pleased.

Her ambitious previous life, with its big house, was a thing of the past.

Feeling dejected, she finished her cakes, huddled in a corner, rubbing her hands together to stave off chilblains.

She only whispered a few words to Second Sister-in-law Xie about Xie Ci’s situation; it was too crowded and unsafe to speak openly.

She was still worried about Xie Ci—afraid the fever would take him. In an era without antibiotics, such injuries often led to death. She also worried he’d avoid eating to keep up appearances, which would only make things worse. She saved half a bowl of gruel, planning to sneak it to him that night.

Barring surprises, they’d soon be exiled, venturing out into the wind and snow. But a few days could be a very long time.

All she could do was pray for smooth sailing.

But fate had other plans.

Events unfolded in ways far beyond Gu Wan’s expectations, veering sharply in another direction.

Her best hope had been for Xie Ci to recover enough to leave; then she’d rig a cart and take turns pushing him on the journey. But that was never going to happen.

On the second day of the new year, Gu Wan couldn’t go—one of the guards had assaulted a newly arrived young woman, who, being of fierce character, took her own life. The woman’s family, not heavily convicted and with connections, raised a huge commotion. The sergeant cursed everyone out; the family wailed all night in the cell opposite, making it impossible for Gu Wan to slip away.

On the third day, in the first half of the night, Gu Wan quietly got up again, following her previous route through the barred gate and toolshed, bowl in hand for the sick ward.

As she stepped onto the straw, a faint crunch sounded. In the dark cell, Xie Ci immediately looked up. Gu Wan signaled silence and crept over. His lips were cracked and pale, hair matted with sweat, but his gaze was lucid. After two days of struggle, he had finally survived the fever and regained his senses.

Gu Wan checked his wounds. The injuries were drying, the surfaces contracted, the blood scabs dried and powdered medicine undisturbed, with no sign of oozing.

She was delighted. Such wounds, if kept clean, would not become infected and would heal in time.

“You’re amazing, really!” she praised.

Xie Ci propped himself up, holding the empty bowl of gruel. Gu Wan checked his wounds thoroughly, even pulling down his trousers, but at that moment, neither harbored inappropriate thoughts.

He seemed to want to speak, but just as he parted his lips, both froze—they heard footsteps and voices.

Several people descended the stairs, stopping in the open space. Keys jingled, voices continued, and two sets of footsteps separated, heading down the corridor.

The newcomers approached quickly. Heavy military boots thudded against the floor, echoing ominously, and soon stopped right outside Xie Ci’s cell. The door opened; they entered.

Gu Wan and Xie Ci were both alarmed. The moment footsteps sounded, Xie Ci handed over the bowl, Gu Wan snatched it, quickly locked the iron door, rolled to the vent, and lifted the cover just in time.

Xie Ci lay back, feigning feverish delirium.

The two men arrived fast—just as they finished, the visitors entered.

Gu Wan held her breath. From her angle, she could just see the cell door open, two black-clad figures entering.

They moved with purpose, and, adjusting to the darkness, went straight to Xie Ci’s cell.

One peered inside, studied him, and nodded to the other.

The second man drew from his robe a long, white silk sash.

Gu Wan’s eyes widened.

Her heart pounded wildly. In that instant, she understood everything.

They wanted Xie Ci dead.

By law, as he was under sixteen, exile was the worst he could face. But “dying of illness” was no accident—it was inevitable!

Inside and out, Gu Wan and Xie Ci’s faces went ashen.