Chapter 15: The Interrogation

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This was the first time Yan Kuang had felt that the road from the main hall to the quiet chamber was so long.

The lamps in the hall swayed incessantly in the drafts, their light tearing at the shadows cast across the floor. Clutching the letter, Yan Kuang heard the earlier conversation once more in his mind.

He had asked Han Shaozhen, “Why must it be today?”

Han Shaozhen had replied solemnly, “The longer the night, the more likely dreams are to change. I fear further complications. Kuang’er, do not blame me for failing to consult you beforehand. This matter is of the utmost importance. It must be resolved today.”

Yan Kuang had lowered his voice. “Give him two more days.”

Cheng Ruyi’s old wounds had not yet healed, and his fever had only just broken. Yan Kuang had his own selfish reasons.

But Han Shaozhen had pressed him urgently. “In the eyes of others, every extra day he remains alive is another day for this old man to maneuver—and another day for the Third Prince to lose faith in the testimony!”

Yan Kuang had still wanted to argue, but Han Shaozhen had immediately continued, “Kuang’er! The Third Prince will certainly come tonight… I know you hate me. So, at this moment, my old life rests in the palm of your hand. Whatever you finally decide, I will not blame you! Because you are my—”

“That’s enough…” Yan Kuang had cut him off in time.

The tightly closed door of the quiet chamber blocked his way and brought him back to himself. Now that he had to push it open, he found the act unexpectedly difficult.

While his thoughts wrestled within him, the door opened from the inside.

Cheng Ruyi stood before it with a smile that was not quite a smile. Somehow, he had already dressed himself, and even his temples had been neatly arranged. The despondent, wretched air he usually carried had vanished, leaving behind a trace of the bright, spirited young man he had once been.

“Lord Yan.” Cheng Ruyi crooked his lips into a smile.

Yan Kuang could tell how forced it was. After a moment’s thought, he held out the letter.

Cheng Ruyi did not take it. He merely shook his head with a bitter smile. “There’s no need to read it… no need. I know the miserable things I’ve done better than anyone. I can more or less guess what this letter says.”

He stepped back, making room for Yan Kuang to enter.

Yan Kuang crossed the threshold and looked at him, but Cheng Ruyi avoided his gaze and turned aside.

In a muffled voice, Cheng Ruyi said, “Lord Yan… don’t look at me like that. As if, as if…” He paused, then suddenly laughed.

“As if I were so innocent.”

The dejection lasted no more than an instant. Cheng Ruyi harbored neither resentment nor hatred. Even if everything Han Shaozhen had said was true, what difference would it make? He had never cared about life or death in the first place. And regardless of his motives, Yan Kuang had truly saved him time and again.

Whatever else happened, at least he would not be entirely lonely before death.

Cheng Ruyi reached out, intending to pat Yan Kuang on the shoulder, only to discover that the man stood too far away and was too tall. Even stretching his arm out, he could not reach him.

“You heard everything,” Yan Kuang finally said, only to regret the words the moment they left his mouth. It was a needless and useless question.

“Every word.” Cheng Ruyi answered frankly. “This is my fate. I accept it. I blame no one.”

He walked to the mirror and studied his own reflection before turning back to Yan Kuang.

“My lord, what time is it?”

“About midafternoon.” As he spoke, Yan Kuang reached back to close the door, then slipped the letter into his sleeve.

Cheng Ruyi said, “Good… There should still be nearly three hours, then.”

He tipped his head back, and his expression suddenly filled with earnest pleading.

“Could you take me outside one more time?”

Their gazes met. This time, Yan Kuang was the one to look away at once.

“Just one glance. Only one.” Cheng Ruyi’s voice began to tremble. He added, “Trust me. I won’t run. I won’t.”

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“Do you trust me?” Yan Kuang suddenly asked.

“What?” Cheng Ruyi stared at him in surprise, only to hear Yan Kuang repeat, “Do you trust me?”

…

Nearly midnight.

After an absence of many days, Cheng Ruyi was escorted to the torture hall once more. His stomach had begun to growl, and he instantly regretted his decision. When Yan Kuang had urged him to eat a bowl of noodles in the street, why had he refused?

At the time, Yan Kuang had asked, “Why not eat? I’ll pay.”

Cheng Ruyi had glanced at the steaming, fragrant pot of broth and swallowed, but stubbornly shaken his head. “I’m afraid I’ll throw it up later. It wouldn’t look good.”

The pain of the fish line biting into his wrists gradually overpowered his hunger. Its thin, winding torment singled out the tenderest place in his heart and worried at it without mercy. Cheng Ruyi clenched his teeth and lowered his head, not daring to move or look around.

He had been here before, so he knew the place well. Thus, he understood perfectly what purpose the screen standing not far away was meant to serve.

A figure took a seat behind it. Cheng Ruyi thought to himself: The audience has arrived, and the leading actor has been put onstage. The show should be about to begin, shouldn’t it? No… another leading actor is still missing.

Slow, heavy footsteps instantly drew Cheng Ruyi’s gaze. As the face before him gradually came closer, Yan Kuang seemed utterly different from the man who had strolled through the streets with him earlier. Only now did Cheng Ruyi understand that Yan Kuang truly possessed two faces.

He could smile, but he did not know how to offer a false smile, nor would he smile at a prisoner.

And yet, Cheng Ruyi inexplicably wanted to see that smile of Yan Kuang’s one more time.

He knew it was only a dream. Still, he could see Yan Kuang’s cold face clearly now. Bound to the torture frame, he was nearly the same height as Yan Kuang. Only his toes barely touched the floor. All the weight of his body rested on his wrists and toes; the instant his feet weakened even slightly, the fish line sank that much deeper into his flesh.

That, too, was part of the punishment. Cheng Ruyi had endured it before, but his previous injuries had not yet healed. Before long, sweat beaded on his brow and his breathing grew unsteady.

The Yan Kuang before him seemed to have no connection with him at all. Just as during their first interrogation, he addressed Cheng Ruyi coldly.

“Cheng Ruyi, do you know why you are being interrogated?”

Cheng Ruyi adopted the timid expression expected of a prisoner. He lowered his eyes and shook his head repeatedly. When he spoke, his voice was faint, yet every word could be heard clearly amid the wind and crackling flames of the torture hall.

“This prisoner does not know. I have already confessed all my crimes. I dare not conceal the slightest detail. Every word I spoke was true.”

“Bold criminal!” Wu Wu suddenly raised his voice and shouted in practiced outrage. Cheng Ruyi, caught off guard, was genuinely startled.

Yan Kuang continued in a low voice, “A mere eighth-rank magistrate’s aide, yet you first falsely accused the Grand Councillor and then implicated the Chief Censor. You are a man of astonishing courage.”

With the question came a punch to his stomach.

It was not especially painful, but Cheng Ruyi’s head jerked forward and he spat out a considerable amount of water.

Water dripped from the corner of his mouth. Cheng Ruyi lowered his head and gasped miserably, cursing Yan Kuang inwardly. He had already said he did not want tea, yet Yan Kuang had insisted on forcing him to drink it.

The blow also caused his center of gravity to shift, and the fish line bit ruthlessly into his wrists. Before Cheng Ruyi could recover, a sharp sound split the air. The whip’s force tore through his clothes and grazed his flesh, adding fresh wounds to the old.

His muscles spasmed from the pain. The searing agony left him dazed for a moment, but Cheng Ruyi knew Yan Kuang was still showing restraint. He had personally witnessed the merciless force Yan Kuang used when capturing Qin Er.

Several more lashes struck in succession, leaving Cheng Ruyi no chance even to catch his breath. At last, he cried out with difficulty, “Then what, exactly, do you want me to say?”

Wu Wu chimed in, “Tell the truth! If the Commander is still interrogating you, it means you haven’t told the truth!”

Yan Kuang threw aside the whip and drew the dagger at his waist instead. A flash of steel passed before Cheng Ruyi’s eyes. He instinctively closed them and felt a chill across his body as the blade shredded his clothes, exposing his lean upper torso.

He lowered his eyes and watched strips of cloth flutter to the ground. Astonishment made him bite his lip, but in the next instant he closed his eyes again.

For a scholar to be stripped in public was an unbearable humiliation. But shame was an emotion belonging to the living, and Cheng Ruyi knew he no longer had any claim to it. All he had to do was play the part of a compliant corpse and endure the performance. Once it was over, the suffering of this lifetime would finally end.

It would all… end.

“Lord Yan.” Cheng Ruyi spoke before the blade in Yan Kuang’s hand could fall. “As you said, I am only an eighth-rank magistrate’s aide. How could I, by my own power… spread rumors throughout the realm?”

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“If we had no grudge against each other, why would I slander the Grand Councillor? And how could I?”

“I… I am nothing but mud beneath the earth. Even standing on tiptoe and craning my neck, I should not be able to see the tips of their shoes…”

As he spoke, he suddenly opened his eyes again. His gaze passed around Yan Kuang and settled on the figure behind the screen.

“A life as lowly as mine, as worthless as a blade of grass… can only serve to cushion the feet of the great. Am I right, my lord?”

Wu Wu had never before seen his Commander’s expression so grim. The battle-hardened Commander Yan, who showed prisoners no mercy, was now holding the knife in his hand…

And that hand seemed to be trembling.

Every word was like an icicle, boring into Yan Kuang’s heart.

He had relied on his own talent and learning, studying by lamplight for more than ten years, struggling step by step into the imperial court and officialdom. Yet in the end, he was still a pawn of the powerful, manipulated like a puppet in a shadow play, bound to this wooden stake and left at the mercy of others.

Yan Kuang understood that feeling too well.

The feeling of being unable to control one’s own fate, of giving everything and still finding that one’s life was worth less than weeds.

Seeing this, Wu Wu tactfully offered, “Commander… shall I do it instead?”

“No.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the knife fell. Cheng Ruyi cried out in pain.

The flesh at his waist seemed to split like delicate paper, lightly and soundlessly. Yan Kuang’s blade was too swift; the blood itself seemed to pause in bewilderment before surging forth in a frantic rush.

Cheng Ruyi clenched his teeth and endured, saying only, “I… truly was acting on Imperial Censor Yuan’s orders. Every single matter… was…”

Another wave of pain came, as though his skin were being peeled and his bones crushed. The blade’s tip followed the curve of his ribs, tracing a crimson line.

The flesh opened in an instant, but the pain spread without end, growing fiercer with every moment.

Cheng Ruyi suddenly remembered how, several hours earlier in the street, Yan Kuang had asked him:

“Are you afraid of scars?”

He had found the question amusing. “Afraid of what? Once we turn to ash, won’t we all look the same?”

…

Cheng Ruyi now regretted it a little. If he had said he was afraid back then, would Yan Kuang not be…

Would he not be drawing pictures on his body with a knife?

The third cut, the fourth…

By the time Cheng Ruyi lost count of the blades, blood was steadily seeping from him. The flow from wounds all across his body gathered together, nearly dyeing his entire upper torso red.

“Will you still refuse to confess the truth?” Yan Kuang’s voice was cold as snow beyond the frontier. It sent a chill through Cheng Ruyi’s entire body.

“This sinner has already confessed… There is nothing more to confess.”

Cheng Ruyi recited his lines obediently and shook his head with effort. He had imagined himself weeping, begging for mercy, and making a humiliating spectacle of himself. Yet now he seemed to have become mute, unable to utter even a single word.

Perhaps that was the kind of spectacle the audience wanted to see. Unfortunately, he had no interest in performing it.

Another slash passed over the thinnest skin above his heart. Cheng Ruyi lowered his head. Blood blurred his vision, and then everything went black.

Cold, salt-laced water poured over him. Cheng Ruyi sucked in a breath and jolted painfully awake. The blood covering his body was diluted by the brine, turning pale pink. Against his naturally fair skin, the color possessed an indescribable, almost妖艳 beauty.