Chapter 4: From Foe to Benefactor

Snow blanketed the earth, blood soaked the ground.
Amidst the swirling snow and howling wind, corpses lay strewn across the land. The young man leaned on a broken sword, his strength utterly spent. Beside him, the biting wind and snow numbed his body, while before his eyes, the vast sea of white slowly swallowed the shattered remains of his fallen comrades.

He lifted his gaze—snowflakes clustered thickly, drifting down from the narrow sky at the valley’s peak. Tears streamed down his face, but he could not discern whether they were blood turned to tears or snow melting into sorrow.

...

Yan Kuang jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

For the past ten years, this nightmare had relentlessly haunted him.

Each time he fell asleep, the dream felt vividly real, every detail impossibly authentic.

Unable to find rest, Yan Kuang grabbed a blanket, draped it over his arm, and lit a lantern to inspect the prison cells.

Adjacent to the eastern hall of the Pacification Office was a quiet chamber, no more than a hundred paces from the interrogation rooms. For the past decade, this place had also served as Yan Kuang’s quarters.

In his heart, Yan Kuang knew he was no saint—he bore no special benevolence toward Cheng Ruyi; his previous harshness was merely protocol. Every new prisoner at the Pacification Office underwent such rigorous treatment.

Establishing authority was necessary before questioning, but under no circumstances was death permitted.

Recalling the day Cheng Ruyi lost consciousness during punishment, Yan Kuang had not remained idle.

He had conducted a search of Cheng’s residence—strictly professional, devoid of personal grudges.

Given Cheng Ruyi’s knack for maneuvering through court politics and his utter lack of principles in his ruthless climb upward, Yan Kuang expected to find plenty of illicit gains.

Yet during the prior evidence gathering, Cheng’s home proved astonishingly clean. After turning it upside down for half a day, only some worthless clothes and Cheng’s own manuscripts were found.

The courtyard was overgrown with vibrant trumpet vines, and a large, multicolored tortoiseshell cat prowled about with a litter of equally colorful, noisy kittens.

On this visit, the little tabby was gone, but the elderly calico cat remained. Startled by the newcomer, it hesitated to flee, as though waiting for someone.

The flicker of the lantern’s flame snapped Yan Kuang back to the present.

As night deepened, the Pacification Office chilled with a sinister wind. Yan Kuang slowed his steps before the cell where Cheng Ruyi was confined.

Cheng lay sprawled on a straw stack, still wrapped in Yan Kuang’s outer robe, with some unfinished rice porridge beside him.

After securing the cell door, Yan Kuang set down his lantern and moved silently forward. He first covered Cheng with the blanket, then reached out to touch his forehead.

Thankfully, there was no fever, Yan Kuang thought. But just as he was about to rise, a nagging unease gripped him.

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