Chapter Eight: The Battle of Wits in the Depths of the Dungeon

The trial was set to begin in three days, and Yu Lang had no choice but to spend those days in prison. The air inside was thick with stench, stifling and damp, with only a scattering of dry straw on the ground to serve as bedding. Sharing his cell was a creature who could hardly still be called a man; his limbs had been severed, and he spent his days writhing on the floor, occasionally letting out a foolish, chilling laugh that made one's hair stand on end.

During supper, Yu Chaoran came to visit. He did not scold Yu Lang, but silently took food from the container and carefully instructed him to speak as little as possible, to avoid the lash, to keep silent. As to which side he ought to stand on, the old man gave no answer—could not give one. The matter involved two great figures, far beyond his reach. Before leaving, the old man handed out money to the jailers, begging them to let the boy eat his fill. He knew the ways of the prison well; without a bribe, the food would never reach Yu Lang's mouth.

Yu Lang expected these three days would not pass peacefully, nor was he sure if he would even have the chance to eat again. So, with a certain recklessness, he opened the food container and ate heartily. The first layer held rice and vegetables, the second two roast chickens, and the third a small jug of wine. He took a swig, and his eyes grew moist as he remembered the first time he’d drunk with Yu Chaoran, and thought of how anxious the old man had been recently, sighing heavily as Yu Lang devoted himself to his practice. His heart ached. Yu Chaoran had once been a proud man, never bowing his head, yet now he’d humbled himself to bribe the jailers for Yu Lang’s sake. The sorrowful figure of the old man as he left was etched deep in Yu Lang’s mind—he was the only family Yu Lang had left in this world. From now on, he swore to treat him well.

After a few bites of chicken, the food lost its flavor. Yu Lang turned to the fool in the cell and asked, “Do you want some?”

The fool trembled in terror. “No, no.”

Yu Lang tossed him a drumstick.

The fool was torn between hunger and fear, but finally steeled himself, craned his neck, and bit into the drumstick with desperate ferocity, like a starving beast afraid his meal would be snatched away.

Hunger emboldens a man, and as he finished the drumstick, the fool’s greedy gaze fell upon the wine jug in Yu Lang’s hand. Yu Lang gave him the rest of the wine and the second roast chicken as well.

“Sit up straight while you eat,” Yu Lang said, propping him up. “Even without hands and feet, you must sit upright to eat. Others may treat us as less than human, but we must remember we are men, not beasts.”

The fool nodded, half-understanding. After Yu Lang fed him a few bites of meat and a sip of wine, tears rolled down the fool’s dirty, young face—he could not have been more than twenty-five, yet endless torment had worn him away to a shadow of himself.

“You… you’re a good man,” the fool murmured.

Yu Lang gave a bitter laugh. He had never expected to be called a good man in this sunless prison.

That day left him utterly drained. Yu Lang lay on the straw and soon fell into a deep sleep.

In the middle of the night, a basin of cold water jolted Yu Lang awake. He was then dragged out of the cell by his hair. The fool, grateful for Yu Lang’s kindness, bit one of the jailers fiercely, only to be kicked hard and sent tumbling lightly into a wall—his body was so frail, he might not have weighed even half a sack of rice.

Yu Lang’s eyes stung. “Don’t make trouble. The officers are just taking me for questioning; they won’t harm me. Go back to sleep.”

The fool stopped struggling and shrank into a corner, panting heavily.

Being hauled out by his hair like a chick filled Yu Lang with humiliation. He glared venomously at the jailer, his fingernails digging a deep, bloody line into his palm.

“What are you staring at, boy?” The jailer slapped him hard, again and again, his rough hand like a brick, until Yu Lang’s mouth filled with blood.

The rage he’d buried for so long was stoked anew; inwardly, Yu Lang sentenced this underworld minion to death.

He was brought to a dark chamber, vast but lit only by a single oil lamp. The jailer grinned obsequiously at a youth in fine clothes. “Sir, I’ve brought the brat. At your disposal.”

The young man smiled. “At my disposal? Even if I kill him?”

The jailer shook his head hastily. “Not right now, sir—both the magistrate and the chief secretary are waiting to interrogate him. If he dies, I’ll lose my head as well. I’m sure you understand.”

“Very well. Leave us, and lock the door. No one is to enter, no matter what you hear, unless I give the order. Anyone who disobeys—feed them to the dogs.” The young man’s voice was gentle, almost ethereal.

The jailer fled in terror.

Now only Yu Lang, the well-dressed youth, and the flickering oil lamp remained.

“Your name is Yu Lang? From Yangzhou, only thirteen this year. At your age, perhaps you haven’t tasted death.”

Yu Lang stayed silent.

“Death begins here,” the youth said, pointing to his heart. “First is searing pain, then numb, icy coldness, as if your soul is being squeezed into your skull, smaller and smaller.”

As he spoke, his face twisted grotesquely, as if choked by invisible hands. “Smaller and smaller, until nothing remains.”

“Then comes endless, wordless cold. No one to speak to, nothing left to sense—only ceaseless solitude. All that made you human is gone, nothing left but eternal chill. Hiss… hiss…”

Yu Lang felt his heart contract into a knot. In his previous life, he’d feared death above all, and the loss of his proudest possession—his mind. To be unable to think was the most terrifying fate of all.

The youth patted Yu Lang’s cheek. “No need to be nervous. You don’t have to die, as long as you memorize the confession I give you and recite it in court. Not only will you live, you’ll prosper…”

“Become a loyal servant and dead man of your Li family,” Yu Lang finished for him.

“Exactly! A clever boy.” The youth’s smile blossomed. “Trying to draw me out, are you? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. Even if an ant carries a knife, can it harm an elephant? I am Li Yu, son of Grand Chancellor Li Linfu, and Vice-Minister of the Ministry of Rites.”

“Go ahead, tell the chief secretary—Li Yu tortured you, Li Linfu is a traitor!” There was a wild, manic excitement on Li Yu’s face.

A supreme egotist, Yu Lang thought. This assassination plot was surely his work. For someone like him, a thousand easier methods would have sufficed, but he chose the most difficult, the most thrilling way.

Yu Lang sighed. “I’ll do as you say. Afterwards, you won’t let me live—you’ll kill me. Just spare my grandfather’s life. And, the jailer who dragged me here by the hair—have him kneel in my cell and kowtow three times, then send him off as well.”

“You’re clever enough, but do you think you have the right to bargain with me?” Li Yu sneered.

Yu Lang stuck out half his tongue and said, slurring his words, “What do you think? If your key witness dies in jail, even a fool will know there’s someone behind the assassins. All you want is to take down Zhang Jiuling’s captain of the guard, but you can’t touch Zhang Jiuling himself. Do I have the right to bargain?”

Li Yu was taken aback by the boy’s icy gaze—so cold for his age, so unfathomable for this era.

Li Yu smiled, his finely chiseled face strikingly handsome. “You have the right.”