Chapter 301: Hardship

Chapter 301: Distress

Ye Wang stiffened briefly before abruptly standing up. "Jiang Qi? Jiang Qi!?"

The only reply was the sound of muffled retching.

Ye Wang hurried to the bathroom door. Jiang Qi was clutching the sink’s rim, his face half-submerged in the water, his neck bent at a strained angle like a wounded bird. He had cranked the faucet to full force, and cold water drenched his forehead, dripping down his jaw one drop at a time.

"Sorry." Jiang Qi lifted his face, and in the mirror, Ye Wang caught a glimpse of his ghostly pallor.

Jiang Qi smiled faintly, as if going through a scripted routine. "Sir, I didn't."

By now, the words came automatically.

"You didn’t what?" Ye Wang yanked him back from the sink, grabbing a dry towel to scrub at his wet hair. "What’s going on? Jiang Qi?"

Jiang Qi let him towel his hair, his lips barely twitching.

—What’s going on, Inmate 1767?

This question, Jiang Qi had heard hundreds, thousands of times—in the cramped, three-square-meter cell of Prison 7026, under the blinding glare of 4000W searchlights, under the interrogator’s piercing stare.

—Inmate 1767, this prison is equipped with the most advanced lie-detection system. I advise you not to struggle.

—Inmate 1767, confess and be spared, resist and suffer.

—Inmate 1767, recite your thought process. If there’s even one inconsistency with your previous statements, you know the consequences.

The words had been repeated so many times they had become second nature. Jiang Qi didn’t even need to think before answering smoothly.

"Sorry, I didn’t."

"I didn’t betray my country, nor conspire with the enemy. I just… zoned out."

"Yes, I zoned out. The cosmos felt too still, so I started daydreaming."

"I let my guard down as a soldier at all times. My apologies."

"I understand. I’ll take whatever punishment."

It was a flimsy excuse. Jiang Qi couldn’t even remember what he had been thinking during those two seconds of hesitation. He had only recalled the skies raining blood and fire, himself abandoned in the flames, and suddenly, he was overcome with disgust—like a marionette clawing at its strings, code rejecting its function, or an insignificant ant, its body reacting foolishly before its mind could catch up.

That split-second defiance had cost him dearly.

Interrogation was a refined "art." One of its methods was forcing the prisoner to repeat the same dull memory over and over. The interrogator would question, refute, and berate endlessly before sending them back to their cell—four white walls, a cramped space, no conversation, no entertainment, nothing. The sheer pressure and void could break anyone. Time lost all meaning; every second stretched unbearably long. The four months in Cell 7026 had felt like four years.

Jiang Qi wasn’t sure if Pei Gu would send him back if his answers proved unsatisfactory.

After all, his marriage to Pei Gu existed for precisely this purpose.

So Jiang Qi lifted his gaze and met Pei Gu’s eyes.

During interrogations, he had also been required to maintain eye contact with the interrogator.

—His husband’s gaze bore into him, brow deeply furrowed.

"..."

Seems like the answer was terrible, Jiang Qi thought calmly.

It had been too long since he left the interrogation room. The rehearsed answers lacked sincerity, and the expressions formed by muscle memory weren't convincing enough. Pei Gu's questioning had been too abrupt—even after hundreds of rehearsals, cracks still appeared.

Jiang Qi could only say, "Apologies, sir."

"Sorry for what? What's this nonsense?" Ye Wang's brows furrowed tightly, more so than even the day he barely survived the bombardment of the Imperial Star. "If you don’t want to talk, then don’t. I won’t bring it up again. But taking a cold shower in the middle of the night—Jiang Qi, do you even know how fragile your health is? Are you seriously not afraid of catching a cold?"

Whatever drugs the enemy’s gene lab had used on him, the initial reports from the Treatment Pod had shown that his body was already at its limit, hanging by a thread, ready to collapse at any moment.

Ye Wang wiped Jiang Qi’s forehead, then moved to the back of his head, but the motion felt awkward. So he simply yanked Jiang Qi closer, pulling him into a half-hug, and draped the large towel over his dripping hair.

Jiang Qi: "...Sir?"

Ever since Jiang Qi had bought that body wash, Ye Wang had taken mischievous pleasure in teasing him by switching to a strawberry-milk-scented one. He’d use it while complaining, complain while using it, occasionally muttering things like, "Well, Madam, what an... interesting choice," or "Ugh, this is disgustingly sweet. But since Madam likes it, I’ll just have to endure it."

And now, the towel Ye Wang was using was his own bath towel, which, after a few washes, had inevitably absorbed the sickly sweet artificial scent.

The strawberry scent enveloped Jiang Qi, starkly out of place compared to the sterile walls of the interrogation room. Jiang Qi blinked slowly.

Ye Wang: "You... never mind. We’ll talk about the rest tomorrow. Just go to sleep tonight, okay? Go to bed."

Jiang Qi’s deathly pale face had thoroughly spooked the commander. He’d seen trainees with that same look during training—usually from pushing too hard, their blood sugar dropping before they collapsed unconscious.

But recruits had medics. If Jiang Qi fainted into his arms, what was Ye Wang supposed to do? Carry him to the hospital?

That would be a disaster.

What if some Federation spy got a photo? The commander’s reputation would be ruined.

Ye Wang shuddered and nudged Jiang Qi. "Quick, take the elevator and go to bed."

The villa had an elevator, but it only went up three floors. Normally, Ye Wang would just take the stairs—the thing was practically a decoration, rarely used. But now, he finally remembered it existed.

Ye Wang guided Jiang Qi straight to the elevator. "...Go upstairs and sleep?"

This wasn't the plan.

Ye Wang: "Please, just go to bed. Does your stomach hurt? If it does, I’ll make you some milk."

He pressed the elevator button, then physically pushed Jiang Qi inside. Finally, with a soft *ding*, the doors closed.

Ye Wang sighed in relief.

He took a deep breath, turned off the TV, and headed to the kitchen.

The commander turned on the small pot and began heating milk.

—Strawberry-flavored, of course.

Ye Wang didn’t like milk, and he especially didn’t like strawberry milk. To him, milk was too high in fat, too nauseatingly sweet—totally unbecoming of a commander’s image. He was a man who drank coffee and liquor. If his subordinates ever caught him drinking milk, the scene would be too bizarre.

He’d only bought the stuff on impulse, spotting it in a store and grabbing it to mess with Jiang Qi. But now, it had unexpectedly come in handy.

As the milk simmered, bubbles forming and bursting, Ye Wang absentmindedly checked his communicator, his mind still stuck on how Jiang Qi had looked.

He’d never seen Jiang Qi like that before.

The Imperial Star remained aloof, always proud—even the folds of his coat and sash were sharp. Even when he lowered his head in Ye Wang’s presence, his submissive smile concealed barbs, his bones unyielding.

But just now, it was as if a clam had been pried open, allowing the salty seawater and gritty sand to invade its tender core.

His gaze was downcast, the corners flushed faintly from dry heaving, his eyelashes sagging wearily. The shirt from his neck to his collarbone was completely soaked, and his back wasn’t much better. As Ye Wang toweled his hair, he could feel his shoulder blades through the thin fabric.

At the thought, Ye Wang absentmindedly flexed his fingers.

Strange.

He shook off the odd sensation and opened the communication channel with his adjutants.

Having been in the Empire for so long, Ye Wang had been busy gathering information, while his adjutants were each occupied with their own tasks. Everyone had been spinning like clockwork toys, rarely keeping in touch.

Ye Wang: "@Wen Muyuan, got a question for you."

Ye Wang had two adjutants. Wen Muyuan was fully administrative, having served as a medic earlier in his career with a medical background.

Wen Muyuan: "The Commander finally remembers us. What’s the occasion? Or did the Empire’s charms swallow you whole? Go on, what’s the matter?"

Ye Wang: "If someone usually behaves normally, but when a certain topic is brought up, they suddenly freeze, plaster on a smile, repeat gibberish, and their expression goes strained—what’s going on?"

Wen Muyuan: "Commander Ye, based on your description, there’s an 80% chance it’s PTSD."

He added: "Typing’s a pain. I’ll just send you a voice message."

"PTSD, short for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You’ve heard of this, right, Commander?"

Ye Wang: "Came up in training, never dug deep."

Wen Muyuan: "It’s a strong stress reaction after trauma. It usually weakens over time, but can also last a lifetime. Many in our military have suffered from it—no helping it, war is brutal. Witnessing a comrade, or an enemy, in short, someone blown to ash before your eyes, leaving behind blood spray and scattered limbs—that image is always horrifying. Oh, I’ve treated patients with this condition before. Most suffer from nightmares and barely sleep."

Ye Wang: "What can be done about it?"

"The Federation prioritizes soldiers with PTSD. Our logistics hospitals have specialized PTSD treatment facilities and dedicated psychologists. But even with professional treatment, some people remain haunted by nightmares for life. In short, it’s a troublesome illness."

Ye Wang: "What’s the specific treatment?"

"First, remove the patient from the traumatic environment. For soldiers with PTSD, we usually transfer them to resort-tier star systems, keeping them away from the frontlines. Second, they need someone grounding them—repeatedly reassuring the patient they won’t return. Lastly, the patient’s own willpower is important. This is where most falter. Even the strongest will can crumble in the face of fear."

"That last bit," Ye Wang mused, "might be easiest."

Jiang Qi’s will? That, Ye Wang trusted like his own pulse.

As for leaving the Empire—so far, that was difficult. And family support…

Jiang Qi probably had no family.

The sole legal ‘family’ was Ye Wang—a fraud.

Had Ye Wang not come to the Empire in person, he would never have imagined that Jiang Qi—the man he both resented and revered, as sharp and beautiful as a blade—could have a body this wrecked, scars this unspeakable.

Ye Wang sighed softly.

Wen Muyuan needled: "Commander, who did you meet in the Empire? Who has PTSD?"

The commander, who had just sighed lightly, instantly turned cold: "Not your concern."

Ye Wang killed the connection and took the milk up.

Author’s Note:

Later that night, the now-calm commander: "Hold on—why the hell’s he getting milk?"