Chapter 435 The Imperial Seal’s Whereabouts

Chapter 435: The Whereabouts of the Imperial Seal

Zhou Yinyun looked at Cheng Ge. In the darkness, he couldn't make out the other's face clearly.

Only those eyes remained exceptionally calm in the night, like a well too deep to see the bottom.

He simply looked at Cheng Ge, then after a few breaths, turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Prince Heir." A soft call suddenly came from behind.

Zhou Yinyun's footsteps halted.

He didn't turn around.

He just stood there, back to Cheng Ge, shoulders held straight and rigid.

Cheng Ge's voice came from behind—not loud, very soft, yet every word landed clearly in his ears: "Take care on the road."

Zhou Yinyun's nose suddenly prickled.

He spun around and hurried back a few steps—

Then he threw his arms around Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge went stiff for a moment.

He stood there, eyes downcast, watching the person bury his head against his shoulder.

Cheng Ge paused for a beat.

Then he slowly lifted a hand and gave Zhou Yinyun's back a gentle pat.

Once.

Then again.

So light.

Zhou Yinyun pressed his face into his shoulder, his voice muffled and a little nasally: "Next time... can you not avoid me..."

His voice was so quiet, like he was afraid of being turned down.

Cheng Ge's hand froze.

Zhou Yinyun spoke again, even quieter, barely a whisper: "Caicai..."

Cheng Ge blinked, caught off guard.

He looked at the person buried against his shoulder, at that fluffy head, at the hands still gripping his robes—

Something in his gaze softened for a split second, but he said nothing.

He just patted Zhou Yinyun's back again, eased him back gently, and met his eyes.

"Prince Heir," he said, "time to go."

Zhou Yinyun looked at him, his lips parting as if to speak.

But Cheng Ge had already pulled his hand back and stepped away.

"Tomorrow, at midnight," he said.

Zhou Yinyun drew a deep breath and nodded hard.

He turned and disappeared into the night.

This time, he didn't look back.

Cheng Ge stood there, watching the figure shrink into the distance, growing dimmer and dimmer, until it melted into the dark.

He stood there a long moment.

Then he turned and headed the other way.

...

The night was pitch black. Deep within the palace, in an abandoned side hall.

The room was sparsely furnished—just a few rickety tables and chairs, and a bed thick with dust.

The doors and windows were tightly shut, so not even moonlight could seep through. A few oil lamps sat on the table, their flames flickering, making the shadows on the walls dance and sway.

Fu Quan was tied to a pillar in the middle of the hall.

His arms were bound behind his back with coarse rope, pulled tight. His wrists were long since rubbed raw, the skin torn and bloody.

His clothes had long lost their original color—soaked in blood over and over, drying and rewetting until they formed a stiff, crusty shell against his skin.

Whip welts crisscrossed his body, skin split open, with pale bone showing through in places.

His head hung low, gray-streaked hair plastered messily over his face, hiding most of it.

Two soldiers flanked him, blood-stained whips in hand, breathing hard.

They'd taken turns whipping him for nearly an hour, arms aching, but the old eunuch hadn't made a sound.

Beside them stood an armored officer—a trusted man under Chen Zhengqi, surname Wang, given name Rui.

He was a burly man with pale skin and narrow, cold eyes that always seemed to size people up like goods on a shelf.

He stood with his hands behind his back, eyeing the half-dead man, his brow furrowed so hard it could kill a fly.

"Eunuch Fuquan," he said, his voice echoing coldly through the empty hall, "I'll ask you one last time—where is the Imperial Seal?"

Fu Quan didn't move.

His head still hung low, like he'd passed out.

Wang Rui signaled.

A soldier beside him grabbed the wooden bucket at his feet, filled with cold water fresh from the well.

"Splash—" A bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

Fu Quan's whole body convulsed, and he coughed hard, a raspy, wheezing sound rattling from his throat like a broken bellows.

Water sputtered from his mouth and nose, mixed with blood, and streamed down his chin.

Slowly, he raised his head.

That face was already unrecognizable, mottled with purple and blue bruises, the corners of the mouth split open, blood smeared all over it.

The wound on his forehead was still seeping blood, trickling down his brow bone, flowing into his eyes, staining the whites of his eyes red.

Only those eyes—cloudy, weary—remained open.

He looked at the military officer before him for a moment.

Then the corners of his mouth suddenly curved upward.

It was a smile.

Despite the blood covering his face, despite his cracked lips, despite not having a single patch of unbroken skin on his body—he truly smiled.

"General Wang..." His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, like a wheeze from a broken bellows, or sandpaper scraping over rough stone.

Wang Rui's brow furrowed even more deeply.

Fu Quan still smiled, speaking in broken, halting fragments: "You're up this late at night... not sleeping... here... keeping this old servant company..."

He spoke slowly, each word as if it took every last ounce of his strength.

With each word, the wounds at the corners of his mouth seeped a little more blood, dripping down his chin, falling to the ground, splashing into tiny red blossoms.

"This old servant... is truly... deeply indebted..."

Wang Rui stared at him, saying nothing.

One of the soldiers nearby couldn't help cursing: "Old bastard, still talking back!"

Fu Quan's eyes shifted to the soldier, then back to Wang Rui's face.

"General Wang..." He smiled again, his face awash in blood. "You see... this old servant, a eunuch... who's been in the palace for over thirty years..."

He paused, gasping for breath, his chest heaving.

"Usually... just attending to His Majesty... serving tea and water for the Emperor..."

His head drooped a little lower, but his eyes still lifted, fixed on Wang Rui. "How could I possibly know anything about the jade seal's whereabouts?"

Wang Rui's face darkened.

He stepped forward, standing before Fu Quan, looking down at him.

"Eunuch Fuquan," his voice dropped even lower, carrying a sinister undertone. "Why put yourself through this?"

Fu Quan looked at him, saying nothing.

Wang Rui reached out, gripping Fu Quan's chin, and tilted his face up.

The force was immense, his nails almost digging into the flesh.

Blood immediately seeped from Fu Quan's chin, but he didn't flinch or even blink.

Wang Rui leaned in closer, meeting his gaze.

"I'll ask you one more time. That night, after the Emperor was poisoned, where did you put the jade seal?"

Fu Quan's lips parted.

He didn't answer.

Wang Rui waited a few moments, then suddenly smiled.

The smile was fleeting—just a flicker.

"Fine." He released his grip and stepped back. "Looks like you won't do this the easy way."

He gestured to the side.

Two soldiers immediately stepped forward—one pinned Fu Quan's head down, the other picked up an iron spike from the table.

"Old bastard, let's see how you enjoy this."

The soldier grabbed Fu Quan's hand and pressed the tip of the iron spike against his nail bed.

Fu Quan's hand twitched violently, but he didn't struggle.

He just looked at Wang Rui, at those cold, sinister eyes, and the smile still remained at the corners of his mouth.

Wang Rui's eyebrow twitched. He ordered coldly, "Do it."

"Ugh... ah!" The moment the iron spike pierced his skin, Fu Quan's body tensed up, arching like a bow pulled to its limit.

A muffled grunt escaped his throat, blood seeping from his nail beds, trickling down his fingers.

But he didn't scream.

He just clenched his teeth, swallowing every sound.

The veins on his forehead bulged, his face covered in cold sweat and blood.

His nails dug deep into his palms, drawing blood.

The soldier pulled the iron spike out and aimed it at another fingernail.

"Talk or not?"

Fu Quan panted heavily for a long time before slowly lifting his head.

He met Wang Rui's gaze.

Then he smiled once more.

That smile, on a face covered in cold sweat and blood, was jarringly vivid.

"General Wang..." he said, his voice even hoarser than before, as if it might break at any moment. "Heh... even if you were to castrate me all over again... I can't just conjure up the jade seal out of thin air for you."

Wang Rui's face darkened completely.

"Keep going."

The iron spike pierced in again and again, withdrawn again and again.

Fu Quan's fingers were already a bloody mess—not a single one of his ten fingers was left intact.

Blood dripped to the ground, forming a small puddle, reflecting a dark red gleam in the candlelight.

His head hung even lower, his breathing growing weaker and weaker, as if he might give out at any moment.

But he never once cried out.

At most, he'd let out a muffled grunt, then choke the sound back down.

Wang Rui stood to one side, watching the scene, a flicker of malice flashing through his eyes.

A eunuch, and yet his backbone was remarkably tough.

"Stop." He raised his hand, and the two soldiers stopped what they were doing and stepped back, panting hard.

Fu Quan's head still hung low, his body hanging limp from the ropes, as if he'd already stopped breathing.

Fu Quan's eyes were half-open, glassy and vacant, as if they might close any second.

Wang Rui furrowed his brow.

"Bring him around."

One soldier grabbed a bucket and dumped it over his head.

Fu Quan showed no reaction.

Wang Rui's brow knit even tighter.

"Bring the branding iron." Another soldier immediately walked to the brazier in the corner.

The charcoal fire was blazing red, several irons stuck in it, their tips already white-hot.

The soldier grabbed one with iron tongs and turned back.

The closer the iron got, the more intense the heat became.

The heat seared Fu Quan's face, his eyebrows curling slightly, but still he showed no reaction.

"Sizzle—" A stench of burning flesh filled the air—charred skin and blood, sharp enough to make you gag.

Fu Quan's body convulsed, a hoarse scream ripping from his throat—

It was short and shrill, like a chunk of flesh being carved out of him while he was still alive.

He shook violently against the ropes, the cords biting into his wounds, blood seeping out fresh.

Wang Rui waited for the scream to die down before speaking, slow and deliberate: "Eunuch Fuquan, you awake?"

Fu Quan gasped, sweat and blood streaming down his face. He slowly raised his head to look at Wang Rui.

The haze in his eyes seemed to clear a little, even with his shoulder still sizzling, even with not a patch of good skin left on him—he still smiled.

"General Wang..." His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, "You... burning and stabbing me like this... these old bones of mine... you've nearly torn me apart..."

Wang Rui stared at him, saying nothing.

Fu Quan caught his breath and went on, "But even if you... tore me down to a skeleton... that jade seal... still wouldn't just materialize..."

Wang Rui's face went dark.

"Fu Quan," his voice dropped, low and dangerous, "You think I wouldn't dare kill you?"

Fu Quan looked at him and smiled again.

That smile, on his blood-caked face, was especially unsettling.

"General Wang... of course you dare..." he said, "With Lord Chen behind you... what wouldn't you dare..."

He paused to catch his breath.

"But if you kill me... what good would it do..."

Wang Rui stared at him for a long, long moment.

The hall went dead silent, broken only by the occasional crackle of candle flames.

Then Wang Rui smiled, sudden and brief.

It was gone as fast as it came.

"Good," he said. "Real good."

He turned and headed for the door.

"Keep going," his voice drifted back, "Don't let him die."

The two soldiers snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!"

The door opened and shut.

Wang Rui vanished into the night, screams and wails echoing behind him.

After a long while, the screams faded.

With a creak, the hall door swung open.

The two soldiers spun around, hands going to their swords.

A figure walked in, head bowed, dressed in a plain soldier's uniform, face hard to make out in the dim light.

He carried a heavy food box, and the faint smell of food drifted from it.

He walked in, gave the two soldiers a slight bow, and spoke in a low voice: "You two have had a long night."

He said, "General Wang figured you two must be worn out, so he had me bring some food and wine. Take a break before you get back to the questioning."

The two soldiers looked at each other, caught off guard.

Then they rubbed their hands together, looking pleased and a little overwhelmed.

They'd been at it all night—whips, rods, branding irons—hadn't even had a sip of water, let alone a meal.

As low-ranking grunts, they were used to getting chewed out, never treated this well.

"This..." the older soldier said awkwardly, scratching his head, "This is just our duty, General Wang's too generous..."

The younger one nodded along, but couldn't help swallowing.

The figure spoke up again, voice still low: "You two needn't be so polite; please eat first.

Before it gets cold and loses its flavor—that would waste General Wang's kindness."

The two quickly responded, "Yes, yes, then we won't stand on ceremony."

The older soldier shot the younger one a glance, who immediately stepped forward and picked up the food box.

The two walked one behind the other toward a nearby empty room.

It was a cluttered storage room off to the side, just a door away from the main hall.

Usually no one went in there, but at least there was a table where they could sit and have a decent meal.

The door opened, then closed again, and their footsteps gradually faded away.

The hall went quiet again, with only the soft crackle of the candles and the sound of Fu Quan's weak breathing from the pillar.

The man stood there, motionless.

He tilted his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder.

The door was closed, and he could faintly hear laughter and the clink of bowls and chopsticks from inside.

He withdrew his gaze, then quickly walked over to Fu Quan.

The candlelight flickered behind him, casting his shadow over Fu Quan, bright one moment, dim the next.