HMHSE - 14

Shen Rong walked all the way to the entrance of the Great Prison and glanced back. Shan Zong and Zhao Jinlian hadn’t emerged yet, and she wondered what was delaying them.

Zirui hurried over, handing her a handkerchief prepared in advance, worried that the filth of the prison might cling to her.

After she slowly wiped her hands clean, Zhao Jinlian and Shan Zong finally appeared one after another.

“Are there any other cells we can see?” she asked.

Zhao Jinlian’s smile was strained as he approached: “This prison isn’t a place where ordinary people can endure for long, young lady. It’s not advisable for you to stay here too long. The matter of selecting prisoners can wait for another day—worst case, I’ll invite your brother to decide.”

Shen Rong knew he thought it unnecessary for her to handle such matters herself. Reflecting on the group of prisoners she had seen today, she wasn’t satisfied either. She glanced at Shan Zong: “There’s no rush now that Commander Shan has arrived.”

Zhao Jinlian laughed awkwardly, feeling both embarrassed and a bit exasperated. He didn’t want to be stuck between this estranged pair any longer.

Turning around, he whispered discreetly to Shan Zong: “You should have told me earlier. Since I’ve brought her, you’d better escort her back properly.”

With that, he turned back, forced a polite farewell with Shen Rong, and hastily left.

Once he was gone, Shen Rong looked at Shan Zong—they were alone now.

Shan Zong said: “Now that Zhao Jinlian has left, I’ll escort you back.”

The Great Prison was near their military compound but still some distance from Youzhou city. Escorting her was only appropriate.

Shen Rong looked at him, somewhat surprised.

Shan Zong reached out to lead the horse, then turned his head and saw she hadn’t moved: “Do you still need me to invite you into the carriage?”

Shen Rong finally lifted her skirt and entered the carriage, seemingly unaffected, but a faint smile played on her lips as she turned her head.

He had just said to treat her kindly, and indeed, he seemed fairly courteous now. Her lingering irritation dissipated.

Shan Zong had come alone, without even a single soldier. Once the carriage was on the road, he rode his horse closer to the window and glanced at the woman’s profile inside: “What kind of prisoners are you looking for?”

Shen Rong’s gaze happened to fall on his waist. Sitting astride the horse, his tightly cinched waist was taut and flat.

Her eyes shifted away, then returned as she remembered to reply: “I need young, strong men who are sharp-eyed and quick-eared, with fast reflexes, and who won’t escape.”

Shan Zong chuckled oddly: “It doesn’t sound like you’re looking for prisoners.”

Shen Rong frowned: “Are you mocking me?”

“No.”

“You’re clearly mocking me.”

He smirked faintly: “No.”

Shen Rong was about to say more when she felt her throat dry. She raised her hand to touch her throat and coughed lightly.

Outside, Shan Zong said: “Your throat is dry now. If you had stayed in the prison any longer, you’d feel worse.”

Shen Rong touched her throat, her voice rough: “What do you mean?”

“What do you think the Great Prison of Youzhou is like?” he said: “Its walls are built of stone, with layers of thick yellow sand beneath. Sometimes the jailers deliberately heat it with fire or let dry winds blow through. Over time, it becomes extremely arid. People who enter don’t last three days without shedding a layer of skin. Otherwise, why would Zhao Jinlian urge you to leave early?”

In fact, Zhao Jinlian had already arranged things before taking her there; otherwise, it would have been even harder to endure.

She likely hadn’t even heard of such a place before, yet she dared to rush straight into it. Calling her bold wasn’t an exaggeration.

Though his tone was casual, as if merely making small talk, Shen Rong rubbed her arms, furrowed her brow, and coughed again. No wonder Liu Hetong looked so gaunt, his cheeks sunken.

Thinking of Liu Hetong’s emaciated appearance, she reflected that if they hadn’t discovered this gold mine, perhaps one day their Changsun family might suffer a similar fate. This made her increasingly uncomfortable.

Then she recalled the scene in the underground dungeon, which distracted her from those thoughts: “In that case, I think the people in your underground dungeon are quite impressive. Even under such conditions, they can still fight fiercely.”

Shan Zong glanced at her again: “You dare to think about those people? You truly are fearless.”

Shen Rong looked at him through the veil of the carriage, resting her hand on her neck and raising an eyebrow: “Why not? Aren’t you here? You’re not incapable of handling them.”

“No matter what you say, once we enter the city, find a place to soothe your throat first, then go back and rest. Avoid going to such places in the future,” Shan Zong said, slapping the window frame as if issuing a warning, leaving no room for argument.

Shen Rong was momentarily stunned, watching his hand withdraw from her view. She pursed her lips but, with her throat still dry, decided to temporarily endure.

Zirui noticed her young mistress clearing her throat several times inside the carriage and became concerned.

Soon they entered the city. She spotted a small tavern by the roadside with few patrons, appearing quiet, and quickly called for the carriage to stop. She went inside to inquire if they could serve tea and returned to invite Shen Rong in.

Shen Rong sat down inside, and Zirui soon brought over a bowl of tea.

Just as she was about to take it, she heard Shan Zong say: “Change it to plain water. Drinking tea will only make it worse.”

Zirui was startled and quickly took the bowl of tea to exchange it for water.

Shen Rong looked at him. After entering from outside, he sat close to the door, not sharing her table. Two wooden tables separated them.

Zirui brought over a bowl of clear water. Shen Rong picked it up, took a small sip, and finally felt some relief.

Shan Zong glanced at her drinking. Even though she was uncomfortable, her demeanor remained elegant, vastly different from his own.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two powdered singing women emerge from behind the counter, likely finishing their business. They paused and looked toward him.

Meeting his gaze, the two lowered themselves awkwardly in unison: “Greetings, Commander Shan.” Then they smoothed their hair and exchanged shy smiles, trying to please him.

He averted his eyes, propped up one leg, and idly toyed with the saber scabbard resting across his lap.

Shen Rong sipped twice, then looked up and saw the two singing women. Her gaze drifted, and she noticed Shan Zong’s indifferent demeanor.

The tavern’s attendant only then noticed him and hurried over to greet him. He waved dismissively, and the man immediately retreated.

It seemed everyone in Youzhou feared him—except her.

Holding her bowl, she rose gracefully and walked toward his table.

Shan Zong watched her sit down on his right side. Before he could say anything, he heard her softly ask: “Do you like that kind?”

Her eyes flickered toward the two singing women. Seeing her sit beside Shan Zong, they quickly left.

Shan Zong stopped playing with his saber, his eyelids lowering slightly. He looked somewhat mischievous: “Why do you ask?”

“Just asking casually,” Shen Rong rested her fingers on the rim of the bowl, appearing nonchalant, though her eyes slanted toward him.

When he mentioned their divorce, he had said there was no marital affection between them post-marriage, and even being in each other’s presence felt strained. So what did he like? What didn’t make him feel strained?

“You can guess for yourself,” Shan Zong smiled, sitting upright: “Are you done with the water? If so, let’s go.”

Shen Rong saw him changing the subject and thought—did he think she cared enough to ask?

She glanced at the bowl again. She had sipped slowly, and much was still left.

Suddenly, her eyes lifted, and she murmured: “I can’t drink anymore. Do you want some?”

“What did you say?” Shan Zong’s voice unconsciously lowered. As soon as he asked, he saw her holding the bowl, lowering her head to sip from the rim, and then placing it down and pushing it toward him.

The rim facing him bore her faint lipstick mark.

His smile faded, and he remained seated, unmoving, looking at her face: “You want me to drink from that?”

Shen Rong met his dark eyes and suddenly laughed, whispering conspiratorially: “How can a mighty militia commander drink from my used water? I was just teasing.” With that, she wiped the lip mark with her finger.

As if nothing had happened.

Zirui, standing by the counter, asked: “Does the young mistress need more water?”

Shen Rong stood up: “No, let’s go.”

Shan Zong watched her leave, then rose, leaning on his saber. He felt her earlier action was a classic case of feigned disinterest.

During their brief marriage, their rare encounters hadn’t revealed she had so many tricks up her sleeve.

All the way to the official residence, one in the carriage and one on horseback, they exchanged no further words.

At the gate of the official residence, Shen Rong stepped out of the carriage and turned to look. Shan Zong sat on his horse, having followed behind the carriage all the way.

Seeing her glance, he gave a deep, knowing smile as if seeing through her thoughts.

She remained composed, turning her head and rubbing her fingers. Her fingertips still carried traces of her lipstick.

Suddenly, several riders galloped up. Hearing the sound, Shen Rong looked over—it was the jailers she had seen in the Great Prison.

One of them reported quietly to Shan Zong, who immediately spurred his horse and left.

…

Not long after they departed, Liu Hetong caused trouble again in the Great Prison.

This time, he attempted suicide.

When Shan Zong arrived on horseback, Liu Hetong had already been doused with water by the jailers and was barely conscious, leaning against the wall of the torture chamber, a large bruise on his head.

But upon seeing the door open and someone walk in, he immediately came to life, rushing desperately toward them: “Young Master Shan! Young Master Shan! Save me! I have old ties with your Shan family. How can you stand by and watch me die!”

He wailed repeatedly, his cries echoing throughout the torture chamber.

Shan Zong simply stood there, glancing at the instruments of torture around him, not sparing Liu Hetong a glance.

The torture chamber had high windows, and the biting wind rushed in, making it drier than outside and chillingly cold after a while.

When Liu Hetong could no longer scream and only trembled, Shan Zong finally spoke: “Did he cause trouble today?”

The jailer reported truthfully: “Commander Shan, he falsely claimed in front of the governor and that noblewoman that she was your wife.”

Shan Zong casually tossed aside an iron hook he had just picked up: “Handle it according to procedure. He’s caused trouble twice now—use whatever punishment is appropriate, just don’t let him die.”

The jailer acknowledged the order.

Liu Hetong was dumbfounded. After a long pause, he began to howl again: “I must overturn my case! I must submit a plea to His Majesty!”

But Shan Zong had already turned and left without looking back.

The torture chamber was unbearably dry. Outside, the jailers immediately brought Shan Zong a bowl of water.

Shan Zong held it in his hand, glanced at it, and suddenly thought of the lipstick mark on the rim. He chuckled softly, drained the bowl in one gulp, and tossed it back.