Miao Guojiu held a high rank, being a third-rank Jinzi Guanglu Dafu, and was also the elder brother of the Empress Dowager. Even the current Emperor had to show him some respect.

Shen Que bowed to him properly, but seeing no response, he lowered his head and tried to walk past him.

Miao Zongping snorted coldly, and the Kunlun slave behind him immediately stepped forward, grabbing Shen Que by the collar to stop him.

“Did I say you could leave?” Miao Zongping glanced at him sideways, then raised his hand, and the attendant behind him immediately overturned the offering tower on the tray onto the ground.

The white silver coins rolled all over the floor.

“Guards!” Miao Zongping’s voice was like a bell, “This person has been following me all the way, hiding in the temple, intending to assassinate me. Arrest him!”

With his command, more than a dozen attendants rushed forward, pinning Shen Que to the stone floor by the back of his neck.

If it really came to a fight, these people combined might not be able to stop Shen Que alone. But if Shen Que really fought back and blood was shed, it would confirm the charge of “attempted assassination.”

So Shen Que barely moved, allowing these people to bind his hands and feet.

*

Half an hour later, at the Yan Prince Residence.

The sky was getting darker, the sunset sinking, and the horizon was gray, as if it was going to snow again.

The Emperor was still young and lazy by nature, so the memorials of the past few days were all presented to the Yan Prince Residence by the eunuchs. Xie Shiguan held a blue brush, sitting in the study for half a day. Now he put down the pen and looked outside through the small window.

Suddenly, two hurried footsteps entered the courtyard, not bothering to announce themselves, and barged in directly.

Xie Shiguan frowned, looking at the two people who came in one after the other. Shen Luo was panting, worry and urgency written all over his face, and even the usually composed Shen Xiangzhi had a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

“What happened?” Xie Shiguan asked lazily, “Why are you in such a hurry?”

Shen Luo knelt on one knee, speaking urgently, “Your Highness, A Que was captured by that Miao Zongping!”

Xie Shiguan’s expression changed slightly, but the emotion quickly disappeared. He stood up, “When did this happen?”

“About an hour ago,” Shen Luo looked like he was about to cry, “It was a left remonstrator from the eighth rank who brought the news, someone you promoted last year. He was at the Ten Thousand Buddhas Temple with his wife when he saw the Guojiu taking A Que away, so he rushed to report.”

Xie Shiguan didn’t speak. Since it hadn’t been long since he was taken, he should still be alive.

As he walked out, a maid followed with a fox fur coat. Shen Xiangzhi quickly took it and draped it over Xie Shiguan.

“What excuse did Miao Zongping use?” Xie Shiguan asked again.

Shen Luo quickly replied, “Attempted assassination.”

“Assassination?” Xie Shiguan sneered, “Send my personal guards to take his life. Does he even deserve it?”

Meanwhile, inside the prison.

Two jailers looked at the person being brought in. One of them recognized the waist tag hanging from Shen Que’s waist and whispered to the other, “That’s someone from the Yan Prince Residence.”

Both of them had a hint of fear in their eyes. The slightly chubbier one spoke up, “Should we send a small guard to inform the Yan Prince Residence? You know what that person is like; if he gets hurt, he could tear this place apart.”

In front was the Yan Prince, behind was the Guojiu. Offending either was not a good idea.

While the two hesitated, Miao Zongping suddenly came in with his men.

His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under them. He grabbed Shen Que by the neck and slammed his head against the wall.

“It was Xie Shiguan who sent you to assassinate me, wasn’t it?” he shouted.

The day before yesterday, in the Dali Temple prison, Miao Chunyu changed his testimony, and several involved witnesses also changed theirs. The Dali Temple Minister revised the verdict overnight, sparing Miao Chunyu from execution and changing it to exile three thousand miles away, with three years of hard labor, never to return to the capital.

The next morning, Miao Guojiu received the news, but the soldiers escorting Miao Chunyu had already left the capital.

In a hurry, Guojiu dispatched a group of guards to catch up and protect his only heir, while pondering how to secretly rescue Miao Chunyu. But then news came that Miao Chunyu had been kidnapped and was missing.

At first, Miao Zongping suspected his sister in the palace, thinking she got the news quickly.

But less than an hour later, another message came, saying Miao Chunyu had been disemboweled, his private parts cut off, and his body was found in a riverbank in a gruesome state.

At first, Guojiu didn’t believe it, but after seeing the corpse, he had to. Looking at the body, it was clear it wasn’t cut by a knife; it was bitten by wild dogs!

Everyone knew it was the Marquis of Wu’an’s doing, but the people he sent didn’t even get to see Miao Chunyu’s last moments, and he couldn’t find any evidence.

Miao Zongping was furious, rushing to the Emperor, demanding the Marquis of Wu’an be detained so he could seek justice.

But the imperial decree had already been issued, and the Marquis of Wu’an was to set off for Western Sichuan to quell the rebellion the day after tomorrow. Besides, he had no evidence, so what reason did he have to imprison a loyal minister like the Marquis of Wu’an?

Miao Zongping’s fingers tightened around Shen Que’s neck, causing his face to turn red from the intense suffocation, but his eyes remained steady.

He wasn’t afraid of death, Miao Zongping knew.

He was a loyal dog raised by Xie Shiguan, and no matter how much the Miao faction tried over the past decade, with gold, silver, jewels, beauties, or songs, they couldn’t sway him.

Seeing that Guojiu was about to strangle him to death, the two jailers exchanged a glance and hurriedly rushed forward to pull him away.

Only then did Miao Zongping release his grip, turning around to kick each of the two men: “Idiots!”

There was no confession, no signed statement, and if Miao Zongping killed him like this, the Yan Prince would hold everyone in the prison accountable.

That man didn’t care about right or wrong, and wouldn’t sympathize with a small jailer. By then, turning the place upside down would be the least of their worries.

“Does Xie Shiguan think I’m a fool? Talking about fairness and understanding that I only have this one bloodline left,” Miao Zongping laughed, “My foolish nephew thought he was being kind, giving the Miao family face, but he had long colluded with the Marquis of Wu’an. Poor Chunyu!”

“What did the child do to deserve this?”

Shen Que looked at him coldly. The so-called innocent child he spoke of had tried to marry the Marquis of Wu’an’s legitimate daughter, and when he failed, he plotted to kill her fiancé and, along with a group of thugs, defiled the girl.

Afterward, the despairing daughter of the Marquis hanged herself in her boudoir with a white silk ribbon.

In his eyes, it seemed the young official who died wasn’t innocent, the girl who lost her purity and was driven to death wasn’t innocent, and the Marquis of Wu’an, who buried his child, wasn’t innocent.

Only his family’s culprit was innocent. How laughable.

Perhaps sensing the contempt in Shen Que’s eyes, Miao Zongping grew angrier. He couldn’t touch Xie Shiguan, but couldn’t he beat Xie Shiguan’s dog?

“What are you laughing at,” Miao Zongping slapped him hard, “You lowly thing, who allowed you to look directly at me?”

The slap was so forceful that Shen Que’s head turned, his teeth piercing his lower lip, tasting a bit of blood.

“I’ll ask you again,” he shouted, “Was it Xie Shiguan who couldn’t stand my Miao family and sent you to assassinate me?”

Shen Que pressed his lips together, this time truly smiling, spitting a mouthful of blood onto Miao Zongping’s face. He couldn’t speak, but his eyes were clear.

Even if he were killed, he wouldn’t admit it.

Another slap, Miao Zongping wiped the blood from his face, his beard trembling with rage.

“Apply the torture,” he said, his neck stiff, “The thief is stubborn, refusing to confess, beat him to death!”

The head of the prison was also a Miao family member. Hearing the order, he sent two jailers to fetch a sack and personally brought a chair for Miao Zongping.

“Guojiu, please sit,” the head of the prison smiled, “Whips and sticks leave unsightly marks on the body. This sack filled with stones won’t leave a single mark, all the damage is internal.”

As he spoke, the jailers in front began their work.

The sack, weighing dozens of pounds, was slammed onto Shen Que’s body. He didn’t even frown, enduring it, the taste of blood filling his mouth, his internal organs feeling shattered.

“Being mute is no fun,” the head of the prison said, “No screams, really boring.”

Not knowing how many times the sack had hit him, one heavy blow landed right on his chest, and Shen Que couldn’t hold back, vomiting a mouthful of blood, splattering just before his shoes.

The blood dripped, forming a flower.

Shen Que felt a dizzying sensation, the noise around him becoming a blur, suddenly unable to hear anything.

But the next moment, a basin of cold water was thrown over him, the winter snow water, bone-chillingly cold.

Shen Que shivered involuntarily, regaining clarity, his hair disheveled, ice water dripping down his temples.

“You followed Guojiu, ambushed in the Ten Thousand Buddhas Temple, intending to assassinate,” a jailer grabbed his disheveled hair, coldly, “Who ordered you? Speak!”

Miao Zongping had calmed down a bit, sitting in the grand chair, sipping the tea brewed by the jailer: “If you confess, you won’t have to suffer anymore, they’ll give you a quick death.”

Shen Que tilted his face up, the mockery in his eyes clearer, his lips moving, forming two words, silent but clear.

Miao Zongping didn’t see clearly, asking the head of the prison beside him: “What did he say?”

The head of the prison hesitated, then answered: “He said…”

“Condolences.”

Miao Zongping was indeed enraged again. His only legitimate son had passed, and he hadn’t slept for days, hating Xie Shiguan with a passion, tossing and turning, yet unable to touch a hair on him.

Those two words reminded him again that his only bloodline had also passed.

Miao Zongping couldn’t hide his grief, slumping back as if deflated, taking a long time before speaking: “Give him the combing punishment.”

He wanted him to die a miserable death.

The jailers set up an iron pot in front of Shen Que, boiling a pot of water, then took him down from the rack, pressing him onto a wooden bed. Two small guards, holding long nails and a hammer, pierced his shoulder blades, pinning him to the bed.

When the long nails pierced his body, Shen Que saw a flash of blood-red white, bright and blinding, making it hard to breathe.

It hurt, he thought.

He saw a jailer pull out a black iron comb. He knew this punishment, boiling water poured over a person, cooking the flesh, then using the iron comb to scrape the skin and flesh down.

Those with weak constitutions often died before the bones were exposed.

Shen Que wasn’t afraid of death, but when the boiling water neared, he was scared. Yet, despite this, he still clenched his teeth.

He believed that if he died unjustly, His Highness would avenge him, as long as he remembered his loyalty, that was enough.

To be remembered by the Prince, he would die without regret.